Autumn in Alaska

The AK Fam took a trip to Fairbanks this weekend, during which was intended to be a visit with Wolf. Even though he has returned to Anchorage, and given that arrangements had already been made, we went anyway.

I'm glad we did, for Life, in its unexplicable and unpredictable ways, manages to go on.

Be Not Afraid

Trudging slowly through the thick stands of willow and alder trees, my calm exterior belied my shivering insides. I was three miles up a small but vigorous creek in Hallo Bay, Alaska, some 100 miles from Homer and more than 300 miles from Anchorage. A guest of Hallo Bay Bear Camp, I was there to gather material for an article in Alaska Coast Magazine. I'd been there before; a day trip last June left me curious about this camp so far off the grid they used solar, wind, and occasional generator power to function with 20 people in a safari-like atmosphere. I wanted more. What I didn't count on was a whole lot more.

Those who know me best know I have had a strong aversion to bears over the course of my lifetime (I've gotten over the small plane thing; this is Alaska, and if I ever want to get anywhere cool, I've got to fly. So be it.). Bears are big, they are unpredictable, and they are known for doing things on their schedule at their whim. It is not my nature to be in Nature with these beasts, sharing the same trails and creekbeds, and yet there I was.

Hallo Bay guides work endlessly to establish a sort of rapport with these bears, meaning they stay out of their space if at all possible. Guests are drilled on a set of instructions before, during, and after each "encounter" to ensure safety and preparation for the next one; because at Hallo Bay, there is always a next one.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending upon who you talk to, Guide B. and I were the only two-legged people out on the creek that day. It was incredibly stormy, with rain and wind swooshing against our hip waders and rain jackets. It was also noisy; recent rains had left the creek high and water boiled and rushed, leaving us, and the bears, with less warning should the other suddenly appear. My reticence to enter the green, creekside thicket was not unfounded.

As Guide B. slowly led the way over logs, through leafy underbrush, and across smaller stream channels, my brain screamed over and over and over "We.should.not.be.here," an internal monologue I kept up despite B.'s attempts at chatting about our various college degrees, football season, and travel.

Some spots were simply too rough to navigate on land and necessitated a return to the creek where, at our final count, eight bears had been seen fishing or sniffing or scavenging along our three-mile hike. With every bear we spotted and passed on the way up, we knew that the gauntlet would need to be run on the way back, so we ticked off bears; Silver Ears, Scaredy Bear... numbers dwindled as we got closer and closer to the creek's outlet near the beach.

I was nearly there. Faced the giants, even. Damn, I was good.

But then.....

A sow with her three-year-old cub came ambling around the corner, he (?) slipping in and out of the chilly water, playing in the grass, like all youngsters do; she carefully watching his every move yet allowing some freedom, since this was likely the last year he'd be under her protective wing.

B. eased us out into a sand bar to watch their progress and ensure visibility, knowing that bears, with eyesight comparable to ours, would be smelling us soon and our popping out from a willow grove would not be appropriate. We crouched quietly on the shallow sand, and waited.

Cub strayed up to the trail we were standing upon minutes before and Mama remained in the water, but both kept heading our direction; she on one side of us, he on the other. B. took out a flare all guides carry for protection (no guns or spray are allowed at Hallo, but flares provide heat and light and are reliable methods of deterrant) and said "Just wait here, and we'll see what she does. I'm pretty sure she'll cross in front of us to get in between us and her cub."

Pretty sure? Unprintable words rose in my throat as I froze, hunched over on the sandbar which suddenly seemed way to small and infinitely vulnerable to something so, so large.

"Good bear. You're a good bear." B. crooned with the smoothness of Bing Crosby as Mama and Cub came close enough for us to smell their fishy hides. "You're sure she'll cross over?" I quavered. "Sure I'm sure," B. replied, his eyes not leaving Mama for an instant. I did notice, though, that his thumb was heavy on the top of the flare and a large raincoat was within reach of his other hand, something I found out later was also a deterrant (bears hate the noise of flapping fabric).

Seconds felt like hours as the two bears indeed met at our sandbar's point and proceeded to pass us at about 20 feet, so close I could look into Mama's eyes as she warily, but steadily, lumbered by.

"Keep on going, bear. Nice bear, good work, keep moving." B. kept up his one-sided conversation until the two were well on their way upstream, then he slowly placed the flare back in his pocket, strapped the raincoat on his pack, and said, "Let's go."

So we went, our footprints seeming more than a little out of place on the wet sand next to the two other, larger sets.

It was only later that night, sitting in front of the woodstove at camp, that I realized something.

If a mother bear could walk past something so potentially dangerous as two unfamiliar creatures very obviously in her space, and with a cub to boot, then would it not make perfect sense that I could do the same?

Be not afraid.

Mom Goes Away

It is fortunate that I had a trip already scheduled for Hallo Bay Bear Camp, today through Saturday. Given everything that's going in our world, the timing could not be better for an off the Grid, cellphone-silenced, computer-void (sort of) experience.

Yep.

Hallo Bay Bear Camp is an hour or so out of Homer, Alaska, down on the Kenai Peninsula. It's lovely, and I'm looking forward to visiting again and staying for a few days. I'm anxious to see if the bears I saw back in June (above) are still moseying around now that fall is upon us and the primary mission is to eat, eat, and eat some more.

Yukon is in charge of the home front, and friends are helping out with Bear. It's cub scout orientation night and an open house at the German Halls of Higher Learning, so it will be a busy evening. But tomorrow is Friday.

Wolf is hanging in at New Facility. Our clock has begun ticking as to future plans, and hopefully the Team will keep plugging away in my absence. It is likely, though, that we are looking at more out-of-state placement, since Alaska has nothing to support a young adult with his constellation of issues.

One day at a time, and right now, I am taking one for me.

A Taste of Alaska

We had a spectacular visit to Anan Wildlife Preserve today, watching bears catch fish along Anan Creek near Wrangell, Alaska.

Completely different experience from Hallo Bay. Equally impressive. Bear did a great job of following the "bear aware" rules, further reinforcing my belief that Alaskan kids have a solid knowledge of their environment.

I can dig it.

Southeast Alaska and Other Updates

The one thing about southeast Alaska is its unending uncertainty regarding the internet. Always. So forgive me for the blogger silence; I've been frantically trying to find a wifi hotspot for the AKontheGO work I must do first. This morning I had to beg the hotel staff (who were most happy to oblige me after they realized I would be writing about them, HA) to let me use their front desk computer to update things. Argh. All seems to be working at the moment, but since I never know when the magic of wifi will magically go away, I thought I'd better provide some updates....

Wolf will be coming home on July 19. When we had the last Hour of Power (we were at the airport waiting to board our flight for Juneau), Therapist B. and I told Wolf the exact date. After a speechless moment during which Therapist B. said Wolf was a bit teary-eyed (who wouldn't be; I know I was), Wolf jumped into the air and yelled "YES!" Yes, indeed. Bear and I will go up to Arctic Manor in Fairbanks as soon as we can after our arrival home, and get the big lad all set up for school and life in the Interior region of Alaska.

In the meantime, the rest of us are down in Juneau, enjoying a sunny/cloudy day after a drizzly start to our trip yesterday. Nonetheless, we are indeed Alaskans and have had a wonderful time no matter the weather. Whales bubble-feeding (photo above), hiking atop Mount Roberts; it's all be special and magical and a trip to be cherished. Tomorrow we board the Alaska Marine Highway System for Skagway and a little Gold Rush immersion. Bear can hardly contain himself.

Yukon and I are having a glass of red wine while the late afternoon sun filters through the tall, dark spruce trees we were so glad to see after so much time spent up North. We miss the big trees and the scents they release; it is a little reminder that the Pacific Northwest is, was, and will always be, Home.

We're thinking a lot about Home these days, every one of us.

Wolf and Me and the Bears

We are home tonight after a wonderful four days of much-needed relaxation and celebration in Homer. Relaxation after and before a busy summer (with weeks of travel ahead of us and weeks behind us), celebration of Yukon's conquering the 50th birthday. I can say, howeve, we were not counting on Wolf to spring into the middle of all this in the way he has...

I stated in my last post that I was about to hop aboard a plane and fly over to see some bears. I did that, but I also addressed two fears. I hate small planes and, up until last Thursday, hated bears (I say that with all due respect to their existence, just not my existence among them). Convincing me to board a teeny-tiny little airplane and fly across the Gulf of Alaska to Katmai National Park and Hallo Bay Bear Camp to see bears close-up, on purpose, filled me with fear (thus the other reason I was up all night Wednesday; there, it's out).

Flew on the small plane with four other souls and the pilot. Landed on a remote, sandy beach pockmarked with bear and wolf tracks. Hiked through a peaty bog to a lush, green, beautiful meadow where I saw Mother Nature's bear-children engaging in their own version of family dynamics. Complicated, painful, and utterly epic in their scope and importance.

My jaw dropped. My brain whirled. My hatred cleared.

I saw animals just trying to survive. I saw females fighting for their rights. I saw neediness and joy and jealousy, and anger.

Then my own kid's struggles came into perspective.

A Much Needed Respite

I've been awake since 5 a.m., partly due to the eagle out on the beach chattering away at some early morning find, and partly from a chronically overactive mind.

We're down in Homer, a favorite spot to annually recharge the family batteries. A group of family and friends have gathered at the Homer Seaside Cottages to continue celebrating Yukon's 50th birthday.

Arriving from Anchorage yesterday, we were happy to see the sun as we drove south along the Sterling Highway, and, this morning, it looks about as perfect as Alaska can get for mid-June. The photos above are from our late-night stroll along the beach at around 9:15, and you can see Bear is sufficiently enjoying himself.

It's been a crazy week in the AK Hacienda; Wolf continues to backslide and as a result I've had to cancel some presentations and projects and schedule an impromptu visit to Salt Lake. Since we arrive home on Sunday and leave again July 14 for our mega-ferry trip around southeast Alaska, I'm understandably a little frazzled to add one more trip to the agenda.

But more on that later.

For now, I'm drinking coffee and taking this moment for what it is; simple, quiet, and utterly refreshing for mind and soul. I'll deal with the other crap later.

Amen.

600 Posts Later....and Mommy and Bear Do Alaska

How the heck did I get to 600 blog posts about our family's life in Alaska? That's a lot of emotion and information. You can read our very first post on November 17, 2007 right HERE. Dang, I just killed 30 minutes reading all these old musings.

Anyway........

Yukon is faring relatively well down in Oregon, missing his "guys" as he terms it, but learning a lot and even participating in physical therapy so as not to miss even a single day of recovery. What a guy.

Bear and I took a time-out together down in Seward the other day, embarking upon a lovely day cruise with Kenai Fjords and staying overnight at their Seward Windsong Lodge. He was a trooper, since I had to do my usual work/play combination and asked a lot of questions, took a lot of photos, and talked to way too many grownups for his taste. But Bear is nothing if not personable, and he managed to woo his way across Resurrection Bay with a minimum of fuss.

I'm catching up on things before a bunch of friends and family arrive from the Lower 48 for Yukon's 50th birthday. That's another story in itself....

All Aboard the Ski Train

I regularly count myself fortunate to experience so much of the 49th state, all in the name of family travel. Somebody's gotta do it. Every trip is an adventure, every person we meet considered one more character in the realm of Alaskana. We dig it, all of it, and most of the time I keep my work writing separate from my personal musings just so I can keep it all straight and not confuse anyone. This time, however, I just can't keep my mouth shut or my fingers still.

Bear has been working hard on his Nordic (xc) skiing this year, and although he would rather die than admit he likes it as much or better than the faster-paced alpine style, had advanced to the point where Yukon and I agreed he could handle a day-long trip aboard the Alaska Railroad for the annual Ski Train. Sponsored by the Nordic Ski Association of Anchorage, the Ski Train is a tradition dating back to 1972 and is an epic day of choo-chooing, skiing, and all-out eating or partying, depending upon one's age and or inclination.

We boarded the train in Anchorage at 6 a.m. Saturday morning, and traveled four hours to Curry, 22 miles north of Talkeetna, where the train stopped, spit out 730 skiers and snowshoers, then sat in the warm Alaskan sunshine until 4 p.m., when it again collected us for the ride home. It was, my friends, a blast. No roads, no technology, nothing but our own power to propel us around the historic town site and birch forests along the Susitna river.

Bear did a great job of navigating the non-groomed trails and crusty spring snow, enjoying the atta-boys from grownups as he sidestepped, climbed, and schussed a number of tricky hills.

His favorite part, however, was his unfettered access to the train, which sat, engines off, all day, allowing him to go on, off, on, and off the train for at least an hour. He was (gasp) even allowe

d to touch the shiny springs and wheels of our car and talked in person to the engineer who sat, puffing on a cigar (of course) in his high-up post, surveying the territory around him.

We dined on smoked salmon, crackers, cheddar cheese, and beer for happy hour, then moved on to a gourmet dinner of barbeque and salad for the ride home. Denali, the Great One, stood watch over our train as we lumbered home, and at least ten moose were equally silent sentries to our forested haven for a day.

I feel as if we were gone an entire weekend instead of only one day. Epic, I tell you.

I'll Show U

Last night I went to bed grumpy after wrestling with You Tube, trying to upload a short and probably uninteresting video of an AKontheGO trip to the Alaska Zoo, because I was told I had to.

Not to discount anything my most beloved Mentor suggests to me; he is a wise and upwardly mobile, if not downright social media-ish travel media guru who has taken me from the depths of family travel mediocrity and launched AKontheGO, and me, into his world.

But it's a crazy world of Twitter and Facebook and podcasts and websites and uber-fast, ultra-frenetic media I'm not used to. Like many journalistic "dinosaurs", I started with print media, telling my story in 1,000 word features that gave me ample time to utilize my who, what, when, where, and why. It was comfy, like the old pair of fleece pants and worn out moccasins I wear when writing. Like the Olympic National Park mug I drink my coffee from. Familiar, soft, and flavorful. I wasn't sure about the change-up.

New words entered my vocabulary; terms like "embed". Now I don't know about you, but I am embed around 9 p.m., usually after trying to figure out why the heck I couldn't upload the podcast from the radio show last week or pounding my head on the keyboard because I forgot the sequence for un-privatizing the aforementioned You Tube video. Dammit Jim, I'm a writer, not a Geek. I could care less why something goes here or there, I just want it to do it.

Yukon is no help. Like my father, who led to the decimation of my inbred patience gene, my husband insists on going back to the beginning of the proverbial book and asks the questions to which I already know the answers. Sheesh, doesn't anybody understand me and my needs?

Okay. I'm done.

After a few cryptic texts from Mr. Mentor I finally figured out the upload, but not the way I wanted it. Sigh.

I'll tackle the rest tomorrow. I'm going to sit down and put in a VHS tape in my 1990's VCR. That I know how to do.

Solstice Parade...

A parade of people itching to see the sun again, that is. The shortest day of the year has arrived, and Alaskans everywhere are set to stay up late and usher in brighter days and the advent of spring. Well, not really, but we like to think it's all downhill from here to green grass and singing birds.

Yukon, Bear, and I took a brief getaway to Girdwood and Alyeska Resort last weekend, partly to shoot another segment for a local television station's "Kids in the Wild" thingie I do once in a while, and partly to unwind after a frenetic few weeks of pre-Christmas activity.

Alaska, Anchorage included, had been in the grips of a cold snap the likes of which had not been seen or felt in quite some time. While we were spared the worst of it with temperatures only dipping into the -20 degree range at night, some Interior Alaskan communities (Fairbanks, Delta Junction, and the like) saw -60 F. That's cold in the definition of cold. Icy. Frightening. Too Damn Cold, as one old-timer griped while we filled up our cars at the gas station one morning, hands feeling like wooden blocks as they gripped the pump handles.

At any rate, AK Fam left in good spirits Friday, and spent a pretty fine day Nordic skiing, relaxing, and eating good food. The resort hosted a festival for Winter Solstice, featuring a band called "Church of the Flaming Funk", best known for their pyrotechnic angle. Let's just say it was part circus side show, part 1960's James Bond movie, as women gyrated to grungy, hard-core rock music (that wasn't too bad, really) while twirling flaming hula hoops and sticking fire down their throats. Children were lined up in a chorus line of sorts, knees knocking to the tunes and mouths hanging open with either awe or lust; I'm not sure which. My own son included. But nobody cared.

I must insert here a little history to help those from Lower 48 communities understand the nature of Alaskans in the winter. Since the habitation of White Men and Women to the Last Frontier, there has been an incredible drive to do something, anything, that will relieve the winter doldrums. Imagine no television, little radio, and few modes of entertainment beyond that which a bottle of whiskey and a dance hall girl could provide. If you know what I mean. Parties, bonfires, and general merrymaking are as old as Alaska herself, and when the winter days stretch endlessly into one another, anything will help relieve the pain of darkness and cold. One cannot fathom the depths of such nights unless experiencing it firsthand, and now, after six winters in Alaska, I get it.

Winter is beautiful in the 49th state, but it is also brutally unforgiving. No other place has made me so aware of where I am, what I am doing, and how I am doing it. No other place requires one to be connected to every feeling and thought, for those may be the link to success or the broken chain of failure in the wilderness. We are teaching Bear these lessons. I know now why the Native Alaskans are so in tune with nature and each other. Too bad so many miners and trappers and traders missed the point.

There is no other way to survive here.

Final Big Trip Means Big Fun

We're on the final day of our six-day trip to Valdez, Alaska. We've not been here before, and I daresay I am kicking myself for not making the trip sooner.

I'm happy yet sad that we're heading home to plan 2011 trips and adventures for AKontheGO.com; I love to travel around the 49th state, but I also am quite anxious to settle some things around the hacienda before the snow flies. We saw the inevitable 'termination dust' on the way high peaks around Valdez yesterday, and it's only a matter of time before our little Chugach foothills show the same. Sigh.

Fine weather has prevailed, however, for most of this trip and for our anniversary today. We celebrated by taking a day-long cruise via Stan Stephens Wildlife and Glacier Cruises, to the tune of groaning icebergs, barking sea lions, and incredibly gorgeous, sunny skies. A great way to spend a day with my sweetie.

Alaska Travelgram and AK Fam

A few have asked, so we will provide.

Each Tuesday, I get to play radio for a local travel program called the Alaska Travelgram, 2-3 p.m. AST on KUDO AM 1080. You can find a link to the station HERE.

It's always interesting, always fun, and every week is a new experience for Alaskan travel and tourism. We've met a lot of interesting people and hope to meet many more.

So, if you want to give a listen on Tuesdays, you'll hear me, along with my co-host Scott, as we navigate the fascinating world of Alaskan adventures.

Extended Family Travel and the Effects Upon Children

The Harrison family is still at our home, preparing for the final leg of their 7,000-mile journey across the U.S. on their quint bicycle. If all goes well, tomorrow morning Yukon and Bear will escort them through the winding bike trails of Anchorage to the Glenn Highway, where they'll head towards the Matanuska-Susitna Valley and then north to Denali National Park and Fairbanks.

The more time we spend with this family, the more we are learning about them and their style of parenting and simple living. I have asked them how others respond to their trip and the questions and/or comments, both positive and negative, they have received. Since we, too, are involved in family travel as a lifestyle rather than an occasional occurrence, I was curious to hear what people say to and about them.

Comments apparently range from overwhelmingly positive to desparingly negative. Not surprising, of course, but surely hurtful to parents who truly believe they are doing right by their children in offering them an opportunity to pioneer their way across America. People have accused them of abuse, neglect, and false pretenses.

The question of "Why are you doing this?" has followed them from Kentucky, hanging over their heads like a little gray cloud that just won't go away, and people consistently want to know why in the name of heaven would you take three little girls, plop them on a bike, and take them away from their home and security for more than a year. I will admit I, too, first looked for a "cause" when I first heard about the Harrisons; after all, people just don't hop on a funny-looking bicycle without a mission to change the world, right?

Here's the answer: Because they can. And that's all.

I have discovered, these past five years in Alaska, that life is unbelieveably and remarkably short. Travel as a family is our way to connect with each other and our environment in a most intimate way, separate from the daily flux and fuss of everyday activities, jobs, and other distractions that while necessary, manage to take away some of the meaning behind "family time."

Yes, this family is tired. Yes, the girls get on each other's nerves and might need some adjustment time upon arrival in Fairbanks to regroup after their family's 12-month nomadic lifestyle. But is it harmful? I don't think so. On the contrary, I think it is the most valuable experience a child could have, and one of the best gifts a parent could offer.

Sharing the Road, and our Home, with Some New Friends

It's not often we run into people these days whose philosophy of family travel meshes with ours. The Harrison family, originally from Kentucky, is now settled into our basement with mom, dad, and three daughters on the final leg of their 7,000 mile journey to Fairbanks. On a bicycle. One bicycle.

I picked them up yesterday in the midst of a stormy, blowy, and rainy morning that made me wonder why anyone, much less a family of five, would want to come to Alaska at all. It was that bad. But with the help of a travel buddy from Salmonberry Tours (thanks again, Candice), we were able to load up that big yellow bike and schlep everyone from Whittier to Anchorage, where the sun came out and everyone and everything had a chance to dry out.

The media showed up at about the time the little girls were getting settled and starting to play with Bear's toys, and were not at all thrilled to be talking with more reporters. Tired, out of sorts, and emotionally spent after two solid days on the ferry, shrieks and shouts accompanied the interview, which of course made the evening news. Oops.

Reporters also asked the family 'why'. Why are you doing this? Who are you supporting? What cause are you championing? Turns out, none. They are just doing it to do it. To experience the world, learn some stuff about people, and have some quality family time.

That answer seemed to stump the reporters. Not me. That's why we travel. Just because we like it.

Family Fun in the 49th State

Whew, has it really been so long since I put up a post? Yikes, sorry everyone. With so many people running around here things got a little crazy.

We had a super time having the fam come up and visit from Seattle, and a definite highlight was watching the cousins interact with each other. I'm in love with my niece and wasn't quite ready to give her up at the airport this morning.

Homer was our main destination for all things fun, and we indeed had a blast, walking on the beach, taking a fast ferry to the little town of Seldovia (rain and all), and simply hanging out in our little beach cottages. My brother and sister-in-law were able to go halibut fishing and brought back plenty of fish for their freezer at home. Can't go to Homer and not go fishing.

Bear is exhausted, though, and is just now waking up. Yukon, too, is a bit slow this a.m. and is sitting in the living room with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. Our weather leaves a bit to be desired; rainy, windy, and generally not too fun, so today will be a "catch-up" day.

Here's some photos of our fun times.

Homer With the Fam

We're down here in Homer, Alaska with my parents, brother, and family, and Yukon and Bear. The sun finally decided to come out this morning, and it was indeed a treat to see the golden orb in the sky instead of foggy, soggy mountains.

Staying at our favorite Homer Seaside Cottages near the beach, bakery, and pub (Yukon's requirement), it is easy to forget we need a car and instead walk mostly everyplace. My sister-in-law and I went for a run out towards spindly Homer Spit this morning and took an hour-long time out for moms. Kids and dads and grandparents went on a walk to the Islands and Ocean Visitor Center and met up with us for some lunch on the deck, in full view of Kachemak Bay, the mountains, and a few miscellaneous eagles who tolerated only slightly the advances of local ravens.

Right now everyone is having "quiet time" before heading back to the beach with an armload of toys and shovels. It's breezy but bright, and we'll embrace the weather as well as the unstructured time together.

Family Fun in the Summer (Rain)

It seems as if every time I psych up a member of the family to visit us in Alaska, telling them with unabashed enthusiasm about our then-gorgeous weather, said weather turns terrible.

My brother and family are in town, along with Grandma and Grandpa, and it is raining. Not just raining, actually, but alternating between a steady drizzle and pouring. Ever since they got here last night.

The good news is my relatives are in desperate need of a relaxing week away from Seattle's busy pace, and the rain makes the motivation to get up early and rush out the door quite minimal. The bad news is that with three children in the house under 6, there is a lot of restlessness. My family travel hand is being forced as I must now walk my talk with respect to our mantra of "outside, every day". So out we go.

Rain pants, rain boots, rain hat, rain coat; everybody is dressed in enough rubber and Gore-Tex to supply REI. Snacks, towels, and backpacks added and we're in business. This weekend was the annual Alaska Botanical Garden Fair and since AKontheGO was a sponsor, we trucked the small boys and dads (and me) a mile or so down the road to attend a very soggy but nonetheless delightful afternoon mucking about the 110 acres of native plant-dom.

Bear and Yukon found the "quiet corner" of the Children's Village to read a story about bugs. Looks peaceful and sweet, doesn't it? What you can't hear is Yukon's narrative of the page where it shows the inner workings of a fly, the "guts, brain, and gross insides". No wonder the kid looks spellbound, Dad's turning it into a description of The Fly. Great.

My brother and nephew were busy trying out the craft corner where after a few false starts, Nephew finally got his dad to draw him a zebra on purple craft foam. Never mind everyone else was making caterpillars, Nephew is his own man.

Tomorrow is our last day in Anchorage before we head down to Homer and the beach. At least if it rains I won't worry so much; kids are always wet down there anyway, so a little rain won't hurt.

The Great One

One of the best parts about my job (if one could call it a job, but that sure sounds better, eh?) is the people I meet and the places our family is able to visit.

Thursday, Yukon left the office early after a crazy week of VA moving and confab-ing, and we packed bikes and people for the 2.5 hour drive north to the McKinley Princess Lodge at the invitation of yes, the Princess Tour people. McK Princess is located near Trapper Creek, Alaska, and is one of the main lodgings Princess owns for access to and views of, Denali, "the Great One".

I'll admit I was somewhat skeptical of the property's ability to wow a family who actually lives in the 49th state and can often view Denali from Anchorage. Likewise with respect to the actual lodging; we've seen tour company hotel/motel/lodge style accommodations before, and were prepared for fake log buildings, mass-prepared food, and condescending staff.

Warmly welcomed by Manager D., who, I found out, is a graduate from my college alma mater and the epitome of how the manager of a 300+ mostly-older-people facility should act, AK Fam was given the best suite in the house in full view of Denali. Not only that, but staff had prepared a welcome fruit/cheese plate and given Bear a backpack full of kid-friendly goodies. Not bad for a place whose child-occupancy is something like 3% (that's why we went, btw, to review and rate).

With weather in the mid 70's, even during the long evening hours, we somehow found ourselves immersed in the beautiful surroundings, enjoying the pleasant company of visitors who were told "not to expect to see the mountain" (chances in May of viewing Denali range from seldom to never) and thus were awestruck and sometimes speechless. We hiked, we ate, we slept in, we took a jet boat ride; and all through it were delightfully pampered by Manager D and his staff.

Not only that, but Yukon took a ride around the property with D, looking at the way Princess is supporting its employees with housing, off-duty recreation, etc. The two hit it off tremendously, and we didn't leave today without planning another trip in August on our way to Fairbanks.

Only downside is that I lost my voice somehow along the way. Nobody here seems to be complaining, however.

A "No-Agenda" Weekend

This is probably the last weekend for a while that "AK Fam" will be able to clearly state we have "no agenda". Not that we mind, of course, but with summer rapidly approaching, there were some things that needed attention. Like us.

Yukon spent quality time planting his beloved horseradish sprout, sent to him from Portland by his mother, god bless her. Have you ever owned a horseradish plant? If so, you would know that it spreads like dandilion, and is almost as hard to control. But Yukon spent the day coddling the new flower bed, adding sand and compost, and calling this new garden addition his "baby". Please.

Bear decided that the weather was nice enough to run through the sprinkler, and convinced some neighborhood buddies of the same. Too bad I couldn't get them off the towels to actually use the sprinkler. But at least my lawn got watered.

It was a lovely day in Alaska, and I'm now waiting for Yukon to finish grilling up our salmon burgers to finish up this relaxing Saturday. We might even have sunburns. Really.