HAPPY HOLIDAYS. A "ThingLink" digital card from Team Leslie to you! Please use your cursor to hover over the round ornaments on the tree. If the image isn't displaying, you can view it here instead: http://www.thinglink.com/scene/599876285300211712
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Monday, December 1, 2014
Thin Ice
THIN ICE. So we've all used the phrase before, right? "Watch it buddy... you're skating on thin ice!" (Could be to your two year old or your office partner...) But how often have you actually had to do it? Well Team Leslie was faced with a thin ice situation over Thanksgiving weekend...
We had reserved a back country cabin months before for our annual post-turkey-day-off-the-grid-trip. You may remember our first year in Alaska trip to the Barber Cabin with the northern lights dancing behind our idyllic abode, or last year's 30 below venture to the Kelly Lake Cabin with howling wolfs echoing across the icy expanse. Well this year's cabin was only accessible by lake, not trail. This seemed like a reasonable thing at the time of our reservation - late November in Alaska should equal copious amounts of ice and snow - we would simply stash loads of food and fire wood and toys into fatty sleds and skate or ski it all across the lake!
Well a recon mission on Thanksgiving morning confirmed what an autumn's worth of warm weather had foretold; the ice was less than 2 inches thick.
For those of your who aren't ice-depth aficionados, the Army Corps of Engineers recommends 2 inches for single person ice travel, 3 inches for single file ice travel, and 4 inches or more for groups with gear. We were in trouble.
PLAN B. Luckily, our adventuring friends had not only scoped a map, but had also consulted the lake depth charts for the surrounding area. There appeared to be an alternative route (think much longer and harder) beginning at a shallower, and therefor more likely to have thicker ice, lake. This lake traverse would be followed by some serious bush-whackery and continued shallow lake hopping until eventually, we would reach the far end of our lake, and our cabin. Fatty sleds would need to become fatty backpacking gear, and luxuries like firewood and toys would need to be exchanged for saws and a deck of cards.
The thing was, we weren't just a bunch of aggro determined grown-ups; we had a 5 year-old, a three year-old and a one year-old to drag through this choose-your-own-adventure route too... hmm...
SUCCESS! As the pictures show, we skated and scrambled, trekked and tripped, whacked and whooped our way through a few miles of wilderness to eventually find our sweet little reserved cabin. Luckily the ice at that end of the lake was 6 inches plus - perfect for skating at all times of day and night. And our first evening it began to snow light, sparkly powder creating a much-missed winter wonderland. Our reaction? Grateful.
 |
| Crystals on thin ice |
We had reserved a back country cabin months before for our annual post-turkey-day-off-the-grid-trip. You may remember our first year in Alaska trip to the Barber Cabin with the northern lights dancing behind our idyllic abode, or last year's 30 below venture to the Kelly Lake Cabin with howling wolfs echoing across the icy expanse. Well this year's cabin was only accessible by lake, not trail. This seemed like a reasonable thing at the time of our reservation - late November in Alaska should equal copious amounts of ice and snow - we would simply stash loads of food and fire wood and toys into fatty sleds and skate or ski it all across the lake!
Well a recon mission on Thanksgiving morning confirmed what an autumn's worth of warm weather had foretold; the ice was less than 2 inches thick.
 |
| J checks the depth |
For those of your who aren't ice-depth aficionados, the Army Corps of Engineers recommends 2 inches for single person ice travel, 3 inches for single file ice travel, and 4 inches or more for groups with gear. We were in trouble.
PLAN B. Luckily, our adventuring friends had not only scoped a map, but had also consulted the lake depth charts for the surrounding area. There appeared to be an alternative route (think much longer and harder) beginning at a shallower, and therefor more likely to have thicker ice, lake. This lake traverse would be followed by some serious bush-whackery and continued shallow lake hopping until eventually, we would reach the far end of our lake, and our cabin. Fatty sleds would need to become fatty backpacking gear, and luxuries like firewood and toys would need to be exchanged for saws and a deck of cards.
 |
| The new route |
The thing was, we weren't just a bunch of aggro determined grown-ups; we had a 5 year-old, a three year-old and a one year-old to drag through this choose-your-own-adventure route too... hmm...
 |
| Stage One - skate (that's a cabbage patch kid, not a baby... Indigo is a good skater, but not that good) |
 |
| Stage Two - bush whack |
 |
| Stage Three - meadow trek |
 |
| Stage Four - now keep whacking... |
 |
| Stage Five - PULL! |
SUCCESS! As the pictures show, we skated and scrambled, trekked and tripped, whacked and whooped our way through a few miles of wilderness to eventually find our sweet little reserved cabin. Luckily the ice at that end of the lake was 6 inches plus - perfect for skating at all times of day and night. And our first evening it began to snow light, sparkly powder creating a much-missed winter wonderland. Our reaction? Grateful.
 |
| Safe and warm, Indigo reads (really!) to her friend, Rosemary |
 |
| Team Leslie is angelic |
 |
| Ice fishing at night! |
 |
| Thankful for our family and friends... including YOU! |
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Hairy Beasts and Beautiful Butterflies
SPIDER. Okay. So hopefully you've heard that age old wisdom about not getting a bunny for your kid on Easter. That although it might seem like a grand idea, the holiday inspiration will soon wear off and you'll be left with a high maintenance mammal to care for... bad plan. Well apparently J Leslie did not get the memo, because two Saturdays ago he went to PetCo (yes, we have one within 15 miles... some parts of Alaska are not really that remote) and purchased a large hairy tarantula, just in time for Halloween. It is, in theory, for his science classroom ("I'm doing a unit on spiders!") but of course it had to come home to our house to "adjust" first.
So later that Saturday Indigo and I take off for our annual Mommy-Daughter-Retreat and have an absolutely lovely time at a B and B in Homer, soaking in the hot tub, thrift store shopping (Indigo is like a fabulous 5-year-old personal shopper; it's amazing. "Momma, this is totally your style... try it on. Really, try it on. You'll love it.") baking and decorating and eating donuts, beading, paper crafting, movie watching and generally reveling in our mutual girly love. And we return home to Kenai, turn on lights, open curtains and begin to settle in. UNTIL WE NOTICE THAT THE TARANTULA IS NOT IN HER TANK. Mind you, J has gone off pack rafting (see last blog post) and isn't expected home for several hours. Again, THE TARANTULA IS LOOSE IN THE HOUSE.
Pause for a moment and consider what you would do. Leave? Stay and look for it? If you can't find it, do you just continue about your business, cooking and eating and showering and sleeping? (Think "Accidental Tarantula Stew," Tarantula shampoo, Tarantula crawling in your mouth on an exhale!!!!!) My mind is racing... J is going to have to call in to work and use a personal day and stay home to look for the spider. We're going to have to sleep at a friend's house until he finds it. Or maybe sleep in a zipped up tent in the living room. But then again the looming shadow of the spider on the outside of it in the morning might be too much...
Well Indigo did not pause for a moment; she leapt into my arms, screaming, "Pick me up! Pick me up! We have to get out of the house!!!" Now when we'd gotten home, we had noticed that ZigZag was honkered down in a corner of Indigo's room, very interested in a particular area near the base board heater. With Indigo in my arms, we crept into her room and pulled aside her stuffies and toys. ZigZag was nose to heater, his hackles raised. I went into the kitchen, set Indigo down on the counter top ("Momma!!! Are you sure it can't climb onto the counter?") and grabbed a flashlight. Back in Indigo's room I shined it into the base board and sure enough, the hairy beast was crammed against the metal corner, legs scrunched, presumably avoiding the whap-whap paw of the cat.
With some patience, a good old fashioned large glass ball jar, and some leather gloves, we managed to get the Tarantula back into her tank. ZigZag is still considered the cat of the hour, a protector, a hero, and deserving of all our attention. If he hadn't cornered the spider, our last week would have been significantly different. And Indigo and I are pleased to report that the spider is happily enjoying life at the Kaleidoscope School of Arts and Science.
BEARD. On Wednesday, October 29th, Halloween Celebration Day at Kaleidoscope School, J Leslie called in sick and a substitute teacher appeared in his stead. This clean-shaven, short haired, handsome man had a slight German accent and was quite a snazzy dresser. J Leslie has not been seen since.
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLIES. Happy Halloween!
 |
| Adjusting... |
Pause for a moment and consider what you would do. Leave? Stay and look for it? If you can't find it, do you just continue about your business, cooking and eating and showering and sleeping? (Think "Accidental Tarantula Stew," Tarantula shampoo, Tarantula crawling in your mouth on an exhale!!!!!) My mind is racing... J is going to have to call in to work and use a personal day and stay home to look for the spider. We're going to have to sleep at a friend's house until he finds it. Or maybe sleep in a zipped up tent in the living room. But then again the looming shadow of the spider on the outside of it in the morning might be too much...
Well Indigo did not pause for a moment; she leapt into my arms, screaming, "Pick me up! Pick me up! We have to get out of the house!!!" Now when we'd gotten home, we had noticed that ZigZag was honkered down in a corner of Indigo's room, very interested in a particular area near the base board heater. With Indigo in my arms, we crept into her room and pulled aside her stuffies and toys. ZigZag was nose to heater, his hackles raised. I went into the kitchen, set Indigo down on the counter top ("Momma!!! Are you sure it can't climb onto the counter?") and grabbed a flashlight. Back in Indigo's room I shined it into the base board and sure enough, the hairy beast was crammed against the metal corner, legs scrunched, presumably avoiding the whap-whap paw of the cat.
With some patience, a good old fashioned large glass ball jar, and some leather gloves, we managed to get the Tarantula back into her tank. ZigZag is still considered the cat of the hour, a protector, a hero, and deserving of all our attention. If he hadn't cornered the spider, our last week would have been significantly different. And Indigo and I are pleased to report that the spider is happily enjoying life at the Kaleidoscope School of Arts and Science.
 |
| Two hairy beasts. |
 |
| The substitute. |
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLIES. Happy Halloween!
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Days and Nights
DAYS... SNOW. I had intended to type a post tonight anyway, (If you're curious about the process, I sort of happily drift through my life in Alaska and when a theme emerges or I am struck by an inspired thought, I pop open a bottle of wine, fire up the machine, and give 'er a go!) and then it began to snow and that absolutely sealed the deal. Without further ado, I offer you Indigo's reaction to the fluffy white bits whipping and whirling about this afternoon (video likely needs to be viewed on the actual blog site):
I was at yoga (Can you believe it, our little neighborhood has a dance studio that offers excellent drop-in yoga classes... all civilized and stuff!) and peaked out the windows after Shavasana to see the storm. A quick walk home using my yoga mat as a sort of snow shield revealed the rest of Team Leslie in an uproar, singing and dancing and reveling in the official switch from Fall to Winter - in mid-October!
DAYS... WORK. On to the intended content... I don't know if I've explicitly mentioned this before, but both J and I are teachers up here in the Kenai Peninsula Borough School District. J teaches K-6 Science at the charter school where Indigo is a Kindergartener, and I teach 9-12 Science as a Distance Learning teacher. "Distance Learning" is a funky title so I'll explain: I teach about 150 students from all around the district via courses that exist predominantly online. A student in Seward can do a virtual Biology lab at 2AM while a student down in Homer can video conference me in Kenai over breakfast about Physical Science. Given that I'm a people-person fueled by human contact, I thought I would hate it; I love it. I watch students accelerate, discover their own learning path, take risks, and shine from some of the more remote places in our country.
The reason I bring this up, is because recently I decided to "make the rounds" and actually physically visit as many of my students as I could. This involved doing lots of driving (not too shabby a task - think gorgeous mountain and ocean views, great restaurants to refuel, after "school" hikes with friends, etc) but it also required flying; some of my students live in villages only accessible by boat or air. Now unlike some people, I LOVE getting in a tiny plane and lifting off. In this particular instance, the pilot cued into my enthusiasm and let me sit up front, "help" fly the plane, and blasted Bon Jovi over the head-set radio system (He asked what music I liked. I said classic rock. He said he had Christian Country or Bon Jovi. You understand.) The thing that I found remarkable is that we had a very diverse crew on the venture: all in education, yes, but folks from admin, computer tech, accounting, assessment development, and me. But when we all had our headsets on and began chatting (Bon Jovi automatically mutes when someone speaks, thank goodness!), the topics of conversation were all about the natural world and personal observations:
DAYS... PLAY. I think I mentioned or at least showed photographic evidence that Team Leslie has been increasing our fleet of gear. It started with a fat tire bike (able to ride like a tank on sand/cobbles/beach-surface as well as snow and ice) and now includes a pack raft. Mind you, pack rafting is something I, at least, had not heard of before moving up here, but we are now savvy, enamored and committed. Imagine a personal white-water raft, complete with spray skirt protection, paddle and inflation bag, but only weighing a meager 4 pounds. Yes. This means you can take said gear, literally throw it in your day pack, and hike up some crazy trail to the head of a creek, and float your way out. How fun is that?!?! (Team Leslie thinks it's very fun.) If you're not convinced, J rented one over the summer, before said purchase, and was able to do the following adventure in a single day:
NIGHTS... ECLIPSE! Hopefully we are not alone in having witnessed the recent lunar eclipse. Team Leslie set our alarms for ridiculously early in the morning and hustled outside to observe. After quite a while admiring the "blood moon" shadowed by the Earth, we turned around and discovered the Northern Lights were dancing all about, and a few shooting stars decided to add to the splendor. Well worth a few extra yawns at school the next day.
NIGHTS... DARK! Having celebrated the Autumnal Equinox last month (complete with our annual Potato Parade), we are officially slipping into the 6 months of darkness. Great for sky-viewing, as was aforementioned, but otherwise a significant hit on after-school activities. Both Indigo and I dance inside once a week - Jazz and Contemporary/Belly respectively (don't laugh), and J gets out for his daily beach fat tire ride, but now we're digging up the headlamps and adding blinkies to the bikes to safely make our ventures. Candle-lit dinners, slippers on the cold kitchen floor to make morning coffee, and talk of adding more mood-lamps to the living room. All the stores are selling Christmas lights, but we haven't bit... yet.
 |
| Freshies on Mt. Redoubt |
The reason I bring this up, is because recently I decided to "make the rounds" and actually physically visit as many of my students as I could. This involved doing lots of driving (not too shabby a task - think gorgeous mountain and ocean views, great restaurants to refuel, after "school" hikes with friends, etc) but it also required flying; some of my students live in villages only accessible by boat or air. Now unlike some people, I LOVE getting in a tiny plane and lifting off. In this particular instance, the pilot cued into my enthusiasm and let me sit up front, "help" fly the plane, and blasted Bon Jovi over the head-set radio system (He asked what music I liked. I said classic rock. He said he had Christian Country or Bon Jovi. You understand.) The thing that I found remarkable is that we had a very diverse crew on the venture: all in education, yes, but folks from admin, computer tech, accounting, assessment development, and me. But when we all had our headsets on and began chatting (Bon Jovi automatically mutes when someone speaks, thank goodness!), the topics of conversation were all about the natural world and personal observations:
Admin: You seen many bear on your flights lately?I thought it was pretty interesting that no matter what profession you have up here, most folks are in tune with the seasons and wildlife. My kind of place. Meanwhile, we're flying over both ocean and land, including the snake-like Kenai River. I noticed these dark oval-shaped objects in the turquoise water but wasn't sure what I was seeing, but I had an idea.... On my drive home from the airport, I went over the Kenai bridge and confirmed - seals. Saltwater marine mammals, they'll swim a fair way up the fresh water river to snag salmon, and apparently they're visible from the air!
Pilot: Yup, although they were missing for awhile... turned out the berries came a few weeks early and they all headed up to the mountains.
Accounting: Yeah, I noticed that... We've been able to pick for the past month at least! Big ones too!
Pilot: Yup, and when the bears came back down, their coats were especially thick - I reckon winter's gonna come early.
Development: Other signs of that too - have you seen the moose? Pretty as can be... and most mamas with two babies... must have been a strong summer.
Techy: Fireweed's gone completely to seed in the last few days... Seen any snow on the mountain tops yet?
Pilot: Yup, I know that pass has seen some white stuff... 'specting more soon.
 |
| Looking down over Kenai (and Indigo and J at school!) en route to home. |
DAYS... PLAY. I think I mentioned or at least showed photographic evidence that Team Leslie has been increasing our fleet of gear. It started with a fat tire bike (able to ride like a tank on sand/cobbles/beach-surface as well as snow and ice) and now includes a pack raft. Mind you, pack rafting is something I, at least, had not heard of before moving up here, but we are now savvy, enamored and committed. Imagine a personal white-water raft, complete with spray skirt protection, paddle and inflation bag, but only weighing a meager 4 pounds. Yes. This means you can take said gear, literally throw it in your day pack, and hike up some crazy trail to the head of a creek, and float your way out. How fun is that?!?! (Team Leslie thinks it's very fun.) If you're not convinced, J rented one over the summer, before said purchase, and was able to do the following adventure in a single day:
- Park Ice Cream Newton.
- Hop on a whistle stop train.
- Get off the train at a trail head, pack raft in back pack.
- Hike for a mile to a glacier-fed lake.
- Hop in the pack raft.
- Paddle between glacially-calved ice bergs and descend the river, white-capped mountains and wild flower meadows abounding.
- Get back in Ice Cream Newton.
 |
| Our garage, or should I say gear shop? |
 |
| Prepping to hit the lake... |
NIGHTS... ECLIPSE! Hopefully we are not alone in having witnessed the recent lunar eclipse. Team Leslie set our alarms for ridiculously early in the morning and hustled outside to observe. After quite a while admiring the "blood moon" shadowed by the Earth, we turned around and discovered the Northern Lights were dancing all about, and a few shooting stars decided to add to the splendor. Well worth a few extra yawns at school the next day.
 |
| Sky Night. |
NIGHTS... DARK! Having celebrated the Autumnal Equinox last month (complete with our annual Potato Parade), we are officially slipping into the 6 months of darkness. Great for sky-viewing, as was aforementioned, but otherwise a significant hit on after-school activities. Both Indigo and I dance inside once a week - Jazz and Contemporary/Belly respectively (don't laugh), and J gets out for his daily beach fat tire ride, but now we're digging up the headlamps and adding blinkies to the bikes to safely make our ventures. Candle-lit dinners, slippers on the cold kitchen floor to make morning coffee, and talk of adding more mood-lamps to the living room. All the stores are selling Christmas lights, but we haven't bit... yet.
 |
| Ready for the parade, new potato flag and all! |
 |
| In all our splendor... |
 |
| Chillin' on the beach where the taters were roasting... Yes, sometimes J wears wings. |
Monday, September 15, 2014
Rod, Reel and Bucket
A REAL REEL. Last Saturday I got into a fight with a fish. Now some of you will likely know this story well - I am certainly not the first person to have such a fight. However others of you, who, like I did, consider fishing to be as exciting and as athletic an endeavor as, say, golfing (sorry, Dad!), will perhaps discover a new perspective.
So our buddy Chris had invited Team Leslie down to the banks of the Kenai River for some good old fashioned rod and reel fishin'. No mega huge, 8 foot in diameter, dip nets like earlier this summer; no, we had to bait 'em and hook 'em and fight 'em - we had to really earn our fish. And it was hard! I had no idea. Unlike the mellow cast and subsequent gentle tug of a pond trout (the only other fish I've successfully snagged in this fashion), these Silver Salmon were out to drag us down the river as they made their great escape.
A play by play:
We met at a lovely riverside park in Kenai a little before low tide - even a mile or more up river from the mouth, the river is tide-affected and the lower it goes, the less water the fish have to swim upstream in... and the greater chance that they'll be caught! Chris brought extra gear to share and we trudged out onto the slippery banks in hopes of some fun and some luck. Chris helped us choose a proper weight and Indigo unclicked and clicked the metal clasp to secure it to our line. The idea is that we wanted our hook to stay suspended midway out in the river and not just get completely taken down stream by the current. The weight had a funky pointed shape to help it dig into the river bottom and stay put, while still being smooth enough to let go when and if a fish came along. Next, I grabbed a huge hunk of gummed together salmon eggs from the bait jar and slid the gob onto the end of my hook a few times over, taking a bite of slack line and pulling it tight around the eggs for good measure. (I always find it ironic that we bait these fish with their own babies... "rock-a-bye breakfast...") Then I hauled back and cast the whole kit and caboodle out into the river and felt the vibration as the weight hit bottom, rolled, and settled. Then I put the sturdy rod into a sawed off piece of PVC pipe attached to a piece of re-bar that had been hammered into the river bank. Then I drank a can of cheap beer (we Alaskan fisherpeople are classy folk), chatted, and enjoyed the sun on my face. We watched as the Humpies, old spawned out fish, came half floating and half swimming down stream, scales dull and dark, ready to become food for a new generation (what is up with fish eating their babies and their elders? "I'll take a side of tartar sauce with Gramps..."). Indigo dug in the clay-rich banks and made a royal mess of herself while J popped open a camp chair and joined in the classy fest.
And then my line went slack and started to move. My pole bent over like a tree in the breeze and then sprang back upright. At the very least, a fish had taken my bait! Chris joyfully yelled for me to grab the rod out of the pipe and "play her a bit." I had no idea what that meant so immediately began to reel in the line. "No, no... if you make it too tight, your line could snap and you'll lose her! You've got to let her run it out a bit, then reel a bit, let her run, and so on... just feel it." Now as many of you know, I am much more of an academic than an intuitive learner - I can read all about it and get it right on a test, but ask me to wing it physically and I'll fall over. At this point, the fish was pulling so hard that I jammed the bottom of the rod between my knees to give me more leverage and I used my full strength to hold on. You could see the fish streaking beneath the water, up and down river, criss crossing other folks' lines, giving a mighty splash every minute or so. "She must have completely swallowed the hook! That's good! She can't come free now unless the line snaps... Just play it out..." Slowly, very slowly, the combination of verbal guidance coupled with the feel of the line alternating between taught and slack worked its way into my muscle memory and I began to walk the bank a bit on the taught, and reel on the slack. For the first time, the phrase "sport of fishing" seemed very appropriate - no Giligan-Hat-wearing, lawn-chair-reclining wusses here - this was a run around and sweat like you mean it sort of activity and I was in it to win it.
Nobody timed it, but after what seemed like the better half of a football game, I gave a final tug and my silver flipped and flopped her way onto shore.
It took another 10 minutes for Chris to untangle the line from that of our neighbor who was very patient and graceful about the whole situation. I think Indigo's gleeful shouts of, "Mama got a fish! Mama got a fish! Mama!!! That's your fish! You got her all by yourself!" softened his heart a bit. Meanwhile, we thunked its head, slit its gills, and fed a rope through the gills and out the mouth - which, if you remember how toothy these suckers are from past pix, is quite the daring feat.
And that was how I caught my first big river fish with a rod. Can you tell I'm a bit proud?
Now I will say that this fish was indeed a female, and she did have an impressively large sack of eggs in her belly when we cut her open. As an egg-bearing female myself, I do find it unsettling to think about the life cycle of my fish... how hours before, she had successfully navigated the great Pacific Ocean, found the mouth to her home river, and begun what she thought was the final stretch of a many year, many mile journey, back to her birth place, to lay her own eggs. And then some Yahoo on the side of the river goes and ends that beautiful dream with a fair deal of fumbling and squawking, all in the name of a tasty dinner. Time will tell if this fighting fish becomes the first of many for me or not. For now, I admit, our dinner tonight was quite delicious. Thank you, my fish.
IN THE BUCKET. The end of August marks the beginning of berry season here in Alaska, with blueberries being the first juicy morsels to grace the hillsides. In the past two years, Team Leslie has done our fair share of picking; in fact, one of the original blog posts chronicled our gun-slinging venture up into the alpine to find these blue treasures. So Sunday, Indigo and I charged a "secret stash" outside of Seward. Armed with berry tins from Great Grammy and guided by a hand-drawn map from friends who had discovered the patch the week before, we tromped through swampy meadows and thick forest before coming upon the most prolific blueberry thicket ever. Indigo's face lit up as she yelled, "Mama! These are like grocery-store-sized berries!" And ker-plunk went our buckets!
And lest you think we're one hundred percent au natural up here, we did manage to cap our weekend with a trip to one of the many "burger buses" here in AK... Cheers to the bounty of Fall in all its forms!
So our buddy Chris had invited Team Leslie down to the banks of the Kenai River for some good old fashioned rod and reel fishin'. No mega huge, 8 foot in diameter, dip nets like earlier this summer; no, we had to bait 'em and hook 'em and fight 'em - we had to really earn our fish. And it was hard! I had no idea. Unlike the mellow cast and subsequent gentle tug of a pond trout (the only other fish I've successfully snagged in this fashion), these Silver Salmon were out to drag us down the river as they made their great escape.
A play by play:
We met at a lovely riverside park in Kenai a little before low tide - even a mile or more up river from the mouth, the river is tide-affected and the lower it goes, the less water the fish have to swim upstream in... and the greater chance that they'll be caught! Chris brought extra gear to share and we trudged out onto the slippery banks in hopes of some fun and some luck. Chris helped us choose a proper weight and Indigo unclicked and clicked the metal clasp to secure it to our line. The idea is that we wanted our hook to stay suspended midway out in the river and not just get completely taken down stream by the current. The weight had a funky pointed shape to help it dig into the river bottom and stay put, while still being smooth enough to let go when and if a fish came along. Next, I grabbed a huge hunk of gummed together salmon eggs from the bait jar and slid the gob onto the end of my hook a few times over, taking a bite of slack line and pulling it tight around the eggs for good measure. (I always find it ironic that we bait these fish with their own babies... "rock-a-bye breakfast...") Then I hauled back and cast the whole kit and caboodle out into the river and felt the vibration as the weight hit bottom, rolled, and settled. Then I put the sturdy rod into a sawed off piece of PVC pipe attached to a piece of re-bar that had been hammered into the river bank. Then I drank a can of cheap beer (we Alaskan fisherpeople are classy folk), chatted, and enjoyed the sun on my face. We watched as the Humpies, old spawned out fish, came half floating and half swimming down stream, scales dull and dark, ready to become food for a new generation (what is up with fish eating their babies and their elders? "I'll take a side of tartar sauce with Gramps..."). Indigo dug in the clay-rich banks and made a royal mess of herself while J popped open a camp chair and joined in the classy fest.
 |
| Adding the weight. |
Nobody timed it, but after what seemed like the better half of a football game, I gave a final tug and my silver flipped and flopped her way onto shore.
 |
| The competitors... |
And that was how I caught my first big river fish with a rod. Can you tell I'm a bit proud?
Now I will say that this fish was indeed a female, and she did have an impressively large sack of eggs in her belly when we cut her open. As an egg-bearing female myself, I do find it unsettling to think about the life cycle of my fish... how hours before, she had successfully navigated the great Pacific Ocean, found the mouth to her home river, and begun what she thought was the final stretch of a many year, many mile journey, back to her birth place, to lay her own eggs. And then some Yahoo on the side of the river goes and ends that beautiful dream with a fair deal of fumbling and squawking, all in the name of a tasty dinner. Time will tell if this fighting fish becomes the first of many for me or not. For now, I admit, our dinner tonight was quite delicious. Thank you, my fish.
IN THE BUCKET. The end of August marks the beginning of berry season here in Alaska, with blueberries being the first juicy morsels to grace the hillsides. In the past two years, Team Leslie has done our fair share of picking; in fact, one of the original blog posts chronicled our gun-slinging venture up into the alpine to find these blue treasures. So Sunday, Indigo and I charged a "secret stash" outside of Seward. Armed with berry tins from Great Grammy and guided by a hand-drawn map from friends who had discovered the patch the week before, we tromped through swampy meadows and thick forest before coming upon the most prolific blueberry thicket ever. Indigo's face lit up as she yelled, "Mama! These are like grocery-store-sized berries!" And ker-plunk went our buckets!
 |
| A ski-hill-sized swath of wild berries! |
 |
| Big ones, too! |
 |
| "I didn't pick 'em or catch 'em, but I'll eat 'em!" |
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Hanging On to Summer
FALL. I recently talked to a friend from the Lower 48 who asked, "How's the end of your summer going?" to which I replied, "What?" Indeed, J and I have been back in the teacher seat for a month and Indigo has officially been rocking it as a Kindergartener (!?!?!) for the past three weeks. Alaska likes to jump start the whole Fall thing in mid August, and honestly, after three months of midnight sun and non-stop adventuring, the cool temps, back-to-school loafers and thought of hot soup sit rather nicely. Besides the fact that people will start putting up their Christmas lights by the end of September and we'll likely have snow the month after that - better enjoy this autumn thing while we can! (Confession: None of us actually wear loafers. They would get thoroughly ruined on bike commutes and at recess. But back-to-school camouflage rubber rain boots didn't quite paint that crisp imagery I was looking for. We do however eat lots of hot soup.)
SUMMER. So, as if to spite the flow of big yellow school buses and the wispy white fireweed plants going to seed, the past few weekends have produced some very sunny days; after tossing our backpacks and lunch boxes in the corner, it's pretty easy to head on down to the beach and pretend it's vacation time all over again:
 |
| About to take off for the first day of school! |
SUMMER. So, as if to spite the flow of big yellow school buses and the wispy white fireweed plants going to seed, the past few weekends have produced some very sunny days; after tossing our backpacks and lunch boxes in the corner, it's pretty easy to head on down to the beach and pretend it's vacation time all over again:
 |
| Balancing Act |
 |
| The town of Kenai planted a wildflower meadow |
 |
| Beach time in Homer |
 |
| Moon set after a day of play |
 |
| Kim tries some sun set slack lining |
 |
| Beach monsters chasing the new fat tire... |
 | |
| J takes the plunge in Skilak Lake |
 |
| Indigo's eclectic treasures after a hike at Hidden Creek: edible mushroom, low bush cranberries, a penny and a salmon jaw bone |
 |
| One of many sea jellies washed up on the beach lately- a final ode to SUNSHINE! |
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Charging Snails
SNAILS. Slow. Oh so slow. But able to cover amazingly far distances if given enough time. Not to mention incredibly self sufficient, what with their shelter always at the ready, carried upon their back.
When my friends, Sarah and Rachel, and I were first entertaining different names for our backpacking trip trio, we couldn't help but relate to those slow yet industrious mollusks. But something was missing - we needed a descriptor that captured the relentless spirit of adventure, joy and play that characterized our exploits on the trail: Charging. And so we became "The Charging Snails."
Our mantra?
When my friends, Sarah and Rachel, and I were first entertaining different names for our backpacking trip trio, we couldn't help but relate to those slow yet industrious mollusks. But something was missing - we needed a descriptor that captured the relentless spirit of adventure, joy and play that characterized our exploits on the trail: Charging. And so we became "The Charging Snails."
Our mantra?
Charging in Spirit. Carrying a lot.
 |
| Sarah, Rachel and Kim getting our snail-groove on... |
The Charging Snails have been meeting up to go backpacking on a practically yearly basis for the past 15 years. We have explored the Sierras, the California coast, the Cascades, the Canadian Rockies and most recently, the Alaska coast and alpine. Despite diverse lives, the trail always seems to provide a consistent, firm and friendly common ground for us to renew our friendship and our whimsical, outdoor identities. And gosh, do we carry a lot. Each of us brings at least one costume item and one "surprise" to be busted out at the perfect moment sometime during the trip (think color-changing nail polish, a fresh juicy mango, or a complete set of knitting supplies to share). And then there's the Bong Ball - a paddle game that has become a staple during down time at camp. And of course all the regular gear and food that most frugal folk limit themselves to on similar ventures. And wine. This year I insisted on a small box version to match each dinner meal. Sometimes you need a little something special to look forward to...
RAIN. Some of you may remember Team Leslie's anecdotes from last summer, the season of record-breaking sunshine and uncharacteristic dryness. Apparently the weather gods decided to make up for it over a single long weekend this July... Our Charging Snails trip long weekend! On the morning of day one it was absolutely dumping rain and the clouds had dropped to sea level - gone were the majestic glacier-draped mountains and the turquoise bay I had described in anticipatory email exchanges - we were in wet, cold, white, pea soup. And the forecast called for more of the same.
ONE WISH. The queen of positive brain chemistry and setting reasonable expectations, I quickly revamped my visions for the trip as I hunched over in Ice Cream Newton, desperately trying to stuff gear into my pack in the only shelter available at the trail head. I decided I had one wish: That Sarah and Rachel, who had flown all the way up from California for the occasion, would get to at least see, if only for a moment, the grandeur of the trail... the mountains and water surrounding us, and not just the dripping trees and fog. Holding onto that, I hoisted on my pack, kissed Indigo and J goodbye, and got ready to slog. J's parting words were, "Don't be afraid to call for rescue..."
FRIENDSHIP. It turns out that although the setting is nice, the key to a successful backpacking trip (or anything for that matter) is simply the people and the strength of their relationships. Rachel and Sarah and I managed to chat and laugh and play our way along the Alaska coast as the clouds refused to lift and the rain refused to stop. Stories of challenge and love and fear and hope swirled with the small triumphs of beating the tides, finding the perfect tent spot and boiling water for morning coffee. And slowly, as our honest conversation and belly laughter lifted our spirits, the clouds began to lift a bit too. For one glorious afternoon, we were actually able to climb up to the alpine and truly see the magnificent country that mirrors our friendship. Charge!
P.S. While the Snails were charging, J and Indigo managed to dipnet seven huge red salmon ("I got to hit their heads, Mama! Wham, Bam, Whack!" ~Indigo, now an official Alaskan for sure) which now live in our freezer as the official start to our stored harvest for winter. We then traveled to the Lower 48 for three weeks of family and friend visits galore. You all managed to pack a TON of love and fun into our travels - THANK YOU! And now we are re acclimating to the wild ways of the North... which, I'll have you know, takes a little adjustment after the organized, well-manicured, civilized vibe of the rest of the country. Seriously. Just last weekend I took our new fat bike out on a beach ride and managed to get caught by a fisherwoman who had made a poor cast and had her line sagging low across the sand; she was very apologetic and I escaped without injury. No Wham, Bam, Whack for me yet!
RAIN. Some of you may remember Team Leslie's anecdotes from last summer, the season of record-breaking sunshine and uncharacteristic dryness. Apparently the weather gods decided to make up for it over a single long weekend this July... Our Charging Snails trip long weekend! On the morning of day one it was absolutely dumping rain and the clouds had dropped to sea level - gone were the majestic glacier-draped mountains and the turquoise bay I had described in anticipatory email exchanges - we were in wet, cold, white, pea soup. And the forecast called for more of the same.
 |
| What can you do? |
ONE WISH. The queen of positive brain chemistry and setting reasonable expectations, I quickly revamped my visions for the trip as I hunched over in Ice Cream Newton, desperately trying to stuff gear into my pack in the only shelter available at the trail head. I decided I had one wish: That Sarah and Rachel, who had flown all the way up from California for the occasion, would get to at least see, if only for a moment, the grandeur of the trail... the mountains and water surrounding us, and not just the dripping trees and fog. Holding onto that, I hoisted on my pack, kissed Indigo and J goodbye, and got ready to slog. J's parting words were, "Don't be afraid to call for rescue..."
FRIENDSHIP. It turns out that although the setting is nice, the key to a successful backpacking trip (or anything for that matter) is simply the people and the strength of their relationships. Rachel and Sarah and I managed to chat and laugh and play our way along the Alaska coast as the clouds refused to lift and the rain refused to stop. Stories of challenge and love and fear and hope swirled with the small triumphs of beating the tides, finding the perfect tent spot and boiling water for morning coffee. And slowly, as our honest conversation and belly laughter lifted our spirits, the clouds began to lift a bit too. For one glorious afternoon, we were actually able to climb up to the alpine and truly see the magnificent country that mirrors our friendship. Charge!
 |
| Wet but happy Snails. |
 |
| Heavy rain makes cliff waterfalls and snazzy log crossings! |
 |
| On our way up to the alpine... |
 |
| We can actually see!! |
 |
| Dry and especially happy Snails. |
 |
| Bong Ball in action. |
 |
| A happy ending. |
P.S. While the Snails were charging, J and Indigo managed to dipnet seven huge red salmon ("I got to hit their heads, Mama! Wham, Bam, Whack!" ~Indigo, now an official Alaskan for sure) which now live in our freezer as the official start to our stored harvest for winter. We then traveled to the Lower 48 for three weeks of family and friend visits galore. You all managed to pack a TON of love and fun into our travels - THANK YOU! And now we are re acclimating to the wild ways of the North... which, I'll have you know, takes a little adjustment after the organized, well-manicured, civilized vibe of the rest of the country. Seriously. Just last weekend I took our new fat bike out on a beach ride and managed to get caught by a fisherwoman who had made a poor cast and had her line sagging low across the sand; she was very apologetic and I escaped without injury. No Wham, Bam, Whack for me yet!
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Gates of the Arctic
GATES OF THE ARCTIC. First of all, I prefer to say the name of this remote national park in my best David Attenborough voice... "Gates... of thee Ock-tick." Makes it sound much more exotic and wild, which it was. Next, lest you start to believe that it was all khaki pants, white blouses and tea-time thermoses, please imagine jolly good old David with his trousers pulled down 'round his ankles and about a thousand mosquitoes nibbling on his fleshy white thighs and buttocks as he tries in vane to quickly do his business after a morning cup of Earl Grey. (Yikes. For those of you able to really envision what you read, I apologize.) Bear spray at his hip and Alaskan rain boots planted steady, David's desperate and panicked expression might accurately convey the extreme nature of the Gates of thee Ock-tick experience...
THE PLAN. But let's back up. First we need to actually get to this skeeter-and-bear-infested territory. So we make our way up to Fairbanks, AK, stopping to get the requisite TWO full sized spare tires needed to make the remainder of the drive on the treacherous Dalton Highway. Ice Cream Newton was packed to the gunnels once again, and about to be stuffed fuller still.
![]()
After a few days, we begin to gather our crew: Team Leslie - J, Kim and Indigo (5) a la Kenai, The Joachims - Donny, Andy, Banyan (4) and Sequoia (2) a la Soldotna, Chris Pearson - a la his Subaru, and Chase Orton - a la LA and Kim's dear high school friend who seriously rallied, throwing his moula, his paddling wisdom and his faith toward this crazy Final Frontier scheme. This is where things start getting shaky: Chase's flight was delayed out of Cali by an entire day (!?!) and a big storm system moved through the North Country delaying us regardless. Indeed, Chase arrived at midnight on a night dumping rain, only to immediately pop his tent and join the rest of the bedraggled campers. Water levels on nearby rivers were at flood stage and the weather report was grim. But we were prepared for rain, and high water meant fast but less technical water, soooo... we pressed "GO!"
Our plan was to drive 6 hours up the famed Dalton (aka The Haul Road - primarily used by truckers supporting the pipeline) and park at one of the Pump Stations (you probably didn't ever think about it, but oil doesn't just magically flow for thousands of miles in a pipe... you have to pump it) with an air strip. There, we would be picked up by three separate payload bush planes and flown to our destination: The North Fork of the Koyukuk River between the Frigid Crags and Boreal Mt... the literal "Gates... of thee Ock-tick." Just so you can really appreciate how in the middle of friggin' no where we were headed, I'll provide an extremely user-friendly map:
HELIO. Although Team Leslie and Friends did not hire a guide for our venture into the rugged Alaskan interior, we did need to hire an aviation company to fly us in and out. Jay and Judy from Brooks Range Aviation out of Bettles, AK, fit the bill and then some. They not only hooked us up with the needed bush plane flights, they had all our needed paddling gear including rafts. And get this: We didn't have to pay anything in advance (nor leave a credit card number) until AFTER the trip . Classic Alaska.
Enter the Helio.
Banter among the bush pilots indicated that this plane was originally crafted by MIT folks as a challenge to see who could design a craft that could take off and land in the shortest amount of space. Thank goodness those academics were up to the task because we had about 200 feet of riverside gravel bar to work with as we circled above our chunk of river in an attempt to land. Now I am known to thrive on the thrill of adventure and jump at the chance to take a risk, but as we lurched up and down in the wind and careened toward the cobble stones, my heart was in my throat and my understanding of Bernouli's Principle and the phrase "reasonably safe" went right out the door. About 150 feet later I was offering up my first born child (conveniently there with me in the cabin) to the Helio and its magical ways. We had made it. (If you want a taste of the gravel bar landing, see the video below, viewed on the actual blog site.)
IN. The put in at the North Fork of the Koyukuk proved to be spectacular. Wild flowers below and snow fields above, the aesthetic was incredible but the knowledge of our remoteness made it over the top. How many places in the world can you walk with the certainty that no other human has set foot there before?
MIDNIGHT SUN. While still on the Haul Road, we had driven across the famed "Arctic Circle" parallel of latitude marking the land of the midnight sun, and so we found the majority of days and nights feeling like, well, days... The sun literally circled in the sky above us, only seeming to set if it happened to dip behind a mountain or two in its travels. This created a funky shift in our timing: We would play and play and play, eat dinner around 10PM, stay up hanging out until well past midnight, and finally force ourselves to go to sleep (despite the sun being up) with tricks like face-masks, only to wake at 10 or 11 AM and do it all again, creeping slowly later and later in our schedule until we weren't getting on the river until mid-afternoon. Indeed, we could have easily flip-flopped our day and night completely... Not wanting to lose track of our overall trip timing/days, and mostly out of stubbornness and routine, we tried our best to keep to a "normal" schedule, but Indigo, Banyan and Sequoia were sometimes found catching butterflies and following wolf tracks at 1 AM.
THE TUSSOCKS. Back to David Attenborough. If it doesn't cause you too much anguish, conjure again the image of David squatting in the storm of mosquitoes, cursing the natural world and the British media. I like to think he might utter a barrage of swears, something like, "Queen Mother Frolick. Bullocks and Tussocks!" Turns out that tussocks are actually tall tufts of arctic cotton grass that grows, produces seeds, and dies, year after year on top of itself, producing these tall tufts of vegetation. Trying to hike through tussocks is like playing a human video game hopping from tuft to tuft and trying to avoid falling into the swampy depths below. Amazingly, Indigo seemed to navigate over them the best while some of us adult types (even the coordinated ones) managed to fall on our faces and exhaust ourselves to the point of snorting and sweating. Arctic Visitor Center education videos advise that hikers plan to go only one third their regular distance in a day when hiking on tussocks. We concur. Thankfully, the vast majority of our exploration was via boat.
THE BOATS. Each morning we would pack up camp, load everything into our two rafts, and hit the river. Days consisted of stopping to fish or pump water at clear creeks, navigating sweepers and strainers and holes, pulling up on mellow gravel bars for run-around breaks, singing ridiculous renditions of old songs at the tops of our lungs, and scouting for tracks and wildlife. One day mid-afternoon after a fun rapid, we spotted a gorgeous wolf trotting along the banks of the river. Several beavers bobbed their heads at us mid-stream, moose kicked their heels and ran, and a few owls swooped over to say hello. (Despite their massive tracks at every single gravel bar, we did not see a bear.) Otherwise, we would float and paddle, snack, and even nap on the boats as we made our way South.
OUT. So as we paddled farther and farther down river, about 100 miles total, we found a drastic increase in the mosquitoes. We went from not really needing our skeeter head-nets, to running several laps around the screen tents (used for cookery and hang-out time) before being madly ushered in through the zippered doorway; this was followed by folks hurriedly using one of those electric skeeter rackets to zap the heck out of the few dozen blood suckers that had made their way in. Ugh. The brief video below (again, viewed on the main blogger site) captures the "density" of our insect friends.
After 7 days in the backcountry we floated into Bettles, threw our gear and tired bodies into the back of Jay and Judy's pick up truck, and stayed the night in their bunkhouses before catching our flights back to Pump Station #5 on the Haul Road. The Bettles Lodge in town provided excellent eats and company- one group was still waiting to get out on the river after 3 days of being shut-out by weather (made us appreciate how well things had really gone for our party), while another was a Belgian film crew making a survival movie (sent a very nervous and unskilled Belgian movie star into the Gates with a locally procured fire-arm... oh my), not to mention the Bettles pilots, mechanics and waitresses that call this small town (population 12 at the last census) home. Our motley party of nine fit right in!!
 |
| Approaching the Gates. |
 |
| Prepared, but slightly freaked out. |
 |
| Ready to "GO!" Gas can, potty and all... |
Our plan was to drive 6 hours up the famed Dalton (aka The Haul Road - primarily used by truckers supporting the pipeline) and park at one of the Pump Stations (you probably didn't ever think about it, but oil doesn't just magically flow for thousands of miles in a pipe... you have to pump it) with an air strip. There, we would be picked up by three separate payload bush planes and flown to our destination: The North Fork of the Koyukuk River between the Frigid Crags and Boreal Mt... the literal "Gates... of thee Ock-tick." Just so you can really appreciate how in the middle of friggin' no where we were headed, I'll provide an extremely user-friendly map:
 |
| From: |
 |
| The Bridge over the Yukon Charlie on the Haul Road - did I mention the bad weather in the forecast? Good thing we've got duct tape. And a Hula Dancer. |
.JPG) |
| Got PIPE? |
HELIO. Although Team Leslie and Friends did not hire a guide for our venture into the rugged Alaskan interior, we did need to hire an aviation company to fly us in and out. Jay and Judy from Brooks Range Aviation out of Bettles, AK, fit the bill and then some. They not only hooked us up with the needed bush plane flights, they had all our needed paddling gear including rafts. And get this: We didn't have to pay anything in advance (nor leave a credit card number) until AFTER the trip . Classic Alaska.
 |
| And you thought YOU had a gear shed... |
Enter the Helio.
Banter among the bush pilots indicated that this plane was originally crafted by MIT folks as a challenge to see who could design a craft that could take off and land in the shortest amount of space. Thank goodness those academics were up to the task because we had about 200 feet of riverside gravel bar to work with as we circled above our chunk of river in an attempt to land. Now I am known to thrive on the thrill of adventure and jump at the chance to take a risk, but as we lurched up and down in the wind and careened toward the cobble stones, my heart was in my throat and my understanding of Bernouli's Principle and the phrase "reasonably safe" went right out the door. About 150 feet later I was offering up my first born child (conveniently there with me in the cabin) to the Helio and its magical ways. We had made it. (If you want a taste of the gravel bar landing, see the video below, viewed on the actual blog site.)
IN. The put in at the North Fork of the Koyukuk proved to be spectacular. Wild flowers below and snow fields above, the aesthetic was incredible but the knowledge of our remoteness made it over the top. How many places in the world can you walk with the certainty that no other human has set foot there before?
 |
| Gear, Indigo and Mt. Boreal post-landing |
 |
| Practice run without gear to get a feel for the river... |
 |
| We got this! |
MIDNIGHT SUN. While still on the Haul Road, we had driven across the famed "Arctic Circle" parallel of latitude marking the land of the midnight sun, and so we found the majority of days and nights feeling like, well, days... The sun literally circled in the sky above us, only seeming to set if it happened to dip behind a mountain or two in its travels. This created a funky shift in our timing: We would play and play and play, eat dinner around 10PM, stay up hanging out until well past midnight, and finally force ourselves to go to sleep (despite the sun being up) with tricks like face-masks, only to wake at 10 or 11 AM and do it all again, creeping slowly later and later in our schedule until we weren't getting on the river until mid-afternoon. Indeed, we could have easily flip-flopped our day and night completely... Not wanting to lose track of our overall trip timing/days, and mostly out of stubbornness and routine, we tried our best to keep to a "normal" schedule, but Indigo, Banyan and Sequoia were sometimes found catching butterflies and following wolf tracks at 1 AM.
 |
| In case you didn't believe me... |
 |
| As low as she goes... |
 |
| "This is how we do it..." |
THE TUSSOCKS. Back to David Attenborough. If it doesn't cause you too much anguish, conjure again the image of David squatting in the storm of mosquitoes, cursing the natural world and the British media. I like to think he might utter a barrage of swears, something like, "Queen Mother Frolick. Bullocks and Tussocks!" Turns out that tussocks are actually tall tufts of arctic cotton grass that grows, produces seeds, and dies, year after year on top of itself, producing these tall tufts of vegetation. Trying to hike through tussocks is like playing a human video game hopping from tuft to tuft and trying to avoid falling into the swampy depths below. Amazingly, Indigo seemed to navigate over them the best while some of us adult types (even the coordinated ones) managed to fall on our faces and exhaust ourselves to the point of snorting and sweating. Arctic Visitor Center education videos advise that hikers plan to go only one third their regular distance in a day when hiking on tussocks. We concur. Thankfully, the vast majority of our exploration was via boat.
 |
| Notice who is in the lead... (this is after midnight, btw) |
 |
| Queen Tussock herself! |
THE BOATS. Each morning we would pack up camp, load everything into our two rafts, and hit the river. Days consisted of stopping to fish or pump water at clear creeks, navigating sweepers and strainers and holes, pulling up on mellow gravel bars for run-around breaks, singing ridiculous renditions of old songs at the tops of our lungs, and scouting for tracks and wildlife. One day mid-afternoon after a fun rapid, we spotted a gorgeous wolf trotting along the banks of the river. Several beavers bobbed their heads at us mid-stream, moose kicked their heels and ran, and a few owls swooped over to say hello. (Despite their massive tracks at every single gravel bar, we did not see a bear.) Otherwise, we would float and paddle, snack, and even nap on the boats as we made our way South.
 |
| High School Buds. |
 |
| Fishing break, |
 |
| Dancing with Wolves. |
.JPG) |
| Ice Ice Baby. |
OUT. So as we paddled farther and farther down river, about 100 miles total, we found a drastic increase in the mosquitoes. We went from not really needing our skeeter head-nets, to running several laps around the screen tents (used for cookery and hang-out time) before being madly ushered in through the zippered doorway; this was followed by folks hurriedly using one of those electric skeeter rackets to zap the heck out of the few dozen blood suckers that had made their way in. Ugh. The brief video below (again, viewed on the main blogger site) captures the "density" of our insect friends.
 |
| Dive in! |
 |
| Safe and sound. |
After 7 days in the backcountry we floated into Bettles, threw our gear and tired bodies into the back of Jay and Judy's pick up truck, and stayed the night in their bunkhouses before catching our flights back to Pump Station #5 on the Haul Road. The Bettles Lodge in town provided excellent eats and company- one group was still waiting to get out on the river after 3 days of being shut-out by weather (made us appreciate how well things had really gone for our party), while another was a Belgian film crew making a survival movie (sent a very nervous and unskilled Belgian movie star into the Gates with a locally procured fire-arm... oh my), not to mention the Bettles pilots, mechanics and waitresses that call this small town (population 12 at the last census) home. Our motley party of nine fit right in!!
 |
| Hot coffee and homemade pie! |
 |
| The END! |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)