We have been in beautiful Homer, AK for 4 days now. I am falling in love with this town. It could be compared to the small fishing towns of the east coast, only less developed, fewer people/tourists, and a landscape that appears as if it's on steroids. Most of the residents of Homer are only here for the summer months. They run small shops or fishing charters taking tourists out into the Halibut filled Alaskan waters. These businesses make thousands and thousands of dollars, allowing people to leave Homer during the 8 months of darkness to vacation in exotic warm places. It sounds like the ideal situation. I have decided that when I begin my real life, it will include only 4 months of work.
With fishing being the number one industry in Homer, we of course reserved our spots to go out months ago. We got a spot on Captain Mike's ship, an old cohort of Sophia's from her days living on the spit. We arrived at the dock at 6:30 am sharp, coffee in hand, anxiously waiting for our first fishing experience (well, me and Rachel's first. Sophia's fished loads of times. She used to live in Homer after all). Next came Terry, who would also be fishing with us. He was a man in his 60s from California. He seemed nice enough until he started bragging about his boats, his knowledge of law (he told Rachel they had to have a debate when she said she might go to law school) and then told us all about his brain tumor. Awkward.
Next up was Jerry and his son Zack. They were hilarious. They brought a giant cooler full of beer, which they started drinking as soon as we were on the boat (so like 7:00AM...a bit early for me). They were very entertaining with their father/son banter. Also, they didn't make us feel uncomfortable by immediately talking about scary medical conditions. Although, I guess their constant drinking was a little unnerving. Fishermen are an odd bunch, you never know what you're gonna get.
Finally, Captain Mike arrived. Captain Mike is the quintessential captain. He has been a fisherman forever; he made us feel very safe out in the Alaskan sea and made us believe that we were pros with a fishing pole. His face is leathered from years in the sun and he has a HUGE bushy white mustache. He was wearing typical captain attire: wind cap, sweatshirt, rubber overalls and rain boot. And his final accessory--a big fat cigar, which never left his mouth. Normally, cigar smoke really bothers me, but with Captain Mike I decided to let it slide. It would have felt incomplete without it. He was perfect. Rachel and I immediately fell in love with him and spent the entire day sneakily taking photos of him.
We all settled in on the boat, a 6 pack called "The Wild Thing". It was a perfect blue bird day. The ocean was calm and across the bay the mountains seemed to rise straight up from the depths of the sea. The early morning sun casted an incredible pink glow on all the boats and surrounding glaciers. It was the ultimate day for fishing.
We puttered out of the bay and spent the first two hours getting to our destination. We passed amazing islands covered in volcanoes, including Mt. Augustine which was steaming in the distance. We chatted with our new friends and (sigh...) Captain Mike. We reached a quiet bay and anchored down. We all set up our polls, Captain Mike showing us how to hold them and what to do if we felt a nibble. Then we waited.
And waited...
Just as I was starting to get bored and question the appeal of the sport, I felt a little nibble. And then a big nibble. I had one! I braced myself against the boat and began to reel it in, struggling with the weight of the fish and the slipperiness of my pole. Finally, after bringing up 100 feet or so of line, up popped my fish. Normally I don't like the idea of killing things. I prefer my meat to be filleted and frozen when I buy it. But this particular fish I did not feel bad about killing. Halibut are ugly! They have big sharp teeth and both their eyes are on one side of their bodies. Weird. Although my fish felt like the biggest halibut in the world, a whale even, it turned out to only be around 20lbs. Captain Mike said good job, unhooked it, and threw it back! I sadly watched as my first catch ever swiftly swam away.
The rest of the day went pretty much the same. We'd have long lulls and then all of a sudden we'd catch 5 halibut each. It was all very exciting. Rachel was the first person to catch a keeper. After a 10 minute battle, she pulled up a 36lbs halibut! Incredible. It was so large and feisty that Captain Mike had to hit it over the head with a bat to kill it.
In the end, we got to keep two each, all over 30lbs!! (I would just like to note here that although many might say fishing is a man's sport, our fish were far larger than all the boys...).
We then headed back to Homer. We had the fish filleted and frozen, the grand total of edible fish coming to 90lbs! We hurried home with our 5lbs of unfrozen fish and made the most delicious fresh dinner. I now understand the joys of fishing--there's something so amazing about catching, killing, and cooking your own food all in one day. I can't wait to do it again.
Note to readers: Do you love fish? We have wayyy more fish than we can possibly eat. If you would like some Halibut we will send you the fish for free if you pay the shipping costs. Let us know in the next two days if you're interested.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Denali Peak
Unfortunately it's a little difficult to see in this size, but here it is: the highest mountain in North America. Unreal.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Welcome to Alaska!
We stopped after the teeny-tiny border patrol (literally the size of an outhouse) to jump around.
Chicken, Alaska. The first town we hit coming in. Population: 8 (in winter).
Denali: The Park and The Mountain
For our first day in Denali, we made reservations for an 8:30 AM bus ride through the park (Denali does not permit cars, instead they run regular shuttles down its sole 80-odd mile dirt road (which doesn't even get you halfway into the park)). Our driver was pleasant and enthusiastic, but the sights were few until a couple of hours in, when we saw a mama grizzly and her cub, nursing. They were followed by a bunch of caribou.
Unfortunately, however, it was dark and overcast, and even the mountains nearby were invisible, much less The Mountain. Denali Peak is over 20,000 feet tall, and its base is only 2,000 or so feet above sea level. (Compare that to Colorado's highest peak, Mt. Elbert, which is 14,000 feet high with a base 10,000 feet above sea level.) It's the sight I wanted most to see, and the bus driver's rapturous descriptions at every look-out point (of what it would look like had we been able to see it) did nothing to assuage my disappointment at missing this most epic sight. Apparently, we weren't the first bus to miss out. In the 120 days of last year's season, Denali was only visible 14 days. Even on otherwise clear days, it is hidden by its own insane weather.
The park--and day--were still pretty awesome, however. On the return trip, we got off the shuttle at a random spot and climbed a mountain without a trail. We hiked up some drainage, which was easy at first, but got a little dicey towards the top. The rocks and dirt were pretty loose, and I was afraid of causing a giant rockslide. Sophia and Isabelle were, of course, unperturbed. To scare off the bears we sang everything we could think of very loudly--and very badly. I think we scared off anything in a 1-mile vicinity (including other humans). At last we reached the ridge line and were amply rewarded: across the valley was a huge herd of Dall Sheep, the major reason for the area's preservation. We hadn't seen any yet that day. They were fun to watch--they skipped up the same rugged terrain that we had spent hours pathetically crawling up. And, as a bonus, the herd included countless adorable newborn lambs.
At the top, we were totally alone. I went off for a little bit, out of sight and hearing of the others, and it was glorious. To be alone in the middle of nowhere at the top of a mountain overlooking only wilderness for miles and miles... It was the first time on our trip that I had truly appreciated Alaska as "the last frontier." Although it hadn't been an especially difficult climb, it felt like we were the first people to ever reach that particular spot.
We awoke on our second day in the park to a pleasant surprise--blue skies! Contrary to the rainy weather report, it was beautiful and sunny. We went for a trail hike near the entrance. After an hour or so of winding up switchbacks surrounded by views of the Alaska range and the tundra, without any warning, there it was. Denali. I'm still trying to figure out a word that describes the sight and the feeling--the emotion that accompanied it. Is there a word for being punched in the stomach, but in a good way? Gobsmacked? I know this sounds über-melodramatic, but I'm trying to convey something indescribable. Denali rises above the huge mountains around it as if they are merely foothills. At first glance it could be mistaken for clouds. What it does, really, is make it look like there is only one mountain in the entire state of Alaska.
Unfortunately, however, it was dark and overcast, and even the mountains nearby were invisible, much less The Mountain. Denali Peak is over 20,000 feet tall, and its base is only 2,000 or so feet above sea level. (Compare that to Colorado's highest peak, Mt. Elbert, which is 14,000 feet high with a base 10,000 feet above sea level.) It's the sight I wanted most to see, and the bus driver's rapturous descriptions at every look-out point (of what it would look like had we been able to see it) did nothing to assuage my disappointment at missing this most epic sight. Apparently, we weren't the first bus to miss out. In the 120 days of last year's season, Denali was only visible 14 days. Even on otherwise clear days, it is hidden by its own insane weather.
The park--and day--were still pretty awesome, however. On the return trip, we got off the shuttle at a random spot and climbed a mountain without a trail. We hiked up some drainage, which was easy at first, but got a little dicey towards the top. The rocks and dirt were pretty loose, and I was afraid of causing a giant rockslide. Sophia and Isabelle were, of course, unperturbed. To scare off the bears we sang everything we could think of very loudly--and very badly. I think we scared off anything in a 1-mile vicinity (including other humans). At last we reached the ridge line and were amply rewarded: across the valley was a huge herd of Dall Sheep, the major reason for the area's preservation. We hadn't seen any yet that day. They were fun to watch--they skipped up the same rugged terrain that we had spent hours pathetically crawling up. And, as a bonus, the herd included countless adorable newborn lambs.
At the top, we were totally alone. I went off for a little bit, out of sight and hearing of the others, and it was glorious. To be alone in the middle of nowhere at the top of a mountain overlooking only wilderness for miles and miles... It was the first time on our trip that I had truly appreciated Alaska as "the last frontier." Although it hadn't been an especially difficult climb, it felt like we were the first people to ever reach that particular spot.
We awoke on our second day in the park to a pleasant surprise--blue skies! Contrary to the rainy weather report, it was beautiful and sunny. We went for a trail hike near the entrance. After an hour or so of winding up switchbacks surrounded by views of the Alaska range and the tundra, without any warning, there it was. Denali. I'm still trying to figure out a word that describes the sight and the feeling--the emotion that accompanied it. Is there a word for being punched in the stomach, but in a good way? Gobsmacked? I know this sounds über-melodramatic, but I'm trying to convey something indescribable. Denali rises above the huge mountains around it as if they are merely foothills. At first glance it could be mistaken for clouds. What it does, really, is make it look like there is only one mountain in the entire state of Alaska.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Midnight Sun Golfing
Sophia toting clubs.
Rachel putting a hole (not in one).
At the Top of the World. Friendly Charlie gave us a ride home.
Mosquitoville
We are disgusting. At the beginning of the trip we joked about how gross things were going to be. Even a few days ago we laughed about the lack of showers and cleanliness in our lives. It is no longer a laughing matter. We are truly disgustingly dirty. We made friends a few days ago and the first thing they said when they got close to our car was “Yuck! That smells really bad!”
Our campsites have gotten consistently more remote. They no longer include the things we used to take for granted, most importantly water. Washing dishes is often not even an option. We have come accustomed to licking our plates clean and throwing them in a plastic bag until we find a sink or stream. Our first stop of the day is the closest gas station where we all pile into the usually one-room bathrooms to clean our faces and brush our teeth. I am no longer fazed when we exit the bathroom to a long line of angry locals.
Yesterday started off pretty much the same. We packed up the tent at our Fairbanks site, piled into the car, and began our drive. First on our agenda was a nice hike up to Angel Rocks. We made it up and spent some time climbing around the rocks, exploring the many crevices and peaks. We made friends with an old couple who also drove from Colorado. We discussed our trips, gave suggestions, and then we made our way back down. This is when things started to go downhill (pun intended, hhah).
The hike down was along a very still creek. There were, no joke, MILLIONS of mosquitoes. When swatting proved ineffective, we all broke into a run. We finally reached our smelly car, our bodies covered in quarter-sized welts. We then were off to the Chena Hot Springs.
After a short drive, we arrived. We paid, put our stuff away, and headed to the hot steamy pool. It was amazing. The itching immediately subsided, our muscles were no longer sore, and believe it or not, we actually felt clean. We spent about two hours soaking in this amazing natural hot tub. We even were able to take showers there. The showers used the hot spring water, so we were basically washing with sulfur, but it was better than nothing.
We found a campsite about 20 miles away. With our bodies clean and relaxed, we began setting up with an optimistic attitude. That feeling quickly disappeared. The Alaskan mosquitoes, which have an uncanny ability to find flesh, almost immediately sensed our presence. Pretty soon they were so thick that we couldn’t breath without them getting in our mouth. When we walked, we could feel them all over our skin, like walking through a dust storm of bugs.
Thank god we all had bug suits, which offered some relief. We set up and cooked as speedy as possible. We decided the only way to enjoy our cheeseburgers would be to eat in the car. I cleared the seats, and Rachel passed the food to me, a sort of assembly line. We ate in peace. The mosquitoes banged against the glass. We watched in delight, feeling as though we had somehow outsmarted them.
The burgers and corn were finished; plates were licked clean and thrown into bags to be dealt with at a later date. It was almost 9pm, definitely time for bed. We sprinted to the tent and zipped it closed. We felt like captives, jailed in our own tent, not knowing when it would be safe to leave.
Our campsites have gotten consistently more remote. They no longer include the things we used to take for granted, most importantly water. Washing dishes is often not even an option. We have come accustomed to licking our plates clean and throwing them in a plastic bag until we find a sink or stream. Our first stop of the day is the closest gas station where we all pile into the usually one-room bathrooms to clean our faces and brush our teeth. I am no longer fazed when we exit the bathroom to a long line of angry locals.
Yesterday started off pretty much the same. We packed up the tent at our Fairbanks site, piled into the car, and began our drive. First on our agenda was a nice hike up to Angel Rocks. We made it up and spent some time climbing around the rocks, exploring the many crevices and peaks. We made friends with an old couple who also drove from Colorado. We discussed our trips, gave suggestions, and then we made our way back down. This is when things started to go downhill (pun intended, hhah).
The hike down was along a very still creek. There were, no joke, MILLIONS of mosquitoes. When swatting proved ineffective, we all broke into a run. We finally reached our smelly car, our bodies covered in quarter-sized welts. We then were off to the Chena Hot Springs.
After a short drive, we arrived. We paid, put our stuff away, and headed to the hot steamy pool. It was amazing. The itching immediately subsided, our muscles were no longer sore, and believe it or not, we actually felt clean. We spent about two hours soaking in this amazing natural hot tub. We even were able to take showers there. The showers used the hot spring water, so we were basically washing with sulfur, but it was better than nothing.
We found a campsite about 20 miles away. With our bodies clean and relaxed, we began setting up with an optimistic attitude. That feeling quickly disappeared. The Alaskan mosquitoes, which have an uncanny ability to find flesh, almost immediately sensed our presence. Pretty soon they were so thick that we couldn’t breath without them getting in our mouth. When we walked, we could feel them all over our skin, like walking through a dust storm of bugs.
Thank god we all had bug suits, which offered some relief. We set up and cooked as speedy as possible. We decided the only way to enjoy our cheeseburgers would be to eat in the car. I cleared the seats, and Rachel passed the food to me, a sort of assembly line. We ate in peace. The mosquitoes banged against the glass. We watched in delight, feeling as though we had somehow outsmarted them.
The burgers and corn were finished; plates were licked clean and thrown into bags to be dealt with at a later date. It was almost 9pm, definitely time for bed. We sprinted to the tent and zipped it closed. We felt like captives, jailed in our own tent, not knowing when it would be safe to leave.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Fairbanks, AK
Fairbanks!! We went to the Midnight Sun festival (a street fair—blech*—but we got some delicious reindeer dogs out of it), saw some music, and then attended the annual midnight baseball game. It was minor league (the Alaska Goldpanners) but the entire town was there and it was pretty exciting, especially as the sun barely approached the skyline, even when the game was ending around 2 AM. Also, it was my first baseball game!! It was a pretty good game for a first—the innings were very short and the Alaska team won.
*Sophia would like me to note that not all people like dislike street fairs. Meaning, she likes them. And I should say, it wasn’t all bad. Watching the local tween’s dance performance was particularly incredible and cringe-worthy.
*Sophia would like me to note that not all people like dislike street fairs. Meaning, she likes them. And I should say, it wasn’t all bad. Watching the local tween’s dance performance was particularly incredible and cringe-worthy.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Goodbye Canada, eh?
We got off to a bit of a later start the morning after our gambling/golfing/salooning adventure as can probably be expected. We had planned to cross the border early, putting the chapter of strange Yukon towns and cute Canadian accents behind us; however, we decided to take one last ferry ride over the river to say our final good-byes (ok really just to get food). Lucky for us it turned out to be First Nation Day and we soaked up some sun while enjoying free fried dough and watching little kids trying to jig. A note here, it became obvious that my unique style of dance can now be categorized as children trying to jig. Pressley, one of the young jiggers, seemed to be too preoccupied with his cookie to jig, clearly he was our favorite.
During this time I found $2.50 Canadian money and reasoned (quite logically I think) that the only thing to do with it was to head back to the casino. We waited until 2 p.m. when the casino opened and were the first ones there along with the serious gamblers. We deposited the quarters into what was once thought of by us as a free money machine and our quarters were lost in the endless abyss, reunited with the quarters we had deposited the previous night in what I can only imagine as some giant quarter orgy.
Anyway, soon enough we were off along the dirt road aptly named Top of the World Highway. Because of the winding dirt roads it took far longer than usual to cross the short distance, but at last we approached the flapping American flag. The border consisted of a single dirt road passing a small wooden cabin and a single customs officer. We were home, or at least somewhere where we could no longer respond to the question where are you from with, “The States.” Our handy mile post guide instructed us where the next gas station was, about 5 miles from the border. We were in desperate need of gas and had yet to pass a single gas station.
It was Rachel’s turn to pump so Isabelle and I remarked on how ridiculous the old pumps looked and took pictures until a panicked Rachel returned with the news, the station was closed. Not just closed for the night but closed. Permanently closed. Forever closed. Quite a predicament seeing that the gas light chose this moment to mockingly alight and we were 50 miles from the nearest “town.” We have relied on the kindness of strangers throughout this trip, something difficult for a bunch of current city dwellers, and considered how to do this now. We could hitch in and pick up gas, but too risky in case we couldn’t get a ride back. It would have to be the United States government that came to the rescue. We drove the short distance back to the border and I put on my most helpless and pathetic face before approaching the cabin. Luckily the station had extra gas and was willing to sell it to us. I’m sure it was the most exciting thing that had happened there that day. Mid-fill, however, a man seemingly out of the blue tried to cross the border by foot with no baggage and a mere T-shirt, especially curious because the nearest town was the one which we had driven approximately 2 hours from.
The first piece of civilization we came across in Alaska was Chicken. Chicken, Alaska, how do I even begin to describe you? It is essentially a three building center with a wicked sense of humor. Every building includes a hilarious story and some ridiculous reference to chicken (apparently the original settlers couldn’t spell Ptarmigan and thus settled on Chicken). After one of their hot and delicious famous cinnamon rolls we were back on the road again ready to begin the second chapter of our journey.
During this time I found $2.50 Canadian money and reasoned (quite logically I think) that the only thing to do with it was to head back to the casino. We waited until 2 p.m. when the casino opened and were the first ones there along with the serious gamblers. We deposited the quarters into what was once thought of by us as a free money machine and our quarters were lost in the endless abyss, reunited with the quarters we had deposited the previous night in what I can only imagine as some giant quarter orgy.
Anyway, soon enough we were off along the dirt road aptly named Top of the World Highway. Because of the winding dirt roads it took far longer than usual to cross the short distance, but at last we approached the flapping American flag. The border consisted of a single dirt road passing a small wooden cabin and a single customs officer. We were home, or at least somewhere where we could no longer respond to the question where are you from with, “The States.” Our handy mile post guide instructed us where the next gas station was, about 5 miles from the border. We were in desperate need of gas and had yet to pass a single gas station.
It was Rachel’s turn to pump so Isabelle and I remarked on how ridiculous the old pumps looked and took pictures until a panicked Rachel returned with the news, the station was closed. Not just closed for the night but closed. Permanently closed. Forever closed. Quite a predicament seeing that the gas light chose this moment to mockingly alight and we were 50 miles from the nearest “town.” We have relied on the kindness of strangers throughout this trip, something difficult for a bunch of current city dwellers, and considered how to do this now. We could hitch in and pick up gas, but too risky in case we couldn’t get a ride back. It would have to be the United States government that came to the rescue. We drove the short distance back to the border and I put on my most helpless and pathetic face before approaching the cabin. Luckily the station had extra gas and was willing to sell it to us. I’m sure it was the most exciting thing that had happened there that day. Mid-fill, however, a man seemingly out of the blue tried to cross the border by foot with no baggage and a mere T-shirt, especially curious because the nearest town was the one which we had driven approximately 2 hours from.
The first piece of civilization we came across in Alaska was Chicken. Chicken, Alaska, how do I even begin to describe you? It is essentially a three building center with a wicked sense of humor. Every building includes a hilarious story and some ridiculous reference to chicken (apparently the original settlers couldn’t spell Ptarmigan and thus settled on Chicken). After one of their hot and delicious famous cinnamon rolls we were back on the road again ready to begin the second chapter of our journey.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Dawson City, Pt 2: Gambling and Golf
We decided to stay 2 nights in Dawson—a truly bizarre town in the northern Yukon that I’ll describe in detail below—to allow ourselves ample time for sightseeing and (let’s face it) gambling. After the first night (which Isabelle described), we woke up at our campsite on the other side of the river, eager to take the ferry into town and explore the Yukon’s #1 tourist attraction.
So, the town: Dawson City was a gold mining mecca around the turn of the century and has since been preserved really only as a museum town. The buildings remain, the roads are unpaved, and a few people even walk around in period costume. Tourism is the town’s only industry, and thus it really only comes alive in summer, when apparently (and quite shockingly) Canada’s young and hip move up for the season. No joke—there are so many hipsters in Dawson that it resembles at times an old-fashioned version of Williamsburg.
The main attraction? Diamond Tooth Gertie’s Casino and Saloon. There are three shows a night at Gertie’s (cancan and whatnot—apparently the midnight show is a little more risqué, but we only stayed for the first two), as well as slots, poker, roulette, what have you. Isabelle and Sophia were REALLY excited to gamble; I was also excited but a little more reserved. We had budgeted $5/apiece from group funds—I stuck with the minimum, while the others each spent about $20 extra of their own money. Slot machines are particularly exciting—free money machines!! I made $5 on my first try, but little else afterwards—and of course, ended up gambling away all of my winnings.
After playing the slots for a while, we ambled over to roulette (which Isabelle calls Russian roulette no matter how many times you correct her), and met a group of new friends. Five guys from Saskatchewan were in town on vacation, and they provided us with the ultimate gambling experience: we got to pick their numbers and bets, but they supplied the funds. We didn’t get the winnings, of course, but it was exciting nonetheless. An hour or so after we started talking to our new friends, they asked if we wanted to get in on their golf game. There is a golf course outside of town (the Top of the World golf course) that has an annual Midnight Sun tournament—and we happened to be in town the night of the tournament. They were registered to participate, but their team required a female member to be eligible. Of course we agreed—who would refuse a midnight golfing adventure?!—and we left the casino around 11:30 in their rented RV.
Of course, at this point we had all knocked back a couple of brews (except the driver, of course), so the RV drive across the ferry was even more terrifying than the Blue Avenger’s voyage the day before. On the way to the game, we were worried that we would underperform and screw up their tournament chances. We needn’t have worried. Collectively, our golf game was (I’ll put it mildly) atrocious. In addition, it was FREEZING outside, we had no cart, and most of us were in flip-flops. At one point a girl in a golf cart drove by (selling beer, naturally), and one of our new friends, Jori offered to buy her socks. Somehow Isabelle and I ended up sharing them—we each wore one sock (with a flip flop) on one foot and half of a pair of stolen shoes on the other. This meant that the poor owner of the shoes, Jeffrey, was walking around the course barefoot. Although it was bright as day even at midnight, the cold eventually led us to ditch around the 3rd hole. The RV had dropped us off and returned to town, so we had no way to get home. Luckily, Jori convinced the owner of the golf course, an old man named Charlie, to drive us back in his pick-up truck, yet another adventure. Isabelle sat in front with him, and he told her all about his life in Nova Scotia, while Sophia and I held on for dear life in the back of the truck.
It was pretty tremendous.
So, the town: Dawson City was a gold mining mecca around the turn of the century and has since been preserved really only as a museum town. The buildings remain, the roads are unpaved, and a few people even walk around in period costume. Tourism is the town’s only industry, and thus it really only comes alive in summer, when apparently (and quite shockingly) Canada’s young and hip move up for the season. No joke—there are so many hipsters in Dawson that it resembles at times an old-fashioned version of Williamsburg.
The main attraction? Diamond Tooth Gertie’s Casino and Saloon. There are three shows a night at Gertie’s (cancan and whatnot—apparently the midnight show is a little more risqué, but we only stayed for the first two), as well as slots, poker, roulette, what have you. Isabelle and Sophia were REALLY excited to gamble; I was also excited but a little more reserved. We had budgeted $5/apiece from group funds—I stuck with the minimum, while the others each spent about $20 extra of their own money. Slot machines are particularly exciting—free money machines!! I made $5 on my first try, but little else afterwards—and of course, ended up gambling away all of my winnings.
After playing the slots for a while, we ambled over to roulette (which Isabelle calls Russian roulette no matter how many times you correct her), and met a group of new friends. Five guys from Saskatchewan were in town on vacation, and they provided us with the ultimate gambling experience: we got to pick their numbers and bets, but they supplied the funds. We didn’t get the winnings, of course, but it was exciting nonetheless. An hour or so after we started talking to our new friends, they asked if we wanted to get in on their golf game. There is a golf course outside of town (the Top of the World golf course) that has an annual Midnight Sun tournament—and we happened to be in town the night of the tournament. They were registered to participate, but their team required a female member to be eligible. Of course we agreed—who would refuse a midnight golfing adventure?!—and we left the casino around 11:30 in their rented RV.
Of course, at this point we had all knocked back a couple of brews (except the driver, of course), so the RV drive across the ferry was even more terrifying than the Blue Avenger’s voyage the day before. On the way to the game, we were worried that we would underperform and screw up their tournament chances. We needn’t have worried. Collectively, our golf game was (I’ll put it mildly) atrocious. In addition, it was FREEZING outside, we had no cart, and most of us were in flip-flops. At one point a girl in a golf cart drove by (selling beer, naturally), and one of our new friends, Jori offered to buy her socks. Somehow Isabelle and I ended up sharing them—we each wore one sock (with a flip flop) on one foot and half of a pair of stolen shoes on the other. This meant that the poor owner of the shoes, Jeffrey, was walking around the course barefoot. Although it was bright as day even at midnight, the cold eventually led us to ditch around the 3rd hole. The RV had dropped us off and returned to town, so we had no way to get home. Luckily, Jori convinced the owner of the golf course, an old man named Charlie, to drive us back in his pick-up truck, yet another adventure. Isabelle sat in front with him, and he told her all about his life in Nova Scotia, while Sophia and I held on for dear life in the back of the truck.
It was pretty tremendous.
Dawson City, Yukon Part 1
The last two days we have been in Dawson City, Yukon. We arrived Thursday night, just as the grocery store was closing down. We had a stressful 2 minutes to pick out dinner (chicken, broccoli, and rice-a-roni) and then headed to our campsite.
Dawson City is separated into two parts, West Dawson City and Dawson City, each on a different side of a large fast moving river. We were camping in West Dawson. Dawson City is basically a museum town that hasn’t changed a whole lot since the turn of the 19th century. Because of this, they don’t have a bridge, just an old terrifying ferry. It runs all night for no charge!
We drove the Blue Avenger on and cracked the window so we’d be able to get out if we sank. We waited nervously as we took the 5 minute voyage with a brick in front of our tires to prevent us from sliding in. All the locals laughed at us as we sat white knuckled and clutching our seats.
When we arrived at the Yukon River Campground it had started to rain. At this point, we were all pretty hungry and cranky. We were being really sloppy with setting up, and things only got worse when we realized a few poles were missing. Rachel blamed me; I blamed her. Sophia drove off to pay for the site and hit a large boulder along the way. We were definitely losing it. We tried using sticks to hold up the tent, but it was useless. Our tent is now lopsided and about a foot shorter than it used to be.
We decided to just move on and fix the tent later. We headed over to the picnic building to cook dinner. As usual Sophia cooked. A nice man had given us an extra cooking stove and cast iron frying pan in Watson Lake, so cooking was actually quite a breeze. I made a raging fire and we ate our delicious meal, all stress fading away. After dinner, we pulled out the guitar, spoons, and harmonica and had a fantastic jam session! We even composed our first joint song. It is excellent and we will post it once we’ve added a few finishing touches.
The sun was still high in the sky, so naturally we felt it was fine to belt out and really let our creative juices flow. After about an hour, we decided we should probably check the clock. It was midnight! Our poor neighbors.
We packed everything up, and after debating whether to just leave the dishes or clean them, we went in search of the washroom. There were none, just signs explaining that all waste and water has to go into the outhouse. What is normally just a tedious everyday task became particularly unpleasant. We all huddled into the outhouse and scrubbed the pans with our remaining drops of water. The outhouse was tiny and long overdue to be emptied out. Needless to say we almost died due to lack of oxygen.
We then returned to our wet, lopsided tent. We fell asleep in our proper spots, only to wake up all smooshed together in the far right corner. All in all, a really fantastic night.
Dawson City is separated into two parts, West Dawson City and Dawson City, each on a different side of a large fast moving river. We were camping in West Dawson. Dawson City is basically a museum town that hasn’t changed a whole lot since the turn of the 19th century. Because of this, they don’t have a bridge, just an old terrifying ferry. It runs all night for no charge!
We drove the Blue Avenger on and cracked the window so we’d be able to get out if we sank. We waited nervously as we took the 5 minute voyage with a brick in front of our tires to prevent us from sliding in. All the locals laughed at us as we sat white knuckled and clutching our seats.
When we arrived at the Yukon River Campground it had started to rain. At this point, we were all pretty hungry and cranky. We were being really sloppy with setting up, and things only got worse when we realized a few poles were missing. Rachel blamed me; I blamed her. Sophia drove off to pay for the site and hit a large boulder along the way. We were definitely losing it. We tried using sticks to hold up the tent, but it was useless. Our tent is now lopsided and about a foot shorter than it used to be.
We decided to just move on and fix the tent later. We headed over to the picnic building to cook dinner. As usual Sophia cooked. A nice man had given us an extra cooking stove and cast iron frying pan in Watson Lake, so cooking was actually quite a breeze. I made a raging fire and we ate our delicious meal, all stress fading away. After dinner, we pulled out the guitar, spoons, and harmonica and had a fantastic jam session! We even composed our first joint song. It is excellent and we will post it once we’ve added a few finishing touches.
The sun was still high in the sky, so naturally we felt it was fine to belt out and really let our creative juices flow. After about an hour, we decided we should probably check the clock. It was midnight! Our poor neighbors.
We packed everything up, and after debating whether to just leave the dishes or clean them, we went in search of the washroom. There were none, just signs explaining that all waste and water has to go into the outhouse. What is normally just a tedious everyday task became particularly unpleasant. We all huddled into the outhouse and scrubbed the pans with our remaining drops of water. The outhouse was tiny and long overdue to be emptied out. Needless to say we almost died due to lack of oxygen.
We then returned to our wet, lopsided tent. We fell asleep in our proper spots, only to wake up all smooshed together in the far right corner. All in all, a really fantastic night.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Welcome to the Yukon!
Our longest drive thus far brought us to Watson Lake. On the drive there was the occasional beauty of the landscape and the smoldering remains of a forest fire. Isabelle’s ability to spot wildlife is unparalleled (except perhaps by Claire’s ability to spot celebrities in NYC). We pulled over to watch a black bear pick through the long grasses on the side of the highway and just when we were about to leave, up popped a baby bear on his hind legs peaking around the tall leafy greens that his mother was feasting on. This is perhaps the cutest thing we have ever witnessed. The baby bear frolicked behind his mother (the mother unperturbed by the leaps the baby made onto her back) and played like a young puppy, mischievously and with a spring in his step. We remained watching for longer than I care to admit making cooing noises and exclaiming with glee every time the baby bear even moved.
Watson Lake, the second largest “city” in the Yukon (a whopping 900 people)… is not what you’re picturing or perhaps it is. Let me elaborate. We roll in at about 8:30 and have spent half of our drive conceiving of the perfect meal for that night, quesadillas with asparagus and the cheddar cheese that is currently melting in our not cool cooler (we haven’t replenished the ice since the beginning for our trip except the snow we tried to use a few days ago). The entrance to Watson Lake is lined with beautifully colored Yukon flags and flags representing a random handful of nations. It looks promising. We drive around for about ten minutes trying to find the “city” center and realize that we have already passed it. It consists of a few stores and gas stations. Fine, all we need is a grocery store anyway, not a bustling metropolis. Guess we also don’t need to go to the movies tonight either. Unfortunately the grocery store is closed and a local informs us that the only other places to buy food are the two gas stations. I think we should write a camping cookbook because we still managed to make a delicious concoction out of all the canned goods we bought.
Our first attempt to stay somewhere for the night was unsuccessful. We were greeted with, “Not tenting! Also, can you drive slower?” We don’t like being scolded and resigned to despise this so called city. Our second attempt at first appeared no better, though we got a spot, we were called children, and the wide green expanse that was promised turned out to be neither wide nor green and was mere feet away from a dilapidated shed. Also the killer mosquitoes were out by the dozens. The free wireless did not reach our tent and so we huddled in our car updating the blog and checking e-mail when an employee knocked on our window to see if we were lost (embarrassing).
We found our way to kitchen, stumbling upon the entire all male staff of the RV/tenting park (an attractive lot with adorable Canadian accents) and some delicious steak. What a few hours of good conversation and friendly people can change. Also, one of our greatest fantasies was realized. Because we were now friendly with the owner we were taken into the convenience store and told we could take anything we wanted, aisles of candy, ice cream, crackers. While Isabelle and Rachel took full advantage I sadly and stupidly decided I wasn’t hungry at the time. It also revealed through of conversations that the mean old man that scolded us was the big cheese of the town and not particularly loved by the locals. We would not be eating at Archie’s the next morning for breakfast. Our once resentment towards the Yukon now changed into a fond memory of one of our most enjoyable nights hanging with the locals until the early morning. Also thanks to our new friends we were able to procure wood for our sign for the signpost village.
The signpost village is made up of an expanse of poles reaching into the sky covered in creative greetings from all of Watson Lake’s visitors. A total of over 60,000 remnants of travelers who clearly only stayed the night. Some merely stated the hometown of the visitor, some were elaborate representations of their hometown. Ours stated Denver, Abington and Lincoln and the distance to each place. While adding our mark to the now loved city one of our new friends showed up and asked if we wanted to go on a 15 minute local adventure. Climbing hesitantly into his large truck we were taken on a series of winding roads at breakneck speeds to get incredible views of the namesake of the town, Watson Lake. As a result of our time in Watson lake we were taught the age old lesson, first impressions can be deceiving.
Watson Lake, the second largest “city” in the Yukon (a whopping 900 people)… is not what you’re picturing or perhaps it is. Let me elaborate. We roll in at about 8:30 and have spent half of our drive conceiving of the perfect meal for that night, quesadillas with asparagus and the cheddar cheese that is currently melting in our not cool cooler (we haven’t replenished the ice since the beginning for our trip except the snow we tried to use a few days ago). The entrance to Watson Lake is lined with beautifully colored Yukon flags and flags representing a random handful of nations. It looks promising. We drive around for about ten minutes trying to find the “city” center and realize that we have already passed it. It consists of a few stores and gas stations. Fine, all we need is a grocery store anyway, not a bustling metropolis. Guess we also don’t need to go to the movies tonight either. Unfortunately the grocery store is closed and a local informs us that the only other places to buy food are the two gas stations. I think we should write a camping cookbook because we still managed to make a delicious concoction out of all the canned goods we bought.
Our first attempt to stay somewhere for the night was unsuccessful. We were greeted with, “Not tenting! Also, can you drive slower?” We don’t like being scolded and resigned to despise this so called city. Our second attempt at first appeared no better, though we got a spot, we were called children, and the wide green expanse that was promised turned out to be neither wide nor green and was mere feet away from a dilapidated shed. Also the killer mosquitoes were out by the dozens. The free wireless did not reach our tent and so we huddled in our car updating the blog and checking e-mail when an employee knocked on our window to see if we were lost (embarrassing).
We found our way to kitchen, stumbling upon the entire all male staff of the RV/tenting park (an attractive lot with adorable Canadian accents) and some delicious steak. What a few hours of good conversation and friendly people can change. Also, one of our greatest fantasies was realized. Because we were now friendly with the owner we were taken into the convenience store and told we could take anything we wanted, aisles of candy, ice cream, crackers. While Isabelle and Rachel took full advantage I sadly and stupidly decided I wasn’t hungry at the time. It also revealed through of conversations that the mean old man that scolded us was the big cheese of the town and not particularly loved by the locals. We would not be eating at Archie’s the next morning for breakfast. Our once resentment towards the Yukon now changed into a fond memory of one of our most enjoyable nights hanging with the locals until the early morning. Also thanks to our new friends we were able to procure wood for our sign for the signpost village.
The signpost village is made up of an expanse of poles reaching into the sky covered in creative greetings from all of Watson Lake’s visitors. A total of over 60,000 remnants of travelers who clearly only stayed the night. Some merely stated the hometown of the visitor, some were elaborate representations of their hometown. Ours stated Denver, Abington and Lincoln and the distance to each place. While adding our mark to the now loved city one of our new friends showed up and asked if we wanted to go on a 15 minute local adventure. Climbing hesitantly into his large truck we were taken on a series of winding roads at breakneck speeds to get incredible views of the namesake of the town, Watson Lake. As a result of our time in Watson lake we were taught the age old lesson, first impressions can be deceiving.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Canadian Rockies
It’s been one whole week! I can’t believe it’s only been 7 days, we’ve already done and seen so much. It also feels like we’ve been doing this forever, the transitions have been running so smoothly. Camp gets set up in record time (Sophia prefers to make dinner while Isabelle and I set up the tent and roll out the thermarests), driving shifts have been fair and evenly doled out, the tunes have been good and we’re all getting along amazingly well. In fact, this week saw the coming of three periods without a single tear. (I’d be lying if I said I haven’t gotten stressed out at least once a day, but that’s my prerogative. Is and Soph have been absolutely super).
So, the news. We just spent a night in Banff and a night in Jasper, 2 national parks in Alberta. Both are incredibly beautiful. And we’ve been getting active! (no push-ups/training for sea kayaking has occurred yet, however). In Banff, after marveling at the turquoise Lake Louise, we set off on a 11 km hike around and above the lake, the Plain of Six Glaciers. The hike provides stunning views of the lake and surrounding Rockies, and ends with a teahouse. We scurried up boulders, through snow and mud, and loved every moment. But we ARE Clarks and Tkacs, so naturally we looked forward to homemade scones at the top (for those who don’t know…my dad used to literally bribe me with chocolate to get me up hikes. He’d hide it all along the trail and I’d follow the scent like a puppy). Unfortunately, after taking in the adorable teahouse (almost 100 years old and decorated with Tibetan prayer flags) and reading the delicious-looking menu (everything is baked fresh daily without any electricity), we realized that not one of us had thought to bring a cent, Canadian, American, or otherwise. And in an electricity-free building, Visa wasn’t going to be much help. Dejected and starving, we turned around and hurried back down the mountain, obsessed with thoughts of dinner. Poor Isabelle has blisters the size of half-dollars on her feet, but she doesn’t deserve too much pity: she opted to take mom’s too-small hiking boots instead of investing in new ones. And now she’s paying the price! IN PAIN.
The upside of missing tea? Dinner was insanely delicious as a result. We made chili mac (Kraft mixed with spicy chili) and washed it down with ice cold Molson Canadiens (rapidly becoming the official beer of the trip—if you’re reading, Molson, we may be willing to work out an endorsement deal). We all slept easy, too. Banff’s Lake Louiose site has a bear fence! To protect us AND them.
Bear note: There are only 12 in the Lake Louise area, and at least 1 a year is killed due to human-related causes. As the park pamphlet points out, we only go there to recreate, they LIVE there. From that point of view, it seems ridiculous that we fear them, when we pose a much greater threat to them than they us. They’re still scary, though.
Banff was followed by a long, beautiful drive to Jasper up the Icefields Parkway. The drive winds through the Canadian Rockies and provides views of several glaciers. The first, Crowfoot, was the first glacier I’ve ever seen!! (Another note: the glacier was named for its three “toes”—like a crowfoot. Now there are only two and one of them is receding rapidly. It makes me wonder if my children will ever get to see a glacier.)
We also did a great hike, though Sound of Music-like hills (we did some twirling) and muddy rivers, about 8 km, that brought us to an amazing view of the Columbia Icefield—the mama of all the little glaciers, and the 2nd largest visible to the public eye (the only one larger is in Siberia). It was pretty incredible, but I wish we could fly over it and see more—you could see a little bit over the mountains, but I’d imagine it just goes on forever.
We stayed at a nice campground in Jasper (after also seeing a black bear VERY close up on the drive there) and were so worn out that we splurged on pizza and ice cream in town. Yum! Jasper is pretty cute, but bizarre—a sizeable town in the middle of a HUGE national park, which itself is in the middle of nowhere.
Our last adventure in Jasper was horseback riding. We went out on a 1 ½ hour ride around Annette Lake, and I LOVED it. Not only was it beautiful, but I felt like a badass cowboy, even if my horse (Sally) kept a glacial pace throughout. Our guide WAS a cowboy, which..if you know me at all, you’ll know that was pretty exciting. Plus, at it turns out, Canadian cowboys are even better than American ones, because they have incredible Canadian accents! All three of us are now obsessed with Canadian accents and plan to marry our northern neighbors—if only so we have offspring with adorable Canadian accents, too (the kids are almost as cute as the men).
So, in sum? Canada=A plus. Today means more driving: BC and the Yukon are next.
So, the news. We just spent a night in Banff and a night in Jasper, 2 national parks in Alberta. Both are incredibly beautiful. And we’ve been getting active! (no push-ups/training for sea kayaking has occurred yet, however). In Banff, after marveling at the turquoise Lake Louise, we set off on a 11 km hike around and above the lake, the Plain of Six Glaciers. The hike provides stunning views of the lake and surrounding Rockies, and ends with a teahouse. We scurried up boulders, through snow and mud, and loved every moment. But we ARE Clarks and Tkacs, so naturally we looked forward to homemade scones at the top (for those who don’t know…my dad used to literally bribe me with chocolate to get me up hikes. He’d hide it all along the trail and I’d follow the scent like a puppy). Unfortunately, after taking in the adorable teahouse (almost 100 years old and decorated with Tibetan prayer flags) and reading the delicious-looking menu (everything is baked fresh daily without any electricity), we realized that not one of us had thought to bring a cent, Canadian, American, or otherwise. And in an electricity-free building, Visa wasn’t going to be much help. Dejected and starving, we turned around and hurried back down the mountain, obsessed with thoughts of dinner. Poor Isabelle has blisters the size of half-dollars on her feet, but she doesn’t deserve too much pity: she opted to take mom’s too-small hiking boots instead of investing in new ones. And now she’s paying the price! IN PAIN.
The upside of missing tea? Dinner was insanely delicious as a result. We made chili mac (Kraft mixed with spicy chili) and washed it down with ice cold Molson Canadiens (rapidly becoming the official beer of the trip—if you’re reading, Molson, we may be willing to work out an endorsement deal). We all slept easy, too. Banff’s Lake Louiose site has a bear fence! To protect us AND them.
Bear note: There are only 12 in the Lake Louise area, and at least 1 a year is killed due to human-related causes. As the park pamphlet points out, we only go there to recreate, they LIVE there. From that point of view, it seems ridiculous that we fear them, when we pose a much greater threat to them than they us. They’re still scary, though.
Banff was followed by a long, beautiful drive to Jasper up the Icefields Parkway. The drive winds through the Canadian Rockies and provides views of several glaciers. The first, Crowfoot, was the first glacier I’ve ever seen!! (Another note: the glacier was named for its three “toes”—like a crowfoot. Now there are only two and one of them is receding rapidly. It makes me wonder if my children will ever get to see a glacier.)
We also did a great hike, though Sound of Music-like hills (we did some twirling) and muddy rivers, about 8 km, that brought us to an amazing view of the Columbia Icefield—the mama of all the little glaciers, and the 2nd largest visible to the public eye (the only one larger is in Siberia). It was pretty incredible, but I wish we could fly over it and see more—you could see a little bit over the mountains, but I’d imagine it just goes on forever.
We stayed at a nice campground in Jasper (after also seeing a black bear VERY close up on the drive there) and were so worn out that we splurged on pizza and ice cream in town. Yum! Jasper is pretty cute, but bizarre—a sizeable town in the middle of a HUGE national park, which itself is in the middle of nowhere.
Our last adventure in Jasper was horseback riding. We went out on a 1 ½ hour ride around Annette Lake, and I LOVED it. Not only was it beautiful, but I felt like a badass cowboy, even if my horse (Sally) kept a glacial pace throughout. Our guide WAS a cowboy, which..if you know me at all, you’ll know that was pretty exciting. Plus, at it turns out, Canadian cowboys are even better than American ones, because they have incredible Canadian accents! All three of us are now obsessed with Canadian accents and plan to marry our northern neighbors—if only so we have offspring with adorable Canadian accents, too (the kids are almost as cute as the men).
So, in sum? Canada=A plus. Today means more driving: BC and the Yukon are next.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Oh! Canada.
Friday, we entered Canada. After many hours of flat rural driving, we finally saw Calgary on the horizon. The plan was to stay with Pam and Chuck--friends of friends. They lived in a suburb about 15 minutes from downtown. They had yet to call us back, but we had their address, so we decided to just drive around and find it. We turned into Maple Place, and took a left on Maple Creek passing every variation of maple there is--Mapleton, Maple Crest, Maple Village. There were endless Maples, but no Maplehurst. Perhaps their house was in the adjacent maple suburb. We decided we would head into the city and find Pam and Chuck later.
The traffic was horrible. Luckily, the Calgary folk surrounding us were extremely entertaining and made the time pass. In fact, as we were eye flirting with the many shirtless men in trucks, we didnt realize that we had passed the city entirely by about 40 streets! We pulled off, switched drivers, vowed not to be distracted by Canadian men, and headed back into the city.
At this point, plans had changed and we were unfortunately no longer staying with Pam and Chuck. We decided this would be a good night to not camp and headed for the local hostel. Rachel and I went in and found out that the only three beds they had left were separated--two in the girls room and one in the coed. It was probably for the best that we didn't stay because it was in a shady part of town. While Sophia waited in the car for us, she saw three drug deals go down and had made elaborate plans of what she'd do if someone pulled a gun on her.
By now, we were exhausted, starving, and extremely dirty. We were sick of navigating through a strange city, so when we saw the Marriott a few streets away, we decided to just splurge. It was amazing. Perfectly fluffy white pillows, fancy bottles of shampoo, and delicious smelling body cleansers.
After we each took advantage of these luxurious amenities, we went to find some good ol' Canadian cow and nice cold Canadian beer (I'm legal here!!). Dinner was delicious, Calgary nightlife on the other hand, was a bit disappointing. After going to a few bars that looked promising only to be let down, we finally asked some locals for recommendations. They took us to a local club that was supposed to be "really cool" (insert strong Canadian accent). We walked for several blocks with them, listening to their adorable Canadian accents and quizzing each other on how many states they knew versus how many provinces we knew. I am proud to say that I could name all 10 provinces and three territories, while they could not even name 8 states. Once we got to the club we realized we didn't want to spend any money, so we said goodbye to our new friends.
The rest of the evening was kind of lame. Two separate groups of people commented on our age, saying we looked too young to be out--the drinking age in Alberta is 18! We were all pretty offended. Calgary closes up pretty early. By 11:30, just as the sun was starting to set, everything was closed. We called it a night and headed back to our amazing beds to eat oreos and watch TV. It was perfect.
The traffic was horrible. Luckily, the Calgary folk surrounding us were extremely entertaining and made the time pass. In fact, as we were eye flirting with the many shirtless men in trucks, we didnt realize that we had passed the city entirely by about 40 streets! We pulled off, switched drivers, vowed not to be distracted by Canadian men, and headed back into the city.
At this point, plans had changed and we were unfortunately no longer staying with Pam and Chuck. We decided this would be a good night to not camp and headed for the local hostel. Rachel and I went in and found out that the only three beds they had left were separated--two in the girls room and one in the coed. It was probably for the best that we didn't stay because it was in a shady part of town. While Sophia waited in the car for us, she saw three drug deals go down and had made elaborate plans of what she'd do if someone pulled a gun on her.
By now, we were exhausted, starving, and extremely dirty. We were sick of navigating through a strange city, so when we saw the Marriott a few streets away, we decided to just splurge. It was amazing. Perfectly fluffy white pillows, fancy bottles of shampoo, and delicious smelling body cleansers.
After we each took advantage of these luxurious amenities, we went to find some good ol' Canadian cow and nice cold Canadian beer (I'm legal here!!). Dinner was delicious, Calgary nightlife on the other hand, was a bit disappointing. After going to a few bars that looked promising only to be let down, we finally asked some locals for recommendations. They took us to a local club that was supposed to be "really cool" (insert strong Canadian accent). We walked for several blocks with them, listening to their adorable Canadian accents and quizzing each other on how many states they knew versus how many provinces we knew. I am proud to say that I could name all 10 provinces and three territories, while they could not even name 8 states. Once we got to the club we realized we didn't want to spend any money, so we said goodbye to our new friends.
The rest of the evening was kind of lame. Two separate groups of people commented on our age, saying we looked too young to be out--the drinking age in Alberta is 18! We were all pretty offended. Calgary closes up pretty early. By 11:30, just as the sun was starting to set, everything was closed. We called it a night and headed back to our amazing beds to eat oreos and watch TV. It was perfect.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Little Johnny and the Lock Out
Rain, cold and a 1/2 hour traffic delay was our introduction to Yellowstone. At the entrance to the park we were handed a pile of reading material and our first look at Yellowstone's sick sense of humor. Or perhaps it is Yellowstone's compete lack of humor about body maiming that does not let them see the ridiculousness of their warnings. A picture will be included in this post because I'm not sure that I can do it justice, however, I will try. Little...let's cal him Johnny comes with his family to Yellowstone. Bright eyed and fancy free with his camera around his neck and a ball cap placed jauntily on his head, Little Johnny is so excited to see his first buffalo. He inches closer and closer. All he wants is to get the perfect picture to take home to his boy scout troop. Next thing he knows, Little Johnny is being gored by a bison. In steps Yellowstone who decides that htis is the perfect opportunity to teach other Little Johnnys a lesson with what I can only imagine is a caricature artist standing around for just such hilarious and horrific events. Yellowstone now hands out a bright orange flyer with Little Johnny flung into the air, limbs flailing, hat now not so jauntily suspended in the air next to him and the camera separated from his neck. Behind Little Johnny stands the enormous bison with its sharp horns (clearly what has flung L.J. into the air) ready to rip him apar
t. So be warned park goers, if the bison would gore Little Johnny they certainly won't spare you.Ok I digress, but just as an added note, poor Little Johnny also learned a lesson when he stepped on a Geyser and was scorched as his mother looked on horrified. That darn caricature artist was clearly there again and the result is now posted at the entrance of all geysers.
Back to us, we easily found our campsite and were warned about the danger of bears that were spotted at the campsite, the previous night (corroborated by the scat we found near the camp bathroom). The rain let up just long enough for us to set up our tent; however, sadly we had to cook in the the rain. A delicious, though slightly smoky sausage and mushroom pasta was produced. Ok 7:30, it was time for bed. We stepped into the slightly soggy tent and stripped ourselves of our food smelling clothes (to be consumed by a bear in the night b/c it mistook you for a giant portabello, chicken sausage would be a tragic demise). The clothes were stored in the car, the car was locked and we wiggled into the warmth of our sleeping bags. At some point between me pretending to be birthed by my sleeping bag and a convo about unbloggable things (the exact point is yet to be remembered) we realized that both sets of keys were snuggling up to bed in the warmth of The Blue Avenger. I found this hilarious, Rachel found it less than hilarious and Isabelle kept her cool. AAA to the rescue... if only we got cell service. OK fine we'll drive back to the entrance of the campsite to the payphone...oh right we can't get in the car, that's the problem. So Rachel and I began the long trek as Isabelle stayed on bear alert in the tent. Luckily we found a friendly ranger who was able to call a friendly ranger mechanic to unlock our car for a small friendly fee. Success!!
We turn in for the night only every rustle is clearly a bear creeping up to our tent and I lay tense in my my sleeping bag, hoping Isabelle has her poking fingers ready. I would just like to note here that while Isabelle shows an appropriate fear of bears, Rachel shows an unhealthy lack of fear of bears, though she does now wear a car key around her neck at all times. Needless to say we survived the night and thwarted a bear attack...for now.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Big Sky State
Even just driving has been exciting. Since Yellowstone, we’ve gone through the entire length of Montana, south to north. It started off beautiful, mountainous, and lush. While there was a noticeable lack of trees, the grass was green and we passed multiple rivers and lakes.
“When I grow up, I want to be rich enough to own a house in the middle of nowhere,” said Sophia. We all agreed and promptly divvied up the land. I selected a spot behind a hill, far away and out of view of Rte. 15. Sophia wanted a place along the river (the Missouri, for those who care). And Isabelle mused that Montana just might be the perfect place to put that cabin she’s been talking about building (by hand) lately.
We end up camping in a Podunk town called Townsend, and play bocce under the gigantic sky. BIG SKY. It’s instantly obvious where the nickname comes from. The mountains are far away but still visible, which makes the sky feel enormous. We tried to stay up to see the stars, but at 11:00 pm it was still pretty light, and we dozed off before we could see it.
Today, after driving five hours or so, our attitude has changed. WHO WOULD LIVE HERE?! Is the general query—it’s flat forever in all directions, salt is visibly leeching from the earth, and it smells like cow. Better than sulphur maybe (and it’s possible that we smell even worse…we hope to shower in Calgary). I guess the sky is still big—but it’s not that same Montana Big Sky. It’s hazy and dry and basically resembles a green plain meeting a blue one. Sophia’s driving and she’s about to lose her mind—even 85 mph feels like a snail’s pace.
At least when we cross the border the accents change. But who lives here? Voluntarily? I’m anxious to find out.
“When I grow up, I want to be rich enough to own a house in the middle of nowhere,” said Sophia. We all agreed and promptly divvied up the land. I selected a spot behind a hill, far away and out of view of Rte. 15. Sophia wanted a place along the river (the Missouri, for those who care). And Isabelle mused that Montana just might be the perfect place to put that cabin she’s been talking about building (by hand) lately.
We end up camping in a Podunk town called Townsend, and play bocce under the gigantic sky. BIG SKY. It’s instantly obvious where the nickname comes from. The mountains are far away but still visible, which makes the sky feel enormous. We tried to stay up to see the stars, but at 11:00 pm it was still pretty light, and we dozed off before we could see it.
Today, after driving five hours or so, our attitude has changed. WHO WOULD LIVE HERE?! Is the general query—it’s flat forever in all directions, salt is visibly leeching from the earth, and it smells like cow. Better than sulphur maybe (and it’s possible that we smell even worse…we hope to shower in Calgary). I guess the sky is still big—but it’s not that same Montana Big Sky. It’s hazy and dry and basically resembles a green plain meeting a blue one. Sophia’s driving and she’s about to lose her mind—even 85 mph feels like a snail’s pace.
At least when we cross the border the accents change. But who lives here? Voluntarily? I’m anxious to find out.
Bears, Bears, Bears!
Yesterday, we saw a bear. Not a real bear, but a large stuffed bear on it hind legs, selling for $34,000. Although I appreciated the bears strength and beauty, it did make me rethink my plan of simply poking a bear in the eye if it chose to attack me. Standing close to 10 feet tall, I will now instead first get on Sophia’s shoulders, and then poke it in the eyes.
I have always been terrified of bears, and I was aware prior to the trip that we might encounter them, but now the possibility seems all too real. When we arrived in Yellowstone yesterday afternoon, we were given a plethora of reading material, each flyer describing more horrendous things that could happen to us. “Don’t go near the geyser basin, you WILL be scorched to death!” “Don’t approach the bison, many visitors have already been gored this year!” “Don’t leave ANY odor in your tent, grizzly bears WILL attack!”
Most of the bear advice seemed easy to follow. If they come close, back away and don’t run. If they charge, play dead. Although it would be terrifying, I figured that if the situation should occur, I could do these things. However, the next paragraph was particularly troubling. Sometimes a grizzly will spot something they like and decide to stalk it. In this case, they have chosen you as their prey. The only option: FIGHT BACK! This is where my eye poking will come in handy.
Last night we had our first night in the tent, out in the wild. As I tried to sleep, all of these images were mulling around in my head. Every band was my neighbor being swallowed whole. Every rustle was my potential “Stalker”. Naturally, I didn’t sleep.
I have always been terrified of bears, and I was aware prior to the trip that we might encounter them, but now the possibility seems all too real. When we arrived in Yellowstone yesterday afternoon, we were given a plethora of reading material, each flyer describing more horrendous things that could happen to us. “Don’t go near the geyser basin, you WILL be scorched to death!” “Don’t approach the bison, many visitors have already been gored this year!” “Don’t leave ANY odor in your tent, grizzly bears WILL attack!”
Most of the bear advice seemed easy to follow. If they come close, back away and don’t run. If they charge, play dead. Although it would be terrifying, I figured that if the situation should occur, I could do these things. However, the next paragraph was particularly troubling. Sometimes a grizzly will spot something they like and decide to stalk it. In this case, they have chosen you as their prey. The only option: FIGHT BACK! This is where my eye poking will come in handy.
Last night we had our first night in the tent, out in the wild. As I tried to sleep, all of these images were mulling around in my head. Every band was my neighbor being swallowed whole. Every rustle was my potential “Stalker”. Naturally, I didn’t sleep.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Jackson, WY
Our journey has commenced! Yesterday we drove approximately 550 miles from Denver, CO to Jackson, WY. It was a slow start. I was ready, but Rachel and Sophia still had bills to pay, errands to do, and of course, still needed to pack. After a very stressful morning full of almost breakdowns and packing the car in the perfect way so everything fit, we were on the road! It was an anti-climatic start because we left at 5:00pm along with the entire city of Denver. We spent the first hour of the trip inching away from Denver. Luckily, for me it was still exciting because I could look at the Rockies towering over us.
The drive from Colorado to Cheyenne, WY was uneventful. Flat straight highway with the Rockies on the left and endless prairie lands on the right. Cheyenne, the capital of Wyoming, was also pretty quiet. I guess it was a Tuesday night. We ate at a popular Wyoming franchise called Sandford’s pub and grub. Although it was packed with locals, again, it was very quiet. Strange. We started the trip with a meal packed with grease only to vow that it would be the last time. My favorites were the Freddies—a whole potato chopped in four slices, breaded, and deep-fried. Mmmm.
After Cheyenne, we all piled back into the Blue Avenger, Sophia took the wheel, I was navigator, and Rachel cuddled up with all the squishy stuff in the back. In retrospect, we probably should have planned this leg of the journey a little more. Here we were in the middle of nowhere Wyoming at 9pm still 400 miles from our final resting spot of Jackson, WY. Although we probably could have, and probably should have just pitched the tent on the side of the road when we got delirious around 12Am, we decided to just stick it out till we got to Jackson. Sophia went for two hours. Rachel took her turn and listened to the ever-calming Harry Potter book on tape, which put me right to sleep. Then it was my turn.
I took my spot at 1AM and Rachel sat next to me as my personal cheerleader along with Steve Tyler and the boys (Aerosmith). Sophia immediately fell asleep in the nook. For the next two hours we were the ONLY car on the road. We passed through about four villages along the way. We would pass a sign that said “reduce speed, entering Boulder: Population 75 Elevation 7865. Before we knew it we’d be out of the “town”. Then 60 miles later we’d enter Bondurant: Population 100 Eleveation 6076. We then came to the booming metropolis of Pindell. Only slightly large than Lincoln, VT, this town was fully equipped with several bars, Best Western, and even Subway!
In this environment it was easy to fall under the spell of highway hypnosis. Slowly my speed would creep up to 95mph. This is when we started thinking about maybe just stopping for the night. However, this is when the landscape also started to change. We were no longer driving through the friendly flatlands, we were in bear territory. Mountains had crept up out of nowhere and there were finally trees again. Camping was out of the question. We really busted out the last 40minutes. Rachel sang loudly to Beyonce trying to keep me chipper and awake, when she herself was about to pass out. Then we saw the city lights! I slowed my speed to 70mph as we approached. After what seemed liked hours being all alone, another car was on the road. We rejoiced thinking, “Civilization!”.
Then the car did a quick U-turn. Literally, at 3AM half a mile away from our heavenly super 8, blue lights flashed behind us. I pulled over as we all sat in disbelief. The cop came over and said “Did you know you were going 70mph in a marked 55mph?”
“Was I?!”. I explained that we’d been driving from Denver and were going to Jackson. He replied, “oh yeah? That’s it right there”. Uhhh. He was actually very friendly and ended up giving us a warning explaining that normally it would have been a $150 ticket! Oh thank god we are three beautiful young women.
We checked into our motel at 3:15am only to be told that check out was at 11am. We all hurried to bed to get our expensive 7 hours of mattress time.
The drive from Colorado to Cheyenne, WY was uneventful. Flat straight highway with the Rockies on the left and endless prairie lands on the right. Cheyenne, the capital of Wyoming, was also pretty quiet. I guess it was a Tuesday night. We ate at a popular Wyoming franchise called Sandford’s pub and grub. Although it was packed with locals, again, it was very quiet. Strange. We started the trip with a meal packed with grease only to vow that it would be the last time. My favorites were the Freddies—a whole potato chopped in four slices, breaded, and deep-fried. Mmmm.
After Cheyenne, we all piled back into the Blue Avenger, Sophia took the wheel, I was navigator, and Rachel cuddled up with all the squishy stuff in the back. In retrospect, we probably should have planned this leg of the journey a little more. Here we were in the middle of nowhere Wyoming at 9pm still 400 miles from our final resting spot of Jackson, WY. Although we probably could have, and probably should have just pitched the tent on the side of the road when we got delirious around 12Am, we decided to just stick it out till we got to Jackson. Sophia went for two hours. Rachel took her turn and listened to the ever-calming Harry Potter book on tape, which put me right to sleep. Then it was my turn.
I took my spot at 1AM and Rachel sat next to me as my personal cheerleader along with Steve Tyler and the boys (Aerosmith). Sophia immediately fell asleep in the nook. For the next two hours we were the ONLY car on the road. We passed through about four villages along the way. We would pass a sign that said “reduce speed, entering Boulder: Population 75 Elevation 7865. Before we knew it we’d be out of the “town”. Then 60 miles later we’d enter Bondurant: Population 100 Eleveation 6076. We then came to the booming metropolis of Pindell. Only slightly large than Lincoln, VT, this town was fully equipped with several bars, Best Western, and even Subway!
In this environment it was easy to fall under the spell of highway hypnosis. Slowly my speed would creep up to 95mph. This is when we started thinking about maybe just stopping for the night. However, this is when the landscape also started to change. We were no longer driving through the friendly flatlands, we were in bear territory. Mountains had crept up out of nowhere and there were finally trees again. Camping was out of the question. We really busted out the last 40minutes. Rachel sang loudly to Beyonce trying to keep me chipper and awake, when she herself was about to pass out. Then we saw the city lights! I slowed my speed to 70mph as we approached. After what seemed liked hours being all alone, another car was on the road. We rejoiced thinking, “Civilization!”.
Then the car did a quick U-turn. Literally, at 3AM half a mile away from our heavenly super 8, blue lights flashed behind us. I pulled over as we all sat in disbelief. The cop came over and said “Did you know you were going 70mph in a marked 55mph?”
“Was I?!”. I explained that we’d been driving from Denver and were going to Jackson. He replied, “oh yeah? That’s it right there”. Uhhh. He was actually very friendly and ended up giving us a warning explaining that normally it would have been a $150 ticket! Oh thank god we are three beautiful young women.
We checked into our motel at 3:15am only to be told that check out was at 11am. We all hurried to bed to get our expensive 7 hours of mattress time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)