After two nights sleeping on wheels, we were anxious to get to Seward and back to Sir Tentalot, who we were (shockingly?) starting to miss. Sleeping in the school bus was better than the Blue Avenger, but only marginally. We wanted sleeping bags! Cookfires! Thermarests! Luckily, this—along with the most epic of Independence Day celebrations—was exactly what we found in Seward.
Seward is, like Homer, a small community at the end of the road. It is on the eastern side of the Kenai Peninsula. While both towns are situated right on the ocean, Seward’s landscape differs greatly from Homer’s in that it is surrounded by mountains. In fact, the mountains go directly into town. Mt. Marathon is a ½ mile from the center of town, and it is the site of Seward’s #1 attraction: the annual 4th of July Mountain Marathon. While not being an actual marathon, this race is actually as incredible as it sounds. Decades ago, a guy from Seward (drunk in a local bar, of course) bet his friend that he could run up Mt. Marathon (and back to the bar) in less than an hour. A tradition was born, and the record time is now somewhere in the 45 minute range. Obviously, we had decided early in planning for the road trip that we had to be in Seward for this spectacle. Virtually every Alaskan we’ve met along the way has confirmed it as a July 4th must-do.
We arrived just in time for the men’s race, and picked out an excellent vantage point—we could see a lot of the trail, as well as the peak. The men came in a huge pack, and made their way up the base in a winding line that resembled a crowd of hunchbacked ants. Their speed at this point barely qualified as speedwalking—the trail was just that steep. This was pretty amusing to watch, but the real fun came in the descent: the racers were basically rolling down the mountain, covered in mud, while rocks bounced dangerously close to their heads and kicked up enormous amounts of dust. The steepest chute was followed by a flat straightaway—we saw several people fall just trying to slow down. (Watching people fall down is always entertaining).
To be honest—in all the amusement—it was a little unnerving. I felt panicked at times, convinced that someone would get seriously injured (not an irrational fear—there was even an ambulance parked at the base). It was that sick fascination kind of spectatorship—like NASCAR or the rodeo. But I needn’t have worried. No one was hurt—and a few racers even performed fancy jumps and spins on the steepest part (show offs) and it was all very exciting.
After enjoying the race, we stopped back in Seward’s center just for a minute to bid farewell to our new friend Zack and to watch Hobo Jim (the “troubadour of Alaska”) play a few tunes at a bar while Lil’ DD waited outside. The town had a whole streetfair going o, but Girdwood pretty much streetfaired us out, so we bought groceries and headed to our campsite, where we had our 4th halibut dinner in 5 days. It’s still delicious! We’ll see how long that lasts.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Girdwood and The Magic School Bus
So, as I mentioned before, the Girdwood Forest Fair is a music festival that takes place in the woods of a small ski town (who knew they had skiing in Alaska!). The festival in known for its craziness—especially in the area of drugs, specifically hallucinogens. We were more excited about the live music and festival food, but when people consistently responded to our plans to go to Girdwood with, “Hahaha. Have fun, it’s CRAZY!!” we started getting nervous, and then excited to watch all the crazy drugged out people try to dance.
We arrived early afternoon, when it was mostly a family affair. There were endless paths of craft booths weaving through the forest. Beautiful pottery, hand sewn clothes, wooden trinkets—all the things Alaskans had spent the winter months creating to stay sane. After a few hours of browsing and listening to music we started thinking, what’s the big deal? Everyone seemed totally docile and sober. We were about to call it quits when we ran into our fishing buddy, Zack. He convinced us to stay, assuring us that a fantastic bluegrass rock band was about to come on.
He was right! We finally got some jigging in (I would like to note here that we totally started the dance party. Correction, I totally started the dance party). The music was hopping and pretty soon we were covered in dust and sweat. Sophia and Rachel decided to get a beer and we headed to the “Beer Garden”. This was a roped off area that beer was sold and minors were not allowed. We tried to convince the bouncer, Paul Todd, that I should be allowed in because A.) we were being responsible by having a designated driver and B.) they were my only friends there, what was I supposed to do, stand alone and wait? He refused and told me that I could wait with him. Rachel and Sophia happily agreed and off they went. So I was stuck with Paul Todd.
Paul Todd is a 60 something originally from Nebraska. He has been volunteering at Girdwood for years. Although he was possibly the most boring person I’ve encountered thus far (Seriously, I had to constantly remind myself to pay attention so I could nod at the right moments), he at least told me a little Girdwood history.
Girdwood started about 34 years ago. It began as a small festival with no organization or rules. Then it grew. First the bluegrass crowd arrived bringing with them pot and dancing. Then the mushroom and acid users came, camping all over town in a chaotic crazy sort of way. And finally, Paul said, the meth users came and with them came not only chaos but also violence (terrifying!). They had to cancel it last year because the town was so mad. So, this year it was supposed to be a more low key event. No wonder Paul was so adamant about not letting me in the beer garden.
Not nearly quick enough, Rachel and Sophia returned. I said goodbye to Paul and we headed back to the music. Although in theory Girdwood was a no longer drug friendly, it was clear that some drugs made there way in. The final band was a mix of reggae and native music that also included a lot bird noises. It was a fantastic band for dancing, but a few people pulled out some bird moves that simply could not be done without being under the influence.
The music and festival ended relatively early, but not to worry, the entire group simply moved to a different forest in town. Although I was psyched that I could participate, it was a little too weird for me. Sophia and I soon tired of it and decided to call it a night and head up to the bus.
Oh yeah, the bus! So, our friend Zack, who has become sort of like our Alaskan brother, lives in a bus. A big yellow school bus. It is amazing. He has removed most of the seats and added cabinets, bunk beds, and a large futon. Why would we break out Sir Tentalot when we could spend one last night inside? Zack handed us the keys (why he trusted us I’m not sure. Sophia and I seriously considered driving off with it. Leave Rachel, gain a school bus? A fair trade I think) and for the first time in my life I slept on a school bus.
We arrived early afternoon, when it was mostly a family affair. There were endless paths of craft booths weaving through the forest. Beautiful pottery, hand sewn clothes, wooden trinkets—all the things Alaskans had spent the winter months creating to stay sane. After a few hours of browsing and listening to music we started thinking, what’s the big deal? Everyone seemed totally docile and sober. We were about to call it quits when we ran into our fishing buddy, Zack. He convinced us to stay, assuring us that a fantastic bluegrass rock band was about to come on.
He was right! We finally got some jigging in (I would like to note here that we totally started the dance party. Correction, I totally started the dance party). The music was hopping and pretty soon we were covered in dust and sweat. Sophia and Rachel decided to get a beer and we headed to the “Beer Garden”. This was a roped off area that beer was sold and minors were not allowed. We tried to convince the bouncer, Paul Todd, that I should be allowed in because A.) we were being responsible by having a designated driver and B.) they were my only friends there, what was I supposed to do, stand alone and wait? He refused and told me that I could wait with him. Rachel and Sophia happily agreed and off they went. So I was stuck with Paul Todd.
Paul Todd is a 60 something originally from Nebraska. He has been volunteering at Girdwood for years. Although he was possibly the most boring person I’ve encountered thus far (Seriously, I had to constantly remind myself to pay attention so I could nod at the right moments), he at least told me a little Girdwood history.
Girdwood started about 34 years ago. It began as a small festival with no organization or rules. Then it grew. First the bluegrass crowd arrived bringing with them pot and dancing. Then the mushroom and acid users came, camping all over town in a chaotic crazy sort of way. And finally, Paul said, the meth users came and with them came not only chaos but also violence (terrifying!). They had to cancel it last year because the town was so mad. So, this year it was supposed to be a more low key event. No wonder Paul was so adamant about not letting me in the beer garden.
Not nearly quick enough, Rachel and Sophia returned. I said goodbye to Paul and we headed back to the music. Although in theory Girdwood was a no longer drug friendly, it was clear that some drugs made there way in. The final band was a mix of reggae and native music that also included a lot bird noises. It was a fantastic band for dancing, but a few people pulled out some bird moves that simply could not be done without being under the influence.
The music and festival ended relatively early, but not to worry, the entire group simply moved to a different forest in town. Although I was psyched that I could participate, it was a little too weird for me. Sophia and I soon tired of it and decided to call it a night and head up to the bus.
Oh yeah, the bus! So, our friend Zack, who has become sort of like our Alaskan brother, lives in a bus. A big yellow school bus. It is amazing. He has removed most of the seats and added cabinets, bunk beds, and a large futon. Why would we break out Sir Tentalot when we could spend one last night inside? Zack handed us the keys (why he trusted us I’m not sure. Sophia and I seriously considered driving off with it. Leave Rachel, gain a school bus? A fair trade I think) and for the first time in my life I slept on a school bus.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Homeless again
After taking advantage of Maura’s living room for almost a week (thanks again!!), we have finally moved on. On July 2nd, we packed up all our stuff, did final cleaning and laundry, and said goodbye to Homer. We headed out in the late afternoon (we have a habit of doing that…) and drove to the town of Girdwood where our fishing friend, Zack, told us there was a great forest fair from the 3rd through the 5th. We decided we’d get there early, beat the crowds and secure a fantastic camping spot. Unfortunately, when we arrived we were told that camping was not allowed at the fair grounds until the next day. Unsure of what to do, we asked where we should camp. The security told us of an old mine that had been converted into a campground just a few miles away.
We headed down a dark windy road towards the campground. The road was a good indication of what was to come. The Girdwood mine campground is possibly the sketchiest scariest campground in the world. Two very shady men occupied the first spot we passed. They had no tent, just a big white van, and they stared at us as we passed with their eyes darting suspiciously all around. The next spot was filled by a family that I’m pretty sure had come to Girdwood a few years ago and decided to just stay. There were toys scattered everywhere, a bundle of kids frolicking about, and the tent appeared old and weathered. It was actually quite sad—the kids seemed quite content, but it was hard to watch the scene once you noticed the parents passed out by the fire surrounded by beer cans.
The rest of the campground brought more of the same. There were old rusting RVs with tires seeping into the ground from years of disuse, elaborate swings and tables built into the surrounding forests. Had we entered some sort of Alaskan shantytown? When the security suggested we stay at the campground, did he mean a permanent camping community? Whatever it was, it was terrifying. We sped out and tried to come up with plan B.
But first, dinner. We took out a few pounds of halibut and set up the kitchen at the most beautiful highway turnoff. It was a little beach nestled between an ocean inlet and the mountains. We cooked up the cheeks, which are supposed to be the most delicious part of halibut. And they are!! They have a similar consistency of lobster and taste like the ocean. YUM. We made the most delicious fish tacos ever.
After spending a few hours eating and playing in the sand, it was nearly 10:30pm and we still had no place to sleep. We headed to Chugach National Park to see if any campsites were available. They weren’t. In retrospect, we probably should have planned a place to stay for the 4th of July weekend.
We discussed the possibility of trading halibut for a corner of someone’s spot. We then started off down logging roads looking for a flat spot. It was late, we figured we could set up camp, wake up early and leave before anyone realized we were even there. Apparently the rest of Alaska had the same idea. Whenever we thought we had found a secret spot, there’d be a tent perfectly tucked away from the road.
We continued our search, wasting gas and starting to panic. Defeated and approaching midnight, we all thought, why not just sleep in the car? We pulled over by portage glacier. We hung scarves on the windows to block out light and any potential passersby. After a brief debate about differences in dogs and humans and the possibility of dying in our sleep due to lack of oxygen, we agreed to crack a window even though it let in thousands of mosquitoes. We pulled out our sleeping bags, reclined the chairs, and went to bed. Sophia took the driver’s seat (she can sleep anywhere), I got the passenger’s seat, and Rachel took the back. It was a long night. Sophia swears I fell asleep, but I would argue I did not.
The next morning we drove away and headed to the nearest gas station. Oh, how easy it was to revert back to our old ways after being spoiled in Homer.
We headed down a dark windy road towards the campground. The road was a good indication of what was to come. The Girdwood mine campground is possibly the sketchiest scariest campground in the world. Two very shady men occupied the first spot we passed. They had no tent, just a big white van, and they stared at us as we passed with their eyes darting suspiciously all around. The next spot was filled by a family that I’m pretty sure had come to Girdwood a few years ago and decided to just stay. There were toys scattered everywhere, a bundle of kids frolicking about, and the tent appeared old and weathered. It was actually quite sad—the kids seemed quite content, but it was hard to watch the scene once you noticed the parents passed out by the fire surrounded by beer cans.
The rest of the campground brought more of the same. There were old rusting RVs with tires seeping into the ground from years of disuse, elaborate swings and tables built into the surrounding forests. Had we entered some sort of Alaskan shantytown? When the security suggested we stay at the campground, did he mean a permanent camping community? Whatever it was, it was terrifying. We sped out and tried to come up with plan B.
But first, dinner. We took out a few pounds of halibut and set up the kitchen at the most beautiful highway turnoff. It was a little beach nestled between an ocean inlet and the mountains. We cooked up the cheeks, which are supposed to be the most delicious part of halibut. And they are!! They have a similar consistency of lobster and taste like the ocean. YUM. We made the most delicious fish tacos ever.
After spending a few hours eating and playing in the sand, it was nearly 10:30pm and we still had no place to sleep. We headed to Chugach National Park to see if any campsites were available. They weren’t. In retrospect, we probably should have planned a place to stay for the 4th of July weekend.
We discussed the possibility of trading halibut for a corner of someone’s spot. We then started off down logging roads looking for a flat spot. It was late, we figured we could set up camp, wake up early and leave before anyone realized we were even there. Apparently the rest of Alaska had the same idea. Whenever we thought we had found a secret spot, there’d be a tent perfectly tucked away from the road.
We continued our search, wasting gas and starting to panic. Defeated and approaching midnight, we all thought, why not just sleep in the car? We pulled over by portage glacier. We hung scarves on the windows to block out light and any potential passersby. After a brief debate about differences in dogs and humans and the possibility of dying in our sleep due to lack of oxygen, we agreed to crack a window even though it let in thousands of mosquitoes. We pulled out our sleeping bags, reclined the chairs, and went to bed. Sophia took the driver’s seat (she can sleep anywhere), I got the passenger’s seat, and Rachel took the back. It was a long night. Sophia swears I fell asleep, but I would argue I did not.
The next morning we drove away and headed to the nearest gas station. Oh, how easy it was to revert back to our old ways after being spoiled in Homer.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Fishtastic!
As we struggled to reel our fish out of the water, part of the excitement was getting to see how large they were. As they neared the top you could make out their distinct shape, but the size was indecipherable until they practically surfaced due to the distortion from the water. The bigger the better, we thought. Some great 10 pounders were smugly declared too small and released back into the water to their great relief. In the end, once filleted, our haul was weighed at over 90 pounds. We congratulated ourselves and boasted to our friends about our impressive day. After getting it frozen we commandeered Maura and Kordell’s freezer and filled it to almost beyond capacity.
Little did we think in all of our self-congratulatory celebration that we had perhaps caught too much fish. Too much fish? Impossible. To those not up to date on current fish market prices, halibut can sell for $20 per pound in the lower 48s. We were rich in fish. Sadly there is no place to exchange fish for cash (though less delicious, significantly more useful). Although we might like brag about our massive combined appetite, even we are unable to eat 90 pounds of fish in a matter of days. Our solution was to send some off, leave some with our fine AK friends and offer it to our blog readers (no takers but don’t worry we’re not insulted, you will be receiving some for X-mas anyway, Halibut in stockings, delicious!). Finally we decided to take about 20 pounds with us on our journey. Do not be mistaken as we once were, coolers are not freezers and fish cannot be kept that long (even when you change the ice everyday). Thus we have just finished our 6th straight day of eating Halibut (a lovely Halibut soup made with ramen, halibut and canned veggies).
Perhaps the most memorable halibut dinner was our deep fried night. When we dropped off fish at Capt. Mike and Mary’s, we stayed and chatted for a while listening to stories about the old days of fishing. The evening concluded with the Captain’s very own recipe for fried halibut and our very own bag of Krusteaz to take home. What resulted can only be summed up with the lesson we learned; no home is complete without a deep fryer. It was like magic. You dropped in hunks of fish dipped in pancake batter. It bubbled and browned in a mere minute and out came perfectly cooked and crunchy fish. Of course this prompted us to deep fry everything in sight. Like most of our decisions this seemed entirely reasonable at the time. “Everything” amounted to 4 mini chocolate bars and two cookies worth of raw cookie dough. We didn’t have any more oil so we figured the same oil we used for the fish was fine. There were only a few fish chunks floating around and they were easily fished out with a spoon.
Funny fact, chocolate melts when it gets hot. We ended up with shells of friedness with the remnants to prove that chocolate had in fact once been there. Cookie dough was no better. It melted and didn’t fry. We eagerly divided up the sad excuse for dessert and popped them still steaming into our mouths. “Delicious,” we declared prematurely. Then we chewed. It tasted like chocolate covered fish. Chocolate covered fish is not delicious. So warning to all readers who are clearly going to run out and purchase their very own deep fryer, always change the oil.
P.S. -We will continue counting our consecutive fish eating days. Currently 6 and counting!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Home Sweet Homer!!
We arrived in Homer just in time. We had reached the half-way point of our trip and perhaps the low point as well. We hadn’t showered in 5 days and our last shower had been in an oh so alluring stream of sulfur. During this period of non-showering were intense hikes during which we applied layer after layer of bug spray and sunscreen, and waking up in puddles with dirt caked faces. We knew it was bad when Rachel searched for the offensive odor in our tent and realized that it was her hair.
Needless to say we arrived in Homer in poor form, mere shadow of the clean girls that we once were. Despite our lacking personal hygiene, I could barely contain my excitement. As we drove I knew exactly the bend that would reveal the “skyline” of Homer, a lookout point from which you could see the spit extend into the water shaped like a finger beckoning visitors, dwarfed by the mountains that were reflected in the water that separated the two. Two peaks cradled a massive glacier and a mist cast a mysterious light over the entire view. It had been two years since I had been here, but everything seemed so familiar.
Other than our very exciting fishing adventure, we treated Homer as a point of relaxation and revival. We slept in real beds (well I guess in comparison to sleeping on the ground, mattresses on the floor seem like real beds). We had a kitchen with running water, electricity and a refrigerator; man, what will they think of next! We also had two very gracious hosts who accepted us despite our obvious initial stench and our ever- expanding pile of junk that began in their dining room and somehow extended out the door onto their lawn and around their house (thanks Maura and Kordell!).
The endless numbers of cafes and restaurants built for the large numbers of tourists that flock to the quaint fishing village in the summer provided us ample space and fuel for our revitalization. I caught up with old friends and bonded with the new love of my life, Stinker. All in all there is nothing grand to report that has not already been reported, but Homer has lived up to my expectations and the fact that we are going to look at real estate before we leave should be indicative of our feelings towards this quirky town at the end of the road.
Needless to say we arrived in Homer in poor form, mere shadow of the clean girls that we once were. Despite our lacking personal hygiene, I could barely contain my excitement. As we drove I knew exactly the bend that would reveal the “skyline” of Homer, a lookout point from which you could see the spit extend into the water shaped like a finger beckoning visitors, dwarfed by the mountains that were reflected in the water that separated the two. Two peaks cradled a massive glacier and a mist cast a mysterious light over the entire view. It had been two years since I had been here, but everything seemed so familiar.
Other than our very exciting fishing adventure, we treated Homer as a point of relaxation and revival. We slept in real beds (well I guess in comparison to sleeping on the ground, mattresses on the floor seem like real beds). We had a kitchen with running water, electricity and a refrigerator; man, what will they think of next! We also had two very gracious hosts who accepted us despite our obvious initial stench and our ever- expanding pile of junk that began in their dining room and somehow extended out the door onto their lawn and around their house (thanks Maura and Kordell!).
The endless numbers of cafes and restaurants built for the large numbers of tourists that flock to the quaint fishing village in the summer provided us ample space and fuel for our revitalization. I caught up with old friends and bonded with the new love of my life, Stinker. All in all there is nothing grand to report that has not already been reported, but Homer has lived up to my expectations and the fact that we are going to look at real estate before we leave should be indicative of our feelings towards this quirky town at the end of the road.
Bon Appetit!
So, dear readers, I'm sure you've all been dying to know one important, often unreported, thing about our trip: what on earth have we been eating? I know you're curious--I always am--so I've decided to blog about that delicious aspect of our trip: FOOD.
In some ways, the dining on this road trip has been caveman-like: we never really know what we're going to get. One day we'll eat the finest steaks Alberta has to offer (in Calgary), while another day held only peanut butter: peanut butter granola bar for breakfast, peanut butter sandwich (no jelly) for lunch, Reese's peanut butter cup for snack (the most un-delicious Reese's peanut butter cup I've ever eaten). One day in Fort St. John, B.C., lunch was dry tuna directly from the can. Dinner is a little bit better, but even that has gotten repetitive at times. We've had Ramen noodles three nights (with a green vegetable) and chili mac twice. But I have no complaints about that one--I'm pretty sure I could eat chili mac once a week for the rest of my life and be happy about it.
What is really notable about our diets on this trip, however, is their magnitude. Readers who know only one of us should be aware: we ALL eat like that. For instance, if you think that I eat a lot, you should see Sophia. One night at a BBQ restaurant in Whitehorse, YT, Ms. Tkac ordered a full rack of ribs. When the ribs arrived in all their glory, a man at a nearby table leaned over and said, "wow, that's a lot of food. I guess you'll be taking home leftovers!" We all stared in disbelief at this ignorant man. Sophia replied, "no, I think I'll be eating it all right now" and he chuckled, disbelieving. I'll have you know that Sophia ate every single one of those ribs, right to the bone. On his way out, he told her that he was impressed. That's Sophia, debunking the myth of the petite female appetite everywhere she goes.
Because we all have appetites essentially like Sophia's, we were starting to get frustrated with our road diet of Ramen and peanut butter. Finally reaching Homer was like the holy grail of deliciousness: we've eaten out a luxurious number of times (partially because many of Sophia's fond memories of the town are related to the local cuisine). The first night, we partook in salmon burgers and burritos at Cosmic Kitchen, followed by dessert at Sourdough Express (Dessert was a brownie sundae and a strawberry rhubarb crisp à la mode. When the waitress returned to fetch our clean plates, she remarked that we finished in "record time." Not very shocking). Sunday we had brunch (BRUNCH!) at The Duncan House. Sophia and I split sweet and savory: an amazing omelette and French toast stuffed with cream cheese and berries. That night, we had gourmet pizza at Fat Olives: broccoli, spinach, fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, sausage, onions, and ricotta cheese. The next day--that of our halibut fishing adventure--we came home and cooked up 2 huge fillets with corn on the cob and zucchini. Yesterday we really indulged, enjoying sandwiches and decadent sticky buns at Two Sisters Café, followed (not too long after) by an amazing dinner at Café Cups.
I should say now: Cups was a gift from Mama and Papa Tkac (for Sophia's birthday), and we all want to say THANK YOU!!! It was incredibly delicious and we are so grateful. You could not have provided food to happier bellies.
So, the quality of cuisine has picked up over the last week, but now we're bracing ourselves for more PB and Ramen--and 64 lbs of Halibut. Tonight is our last night in Homer, so we plan to indulge one final time, before packing everything into the Blue Avenger and hoping that the grizzly bears don't follow the scent of fish all the way back to Denver.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
