I got a job doing early morning bread delivery for a local bakery. One of the perks is free bread. God really does give us this day our daily bread. I am so blessed.
Another perk of the job is free coffee...
What can I say? God rocks.
7.31.2010
7.29.2010
Montana: July 29
First of all: Happy Birthday to my good, good friend, Joanna! I hope this decade brings you millions of moments of joy and contentment. I love you, friend.
And second of all: It's been a while since I checked in. There are a few reasons.
One. Moving.
Two. Unpacking and setting up my new apartment.
Three. Finding a job.
Four. No internet.
Five. New job starts at 6 in the a.m.
Six. Lots of long naps during normal coffee shop hours. (See Five.)
Seven. After the adventure of writing about my Alaskan adventures every day, it's hard to see the story in everyday life.
But I need to see it. I want to see it. I want to know every day that God gave me these moments to breathe, these people to interact with, these foods to enjoy, these early hours of working, and these tedious hours at the local laundrymat.
And I need to remember this is what I longed for: Home. A place to stay a while. A normal life.
May I enjoy it thoroughly until I pick my feet up again. And may I fully experience the story, the adventure, of simply being alive.
And second of all: It's been a while since I checked in. There are a few reasons.
One. Moving.
Two. Unpacking and setting up my new apartment.
Three. Finding a job.
Four. No internet.
Five. New job starts at 6 in the a.m.
Six. Lots of long naps during normal coffee shop hours. (See Five.)
Seven. After the adventure of writing about my Alaskan adventures every day, it's hard to see the story in everyday life.
But I need to see it. I want to see it. I want to know every day that God gave me these moments to breathe, these people to interact with, these foods to enjoy, these early hours of working, and these tedious hours at the local laundrymat.
And I need to remember this is what I longed for: Home. A place to stay a while. A normal life.
May I enjoy it thoroughly until I pick my feet up again. And may I fully experience the story, the adventure, of simply being alive.
7.23.2010
Alaska: July 11
My last day in Alaska. It is hard to believe my time here in the Land of the Midnight Sun is drawing to a close. Though the adventures have been grand, I know I’ve seen a miniscule portion of a state whose size shames the boasts of a certain Lone Star in the Lower 48.
Guess that means I’ll have to come back.
There is something about this land that has seeped deeper into my nostalgia and appreciation than other lands. I always enjoy my travels, but it is rare for me to desire a return visit before I’ve even left. That whim usually hits months after I’m gone, if ever. There are too many new places to see to be returning to old ones.
Anyway, there it is. My three weeks of backpacking, baseball, bears, beer at the Salty Dawg, camping, exploring, farming, fishing, Frisbee, hitchhiking, kayaking, reindeer hot dogs, and writing exceeded my expectations. And to experience it all with such a good friend was the sweetest, fluffiest whipped cream topping a girl could ask for.
Alas, one thing remains unchecked on my Alaska to-do list: biking the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail in Anchorage. We do it today.
We rent bikes from Pablo’s Bike Rental and do a nice 15-mile cycle. It would have been longer, like the full 22-mile roundtrip extent of the trail, but we ran into a big, burly bull moose at mile 7.5 who didn’t really feel like letting us pass him on his trail.
Josh came ripping around a corner, saw the moose 10 feet away, and hit his brakes so hard he nearly flew over his handlebars. Still, from what I hear, that was a better alternative than a confrontation with these majestic yet temperamental creatures.
We finish the day with homemade manicotti and coconut cream pie. Then, with the sun still shining at midnight, Josh and I bid farewell at the airport and I fly home.
Home, home. I have a home (read: small downtown studio apartment) now. But that’s a whole new adventure…
Guess that means I’ll have to come back.
There is something about this land that has seeped deeper into my nostalgia and appreciation than other lands. I always enjoy my travels, but it is rare for me to desire a return visit before I’ve even left. That whim usually hits months after I’m gone, if ever. There are too many new places to see to be returning to old ones.
Anyway, there it is. My three weeks of backpacking, baseball, bears, beer at the Salty Dawg, camping, exploring, farming, fishing, Frisbee, hitchhiking, kayaking, reindeer hot dogs, and writing exceeded my expectations. And to experience it all with such a good friend was the sweetest, fluffiest whipped cream topping a girl could ask for.
Alas, one thing remains unchecked on my Alaska to-do list: biking the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail in Anchorage. We do it today.
We rent bikes from Pablo’s Bike Rental and do a nice 15-mile cycle. It would have been longer, like the full 22-mile roundtrip extent of the trail, but we ran into a big, burly bull moose at mile 7.5 who didn’t really feel like letting us pass him on his trail.
Josh came ripping around a corner, saw the moose 10 feet away, and hit his brakes so hard he nearly flew over his handlebars. Still, from what I hear, that was a better alternative than a confrontation with these majestic yet temperamental creatures.
We finish the day with homemade manicotti and coconut cream pie. Then, with the sun still shining at midnight, Josh and I bid farewell at the airport and I fly home.
Home, home. I have a home (read: small downtown studio apartment) now. But that’s a whole new adventure…
Pre-ride stuffed French Toast from Snow City Cafe.
They named a cove after me. How nice.
Me, Josh, and our bikes.
The moose that ended our biking journey.
My rental bike. It was beautiful. I wanted to take it home.
7.21.2010
Alaska: July 10
It was the windiest, rainiest, coldest, wildest day of kayaking I’ve ever experienced. And it was great.
Josh bought us a 4-hour sea kayaking adventure for my (very) early birthday present, so we loaded the dogs into the car and headed south to Seward.
The adventure began with salmon-induced changes. Just that morning, the Silvers had started running and the company we went with was using all available water taxis to charter eager fishermen to waters flashing with silver temptation.
That left a small, uncovered motorboat to carry us four kayakers and our lengthy tandem boats to Kayaker’s Cove for our paddling expedition. We buckled our life jackets tight and squeezed in for the 30-minute ride through wind, rain, and rolling sea.
I must admit I was originally a bit sour about the rain and clouds. I think I’ve shared before that rain is my least favorite weather condition. Still, as the bow of the boat rose into the mist, hovered in the space between waves, then fell again, I closed my eyes and tried to simply feel the adventure:
The wool of my winter cap stretched tight over my ears and tied snug beneath my chin.
The rain drops rolling down my nose.
The spray of Alaskan sea water dotting my cheeks.
The rhythmic slap of our boat on the surface of a drum 800 feet deep.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the fingers of snow-covered peaks reaching down through the rising mist to bathe in the ocean. I saw island domes -- green with pine -- dotting the horizon. I saw blue. And I saw red. Our kayaks were ready for adventure -- and so was I.
We disembarked, donned our spray skirts and slid into our boats. I paddled front, and Josh steered from the back. We toodled around a small bay, getting the feel for tandem paddling. We bobbed and swayed. Water dripped off our paddles and down our sleeves. The guide warned us that once we left the bay, the wind would rip and we’d have to paddle HARD.
So we did. We sliced red and swift through that Alaskan sea, stopping here and there to gaze at waterfalls dropping from cliff to ocean and islands rising from ocean to misty sky. We gawked at jellyfish -- orange, clear, wiggling, creepy, beautiful -- in the water below our paddles. We marveled at this cold (40s), harsh, salty view of Alaska that was yet another reminder to me of how small I am and how big God is.
After a few hours, we pointed our noses toward the shore. The waves rolled large beneath us, but we made it. We were soaked through and shivering, but we made it. It was the windiest, rainiest, coldest, wildest day of kayaking I’ve ever experienced. And it was great.
Josh bought us a 4-hour sea kayaking adventure for my (very) early birthday present, so we loaded the dogs into the car and headed south to Seward.
The adventure began with salmon-induced changes. Just that morning, the Silvers had started running and the company we went with was using all available water taxis to charter eager fishermen to waters flashing with silver temptation.
That left a small, uncovered motorboat to carry us four kayakers and our lengthy tandem boats to Kayaker’s Cove for our paddling expedition. We buckled our life jackets tight and squeezed in for the 30-minute ride through wind, rain, and rolling sea.
I must admit I was originally a bit sour about the rain and clouds. I think I’ve shared before that rain is my least favorite weather condition. Still, as the bow of the boat rose into the mist, hovered in the space between waves, then fell again, I closed my eyes and tried to simply feel the adventure:
The wool of my winter cap stretched tight over my ears and tied snug beneath my chin.
The rain drops rolling down my nose.
The spray of Alaskan sea water dotting my cheeks.
The rhythmic slap of our boat on the surface of a drum 800 feet deep.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the fingers of snow-covered peaks reaching down through the rising mist to bathe in the ocean. I saw island domes -- green with pine -- dotting the horizon. I saw blue. And I saw red. Our kayaks were ready for adventure -- and so was I.
We disembarked, donned our spray skirts and slid into our boats. I paddled front, and Josh steered from the back. We toodled around a small bay, getting the feel for tandem paddling. We bobbed and swayed. Water dripped off our paddles and down our sleeves. The guide warned us that once we left the bay, the wind would rip and we’d have to paddle HARD.
So we did. We sliced red and swift through that Alaskan sea, stopping here and there to gaze at waterfalls dropping from cliff to ocean and islands rising from ocean to misty sky. We gawked at jellyfish -- orange, clear, wiggling, creepy, beautiful -- in the water below our paddles. We marveled at this cold (40s), harsh, salty view of Alaska that was yet another reminder to me of how small I am and how big God is.
After a few hours, we pointed our noses toward the shore. The waves rolled large beneath us, but we made it. We were soaked through and shivering, but we made it. It was the windiest, rainiest, coldest, wildest day of kayaking I’ve ever experienced. And it was great.
Our water taxi driver.
Me as we head out to Kayaker's Cove.
Approaching shore to switch spots with the group before us.
The group before us loading their boats.
Josh and I.
Waterfalls and waterspots. Couldn't keep my camera dry...
Our group.
Kayaker's Cove, Alaska.
7.19.2010
Bears are better fishermen...
Josh took off early from work today, and we drove down to the Russian River to try our hand at fishing again. After Josh taught me how to tie on my dark red Russian River fly, we slung our poles over our shoulders and set off walking up the river.
We walked and fished, walked and fished. Josh caught a little Dolly Varden on his line, but overall the bites were few and the action slow. So, we kept sloshing through the river, looking for a salmon hole we’d seen a fellow fisherman enjoy on an earlier trip.
Finally, a mile or two upstream, the hole came into sight. I felt giddy; this was it, I thought. This was the hole from which I would pull my first Alaskan Red.
I walked upstream from Josh and started casting. One cast, two casts, three casts in and I was feeling that telltale drag on my line. The fish were biting.
I flicked the line upstream, watched it sink into the current and float down, down, down. I cast a dorky grin at Josh, who, for some reason, was staring rather intently my direction. I was about to speak, but he spoke first.
“Hannah, walk towards me.”
He said it so quietly and so seriously, I didn’t even question it. I walked, and once I reached him, I turned around.
There, maybe 40 yards upstream and heading our way, was a big brown mama grizzly. I didn’t see her two cubs, but we’d been warned earlier they were there. She plodded down the river step by step, stopping here and there to sniff the air and swipe her paw through the water.
She stopped at our salmon hole. And I imagine she could have easily caught her family some dinner if she had stayed there a bit longer. But she kept plodding toward us as I forced my already cold, numb legs to push through the water -- away from her -- step by step.
I wasn’t terrified, but it did get my heart a racing. We walked, then looked behind, and walked some more. We kept our wits about us, and I found myself wishing I had my camera at hand. Then again, who wants to be that stupid photographer who gets mauled by a bear because she’s trying to get a good shot? Better to carry the bear spray on my hip, I think.
After about 10 minutes of half-jogging through the river, we’d put roughly 200 yards between us and the bear, so Josh stopped to cast his line in another hole. I was on bear lookout. He cast; I watched. He cast; I watched some more. Minutes passed. I saw nothing. I considered pulling out my pole again. And then the ferns 40 yards upstream on the other side of the river quivered. Was it a bird? I waited...
Seconds later, the bear emerged from the ferns and started walking our way again.
“Josh!” I called. I wagged my thumb over my shoulder. “We gotta go.”
So go we did, but this time we were more reluctant. If the bear wanted our fishing holes, they were obviously good, right?
Eventually we neared civilization. And I must admit I readily claimed our bragging rights when we warned fellow fishermen we’d seen a sow and two cubs only four football fields upstream.
“Headed straight for our fishing hole,” we’d say.
“Really? Well, okay, maybe I’ll stay here. Thanks for the warning,” they’d respond.
“No problem,” we’d nod. “Just be careful. Have your bear spray ready.”
“Yeah…” Their voice would fade, and, depending on whether they were tourist or local, their eyes would flicker either fear or knowing. Alaskans know: If you fish, you fish with bears. And if you fish with bears, you know they are the better fishermen…something I witnessed only an hour later.
Josh and I walked downstream to fish a hole known by its cluster of cottonwood trees. After a while, my legs were ice and I had to pee. So, I trekked back upstream to find a private spot off the path. And then I walked back downstream.
On my way, I stopped to shoot the breeze with some other fishermen. They said they’d heard there was a bear upstream. I said I’d seen it. They asked for the tale, so I obliged. But, right in the middle of my tale, I had to interrupt myself to let them have one of their own. I pointed across the river.
There, 30 feet away, was another bear. It slid off the bank into the river, poked its paw into the current, and emerged with a wriggling fish skewered on its claws. Then, dinner caught, it walked back up the hill and out of sight.
It took that bear 10 seconds to do something I’d spent hours trying to accomplish. But it was still one of the coolest sights I’ve ever seen. Maybe next time I’ll carry my bear spray on one hip and my camera on the other. For now, you’ll just have to believe me.
* Check out Josh's post on fishing with bears! He even got a couple photos. I'm a tad jealous.
We walked and fished, walked and fished. Josh caught a little Dolly Varden on his line, but overall the bites were few and the action slow. So, we kept sloshing through the river, looking for a salmon hole we’d seen a fellow fisherman enjoy on an earlier trip.
Finally, a mile or two upstream, the hole came into sight. I felt giddy; this was it, I thought. This was the hole from which I would pull my first Alaskan Red.
I walked upstream from Josh and started casting. One cast, two casts, three casts in and I was feeling that telltale drag on my line. The fish were biting.
I flicked the line upstream, watched it sink into the current and float down, down, down. I cast a dorky grin at Josh, who, for some reason, was staring rather intently my direction. I was about to speak, but he spoke first.
“Hannah, walk towards me.”
He said it so quietly and so seriously, I didn’t even question it. I walked, and once I reached him, I turned around.
There, maybe 40 yards upstream and heading our way, was a big brown mama grizzly. I didn’t see her two cubs, but we’d been warned earlier they were there. She plodded down the river step by step, stopping here and there to sniff the air and swipe her paw through the water.
She stopped at our salmon hole. And I imagine she could have easily caught her family some dinner if she had stayed there a bit longer. But she kept plodding toward us as I forced my already cold, numb legs to push through the water -- away from her -- step by step.
I wasn’t terrified, but it did get my heart a racing. We walked, then looked behind, and walked some more. We kept our wits about us, and I found myself wishing I had my camera at hand. Then again, who wants to be that stupid photographer who gets mauled by a bear because she’s trying to get a good shot? Better to carry the bear spray on my hip, I think.
After about 10 minutes of half-jogging through the river, we’d put roughly 200 yards between us and the bear, so Josh stopped to cast his line in another hole. I was on bear lookout. He cast; I watched. He cast; I watched some more. Minutes passed. I saw nothing. I considered pulling out my pole again. And then the ferns 40 yards upstream on the other side of the river quivered. Was it a bird? I waited...
Seconds later, the bear emerged from the ferns and started walking our way again.
“Josh!” I called. I wagged my thumb over my shoulder. “We gotta go.”
So go we did, but this time we were more reluctant. If the bear wanted our fishing holes, they were obviously good, right?
Eventually we neared civilization. And I must admit I readily claimed our bragging rights when we warned fellow fishermen we’d seen a sow and two cubs only four football fields upstream.
“Headed straight for our fishing hole,” we’d say.
“Really? Well, okay, maybe I’ll stay here. Thanks for the warning,” they’d respond.
“No problem,” we’d nod. “Just be careful. Have your bear spray ready.”
“Yeah…” Their voice would fade, and, depending on whether they were tourist or local, their eyes would flicker either fear or knowing. Alaskans know: If you fish, you fish with bears. And if you fish with bears, you know they are the better fishermen…something I witnessed only an hour later.
Josh and I walked downstream to fish a hole known by its cluster of cottonwood trees. After a while, my legs were ice and I had to pee. So, I trekked back upstream to find a private spot off the path. And then I walked back downstream.
On my way, I stopped to shoot the breeze with some other fishermen. They said they’d heard there was a bear upstream. I said I’d seen it. They asked for the tale, so I obliged. But, right in the middle of my tale, I had to interrupt myself to let them have one of their own. I pointed across the river.
There, 30 feet away, was another bear. It slid off the bank into the river, poked its paw into the current, and emerged with a wriggling fish skewered on its claws. Then, dinner caught, it walked back up the hill and out of sight.
It took that bear 10 seconds to do something I’d spent hours trying to accomplish. But it was still one of the coolest sights I’ve ever seen. Maybe next time I’ll carry my bear spray on one hip and my camera on the other. For now, you’ll just have to believe me.
* Check out Josh's post on fishing with bears! He even got a couple photos. I'm a tad jealous.
7.13.2010
Alaska: July 9
I went to the Alaska Botanical Gardens this morning. Again, there were signs everywhere reminding me I was in bear and moose country. As the path wandered deeper and deeper, and as I realized I was quite alone, I actually became a bit nervous. So, I did what any person would do in a similar situation: I talked to myself. And sang to myself. And it was fun.
I really enjoyed my time meandering. There is something about flowers that instantly calms me and gives me this unexplainable joy. I LOVE to look at them, smell them, touch them and photograph them. I often think I’d be totally happy working with flowers every day.
I really enjoyed my time meandering. There is something about flowers that instantly calms me and gives me this unexplainable joy. I LOVE to look at them, smell them, touch them and photograph them. I often think I’d be totally happy working with flowers every day.
Alaska: July 8
We celebrated Josh’s birthday today with a stop at Tommy’s Burger Stop. Seriously, it was one of the best burgers I’ve ever eaten, and I’m pretty picky. For once, the toppings didn’t feel like crunchy, misfit extras. They melted perfectly into the burger, creating this mind-blowing meld of meat, tomato, lettuce, mustard, bun. I wish I had taken a photo, but I was too busy enjoying it.
After Josh’s team won their softball game, I gave Josh the homemade gift I’d been working on for two days. It was perhaps the dorkiest and ugliest gift ever exchanged between mankind, but I sure had fun playing with boxes and duct tape and tin foil and markers to make it. I wish him all the best in this year and many, many, many more to come. I am blessed to have such a good friend.
After Josh’s team won their softball game, I gave Josh the homemade gift I’d been working on for two days. It was perhaps the dorkiest and ugliest gift ever exchanged between mankind, but I sure had fun playing with boxes and duct tape and tin foil and markers to make it. I wish him all the best in this year and many, many, many more to come. I am blessed to have such a good friend.
The sign I hung a day before his birthday to prepare him for the extreme oddness of his gift.
Yep. It's an iPhone made out of cardboard, aluminum foil, duct tape, and markers.
The finished product in all its dorky glory.
7.09.2010
Alaska: July 7
Last night, we went to a baseball game to cheer on the Glacier Pilots, one of Anchorage’s two short-season, pre-minor-league teams. I’m sure there’s an official name for that, but I can’t remember it right now even though Josh did a great job of explaining all the myriad levels of baseball teams.
All I know is the reindeer hot dog tasted mighty fine, and the beer was cool and refreshing, and the background scenery behind the game rivaled (and possibly beat) that of the Rocky Mountains behind the Colorado Rockies.
After the game we drove through the streets of Anchorage to look for wandering bear and moose. Then we hiked around the local ski hill to play Frisbee – and look for wandering bear and moose. We were THIS close when a couple of fellas in a truck told us NOT TO keep walking up the hill because there had been a lot of bear activity lately and they could hear some yelping not far away.
I appreciated the warning, but there is part of me that really wants to arm myself with bear spray and seek until I find. Alas, I’d rather not be the next victim in the newspaper's daily mauling report…
All I know is the reindeer hot dog tasted mighty fine, and the beer was cool and refreshing, and the background scenery behind the game rivaled (and possibly beat) that of the Rocky Mountains behind the Colorado Rockies.
After the game we drove through the streets of Anchorage to look for wandering bear and moose. Then we hiked around the local ski hill to play Frisbee – and look for wandering bear and moose. We were THIS close when a couple of fellas in a truck told us NOT TO keep walking up the hill because there had been a lot of bear activity lately and they could hear some yelping not far away.
I appreciated the warning, but there is part of me that really wants to arm myself with bear spray and seek until I find. Alas, I’d rather not be the next victim in the newspaper's daily mauling report…
Alaska: July 6
Happy Birthday Mom! I am sorry to miss it yet again and hope that someday you and I will be out together on a grand adventure on your big day. Where would you like to go?
Love ya bunches!
Love ya bunches!
This is my Mom and me making Jiaozi (pot stickers) together a couple years ago. I love hanging out with her and appreciate how much she supports me in my life and adventures. She is an amazing woman!
Alaska: July 5
The weatherman forecasted rain for the entire 4th of July weekend. He was wrong. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the heavens deposited every drop of their hard-earned water in bloated sacks of gray clouds that hung heavy, ominous even, but never lost more than a little spare change here and there. Sunday night, however, someone got greedy.
The wind untied the clouds, turned them upside down, and shook them down and up and back and forth. Drops of rain crashed down like small meteors. And whipped sideways like gunfire. Meteors. And gunfire.
Our tent became our refuge. Through the night and late into the morning, we talked, and cuddled with the dogs, and listened to the whoosh and rat-a-tat-tat of wild Alaskan rain.
Eventually my stomach got the best of me, so we crawled out to the bear box, warmed ourselves with oatmeal, and made ready to hike back to civilization – but not before I tossed my fishing line into the rain-pocked surface of Crescent Lake just a few more times.
The wind untied the clouds, turned them upside down, and shook them down and up and back and forth. Drops of rain crashed down like small meteors. And whipped sideways like gunfire. Meteors. And gunfire.
Our tent became our refuge. Through the night and late into the morning, we talked, and cuddled with the dogs, and listened to the whoosh and rat-a-tat-tat of wild Alaskan rain.
Eventually my stomach got the best of me, so we crawled out to the bear box, warmed ourselves with oatmeal, and made ready to hike back to civilization – but not before I tossed my fishing line into the rain-pocked surface of Crescent Lake just a few more times.
The view from our tent as the rain fell down.
7.06.2010
Alaska: July 4
A very quiet Independence Day spent in the land of the Midnight Sun.
There were no fireworks – just the explosion of sunray through wind-whipped clouds.
There were no parades – just a black lab, a chocolate lab, a boy shouldering tent and fishing pole, and a girl in an orange backpack reveling in the dazzle of mountain, stream, tree, and sky.
There were no barbecues – just consumption of the best freeze-dried meal ever rehydrated by tired, hungry and happy explorers.
There was freedom.
There were rushing rivers and pristine lakes. There was fishing and chasing dogs through snow. There was mountain air.
There was man, trail, and nowhere in particular to go. There was girl enjoying God in all His glory.
There were no fireworks – just the explosion of sunray through wind-whipped clouds.
There were no parades – just a black lab, a chocolate lab, a boy shouldering tent and fishing pole, and a girl in an orange backpack reveling in the dazzle of mountain, stream, tree, and sky.
There were no barbecues – just consumption of the best freeze-dried meal ever rehydrated by tired, hungry and happy explorers.
There was freedom.
There were rushing rivers and pristine lakes. There was fishing and chasing dogs through snow. There was mountain air.
There was man, trail, and nowhere in particular to go. There was girl enjoying God in all His glory.
Carter Lake sits about two miles in on the Crescent Lake trail.
Crossing an ice-cold Alaskan creek: refreshing!
Snowball fight!
Making snow angels on the Fourth of July.
Alaskan view.
Crescent Lake in the Chugach National Forest north of Seward, Alaska.
Yeah, that's freeze dried ice cream. It was actually pretty good, especially after a busy day.
The view from our tent the second night on the trail.
Alaska: July 3
I bought my first backpacking backpack today! I was going to rent one from REI, but it fit terribly and I realized that for about three times the cost to rent, I could own. I had tried on a pack at an outdoor store downtown that fit quite nicely, so I bought it. That is a purchase I’ve wanted to make for about seven years now…
…And backpacking is something I’ve wanted to do for about 14 years. Today, I fulfill that goal. Today, Josh and I backpack into the Alaskan wild.
…And backpacking is something I’ve wanted to do for about 14 years. Today, I fulfill that goal. Today, Josh and I backpack into the Alaskan wild.
My first backpacking trip with one of my best friends.
The trail into Crescent Lake. The first mile and a half were pretty steep, and then the trail leveled and meandered through alpine meadows full of purple, yellow, white and orange flowers.
Mountains!
More mountains!
Due to a lack of trees with solid limbs, Josh rigged our bear bag between two pines, using brute climbing skill and rope and pulley engineering. Ten feet up and ten feet out. Check.
Our camp site near Crescent Lake in Chugach National Forest.
Alaska: July 2
Yesterday I rode People Mover Bus #3 in Anchorage. I was trying to get to REI to get some gear for our upcoming backpacking trip and ended up taking one of the weirdest bus journeys of my life. But, as much fun as it would be to lament the journey’s absurdity, I won't. The long and short of it is this: The bus was very late; the driver nearly hit three people within the first five minutes; the riders were absolutely kooky; and a journey that should have taken 30 minutes took about 75. I suppose if I rode public transportation on a regular basis, I may discover that none of that is very odd at all.
However, there was one thing -- one couple -- that really struck me.
The couple boarded the bus somewhere around the corner of Benson and Spenard. The woman, who looked about 40 but moved like she was 80, winced with each step she took. Her legs were bones wearing jeans and seemed unable to carry even the rest of her skin-on-skeleton weight. Her eyes were sunk deep in their sockets; her skin was blotched with open sores; her teeth seemed extra large as they protruded from her tight lips. She made me think about all those horrifying ads warning against meth use.
The man who accompanied her barely paid for their tickets with nickels, dimes, and maybe a few quarters. They were headed toward the hospital. This made me feel sorry for them – for a while, at least.
They sat down in the handicapped seats just up from where I sat. The man wore chin length salt-and-pepper hair that hung in greasy strands shoved behind his ears. His mustache and goatee, however, were neatly trimmed. His dark eyes seemed to look more inward than outward. He carried a large can of Rockstar energy drink in one hand and used the other hand to make sure whatever was tucked inside his brown sports jacket stayed there. It looked like a can of bear spray, or maybe a gun.
For a while, the woman curled her frail body against his chest. She smiled like a small girl when he wrapped his arm around her back and nearly purred when he stroked his fingers through her matted hair. I found myself thinking it a tender display of love between two broken and hurting people. And perhaps it was, but I became less sure when I caught both their eyes.
The woman nearly recoiled when my glance met hers. It was one of those haunting looks that I will remember for years to come. It was both broken like a beaten puppy and menacing like a cat guarding its kill. The man’s eyes were defensive and shifty, flashing between tender protection and jealous control in one glance.
Within a couple minutes, the couple was making out like two teenagers who have just discovered that other people have bodies. Her legs wrapped around his. He rubbed her arms, her back, her chest. She smelled his neck, and he licked her ear. They kissed. She became surprisingly agile until it came time to get off the bus, and then she became 80 again.
At some point during the make out session, the man got in trouble for drinking his Rockstar and was told to throw it away. He crushed the can angrily and tossed it in the garbage. When they dismounted at the hospital, the woman barely shuffling down the aisle, he hooked her arm around a pole at the bus stop and dashed back onto the bus. There, he grabbed his can from the garbage, took a big swig in view of the driver’s mirror, and hopped off triumphantly. As we pulled away, the man wrapped the woman into his coat and crushed the can beneath his foot.
However, there was one thing -- one couple -- that really struck me.
The couple boarded the bus somewhere around the corner of Benson and Spenard. The woman, who looked about 40 but moved like she was 80, winced with each step she took. Her legs were bones wearing jeans and seemed unable to carry even the rest of her skin-on-skeleton weight. Her eyes were sunk deep in their sockets; her skin was blotched with open sores; her teeth seemed extra large as they protruded from her tight lips. She made me think about all those horrifying ads warning against meth use.
The man who accompanied her barely paid for their tickets with nickels, dimes, and maybe a few quarters. They were headed toward the hospital. This made me feel sorry for them – for a while, at least.
They sat down in the handicapped seats just up from where I sat. The man wore chin length salt-and-pepper hair that hung in greasy strands shoved behind his ears. His mustache and goatee, however, were neatly trimmed. His dark eyes seemed to look more inward than outward. He carried a large can of Rockstar energy drink in one hand and used the other hand to make sure whatever was tucked inside his brown sports jacket stayed there. It looked like a can of bear spray, or maybe a gun.
For a while, the woman curled her frail body against his chest. She smiled like a small girl when he wrapped his arm around her back and nearly purred when he stroked his fingers through her matted hair. I found myself thinking it a tender display of love between two broken and hurting people. And perhaps it was, but I became less sure when I caught both their eyes.
The woman nearly recoiled when my glance met hers. It was one of those haunting looks that I will remember for years to come. It was both broken like a beaten puppy and menacing like a cat guarding its kill. The man’s eyes were defensive and shifty, flashing between tender protection and jealous control in one glance.
Within a couple minutes, the couple was making out like two teenagers who have just discovered that other people have bodies. Her legs wrapped around his. He rubbed her arms, her back, her chest. She smelled his neck, and he licked her ear. They kissed. She became surprisingly agile until it came time to get off the bus, and then she became 80 again.
At some point during the make out session, the man got in trouble for drinking his Rockstar and was told to throw it away. He crushed the can angrily and tossed it in the garbage. When they dismounted at the hospital, the woman barely shuffling down the aisle, he hooked her arm around a pole at the bus stop and dashed back onto the bus. There, he grabbed his can from the garbage, took a big swig in view of the driver’s mirror, and hopped off triumphantly. As we pulled away, the man wrapped the woman into his coat and crushed the can beneath his foot.
7.02.2010
Tourist Trap
Fourth Avenue in downtown Anchorage is what is known as a tourist's trap. You can touch glacier ice here. You can pet a future Iditarod sled dog here (okay, that was actually pretty fun). You can eat reindeer hot dogs here (okay, they were good). You can buy Ulu knives in 20 different gift shops. No joke.
I feel kind of bad for even taking this photo and even worse for posting it on the blog. But I thought it was pretty funny and hope you can see the humor in it with me. Please.
Classic cliche.
Make tracks to Track's.
Just tell 'em it's Alaskan rust. They'll love it.
This store really is overwhelmingly big. Really.
Homemade signs are kind of cool.
Get out. Shop.
Warm. And sexy.
I'll give you...if you give me...
My favorite. Grrrr.
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