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.
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