Berry Merry

BACK "INSIDE." Before jumping into fall happenings in Alaska, let me take a brief moment to honor the truly spectacular summer adventures had on the "outside." We managed to hit all four corners of the lower 48, be loved up by friends and family galore, and party our white Alaskan buns off... Thanks to everyone who contributed to the hoopla - we love you LOTS! 

Oregon...

Florida...

And New England!

BERRIES. There's nothing like getting settled and grounded back at home than, literally, getting on your hands and knees on the ground and harvesting a bit of nature's bounty. Sure enough, in the days following our return to AK, word got out about a bumper crop of berries, so Team Leslie left mounds of laundry and unwritten thank you notes aside, and headed for the hills.

Our first attempt took us up a trail in the mountains edging the Kenai River. We passed fellow hikers happily coming down with gallon ziplocks, stuffed with high bush blueberries! Encouraged, we climbed and climbed, only to find that time and elevation were not on our side; the goods were another 3+ miles ahead. Indigo and her friend Ruby (yup, we roll with a colorful crowd) did manage to find a single bush, which they rushed with elbows swinging, to get a few satisfying ker-plunks into their buckets. Amazing how once you shift your expectations, even twelve berries can make you grin!

Our next try was the result of a failed kayaking weekend with Kim and some lady friends - Plan B turned out to be a gorgeous hike outside of Seward. Low and behold, high bush blubes were dripping from the sides of the trail!

And finally the whole fam headed out on an official mission, backpacks, sleeping bags, tent and all, to get some goods figuring that if we put our energy into hiking just one way, we could get high enough to pick and have all the time in the world...

For low bush crans,

For low bush blues,

For Alaskan autumn views,

For fun with family,

And berry picking buddies!

In classic "Blueberries for Sal" form, we even spied a big black bear across the valley, doing some picking of his own. 

Happy fall, everyone!

Eddy Out for Moose

PACKRAFTING. So this is J's newest passion. He's been taking courses, hitting rivers, and stinking up our garage with his wet dry suit all summer. In case you don't know, this is the sport where you take a 6 pound (only 6 pounds!!!) selfie raft, squash it down in your backpack, and hike to where ever you please to then float your way out on a bouncie bouncie fun fun fun waterway. Brilliant, right? We used to ask, why do you people hike down mountains when they could ski? Now we ask, why do they hike out of mountain ranges when they could paddle?

And for his birthday excursion J opted to, you guessed it, go pack rafting. And he almost hit a moose. But he braked. "Brake for Moose." You get this, right? The motto and bumper sticker known far and wide in New England advocating for moose not getting tagged and for humans not getting slammed when a high-center-of-gravity mammal hits a well matched glass sheet in front of their face. Well J and his buddy were paddling along Glacier Creek in Girdwood when they spotted a moose on a bank. They assumed it would stop at the river but no, it lumbered in. Then they assumed it would stay put and drink and turn back, but it began crossing, with a trajectory perfectly aligned to their boats. So they had to crank around, paddle hard, ferry up river, and eddy out to avoid getting a hoof through their bow. I sense a successful t-shirt slogan in our future... Happy Birthday, J!

Hiking wherever he pleases!

Bouncie bouncie fun fun fun!

DIPNETTING. Totally unrelated to moose but at least regarding AK wildlife: it's dipnet season. And unlike in years past, Team Leslie is savvy. We charge down to the beach about an hour and a half past low tide, waders on, dipnet in hand, and stand alongside our fellow residents hoping for that telltale bump and shake to the net, so we can flip it and drag it ashore. There (vegans and vegetarians, stop reading), Indigo takes her  bat, yes we have a bat, and konks the salmon on the head, pulls out her scissors and clips its tail fins (legally, you have to mark your catch as a dipped fish), and hands it back. We then rip a finger through a loop of gills, wash it in the ocean and let it bleed out a bit, and then throw it in the cooler. When they're really jumping, we can catch five in an hour... you're running in and out of the water like some sort of kid at a shorthanded swim meet. When it slows down, you drag your gear and fish up the hill, hop in the car, and head home to fillet, vacuum seal, and make tasty chowder with fresh fish. Ahhhh...

One just about down, four to go...

Indigo helps scale...

"... got three salmon."

And with that, we're off to "The Outside." We often say the Lower 48, but apparently if you're actually going there, you call it The Outside. Implying that we, as Alaskans, are on The Inside. Hmmm... That's definitely enough fodder for another blog post in itself!

Until then...