Farming, Warming, & Charming

I've always been a fan of Dr. Seuss. He has a knack for grouping rhyming words that don't necessarily "go together". Writing this blog on my adventurous trip to Alaska, I have been able to relay many stories of wonderful memories of the trip. As I finish up the last few stories, I find myself with a hodge podge of topics that do not necessarily relate to one another. In my previous blog, I told about my oyster "initiation".
 Curious by nature, I wanted to learn more about the agribusiness of oyster farming.

Farming

It was on a beautiful sunshiny day, we toured the farm portion of Kahli Cove Oysters. The production part consists of a floating raft with a small cabin and equipment that cleans, tumbles, and sorts the oysters. There are grow out rafts that spread out on either side the main work raft.

The oysters hang above the ocean floor in suspension baskets in one of the most clean and non polluted waters of the world. Each raft can hold up to 30,000 marketable oysters. Several times a year, the oysters are removed from the chilly waters, washed, tumbled, and sized, placing like oysters together.

Tumbling removes the new growth and helps grow a deep cut for a fat, firm oyster. Alastair, from Great Britain was there on his second work away position at Kahli Cove. He gave us the grand tour of the oyster farm. He pulled out of one basket a huge oyster, probably 6 inches in length. I think he laughed and said this was the farm mascot, about 13 years old, and obviously not edible at this point.  He tipped the oyster back to my lips and a photo of him "feeding" me the oyster was snapped in fun.

Warming

Deciding what to pack for any trip can be a process. I was told to bring layers as the weather can fluctuate. " Don't over pack" was stressed more than a few times. There were plenty of warm coats and rain gear at the lodge, so not to worry about taking up luggage space for those items.
As I opened my suitcase, my son said he was impressed at my job packing light.
I had worn my X-tra Tuff waterproof deck shoes and had purchased three pairs of socks with wicking, thinking they would be keep my feet dry, and thus, warm. I  was wrong. I soon realized that even propping my feet on the toolbox on the boat bottom did not help much. It helped a little bit, but I could not get the chill out of my feet. On the day we were to pick up Katie from the airport, plans were made to make some strategic stops in town. I immediately put in my wish to stop at the sporting goods store to buy a warmer pair of socks.

 A trip to town in Alaska is very different from our trip to town. These happen out of emergency or necessity when you live on the water. The first leg of the trip is by water, traveling through the islands to Naukati Bay. It is here where we load up the Tahoe parked there and drive on to Craig. Our first stop before Craig though, was the "all in one store" in Naukati where mail could be picked up or supplies could be purchased at an inflated cost.  I would not be exaggerating if I said you might imagine the music from the movie Deliverance playing in the background. One step inside the door made me very thankful I was with my son Lee and Dave. We drove on towards Craig and took the gravel roads for a scenic tour in hopes we might catch a glimpse of a bear. The bear normally can be seen along the shores, but since I was there during spawning season, they were all busy upstream getting their fill of salmon. Unfortunately, we did not get to see one bear on my trip, which is my goal on my next visit to Alaska. As we hopped in the Tahoe, Porky, (Dave) leaned forward and explained a car game for the trip. We were to guess the number of deer along the way. Being from Indiana and knowing I was in the wilderness, I made a guess at what I thought might be considered high. I said 12. The truck erupted in laughter as Lee and Porky made much higher guesses. I believe the final count was 38 deer we spotted. I was amazed over and over at how the deer would stand right at the edge of the road, often in groups of two or three, and just stare as we drove past them.

When we finally made it to Craig, the largest town, (population approx. 1,230) on Prince of Wales Island. We headed to The Moose for lunch. I sat up at the bar between Lee and Porky. A local retired logger engaged us in stories throughout our lunch. As we made the various stops, I enjoyed people watching. No one seemed to be in a hurry here. We stopped in at the shop I had spied on Day One. The shop's name reflected the contents. Strictly Local. Everything inside was handmade or a piece of art commissioned to the store. I browsed spectacular photographs of wildlife and scenery. There were hand made soaps, lotions, jewelry, knitted and crocheted scarves coloring the shelves. I spied and fell in love with a painting of silver salmon. I had decided to allow myself one splurge item as a keepsake and this was to be it! The store was charming and heart warming all in one. We then moved on to the sporting good store where Lee bought me a pair of wool socks. Things are so expensive here I would only buy one pair. They were carefully laid out in front of the wood stove each evening and worn each day. I have appreciated them on a cold Indiana winter day often too.

Charming

Some people are just born with what I call, "natural charm."
The definition of charming includes the synonyms polite, friendly, and likeable.
On this particular day, I happened to be in the company of two of those types of people.
My son Lee has always been a charmer. I showed up once  to parent teacher conferences where his grade card looked less than respectable and a teacher told me not to be too hard on him, he was such a polite young man.
I was introduced to Porky on my first day on the water in Alaska. His real name is Dave, but everyone calls him Porky. He is from Australia and he has gift for storytelling. He has a natural smile and a gleam in his eye that draws a person in. The accent lends to part of his charm.
As I compared these two, I kept thinking that these two alone together could be trouble.
And I was right.

After our lunch and stops at various businesses, we made our way back through Craig. I was a bit lost in thought and gazing out at the town, observing the differences of the homes and not really listening to the chatter of the two guys.
And then I heard my name.
"You have to ring the bell, Teena!"
As this was said urgently and repeatedly, I took it to mean it was a tradition. They seemed really excited about ringing the bell and as this was to be my "out on a limb" trip, I got caught up in the challenge before clearly thinking it through.
I glanced out the window to my left as we pulled up beside a wooden tower with a large dinner bell and rope.
"Get out and ring the bell, Teena!"
 I jumped out and caught a glimpse of a huge grin on Porky's face as he lifted his camera. I glanced over and he calmly said he was going to capture this on camera.
I ran down the slope as they were encouraging me to hurry.
I rang the bell giving it my all! I rang it several times!
And then I heard them shout, "get in the truck!"
Their shouts of encouragement turned to shouts that sounded more of a manic panic.
It then occurred to me I had rang the fire bell or emergency town bell. The boys were hysterically laughing and we made our get away as townspeople were making their way down the hill.
Of course, my next visit to the Kahli Cove, I endured some good natured laughter and teasing as Porky had generously shared his video with the inhabitants of "the village."

Farming, Warming, Charming

I think this wraps up my Alaska adventure story.
If you haven't ever stepped out of your comfort zone or experienced the wilderness as I was able to, you should. It's a whole lot of fun.

And to quote Dr. Seuss...
"If you never did, you should
These things are fun, and fun is good!"

It Takes A Village

Everyone has heard the phrase, "It takes a village". We immediately think of how important it is to help one another and how each and every person impacts another's life. I would be remiss to leave out of my collection of stories this one about "The Village."
I had heard stories about Jerry and the oyster farm. I had learned about the fiesty Jo.
 I was eager to meet them to put a face with the names I had heard.
 Once again, as with anything Alaskan, the actual exceeded the predetermined image I had in my head.

My first visit to Kahli Cove Oyster Farm aka "The Village" was before my daughter, Katie's arrival to Alaska. My son, Lee had picked me up from the airport in Klawock earlier that day. We were on our way to unload my baggage, our groceries, and get settled in at the float lodge when we decided to make a pit stop. Lee told me everyone had been eager to meet me and he would be in trouble if we didn't stop by real quick.
 There is no such thing as a real quick visit to the village.
It is the picture of the phrase, "chill out."
I learned during my time visiting, that living off the land is taken seriously and work ethics are top notched as a result of that dependency.
 Leisure time is savored and enjoyed in a manner that those in the lower 48 states have lost total track of today. There was no television, radio, or cellphones to distract us. There were no traffic jams or waiting in lines to irritate. Without restaurants or shopping malls on every corner, a person must resort to their entertainment being conversation.
How primitively wonderful!

As we rounded the bend to Kahli Cove, there before me lay a colorful mirage of cabins afloat on rafts made of huge logs. Some were lashed together and my son pointed out one lone green building that was next to the shore. This had been his cabin when he first came to Alaska to work for Jerry. As we pulled up our boat next to the dock, we were greeted by six men, one woman, and a dog. They all looked happy to see us as visitor's are not a common affair. Heck, seeing any people in this remote collection of islands in SE Alaska, is not a common affair!

As colorful as the buildings were, I soon found out the those residing here were just as colorful. I mean this in the most affectionate and complimentary way. Jerry is a native Hoosier who migrated to Alaska and established along with his brother and sister in law an oyster farm.
Nestled near the Prince of Wales Island, commonly referred to as POW, he told Lee that those who love it here become Prisoners of Wales.
 I can believe it.

Admittedly, there was a mixture of delight and a bit of fear in meeting Jerry.
I came bearing gifts. I had it on good authority that Jerry loved his cigars. When you first meet him, you notice right away that he wears a miner's flashlight on the top of his hat. I can still hear his rustic laughter and excited voice rambling on in response to carefully instigated topics of conversation that  involve politics or any article of clothing without a tag that read "made in the USA."
 This is a man's man, who I have been told walks out of his cabin every morning, pounds on his chest and lifts his arms heavenward and proclaims his thanks for living in such a wonderful place.
I wonder if he realized the cigars were my little thank you for the influence he has bestowed on my son.

Joanna, or "Jo", came to Kahli Cove on the work away project. Work away is basically an opportunity to work for room and board in various places all over the world for short terms. She returned a few months after her work away term ended to marry Jerry. The ceremony was held on White Cliff Island at a simply picturesque point.
She is from Australia, and right off her lovely accent and infectious smile captivates you.
 She mentioned more than once how happy she was to have me there as she misses female companionship. Despite the rustic surroundings, she is able to pull off an aura of feminine flair. She shared Aussie wine and we shared a bottle of Indiana wine with her.
 She makes a mean venison stew as well.
I smile every time I read a message from her now, as she closes with "ciao, ciao!"

Jo's younger brother, Dave , three young men on a work away were also there along with a neighboring oyster farmer.
And Brick.
 Brick is a Karelian Bear dog who melted my heart and on my last visit I snuck him smoked salmon and a rawhide chew.

 A tour of the village presented the main cabin that hosts a great greenhouse-like porch. Inside this porch is a big harvest table where we enjoyed a couple of great meals and conversation. Behind the main cabin is a small shack that is the outhouse. No electricity, meaning no light or heat. A bucket of water seemed self explanatory to make the flush work.

After our venison stew and homemade bread supper, it was decided to move the green cabin.
With expert maneuvering, everyone jumped in different boats and the cabin was moved away from land and apart from the floats.
There was a reason for the move. It had mice.
Traps were set and there was no means of escape for the rodents. Ridding the cabin of the unwanted guests came with a price; the only way to the cabin now was by boat. A couple of days later the report was in and the number of deceased mice was in the double digits. I shuddered at this report when comparing the cabin size to this toll.

At the close of my first visit to the Village, hugs were exchanged with these new friends, who I felt at home with only after an hour with them. Promises were made to return this week and as we discussed the probability of a cook out the dreaded question was asked. "Do you like oysters?"
I've never been a good liar, so with regret, I answered. " I've never actually tried them before. "
Exclamations of disbelief were proclaimed and before I knew what was happening, some walked to the edge of the float, hauled up a basket of oysters, had one cracked open and wide eyed, I found myself staring at an oyster before my face.

Now, I'm not sure peer pressure would be a good description of what happened next, and an onlooker might wrongly think it appeared bullying. Neither is true of course, but as my eyes spanned the group now closed around me in a circle, I glanced up at my son for a word of advice. My mind was racing with thoughts: what do I do? I don't want to hurt their feelings and decline. I don't want to gag. Or worse, I most certainly don't want to puke!
I saw a splash of sauce hit the gray slimy delicacy. Delicacy?
Seeking my son again for guidance, he calmly said, "bite it twice and swallow. "
Alrighty then.
So, I did it.  Someone tipped the shell and I followed the instructions to a tee. Chomp, chomp, gulp.
Cheers went up on the deck! Brick barked in his approval and Lee smiled.

Other visits to Kahli Cove were less stressful for me. We had a great steak grill out one afternoon. Once again it felt like family as we sat around the table and talked and teased one another. We had a few private jokes going by now: walking the long line challenges, the ringing of the bell, and the shooting up of a hat and broken television.

When I think back at my visits here, I see that these people understand how the world should be. They work together and live together. Both. There is no escaping their closeness. Closeness of proximity and closeness as friends.
 It takes a village. There is a village.

Raven's Brew & Heaven's View

John Muir, the famous naturalist, wrote in his journal that you should never go to Alaska as a young man because you'll never be satisfied with any other place as long as you live.

And there's a lot of truth to that. There's a lot of truth to that regarding a middle aged woman too.

I was extremely fortunate in the fact that my visit to Alaska was beyond a cruise ship deck or a few hour day excursion. Like Coca Cola, I got the real thing. Or pretty darn close to it. I was able to experience what television reality shows try to capture. My adventure is what many sportsmen dream about. I got lucky as my son works and lives in Southeast Alaska amid the trees and ocean abundant with wildlife.  I think this is how God intended the earth to be.

Each morning of my stay I would get up, hurry and get dressed. Then, I'd grab a warm blanket and go sit outside on the front porch all wrapped up in the blanket. By this time, the inside of the house had a slight chill to it. At night, the wood stove was loaded and the generator would be turned off. Fuel is expensive anyway, even more in Alaska. Electricity is a luxury. My son gave me instructions the first night: you get one toilet flush until the generator gets turned on the next morning. Make it count.
The lodge house has four bedrooms and each has its own bathroom. There were a couple of times I took advantage of the fact there were extra bathrooms without a room occupant.
Survival tactics, I reasoned. 

Sitting on that front porch each morning my senses were sharpened by Mother Nature. This was God's window, a bit of heaven on earth. The only thing I repeatedly wished for during these peaceful moments were to have in my hand a steaming cup of coffee. Without the generator on yet, this was impossible. Being a coffee snob, I relished new brands that meet my expectations. Raven's Brew is a coffee company in Ketchikan. Of course, coffee is not grown in Alaska, but the beans are roasted and placed in colorful artwork packages. Even without a cup of java to warm my body, I realized quickly that my soul was satisfied being there. I looked forward to these quiet moments of morning each night when I snuggled under piles of warm blankets.

The view from the porch provides an excellent view of secluded life on the water. Snuggled at the back of the cove, I soon learned that there were some other life sources that enjoyed this view as well. Uncle Sam, (an eagle I named) was spotted high up in the evergreen tree almost as if he was commanding this nook. I only saw him there once though. As inspiring as  it was to see this and many other eagles on my trip, I think the raven intrigued me more. 

Mr. Raven was there every day. I almost ducked once as the flapping of his wings in the quiet early morn sounded like a helicopter flying over the house. I think he flew lower each day just to get a better view of me too. Ravens are among the smartest of birds and predominantly black in color including their beak and feet.  Watching him glide in and out of the cove, soaring effortlessly it seemed, was an entrancing morning pastime. Ravens tend to be less social than other birds, and as I only saw this one raven outside the lodge, I think ours was a loner as well, but one that liked to rule the roost. It seemed he flew about watching over everything and squawking orders to the other inhabitants in this part of Orr Island. 

One of those inhabitants outside was a sea otter. Sea otters were spotted often during my visit. They float along on their back seeming to enjoy the view. Once we saw a baby laying on top of its mother getting a free ride. One morning I sat out in my chair and could hear the cracking of clams on the otter. I learned earlier that week that otters have a pouch or pocket on their belly. They place a hard rock inside this pouch, then dive down to the floor of the sea and bring up clamshells. Floating on their back, they smash these shells against the hidden rock to open them. Dinner is served!
 Sea otters spend most of their lives in the water and can dive up to 330 feet when foraging for food. They are unlike other marine mammals. They do not have a layer of blubber to keep them warm. Instead, they have the densest fur in the animal kingdom, ranging from 250,000 to a million hairs per square inch, which insulates them. They like to be well groomed too. They wash off after their meal and with their paws, fluff forward their whiskers and face fur. Much to my delight, I was able to hear this regime one morning as a sea otter floated out in front of the lodge floating deck. 

Potted plants lined the front of the porch, but the plant that I found to be especially intriguing was the sea kelp. These long tubed plants are a captains nightmare. They can cause havoc with a boat motor. As we pulled up to the dock my first night at the lodge, my son remarked that his parking place was full. Full of sea kelp. The plants are anchored to the ocean floor and the hollow tubes float with long finger like blades. The hollow bladders are gas filled, which is how they float. Lee broke one open and I was surprised that it made a popping sound as he did so. To just look at it, you would think it rubbery and hard to break open.

There are many favorite places that come to mind when I think of a relaxing spot;
The back porch at the main lodge at Camp Bedford, the beach on Tybee Island, a waterfall in Maui, or lying in a hammock viewing the stars above. I have to say though, that the front porch of the lodge tops them all.
My son just spent three weeks in California studying , taking the test and passing it with flying colors to earn his Captain's license.
He messaged me from Seattle to tell me he was heading back to paradise.
I understood completely what he meant.

Legends, ghosts, & heroes

"Come home a hero, or bring home zero."
As the boat entered the cove, I heard those words roll off of my son's tongue. I'm not surprised, as he has always had a witty quip or sarcastic come back for every occasion. On this particular day, we were returning from a good day boating and fishing the waters near The Prince of Wales and surrounding islands.

The day had been absolutely perfect weather wise and consequently the water was calm and smooth as glass. We spent a good deal of this day enjoying the sunshine and explored the islands from the boat and enjoyed a couple of on shore explorations.

Earlier that morning, we had laid down a long line. As the boat pulled away, I looked back at the bright colored ball floating and wondered if today would be our lucky day or not. These balls are labeled with a permanent marker with the name of  the owner of the line and his or her address. These lines are  the locals "grocery store",  as are the surrounding woods. The nearest actual store is two to three  hours away (one way) and that involves a combination boat/ drive/ or fly trip. In the summer, when fishing guests arrive at the lodge by float plane, so does fresh produce and dairy items. On occasion, barges bring their fuel or large items ordered or purchased.

Lee gave my daughter and I a wonderful tour of the islands on  this particular day. We boated out to open water where he pointed out three islands; Whale head, Warren, and Coronation Islands. The later two are protected wilderness, meaning there are no roads, habitation, hunting, or logging done there. As we snapped photos of these three islands, Lee pointed out the next island past them would be Japan. This statement left us all staring at the horizon in awe.

Our first shore excursion gave us the opportunity to see totems up close and personal. I was so intent checking out the shore that I missed how Katie had departed the boat. I soon found myself in a terribly awkward pose standing atop the bow of the boat. Between Katie's hysterical laughter and Lee's (barely under his breath) swearing, I quickly squatted and took mental note to pay better attention from here on out. I had to laugh at myself too.  We hiked up into the woods and as promised there were two totems standing the test of time amid a forest of trees and a history we could only imagine. I found myself whispering and respecting the silence of this reverent spot. This area was once inhabited by the Tlingit tribe. The waterways had once been lined with families camped along the shores. They fished along the streams in this area, widely known for its salmon. My imagination was running full force backwards in time as I stood on the mossy floor of this island. Feeling like I was an intruder and even wary I might upset the ancient ghosts by taking pictures, I was almost thankful to head back to the boat. Mindful that I had been warned of the damp rain forest mossy floor could be slick, I still took a fall as I descended the slope. I glanced back quickly at the wooden statues half expecting a smile etched in the wooden faces.

Back safely in the boat, we cruised the waters spotting  countless birds, ducks, geese, and seagulls on the waters. A few times we would see a bait ball. It was explained that a bait ball is an ever growing group of birds flying in a circle and hovering above the water surface. This happens when a large fish is feeding on fish or a group of fish below surface, the debris floats to the surface providing food for the birds. Wildlife abounds in this area and we later saw a group of bald eagles flying above trees on, aptly named, Eagle Island. Whales were viewed daily and this day we settled on the edge of a cove and watched the fins and tails or eight orcas hanging out. We decided they were most likely moms and their calves. Katie and I had crawled out on the front of the boat to get a closer watch and hopefully coax one to come up farther out of the water. As we sat there in the sunshine and watching whale spouts shoot up here and there, my son relayed a story when he was tagging along behind  a cow and calf orca and as he closed in just a little closer a massive whale breached right in front of his boat. Evidently the male was being protective and issuing a back off order. This story made me a tad nervous, so I wasn't entirely opposed to the suggestion we climb back into the boat and continue the cruise.

We drove to a point of an island and as promised, there in clear view was the grave of Chief Tonawec. Lee had told us that there were two wooden statues standing guard at each end of the wooden grave. The legend is as you boat by, you are to throw an offering into the water to the Chief and good fortune will come to you. As we snapped our cameras in awe once again, Lee handed me back his beer and reminded me to "pour a little offering out to the chief, but don't be too generous" he smirked. I did as he requested and bent down to reach into my back pack. I poured out two white Tic Tac mints and silently tossed them into the waters.

We were able to get some good fishing in that day. I landed a flounder, which is a flat fish. Flounder and halibut are bottom swimmers. They have an ugly brown speckled side and the other side is white. The swim in camouflage with the brown side up. When these fish are born they have eyes side by side, but at about six months of age, one eye migrates to the other side of the fish. They are a good tasting, but ugly fish. When we returned early that evening to bring in the long line, Lee noticed right off that the ball had moved some. This made him think that we had something good on the end! As he started winding up the hundreds of feet of line, we found a couple of sand sharks had been caught on the line. The hooks are spaced out, so we waited in anticipation for each hook to appear, disappointed when something had stolen our bait. The line became more strenuous to reel in, so it became obvious we had something attached. To our delight, we saw the first halibut surface and he wasn't happy either. These fish are fighters and once again, Katie and marveled out how Lee does this all alone at times.
 Driving back to the lodge, I glanced to the back of the boat. Both fish were hog tied and still flopping. Lee yelled back to the rear of the boat, "settle down there, fellas."

 Back at the lodge we were fighting what little daylight was left to get these fish hung up for a photo op and cleaned and processed. The fish were measured and we proudly placed the 92 and 109 pound labels on them before setting up the camera timer. I insisted my flounder be in the picture as well. He wasn't a shrimp but looked so next to the halibut! Lee made the fillet process look easy but as I took my turn, I found an even deeper appreciation for the fish was slick and heavy and getting a clean cut proved difficult. As we flipped the fish over, he remarked that wasn't too bad, but I took note my fillet had notches where his did not. As we finished up on the fillet table, Lee made a comment that Chief Tonawec had granted us good fortune today. It was at this point, I remembered my two white mints and told Lee and Katie at my offering,

Coincidence or good fortune, it makes for a good story. Luckily, we have the pictures to make us look like heroes...........this isn't just one of those legendary fish stories where the fish gets larger and larger.
 At least not this time..

A Fish Tale

"If you ain't fishin', you're wishin'!"

Some of my favorite memories as a child were formed on the banks of Sugar Creek. My parents had grown up playing along the banks of Sugar Creek in Needham Township and I guess taking my siblings and I there for a picnic and fishing seemed natural to them. My dad had taken my three kids fishing several times when they were growing up. Lee, my son who works and lives at a fishing and hunting lodge in SE Alaska, attributes his love of fishing to my father. I hadn't been fishing for years, but on my recent visit to Alaska, all those memories came flooding back. I guess it's sort of like riding a bike. Once you know how, it just stays with you.

I arrived in Alaska five days prior to my daughter and at the end of the trip, we traveled back to Indiana together. The nine days I spent there flew by far too quickly. We were out on the boat every day and each time we were back at the float lodge, I could feel myself anticipating the next day out on the water. The lodge consists of a four bedroom ranch style home. The house sits atop a wooden platform placed on top of large logs that create a huge raft. Most lodgings on the water have more than one raft hooked to each other. The Alaskan Dreams Fishing Camp has several out buildings behind the main house. My son has his own cabin. There is also a tool shop and a processing room that houses a walk in freezer.

Located in an area that is considered a temperate rain forest, it rains often. We had a small rain shower every day I was there, but luckily they were short lived. The rain makes the decks to the floats slick, and as Dave, who lived at the neighboring oyster farm said, sometimes you have to do "the float house shuffle."

This vacation was a learning vacation. My son became our teacher and Katie and I were eager to learn all aspects of life at the lodge and on the water. Each day after breakfast, we would prepare the boat for our first half of the day. Along with the fishing poles and lures, we had bait cages for shrimp, and the bait for long lines and the cages. This was usually salmon heads or parts of other fish. A cooler of beer and water was strategically placed up front near the captain's seat. Along with our rain gear, we brought along emergency equipment as we learned always expect the unexpected. The weather can change quickly so bringing along blankets and a "bug out bag" was important. A bug out bag was a heavy waterproof duffel bag that contained survival items. This bag and the firearms always present in our boat or truck brought an awareness that indeed, we were not in Kansas any longer! From ocean to the shipping box, our Alaska fish camp adventure taught us not only to catch the fish, but to fillet, cut up, clean, bag and vacuum seal the seafood. We were proud of the 200 pounds of seafood we brought home with us and may have gloated a time or two when a guy would inquire what was in our boxes at the hotel or airport.

On day two of my visit, Lee took me out to what he and his GPS declared good holes to fish from. I was instructed on how to drop a line and find bottom. I went to bed that evening wondering if my arm would be usable the next day after jigging the line all day. As luck and determination would have it, the soreness worked it's way out. I wasn't about to miss a day of fishing or wimp out. I was soon nicknamed the armpit fisherman as I discovered the end of the pole buried in my stomach or across an old C-section scar was not comfortable. I might add that Katie and I both gained pole end bruises on our tummy front.

There were many fish that we were told were "trash fish". These got thrown back in. Each catch was exciting and it was disheartening to throw them back into the sea. At one point, I asked if the fish would be okay as it was tossed back into the water, and Lee replied, "yeah, he will probably have a sore lip for a day or two though!" Luckily, not all were thrown back in and my favorite reel in was my yellow eye, or as some call it, a red snapper. Lee heard me reeling something in and yelled back from the helm, "you got something on there, Teena?"
I replied, yes, I think so because the fear of an old shoe at the end of my line kept me from being cocky at this point. My eyes widened with delight as I saw the bright orange fish come to surface as I was familiar with this type of fish. I used the techniques Lee had taught me, reel down, pull up. As he would say, let the pole do the work. That night as we stood at the fillet table, I asked about the age of my fish. Lee calculated it to be about 70 years old according to it's size. This made me feel a little sad. But, only a little bit sad.

My son is used to taking out groups of fisherman out on all day excursions. I was impressed with the patience he had for Katie and I. On the other hand, I think we impressed him a time or two as well. He told us that even though we both tangled our lines and lost our lure once, we learned from our mistake and it did not happen twice. There was one afternoon, Katie and I stood at the back of the boat fishing, and a rain shower came up. As we were without rain gear, Lee yelled back to us and said, " Well, girls, reel 'em in, it doesn't look like this rain is going to let up." Without hesitation and in unpracticed unison, we both replied that we won't melt and we were going to continue to fish. He turned with a smile, popped open the cooler and pulled out a beer saying, "Well, alright then!"

Like I was told the first day out on the boat, "if you ain't fishin, you're wishin"!

Off The Grid

Sea Otter Sound

"Don't be scared to walk alone. Don't be scared to like it."
I had been carrying this quote in my head for several weeks. I was finally traveling to Alaska to visit my youngest son who works at a remote fishing and hunting lodge in Southeast Alaska.
I had never traveled alone.
I had never stayed overnight in a hotel alone.
The entire trip spelled out adventure.
The journey to the destination is not just a hop, skip, or a jump. Not counting airport and tarmac time, (I had a landing in Las Vegas)  my flight time alone to Seattle was seven and a half hours. There, I recovered my luggage and checked into Alaska Airlines. The trip from Seattle to Ketchikan was about three hours long. The plane lands on a strip of land that houses the airport and runway. Notice the word runway is singular. I called the hotel I was booked into and they assured me a cab was on it's way to pick me up. I walked down the ramp to the ferry dock and boarded the ferry with my rollaway suitcase and backpack in tow. A short trip across to the opposite shore, I found the Sourdough cab and the driver ready to take me to The Gilmore Hotel.
It is at this point I caught a glimpse of where the slogan "The Last Frontier" comes into play. My driver was my age I suspect, but lifestyle and climate or the lack of a good moisturizer belied that fact. She wore a fur hat, not unlike Davy Crockett's coonskin hat with a long feather trailed down the side of her long hair.  She threw my suitcase in back and said I could ride up front if I wanted. I hopped into the passenger seat and felt as if I had just stepped into a smoky bar. Luckily, the trip into "town" was not a long ride. My son had recommended The Gilmore and suggested I have dinner at the adjoining restaurant, Annabelle's. The Gilmore is a historic boutique hotel built in 1927. There are 34 rooms on three floors. No elevators. It was at this point, I was thankful I had packed light for the trip. My suitcase weighed 41 pounds including nine pounds of wine. I am going to stick to the story that my son had requested I bring it along.
The hotel overlooks the waterfront and sits amid rows of shops that cater to cruise ships. Ketchikan is noted for its famous Creek Street, once the home of brothels during the gold rush days. I carried my suitcase up to the second floor and immediately felt relieved and a little afraid at the same time. I decided to freshen up and get outside and stretch my legs some. My son had suggested some shopping spots. I walked across the street and within five minutes of looking around realized that I was nearing the zombie mode from the long day of traveling. I also factored in I had just experienced a four hour time change too. I walked back to Annabelle's and was soon seated in a warm dining room glistening with wood paneling and a saloon type bar that I suspect has heard some fine stories told over the past
century. I ordered a delicious dinner of halibut and chips and washed it down with what was soon to be my favorite beer, Alaskan Amber. As I sat there and calculated just how long my day had been, how little food I had eaten that day, and realized how tired I was, I decided a piece of carrot cake would be the perfect end to my day. 
The next morning I headed downstairs early enough to make certain I was back at the airport to catch my flight to Klawock. 
As I approached the check in desk, I realized an old cigarette butt sat on the counter top. 
Working at the desk was a young mother to be. She followed my gaze and saw the old butt as well. Without a word, she slid her hand up and moved the cigarette to behind the counter. I explained I needed a cab back to the airport and she replied it was all set up and they would be here shortly. I sat down on the bench to wait. 
At this point I will tell those reading this blog that I had met and had conversations with two men and a woman aboard my flights so far. One guy was envious of the trip I had ahead as he enjoyed the sport of fishing. The other man was traveling to bring home his daughter who had spent  a year on a marine biology lab with Americorps Vista.  The woman was going on a cruise and attending her friends wedding that was to take place on a glacier. I also had a lively conversation with a man on the ferry ride from the airport. He had lost his job when hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and told me how by accident he came upon a job that involved a lot of traveling. He explained he serviced the life boats on the ferrys in Ketchikan and all over the world. I was sitting on the bench thinking about these people when a native man walked into the door. He approached the young lady at the desk and asked her if she had his cigarette. She moved the butt up from behind the counter and he thanked her and turned towards the door. And then he turned back. "Hey! I think my cigarette was bigger than this one! " 
After assuring him that was his cigarette, he left. I asked her if he was homeless and she said yes, and explained he stops in often. Soon our conversation led to her moving here alone after finding herself living in a car and expecting a baby. She was grateful she had found this job and had family to live with. Soon, we saw our friend walk by with a brand new cigarette and a smile on his face. I was thinking how different each person's journey in life is and what determines our happiness  when The Sourdough taxi pulled up in front of the hotel.
Evidently the hotel miscommunicated to the driver my destination because I found myself standing st the inter island ferry station. This is not to be confused as the airport ferry! As good fortune would have it, for once it was not raining in Ketchikan for the five or six minute walk I had to pull my luggage down the street.  Determined not to let this tiny mistake control my day ahead, I figured  it was good to get some walking in after the previous day of airline travel. I caught the ferry back over to the airport and checked my baggage. This part stinks as you have to declare your weight. Small planes account for every pound they carry on board. It became obvious that I was among locals heading home.  Alaskans tend to like having their state to themselves. I found out the locals tend to keep to themselves. The propeller plane held nine passengers plus the pilot. As I sat waiting for the crew to walk us out to the plane, a man was curled up asleep against the wall. No one but me seemed to think this was unusual, so I pretended to look calm. Later, I overheard him chatting with fellow passengers and he said he had been working all week, had filled his suitcase with groceries, and owns a car he parks on a hill near the airport. He sleeps in the car. He offered the use of his car to these people when they come to town and they were excited about this prospect. I had a long running list in my head of questions I wanted to, but would not ask. Where do you hide the key to the car? What do you do for a restroom? Don't you get cold?  I am thinking this is where tough people live when they announced our flight was ready to go. 
The two girls who checked our luggage and another guy led us out onto the airstrip where we loaded up into the plane. Following the lead of my fellow passengers, I fastened my seat belt. The pilot, who looked a bit like a younger Robert Redford,( I was liking this part), climbed in, waved to the crew outside, logged something in his journal, and started the plane. No welcome aboard, no fasten your seat belts, no need to point out a life jacket or emergency exit I guess! I swallowed hard and hoped when we landed, it wouldn't be a crash landing. 
The first half of the flight was amid clouds and a tad unnerving. The last forty minutes provided a spectacular view of mountains covered in trees, paths of old logging trails winding among them. Island upon island was visible and  the color of the water was the perfect blue. It came to my mind that this was indeed the last frontier. I imagined natives camped along the streams and miners and loggers of years past making their way down below me. I kept my eyes fastened to the vastness under me in total awe of the picture God had painted. Little did I know at that time, this  was just the beginning! 
The pilot proved  to have been assured and quiet as his landing was  a perfect one. I spotted my son standing among a handful of people waiting our flight outside the Klawock airport which is about the size of a mini barn. 
It was mid morning and we jumped in the Tahoe with my luggage and drive to a waterfront cafe. The place was spotless and served a fabulous breakfast. As I relayed my trip this far, my son exclaimed that I had exchanged more conversations with people in the past 24 hours than he had in the past year! 
We made a few stops at the local grocery store, sporting goods store, and liquor store. I overheard some young men who had been working for months at a dry logging camp. My son explained this was very common as those running the camps wanted to make sure everyone was as productive and safe as possible. We traveled on through winding roads with spectacular views at every bend. We came upon a huge rock in the side of the mountain that was carved by a glacier. It was as smooth as ice. We spotted deer along the side of the road and amazingly they just stand along the road and watch vehicles pass by. A couple of hours later, we arrived to Naukiti dock. We unloaded my luggage and our supplies into the boat.
We made a short stop to visit Jim. Jim lives on a float house and the best way for me to describe Jim is to compare him to Grizzly Adams. Jim is probably close to 70 years old. He is an old logger who decided to stay in Alaska after retirement. To say he is tough, is an understatement. Health care facilities are not readily accessible and if you live here, you better be prepared to take care of yourself. Last year, Jim discovered he had an infected tooth, or two. I was told he downed some whiskey and with pliers in hand jerked out his two front teeth. Now, who can't say this is a tough old bird?
The last leg of my journey involved about an hour ride in the boat to the float lodge in Sea Otter Sound off Orr Island. There are 1,000 islands named and about 1,000 unnamed in this area surrounding Prince of Wales Island. I am proud to say that I was able to identify a few by name by the end of my trip. Listening to these islands names and the stories behind them soon became on of my favorite parts of our daily boat rides.
As we traveled along on the water, we spied countless birds and sea otters. The water glistened like glass and the mountains and sky framed the ocean. I wanted to capture this on film and as many photographs that were taken, none do the beauty of Alaska justice.
We rounded the bend and entered the cove where the float lodge resides. A rustic ranch type home with a front porch that spans the entire front of the house sits cozily in the back of the cove. My son pointed up to a tall evergreen tree and there sat a bald eagle. Floating out in the water was a sea otter. As I put away groceries, I spied two deer on the bank out the kitchen window. As we took a walking tour of the float and it's buildings , a kingfisher swooped down over us raising a ruckus because we were most likely close to it's nest.
As we sat before the woodstove that evening, I felt the tiredness of my body. As you can see, it is not a quick trip to paradise. But here I was, off the grid.
I wasn't scared, and I was liking it.