Mountains and Moxie

Monday was a great day.  it was cold and uncomfortable, but it was Alaska – the Alaska I came to see.

After dropping Siobhan off for her glacier cruise, and taking a quick walk around town, I screwed my courage and headed for my glacier kayak trip.  Going along with me were a family from Oakland (Scottish mom, 2 boys under 10, and a dad who worked for Apple and sorted out the problem with my iTunes library); a dad from Wasilla with his two daughters, Brooklin, who lives in Arkansas with her mom, and Jaylin, who lives in Oklahoma with hers; and Annika and Janice a couple from San Jose traveling with their mutton-copped friend Mead (“like the honey wine” he patiently explained).  Our guides were college seniors Emma, from Maine and Julian, from Vermont.  With an uneven number, Emma jumped in the boat with Jaylin, and I was paired with the 6’2″, size 12 footed Janice.  I couldn’t have been more pleased.  Janice was trained on the back of the boat, me on the front position and we all jumped on our guide boat to take us to the glacier.

Leaving Valdez Harbor, our skipper pointed out the fishery and told us about the how salmon are captured for spawning, released, and re-caught if they return.  I asked if that still counted as wild salmon.  “We help them through the toughest part in their lifecycle, their infancy.  After that, it’s all them.”  So, I guess, yes.

He showed us where the pipeline ends and the tanks set up for oil.  We learned about the earthquake in 1964 and the spill in 1989.  And the ways the town was trying to prevent anything else from devastating the community.

We passed sea lions lounging on rocks and seals and otters playing in the cold water.  There were small, fluffy seagulls relaxing on ice so close I wanted to pet them.

We finally pulled into a rocky inlet where we disembarked and pulled the kayaks down from our big boat.  We sat on beach (I sat on my life jacket – those rocks hurt) and ate bag lunches and berries we picked from the brush.  Finally, it was time.  In our many layers of warm and waterproof clothes, maneuvering in and out of the boat required a bit of a yoga, but we go there and headed off.  I only had my iPhone, which, it quickly became clear, would end up in the bay if I tried to use it for photos, so I’m a bit short on pictures.  Still, it was stunning, take my word for it.

After a few moments, I heard Janice behind me begin to pant.  After a few more moments, I noticed she was no longer paddling.  “I’m too tired” she said.  “No problem, I’m good” I replied – totally not good!

The rain begin about five minutes into our paddling and got progressively worse the closer we go to the glacier.  Coming up to a rocky clearing, the water got shallow and the current got fast.  Emma and Julian (who might not be, but I really hope are a couple) had to get out of there boats and pull us through to open, calm water again.  There we got our first glimpse of the glacier, glowing blue.  There was ice floating all around it and we would put our hands in the water to touch it and then instantly regret it as the chilly water dripped up our arms.  Near the glacier, all of us chilled to the bone, we pulled up to another beach and Emma and Julian hastily made hot chocolate and pointed to covered trees for anyone needing a bathroom break.  I did, but couldn’t image how I’d get all my layers off, so I opted for the wait and hope for the best approach.

The kids argued forcefully to just call the big boat to us, but we all got back into out kayaks for another couple hours of paddling.  We went up to the glacier, which has receded 50 feet this year alone and is a living testament to climate change.  Then we headed back the way we came.  By the time we got back to our big boat, the kids were shivering and blue and the adults were debating which was more important – a drink or a hot shower.

I loved every second of it!

For me, the shower came first and after meeting Siobhan back at the hotel, warming up my bones, we headed to our hotel bar for dinner.  We sat at the bar watching the olympics and chatting with Dylan, the bartender and a lifelong resident of Valdez.  He, like many Alaskans we’d met, taken time off to join the military before settling back home.  He told us about Robert, the new chef they’d woo-ed from up north to come cook.  We had bulgogi (korean food is very popular in Alaska), halibut and salmon.  It was great….then Robert came out of the kitchen with a wad of tissue in one nostril, blocking a bloody nose.  He asked us how our meals were.  “Great,” we replied looking at everything but his nose.  “Do you want dessert?” “Um…no.  We’re done.”

One of the two men sitting next to us, ended his conversation with the other and got up to leave.  Mike, the one left, struck up a conversation with us and very quickly came around to his role on the Discovery Channel hit, The Deadliest Catch. Neither of us watch it, but it seems many folks who come to Alaska do.  He was embarrassed and eager to share that his show nickname is “Paint Chips.”  He is, he told us, fishing royalty – he grandfather and great-grandfather were important members of the small fishing community in Alaska. He told us the many kidnappings in his family and warned us not to kidnap him, though we would do well to do so.   He was drunk and sad and told us about his children and their mothers, who only wanted him for his family reputation.  He urged us to come to his room to hang out and bought our drinks despite our demurring.

I’m going to Start watching the Discovery Channel!

I’m eating pancakes in a bar and watching the olympics.  In an hour I head out on a glacier kayak trip.  The sea air and mountain air blend to an intoxicating sweetness and the heavily booted fishermen drinking coffee around me are laughingly pessimistic about the possibility of a good catch today.

My mother would love this.  She died eight years ago today and I’m certain that she would be thrilled about my being here, but this is also a trip she wold have loved.  She might not go kayaking with me (god forbid her hair get wet), but no one loved fresh mountain air and rosy cheeks more than her.

Siobhan is already on her boat trip (she wanted a steadier boat than I did), and as I walked back for a second cup of coffee, I realized the date.

I miss you mom.  Thank you for everything. It’s because of you that I can take this trip. I’m so grateful.

When we got to the hotel in Copper Center the night before last Siobhan was certain that she heard Ethel Merman singing God Bless America. There was a flag ceremony going on outside our window, but I heard no music and I don’t believe that it was there.  As we know, ghosts only appear to those who believe, and Siobhan believes, but I do not.  So the only explanation is that Ethel’s ghost had taken residency in Alaska.

We had a bit of a lie-in in the morning and then took a quick walk around the grounds.  Fabulous views are becoming ordinary to us, but seeing the Alaskan pipeline wind up a mountain was very cool.

The hotel was up a long winding drive, and as we drove down it to head to Valdez, we came upon a terrible accident.  An RV camper seems to have gone into the back of a tour bus.  The front of the RV was smashed completely and it seemed as if no one could make it out unhurt.  Traffic was backed up in both directions and the shaky asian passengers in the tour bus were making their way into shuttles to head up to the hotel

We turned around and drove back up where we indulged in a large bloody mary and salmon chowder (I resisted explaining to the chef what chowder should be).  We left a few hours later and though both vehicles were still not cleared, we were able to drive through.

We had abandoned our plan to do a side detour to an old mining ghost town, but when we reached the turn-off we couldn’t resist and took the drive.  The high twisting road offered plenty of gorgeous views of the mountains, clouds lifting off them, and more than a few scares for Siobhan (who is afraid of heights).  “NO – it’s slippery” she yelled as I turned on to one steep, gravely embankment.  It wasn’t and we walked a ways down the mountain.  It was great.  After passing Three-Mile Lake, then Two-Mile Lake, and finally One-Mile Lake (really), we arrive in Chitina , population 126.  There was an old bar and an “art gallery” and little else.  The art gallery was for sale, much like one of the bars in Talkeetna, and we weigh the pros and cons of buying it, but left empty handed.

The road to Valdez was peppered with waterfalls (this one was especially amazing!) and foggy mountains.  Visibility was slim and the rivers came up to the road, but we made it in one piece.  Valdez was leveled in an earthquake in the late ’60s, so there is no old town, but the port is lovely.  Wild bunnies overrun Valdez, and were constantly underfoot.  The food options in Alaska are surprisingly disappointing.  Everything is expensive and there hasn’t been good seafood yet.  As we wondered from place to place in search of something that looked good, we stopped into the Totem Inn, which, so the advertisements said, was known for it’s crab legs.  As we walked in, we knew the hotel lobby feel would not work for us, but a waitress with a large feather fascinator on her head approached us.

“You look festive” I said.  “Very festive, ” added Siobhan.  “So, we hear your crab legs are amazing,” I said.  “Yes – tell us about the crab legs, where are they from? Are they really amazing” said Siobhan.
She looked at us both in silence for a minute and then, in a heavy russian accent asked “so…you vant menu?”

Another waiter dressed for Mardi Gras bounced over and told us this was the place to ear.  I asked about another restaurant that had been recommended and he said “no no.  I”ve never eaten anywhere but here.  This is the place to eat!”

We went to the other place.

After dinner we walked the town a bit more and wandered into a bar on the water.  It was full of locals and a few tourists.  Siobhan and I pondered living up to potential and what we do next in our lives.  Other conversations around the bar were about the Olympics, the flint water crisis, and the best guns for camping.

The thing about Talkeetna and Denali National Park it that you’re there for the mountain.  If you aren’t at the mountain (or fishing I suppose) there’s not much reason to be there.  With my flight to the mountain canceled because of weather (in Alaska you should put “weather permitting” behind any sentence the way you put “in bed” after your fortune), and a long drive ahead of us, we had an early departure from town and headed out in search of adventure and puppies.

After an overlong detour for coffee – service in Alaska is sloooow – we arrived at Dream A Dream Iditarod Kennel.  Vern Halter has competed in more than 20 Iditarods, with his best finish as third place.  His wife is also an experienced musher and vet.  Now in their 70s, they continue to train both dogs and mushers and open their farm to visitors wanting to learn about the race.  He explained the history of the race and the rules and regulations.  He showed us a charming video likely made in the early ’90s and told us about the client he’s training now, Cindy Abbott (click – her story is amazing!) . He talked about her mid-life trip to Everest and her moxie and I thought “I need to meet her! I need to be her!”

Then he brought us out to meet the dogs.  After a walk through the woods with five husky puppies (OMG!) we got in an open jeep.  I was in the front middle seat and Vern commanded “watch that break” as he jumped out and starting harnessing dogs to the jeep.  I could feel them pulling as I pushed hard to keep the car in place.  The dogs barked and howled eagerly in hopes of being selected to pull us.  Once the selected 16 were harnessed we zipped off for an exhilarating drive through woods and mud and puddles.

We picked Vern and Dream a Dream somewhat at random, but he was a charming and funny and I could have stayed there all day.  One of his young assistants was a visitor to the farm 8 years ago when she was a teenager living in Texas.  Vern said to her, finish college and you can come back and work here.  Eight years later she called him and he invited her up. I might do the same in a few years.

From Vern’s we headed over Hatcher Pass.  A gravel mountain pass that winds high into the clouds and over.  It took a couple of white knuckled hours (and one very scary wrong turn that required me to back down the narrow twisty road).  Every moment was frightening and gorgeous.  When we found ourselves back at sea level and paved roads there was a small inn where we stopped for lunch.  The alpine lodge had walls of windows over looking the green mountains and vibrant fire weed covered fields.  Our fondue and beers didn’t live up to the beauty of the place, alas.

On the road again, we were going to head directly to the hotel, but quickly turned off to visit a golf course and then a musk ox farm.  There were baby ox and they were beautiful! they are combed for their soft hair and woven goods where for sale, but we resisted.

A couple hours later we reached our hotel.  I am watching the olympics, Siobhan is reading by the fire and we are happy!

I’m leaving Denali Park today without ever seeing the mountain that this whole trip was based around.  Though I wasn’t planning on really going up, I was planning a lot of hiking and a glacier landing and hike nearby.  Weather has not been my friend and the clock has run out (although I may try to grab a flight from Anchorage towards the end of the trip.)

And while I’m trying to be zen about it all, there’s only one thing that can make this better….husky puppies!

11pm daylight is hard to get used to.  We were up late last night and were still asleep at 8:30 when the folks from the Denali Air Taxi called to tell me that my flight to Denali and glacier landing was cancelled due to weather.

Over delicious pancakes (when eggs were brought to the table, the waitress said, oh – sorry, I had the wrong single lady)  we did some quick, and not so quick research and decided to take a train to nowhere.  Literally – it went into the back country, would drop folks off for camping, hunting or fishing, and head back to town.   It was about 7 hours of gorgeous views and entertaining travel mates.  Steven and Jean from Wasilla brought some family who’d come up for a recent wedding.  They also brought champagne (and flutes) and cheese and crackers.  They were chatty and a little drunk and we loved them.  A dad with his three boys did not and he’d try to catch our eyes to roll his whenever possible.

We peered in vain hopes of seeing bears or moose by settled for swans and some other birds.  Our couple of stops had us riverside watching salmon swim upstream and at the “Sherman City Hall” where we met homesteaders (and bought their book, complete with recipes for baloney sandwiches).

While nature whizzed by, we talked about projects we wanted to finish and what the meaning of freedom really is.

Back in Talkeetna, we wandered our puddle ridden path to the Denali Brewery to get a delicious French Roast sandwich, local beer and some olympic viewing.  Our waitress Baldy, for her bald head one presumes, was a UMass Amherst grad who, like so many others we’d met, had come to Alaska for a summer job and never left.  And I could see why.  Talkeetna is a town of young athletes.  As Siobhan said, after two days there’s nothing left to do by drink, gossip and fornicate.  I love it here.

Walking back through the woods, the music that  rose from some unseen campsite could not have set a better tone!   Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’.   With that, I go to sleep hopefully that I will have my flight to Denali tomorrow!

Day 1 started late.  We slept well in our small Anchorage hotel, but both had some work obligations to get through in the morning, so we didn’t hit the city til noonish.

We wandered through the lovely town square with it’s beautiful gardens of roses and kale (really).  We wandered into Oomingmak, a collective of native women who know the wool of the musk ox into beautiful hats and scarves so soft that cashmere seems cheap by comparison (by price comparison as well).  There was a chart on the wall comparing the musk ox wool to others including dog and camel.  Musk ox is very soft.  As we were there a puppy-like tourist who bound into the store asking if they sold shot glasses and then bound out just as quickly when the answer was no.

I found my way to an outlet store and upgraded my hiking boots to a glacier ready pair that I’m exciting to bring to New Hampshire as well.

After a wonder through the Anchorage Museum and a lunch of halibut fish and chips, crab rolls, and local beer (we rejected the food trucks serving reindeer hot dogs for weather reasons, but I’m sure we’ll be back for that), we hit the road.

The traffic lightened quickly and we found ourselves driving towards an amazing mountain vista, always in the distance.  We pulled off the road in Wasilla to say hello to Sarah Palin and check out the Iditarod Museum.  Our late start meant that we weren’t able to see the husky puppies, but I’m certain we’ll head back for them soon.

Arriving in Talkeetna at 8, we checking into the hotel and then debated driving into town or taking the five minute walk through a wooded area, “there’s puddles” warned the hotel clerk.  We borrowed an umbrella (it’s rained non-stop so far), and headed out along the path.  The puddles were no joke, they were basically mini lakes, but a few minutes later we crossed some railroad tracks and town, such as it was, unfolded in front of us.

The handful of rickety wood buildings housed a provisions store, a cafe, a pizza place, three bars, and an ice creams shop.  A collection of international hikers wandered jovially from one bar to the next.  It is my favorite category of town, like Pokhera in Nepal or Ouarzazate in Morocco, it is the last stop before hitting the mountain.  Talkeetna is far smaller than either of those, but it’s charm makes up for its tiny size.

We stopped into the Wildflower Cafe and where we were ignored for some time while we listened to the rain on a tin roof (one of my most favorite sounds) and then were eventually served by what one can only assume was the Alaskan version of a mean girl – she was very pretty in a short skirt and tight turtleneck with woven earrings and high Ugg boots, and she was very disinterested in our order or light chit chat.  The fish once again delivered.  After dinner we wandered into the Fairview Inn for another beer and some great live music (yup – I liked the live music).  The final game of the Red Sox- Mariners run was on tv.  It was a good night.

Seattle, not surprisingly, is on the cutting edge of the burgeoning legal marijuana business.  Dispensaries are everywhere, though they don’t seem to be open in the early mornings.

I am not an experienced drug user, though I have a fondness for a little light chemical alterations (valium before a flight, kind of thing) and I’ve certainly smoked enough pot not to be a complete innocent.  But I wanted to make a legal purchase, so when I passed a dispensary on my final trip back to my hotel, I had to stop in.

My ID was checked and double checked (MA licenses are apparently cryptic) and I was let into the softly lit space.  Along the walls, behind glass, were the many offerings each with a short description of it’s effects – relaxing, energizing, etc.  Their were buds and pre-rolled joints.  There was a wall of edibles including cookies, teas, and margarita mixes.  The clientele were middle aged and white.  They all seemed to know what they wanted and were quick to make their purchase.

Overwhelmed I bought a single truffle edible that I was told would be good for the flight.
“Only eat half of it, if you’re an inexperienced user” said the man at the counter.  “Only eat half of it” said my friends whom I’d texted to tell them of my purchase.  Just before I jumped on the plan, I ate all of it.

Not much happened by take off time.  I closed my eyes and tried to feel the effects.  Nothing.  The plane was very loud and I was sure that we were tuning in a very tight circle. Looking out the window, we seemed steady, but when I closed my eyes the plane began the circle again.  My finders and toes began to tingle and slowly my arms and legs did as as well.  The plane dipped and tuned and pulled up as the people behind me and next to me chattered and  chattered like cicadas.  I tried to pull my eyes open, but they fought it and stayed closed.  As we landed I drank all the water I had to quench my dry mouth and to try to re-connect with the world outside my body.

A slight french farce later, I found Siobhan and we made our way into Anchorage in the dark.  We’ve awoken to a rainy day and the start of our adventure.  But first, coffee!

I need this trip.  I know I have less right than anyone to “need” a vacation, but I’m definitely in need of stepping out of real life for a bit.

I’ve been fully immersed in our political process for the past couple weeks.  I didn’t fall in to the Republican convention rabbit hole, but I sure did with the Dems.  I spent several evenings watching the convention and sparring with a complicated friend who, like the democrats themselves,  both inspires and infuriates me.  A lot of late nights alongside long days of a changing professional landscape.  Yup.  I needed this trip.

Still -when the Uber arrived at 4:30 on Monday, I could have just stayed in bed.  Say, my driver, had more enthusiasm at that hour for my trip than I did.  He told me I was a real hipster (not something said of me) and that he wanted to go on a trip with me (say in a purely innocent way).  By the time we arrived at the airport I was ready.  Even the window and aisle seat man spreaders on either side of me for six hours in the air couldn’t dampen things.

A quick nap later and I was zooming to a portside lunch with the kind of old friend who can tell you the truth, hear it from you, and still laugh with you till your sides hurt.  We zoomed around the city until it was time to head to Safeco field to see my Red Sox and his Mariners head to head.  We walked through the city, stopping to smile at bearded, flannel clad millennials and their adorable dogs (a disproportionate amount of which were 3-legged).  A group of 20-somethings in front of us suddenly stopped as one women exclaimed “Shit – I left my scooter at the coffee shop” and ran off in the direction they’d come.

We had beer and hot dogs and watched the sox win and pondered our lives.  My friend believes in me and I believe in him and we each needed to hear it from someone we could believe.  The next day we went to get fancy donuts and more coffee and to do some silly souvenir shopping.  As he drove off, I headed to Pike’s market to watch the fish mongers toss the cod.  I pondered the rows of gorgeous veggies and ate delicious crab dumplings from a store front.

A nap later and I was off for a night out with another old friend.  We had wine and oysters and gin and tonics and a shot of something the bartender recommended that tasted of pineapple and summertime.  And much more laughter.  Getting up for my 8am breakfast with a young cousin was daunting and I was cursing our generous bartender as I ripped through my bag in search of advil.  But Nelle, someone I’ve known for her entire life and much of mine, was a cure for everything bad.  She fed me organic veggies and walked me around the charming Lake Union.  We talked about travel and jobs and our wacky and wonderful relatives and, yes, laughed.

Nelle left me for work and I spent the day exploring the outdoor sites of Seattle – the Space Needle, Chihuli Gardens, the Sculpture park and the waterfront.  I saw statues of  Chief Seattle and  Vladimir Lenin.  It was Fleet Week, so the sailors in their dress whites prompted an internal soundtrack of On The Town and added to the romance of the city. .

Seattle is a beautiful city in August and by the time I headed back to the hotel to move on to leg two of my trip, I already found what I needed for this trip.  I felt completely awash in gratitude for the love of my friends and my family.

There was only one thing left to do!

I like mountains.  In all my travels, a common theme is trying to go up  – I’ve been to the highest peaks in the world and in a month, I shall visit the highest peaks in North American (Denali here I come!) – one place I haven’t spent nearly enough time is the highest peak in my own state.

Mount Greylock, in my beloved Berkshires, is the highest natural point in Massachusetts, though at about 3,500 feet it’s not that high by mountain standards.  I’ve only been up it once, a visit commemorated in my profile pic in the About Me section of this very blog.  It is recently very much in the news as the recently announced home to Ilvermorny, the US school of wizarding and sister school to Hogwarts.

It makes sense, of course.  Ilvermorney was founded, so the story goes, in the 1600s by a young witch who had come to the New World in an effort to escape an abusive aunt.  She found the Puritan culture in those days not so conducive to a witching life, and hid in the Berkshires hills.  There she created a family with some orphaned wizards, a handsome muggle, and a temperamental magical creature, indebted to her for saving his life.  The Pukwudgie, a small gray faced beast with long ears, is prone to complaints and temper tantrums, but in a pinch, will always be there to protect, support, and celebrate.  Flattery will get you a long way with the Pukwudgie and loyalty is one of their most marked traits, though pointing it out will put them in a sour mood.

One of the four houses of Ilvermorny was named for the Pukwudgie.  Each house represents a part of the whole human (or witch) – The horned serpent, the mind; Wampus the body; Thunderbird, the soul; and for the Pukwudgie, the heart.   I went through the sorting process several times in an effort to be sorted into the house of Thunderbird.  This is the house of adventurers.  Each time though, I came back a Pukwudgie.

It is true I’m a small creature (thought hopefully not too gray faced).  I can be temperamental and I will absolutely like you more for a compliment.  Hopefully, I am seen as a loyal friend and helper, willing to jump in to share and support others on their journey.  I’ve got a little Thunderbird in me, and I can’t wait to start my next adventure (stay tuned to these pages), but for now, I’m going to embrace my inner Pukwudgie!

And I think another trip up Mount Greylock is in order before the summer ends and definitely before the Pottertourism begins.