6933 - Monthly May update

 



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Dag,
   Iris (Whittier, 6933 miles)

6696 - Real Alaskan men

This country (Alaskan don't see themselves as part of the USA) is divided.

There are real redneck people out here. I speak with people who have voted for Sarah, who stock up on bullets, while Obama might raise the tax on it, who drive ATVs the whole Memorial weekend on the beach. It might be clear already, but these people are not my kind of people.


And then there are the outdoor people, the real Alaskan men, my kind of men. Every spare minute they spend in the outdoors, rock climbing, hiking, skiing, fishing, kayaking, ice climbing, pack rafting and boating. V, his brother A and their friend H belong to this group and they take me out for Memorial day weekend.


We are meeting up at Anchor Point for the yearly clamming "family" tradition. With no fishing license, I am only shown how to dig for razor clams. With low tide you have to look for little dips in the sand, and then the technique is to dig as fast as possible between the dip and the ocean. The clam will run for the ocean at 0.5 cm/s and it needs speed and skills to find the clam in the muddy hole. "My men" possess these skills and we end up with a bucket full of clams.


We all help cleaning the clams, but the woman prepare the food in the end and the real Alaskan men show their muscles by splitting the wood. Its a pity I am no match for these men. I might be able to clean a clam now, I have never in my life cleaned a salmon, a crab, a shrimp, let alone a sheep, a goat, a deer, an elk, a moose, a caribou or a bison. Animals, if getting a permit, they will go out for hunting later in the season to stock up their fridge (one animal is enough to feed a family for the whole winter). So many skills yet to be learned before I can become a real Alaskan woman.


But the good thing is that even real man likes to dance and that is a skill I posses too. And so we end Memorial day weekend at the Trapper Creek Bluegrass festival, where we dance the whole night. Its hard not to fall in love with these real Alaskan men.

Dag,
   Iris (Anchor Point, 6696 miles)

5929 - But it can be good

After visiting Hope, I am back in Anchorage to check out some sea kayaks. But one of my phobias catches up to me, calling people. I simply hate to call and just push the topic at the back of my list. Instead I do laundry (always good to spend some time in a Laundromat), I change oil, rotate my tires, and drink coffee. At the end of the afternoon when I finally get myself to call to see the kayaks, they are both gone already. Steep learning curve is what its called. And so I drive myself again out of Anchorage with a bad feel. Anchorage is just not doing it for me.

10 miles out of town I see 5 guys scooping out some rocks. Climbers? I pull over and watch them hanging around. One is pulling a rope out of his bag and I walk over. Indeed climbers, and if I wanne have a try. Sure !!!

The next morning I wake up at 5am. Normally that's not a big problem, but with the knowledge that I only went to bed 3 hrs ago, it doesn't feel totally right. After climbing V and his friends took me to a bar, and then we got some food and hang around some more. We finally found out where we know each other from, we volunteered one day in Yosemite together, and all in all it becomes late. I crash down at Vs house and now I am woken up to go for a river boat trip. And its not just a river boat trip, its a trip on the Chulitna river, the river at the foot of Denali, the highest peak in the USA. The views are so amazing thats its almost unreal. With no battery power left in any camera, you just have to believe me. Anchorage can be fun, with the right people.


But the fun is not over yet. After a late start the next day, we go cragging with a bunch. V and I both lead a climb and for the rest of the afternoon we TR and belay. I pass the invite for a baseball game, and hang around in the sun. With halibut and salmon on the BBQ we end the day in style. Its a good group of people, I like them.

Dag,
   Iris (Anchorage, 5929 miles)

5632 - Times

There are times that rubber boots, a tide table and a backpack is all you need.


Times that words won't do any good.


Times to just be.

Dag,
   Iris (Seward, 5632 miles)

5452 - Not all is good

Traffic, people, strip malls, camping at the Wall-Mart, it just doesn't do it for me. Anchorage is like any other American city, it sucks. I have to be in town to run some errands, but besides that I try to get myself as fast as possible out of this city. But the bad feel lingers longer then I like. As I run out of town, I can't find a decent camping spot, and I end up on an overcrowded free campsite. I park my Oto randomly on the campground, while there are no free sites anymore. Crawling into the back of the Oto, I already feel something is wrong. I must have eaten something wrong and the whole night I role around to deal with the cramps in my body. Luckily the neighbors are giving me some distraction with Britney Spears blasting out of their radio until deep into the night.


The next day I feel grumpy and drive to the town of Hope. Not sure what to do there, but just the name should make me feel better. But at the exit to Hope, I notice that there will be no gas in Hope, and with an gas-tank empty light on for a while already I keep on driving to the junction Seward-Homer. But its one of these days, there is nothing at the junction. Just 2 roads splitting and a lake. The decision falls on Seward and I keep on driving and start counting down the milage. 37 miles, I might make that. 20 miles and the Oto starts jittering. There is no where to pull of, so I keep on going. 15 miles and I loose all power and pull over. Damm, its really one of these days. At the pull over a grandpa is teaching his grand children how to trap muskrats. Jeh, give me a redneck trapper, that will save my day. The grandpa is however very nice and gives me a ride to town. He even loans me a gas can and drives me back to my Oto. Thanks. I make it to town, fill up my tank and pull into a closed campground. Tomorrow can be only better, and at least now I know how big my tank is.

Dag,
   Iris (Anchorage, 5452 miles)

5124 - McCarthy

The drive from Haines to the Interior Alaska, is uneventful. Hrs of mountains, snow, lakes and trees are skipping by. The beauty and the hitchhiker are getting boring. Well the beauty not really and its time to explore a new National Park.


Wrangell Elliot national park is situated 60 miles away from the main road. Only a dirt road in very bad shape will bring you there. Bears are on the loose, there are no shops, no gas and probably nothing is open yet. Always nice to get good advice at a visitors center. That all the rangers are on a course might explain the no knowledge of the lady behind the counter. When I walk outside a woman grabs my arm. We sit down and she tells me all I wants to know and more. She and her husband moved a couple years ago to the region from Minnesota and became trappers. Pictures of wolfs, bears and other death animals are shown to me. Of course the impossible to be avoided pictures of the grand children follow.


One thing is clear to me. I need a shotgun to protect myself against the bears. So I go to the nearest shop to checkout some riffles and guns. As a foreigner its possible to buy one, but my background check might take a while. I am not concerned about that, because with a Green Card in my hand, this country knows more about me, then I even know myself. In the mean time I sign up for a course to learn how to shoot a gun.


The dirt road to McCarthy is not bad at all and the road leads along a river to the village of McCarthy. A foot bridge separates the parking lot from the city and I stroll into town. Also here everything is still closed and waiting for the tourist season to be opened, but you can feel the outdoor spirit running through the little tiny down town. In the evening A comes by and he explains a little bit more about the surrounding. The 2 glaciers pouring down from a close by mountain, the mines high on the mountain tops and the mining city Kennicot in the distance. I also get advice of the best hike to make the next day and the bear situation. The weather has been also pretty warm around here, and indeed the bears are waking up and are hungry.


Singing and talking out loud I walk the next day the 5 mile to Kennicot. In summer people live here and tourist walk around. Now there is nobody. I put on my snowshoes and continue the trail along the glacier. The snow gives away under my snowshoes and the going is hard and slow. But at least I make enough noise to scare of any bear around. After 4 hrs going I am still not at the viewing point, but decide to go back. This is gonna be a long enough hike already and the clouds are building up above me.


When I am just crashing down tired but happy in my Oto, A comes by again and invites me to his house. His small cabin, which over time became a very nice house is sitting in the middle of a cleared lot. Above the house 6 cabins for rent are situated overlooking the river and the mountains. We talk a lot, cook some food and I help cleaning the cabins and burning a huge bonfire the next day. A learns me how to shoot his riffle and his shotgun.

But serious, just take another look at the picture above, me shooting. There is something wrong with it. Is it the hair, or the clothes, the pacifist holding a gun? Its just not right. But don't worry, I just try to be open minded, I try to understand the people I am surrounded with. I can see that people wear shotguns to protect themselves against bears. I understand the subsistence hunting of the locals. I can not understand the enjoyment of the hunt or voting republican because the democrats might take away your gun. This might take some more time, if ever. In the meantime, I am singing to scare of the bears and carry my bear spray if things get out of hand. And I will not buy a gun or sign up for a shooting course, its just not me.

Dag,
   Iris (McCarty, 5124 miles)

4225 - Alaska Marine Highway 2

Ferry 3: Petersburg to Juneau


It only takes one flirt (and it wasn’t even me) and C, who works as Chief Mate on the ferry, offers to show me around. The tour starts on the blond girl, probably 26 years old and drop out of school level, but ends with a 101 course in navigation on the bridge. Its pretty cool stuff. For the rest of the trip I am enjoying the sunny weather and the stunning views.


Ferry 4: Juneau to Haines

Will I come back here? I leave so much behind, rocks to be climbed, glaciers to be explored, mountains to be scaled, sounds to be discovered by kayak or boat, slopes to be skied. Will I come back here? The sun is out to show the surrounding in its best behaviour, snow covered mountains are reflected their best sides in the mirror ocean, humpback whales wiggle their tails to me, dolphins come along to say goodbye, and seals are waving to me in the harbor of Haines.


Its like if everything wants to say something to me. Will I come back here?

Dag,
   Iris (Haines, 4225 miles)