It is nice to sleep late, of course late is relative. Today we slept late compared to Wednesday but it was very early compared to the time we usually get up.

A quarter of seven found us sitting in the parking lot of Troutfitters in Cooper Landing where a light rain was still falling on a quiet parking lot. The drive, in a heavier rain, from Sterling had taken about an hour. At the start of the drive, near the campground, we saw a cow moose and a young bull, thirty yards off the road feeding in a small bog between two houses. Getting ready had preceded that so our night had been short.

Now we eyed the fellow sitting in his rent car next to us. He was a tall slender sandy haired man who appeared to be in his thirties. He and I decided to put down our windows about the same time. A little conversation revealed that he had been there since about five thirty. He was waiting to fish for trophy trout with Dusty Byrd, like we were. Home for him was Clovis, California, which is a town of around one hundred thousand and just down the road from Sacramento. Sean hadn’t known he was going to have the chance to fish but he was obviously very pleased that things had worked out so he could. He had heard about Dusty in Anchorage. I had first heard about her in Fairbanks while visiting with a man in the RV park there. He was an avid trout fisherman and raved about Dusty and her ability to find fish and big fish at that. Later on while in Anchorage I had talked to a couple of more fisherman and they both recommended Dusty as the best trout guide on the Kenai. Now Sean, David and I sat in the cars in the drizzle and wondered and waited for this phenom to show.

Around seven we saw a small woman walk briskly to the office, unlock it and go inside. Shortly she came back out and went to the double-ended welded aluminum boat that was on a trailer hitched to a van. The boat looked to be about eighteen feet with a seven-foot beam, sides that were perhaps twenty-four inches at the middle and a little taller fore and aft where they swept up in a pronounced curve giving the whole boat the shape of a rocker on a chair. She moved with the confidence that comes from knowing what needs to be done and knowing you can do it. She was cleaning trash out of the boat but she didn’t have the air of a maintenance man and it occurred to me that this might be Dusty Byrd. If it was I wondered who was going to row the boat.

Sean, David and I got out as if on command and walked over and introduced our selves. The lady was indeed the much talked about Dusty. After a few pleasantries, where her bright blue eyes seemed to be appraising us, Dusty told us to go in the office and get some waders on. She spoke like someone who was used to giving orders and enjoyed it. Her pleasant voice was brisk and business like matching her demeanor.

Inside the office, which was also a tackle shop, another woman got us fitted with chest waders and wool socks which we could tuck our pants in so they wouldn’t slide up to our crotch when we pulled the waders on. The extra socks would also help keep our feet warm when we were standing in the Kenai. While all this was going on the fourth man who would be fishing with Dusty showed up, Jerry. Jerry looked to be in his fifties or perhaps early sixties, maybe five ten and stocky with a tousled head of hair that is beginning to show traces of gray. His face showed that he spends a lot of time outdoors. As he talked about the coming adventure it sounded like a lot of that time might be fishing. We would have a boatful of fishing aficionados.

We were burning daylight and the five of us were anxious to be on our way. Backpacks were placed in the van and then we followed them. Dusty fired the engine and we were on our way. During the short drive to the launch site I wondered who had decided to put the glass packs on the van. The deep throated rumble of the big vee eight was one I hadn’t heard since we took the Chevy home from Santana’s. Dusty talked as she drove asking where we were from and how much experience we each had with a fly rod. Sean and Jerry had a lot of experience and perhaps even slept with their favorite rods when their wives were away. They were avid fly fishermen. My lifetime experience with a fly rod was perhaps five hours and David said he had held one, a long time ago. He and I were on the short end of the experience scale. Dusty assured us we could handle the rods with just a little instruction. She was right.

We put the boat in just past the confluence of the Russian and Kenai Rivers. This is the area that is noted for its "combat fishing". The salmon are so thick in this part of the rivers that men and women crowd into the river to fish. Sometimes tempers flare and people are shoved down resulting in broken bones or someone gets totally out of control and stabs another fisherman. The whole scene gives a whole new meaning to the word "sportsman" and it’s not a nice one. Onie and I have passed this place many times and I have never had any desire to fish here. The fish and the practice of throwing fish carcasses into the river attracts the numerous bears, both black and grizzly, that live in the area. Just recently a young man, on his way back from fishing there, had been mauled by a grizzly. He would carry the scars for the rest of his life but would never see them. He lost his eyesight in the mauling.

Any qualms I had about Dusty’s ability to handle the boat were dispelled as soon as she sat down in the boat and placed the oars in the locks. She quickly had the boat in midstream and maneuvered it skillfully. Not once during the day did she miss a stroke as she worked the boat back and forth, up and down and across the rapidly flowing river.

Fly rods rigged with floating line, five foot leaders, indicators, red beads and tiny hooks were limbered up and after a brief lesson David and I were fishing. Jerry and Sean, needing no such instruction, went right to work at fishing.

The area we were floating is called "The Refuge" and fishing is limited to catch and release, for trout. This was new for David and me as we are used to catch and eat. In the Refuge the river twists, turns and splits forming small islands and/or sand or gravel bars. Where the river bends it claims trees and soil on the cutbank side. We fished all of these areas. Frequently Dusty rowed us to a spit, island or gravel bar and we got out of the boat and waded, sometimes in waist deep water. Dusty never fished but stayed near with her trusty landing net. Several times during the day she netted nice fish and let us photograph them before carefully releasing them.

It was obvious she really enjoyed her work and liked seeing us succeed in our endeavors. Sean and Jerry both caught very nice rainbows, which were duly photoed and released. David caught a large Dolly Varden/ Artic Char. I have often wondered what a "Dolly" tastes like and thought I would soon know but alas it was not to be. Dusty declared, and Sean and Jerry concurred, that this fish was too big to keep and eat. It had to go back in the river. Well I have to admit that was a new line. David and I both frequently return fish that are too small, but too big? Isn’t that like having too much fun or money? The concept was totally new to us and before we could think of an appropriate response we saw the dorsal fin slip out of sight in the water. There would be no "Dolly" on the Blomstrom table tonight. We would have to settle for sockeye. Perhaps that is like having fillet mignon instead of a T-bone but I will have to wait to find out. After our shock had subsided David and I decided it was worth it, releasing the fish, since it would prove how magnanimous and sporting we guys from Texas really are. In addition it had brought a huge glowing smile to Dusty’s face and every one knows that nothing makes a man from Texas happier than pleasing a woman. We agreed we had done our proper duty but as soon as we got back to Castaway we were going to slaughter some reds.

We floated, fished and snacked our way through eight hours while Dusty did her best to put us on the fish. She did and when the trip was over we agreed that the trip had been a scaly success, one to be long remembered.

Back at the office we surrendered our waders and said our goodbyes to our fishing mates and Dusty. It had been a fun time but David and I had more time on the river still ahead of us.

David dozed as I drove back to Sterling. The rain that had fell fitfully during our float trip finally gave up and was replaced by the sun.

Reds, when hooked, sometimes make breathtaking runs. If they get in the main stream of the fast flowing river they can strip off a lot of line before breaking off. This had happened to David more than once and the Calcutta reel he was fishing with was getting very low on line. He needed to go into Soldotna to Trusty Hardware to have the reel respooled with more thirty-pound test line.

I’m not as old as I hope to be someday but I’m not as young as I used to be, either. The long days and short nights were catching up with me. I asked Onie if she would go to town with David to get the reel taken care of. I jerked off my clothes and dove into bed. I never heard the toad engine crank.

Sometime later they returned. David had been fishing a while when they woke me. I was much refreshed after the two hour nap. Now I joined David and other fishermen at the river. The Reds were still running but not like before. We fished hard. The legal hookups were slow to come and turning the foul hooked fish back wasn’t always easy. As the evening wore on our stringer gradually filled. As midnight approached we decided we had better take our fish into Soldotna and the fish processor.

When we got there a lone car was in the drop off area. We hoped we would be in and out quickly so we could go home and get some rest. It was not to be. Six men had been halibut and reds fishing. Each one had fish and each one wanted the halibut and reds prepared a different way. To make matters worse they couldn’t decide just how they wanted them and there was only one person working checking in fish. I could tell the young man taking the orders was at his wits end so I made my self scarce as he dealt with the old men. David went into the shop and bought a case of silver salmon to ship home and I sat in the car and hoped I could soon go to sleep.

At last our turn came. It was quick. Add these fish to our stash and package them in one pound bags, freeze and hold them for more to come. We were out of there.

At home David rolled up in a blanket, on the floor. I could hear him snoring before I finished brushing my teeth. With the clock reading two, morning would be here soon.

Roll out time was nine. There was lots to do and a short time to do it.

David wanted to take home clean clothes, or at least clothes that weren’t filthy, so he went off to the washateria to get the job done.

Onie fixed breakfast and I slept a little extra.

Breakfast barely interrupted David in his mission to get packed and ready for travel. He packs kind of like his Dad. He lays everything out where he can see it and then starts putting it in suitcases or carry ons. When he was all finished one bag was only half full.

He was leaving behind some fishing gear he had brought up. He would need it when we fish in Colorado in September so there is no need to take it back to Texas only to bring it back to the coach in six weeks. Also the rosemary he brought from his herb garden was staying as well as the cucumbers from his vegetable garden. The cucs had disappeared during his stay but the rosemary will linger a while longer. Then there was the smoked feral hog bacon he had brought to us. Half of it had made up part of a breakfast feast, if you remember, and the other half we would eat in the near future.

Putting his gear in the toad was a piece of cake when compared to stuffing everything in when the grandkids were with us but we still had a full car when we loaded ourselves in to head for Soldotna.

Soldotna, big town on the Kenai, home of Fred Meyer, Trusty Hardware, Golden International Restaurant, Swiftwater City Park and numerous gift shops including the Malfunction Junction was first on our list of places to stop on the way to Anchorage. David had been so busy fishing he hadn’t paid enough attention to the plight of the local economy. When I pointed out that b-u-s-y also spells b-u-y-s he got the message. He did his best to remedy his past sins of omission. Malfunction Junction was the primary beneficiary of his largess.

At the junction of Sterling and Seward Hiways a beautiful bird viewing area provided another safe photo op. David took the boardwalk out to a waiting ranger and visited. Among the birds raising their young in the fresh water marsh sockeye salmon had just returned to spawn. Out in the flats one could see the reds making nests ready for eggs soon to be laid. Those would be the same reds we had let escape.

Sterling Hiway runs eastward to the Seward Hiway which runs northeastward to Anchorage. All along the way spectacular vistas open offering photo opportunities. Some opportunities are also invitations to disaster as there is no safe place to stop to take pictures. Many times there were safe places for us to stop and we did. David recorded mountain vistas, wildflowers, glaciers, glacial ice, storm clouds and more. Stopping and shooting we made our way to Portage Glacier Park.

This is the place where one of the grandsons had bet he could hold his finger in the lake, formed by glacial water, for one minute. He had failed at the fifty-second mark. David tried a hand and found thirty seconds was enough. I don’t think the grandson is less smart, I think David is more mature. After all the lake water is around thirty-four or thirty-five degrees. Here there was more shutter clicking but it was combined with a little shivering also.

Time had passed quickly as we wended our way toward the Anchorage airport. Now it was time to put down the camera and get serious about getting to the airport on time. We whizzed past Birdwood and Girdwood, at the foot of Cook Inlet, and then passed the little orange marker on the side of the road marking the place where the biker had died a few weeks ago, then Beluga Point passed to the rear.

Anchorage suburbs were next in our view and then we pulled into the airport garage. Each of us carried something as we headed to the baggage and security check. Our time together had passed so we exchanged hugs and assurances of love before bidding each other so long. Goodbye is for when we expect not to meet again. The Spanish adios or English so long seems much better to me. Each time we part with our children or grandchildren we feel certain sadness and this was no different but life goes on and so does hunger.

After we left David we headed for the Cattle Company, an Anchorage steak house. It had been a long day and we hadn’t stopped for lunch so we were famished. David would get a snack on the airplane if he didn’t get bumped. He had checked and the flight was overbooked so there was a possibility he would not depart at 8:50PM. We had invited him to join us for dinner if he did indeed get bumped. At five minutes to nine he called to say he was on his way to join us. We saved some of the appetizers for him and asked the waitress to hold our steaks. In a few minutes he was seated across from us. His prime rib arrived shortly after our steaks and we all enjoyed our long awaited meal. Later we took him back to the airport, for his twelve fifty flight, exchanged hugs and so longs again.

With Onie driving we headed for the house. Try as I would I could not continually keep my eyes open on the trip back but when I could manage Onie and I talked. At last at one thirty we were home. The bed was empty but we soon remedied that.

At nine thirty we began the pack up process, chairs and table in the basement, move the picnic table off the rug, rug up, awning in, fishing tackle in the toad, disconnect the electric, get in the slides, start the Cummins, close the roof vents, put down the TV antenna, pull up the jacks, put the jack pads in the basement, check all the cabinets, drawers and doors to be sure they are closed and secure and then check cabinet/table tops for loose items that might take flight while we are driving. We didn’t hook up the Forester since the drive won’t be long. Onie will just drive over and meet me there. After getting the coach ready to move Onie went over to settle our tab with LaVonne. When I pulled abreast of the office she blew me a kiss and gave me the signal we were ready to roll.

I let the Cummins idle and the coach started to slowly move out of the campground, along the tree lined gravel road. Headed toward the pavement I checked the little vale to my left to see if the resident cow moose was out having a snack. She wasn’t. At the pavement I took a right and then at the stop sign a left. I motored past the place David and I saw the two moose and where Onie I had seen a grizzly fighting off two dogs, a couple of years ago. Then Scout Lake was on my left as I got to the Sterling Hiway. Andrew and Colby had bicycled here, two years ago, to fish. A right turn headed me back toward the Seward Hiway and our destination, Moose River RV Park and latte shop. The signage for the park was soon in view and I made a left turn to get into the parking lot. After Dennis, the owner, Onie and I selected a parking place I backed in, with Onie’s help, got out the jack pads, leveled up, put out the slides and stopped the Cummins. The drive had been a long one, nine miles. A new short distance record had been set by us for moving from one park to another and a day’s drive.

Roughing It In Alaska

We planned to be here at least a week so we put our awning back out, the rug, the table, chairs would come later, moved the picnic table partially under the awning, hooked up the electric, water, satellite TV cable and then I went to hook up the sewer.

Nice spot. Just like home.

The fitting that connects the hose to the coach has two ears on a stab lock fitting. At least it had two ears until today. One broke off as I tried to connect it. This was intolerable. We had been without a sewer connection for several days and our holding tanks were full. It was Sunday but I set off to find a new fitting. That didn’t happen but an inspiration did. If duct tape can hold a NASCAR race car together at two hundred miles an hour it could surely hold two stationary pieces of plastic together for a day or two. I got out the tape and went to work. In a few minutes I opened the valves to empty our tanks. The tape held and we were in business.

Now it was time for breakfast. We ate.

Onie settled in to play spider and I read and wrote.

We were tired from our odyssey with David and a horizontal position was still very desirable. We went back to bed, for a nap. The nap ended after a long time and we got up to eat again. We ate at 11:30 and then I returned to my pecking while Onie read and played spider. When it was pitch black 3am we went back to bed.

Early morning rain woke us. We smiled at each other, rolled over and went back to sleep. We had a big day planned and wanted to be full of energy when we faced it.

When we did rise we delayed breakfast while Onie played spider and I read. After we did break our fast we stripped our bed and then set about sorting our laundry.

The park, which just opened this year, has two new washers and dryers so we took two loads when we left the coach. We also took our laptops and Onie took her book.

While I was getting the wash started Onie got hooked up to the DSL line, at one of the twelve available ports. By the time I sat down and opened my laptop to write she was on line and loving it. Not since our days on Mosby had she experienced such a fast connection. Over the top of my screen I could see her wonderful smile as she raced through the Internet. I only hoped she wouldn’t hit the end and be disappointed. She got our e-mail, posted stories to the web site, checked on our investments, looked at the website for Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines and generally had a good time. I typed until it was time to put the clothes in the dryer. I took a break, moved the clothes and then came back to the keyboard. Onie was still surfing. I typed. The clothes were dry and Onie went to fold them while, I typed.

When everything was folded we closed up the laptops and put everything in the toad. At the coach we unloaded and then loaded the fishing gear. Work was over and it was time for fun. We set off for Swiftwater.

Golden International Restaurant caught our eye just as our stomachs were sending out distress signals. It was late afternoon and we hadn’t eaten since breakfast. We popped in and ordered. The guy who cooks here is really good. No matter what we order it is delicious.

We arrived at Swiftwater at 6:30 and got a parking space close to the stairs leading to the river. With both of us carrying everything we could we got our gear to the fishing walkway in one trip. We were already rigged so we went right to fishing. The fish must have been thick as molasses under the surface of the water. Cast after cast resulted in hookups. Some of the fish escaped, some were foul hooked, a couple were small but we kept on fishing. At ten o’clock we had twelve fish on our stringer, a limit for each of us. A young man fishing next to us helped me lift our stringer out of the river and into our box. Then with his further aid it was placed in the back of the toad along with our gear. Walking up the stairs we thought of all our friends and relatives who love to fish and wished they could be here to enjoy the fun.

At the fish processor I got more help unloading the fish box. The young man at check in and I guessed at the weight. He guessed eighty five pounds. I guessed ninety pounds. Ninety pounds it was. We had three fish that each weighed nine pounds. It had been a good day. We headed home.

On the way to the coach we decided to check out the fishing facilities at Morgan’s Landing, a state park not far from Castaway Riverside. When we got there we saw a sign posted next to the trail leading to the river. The sign read "Caution-Bear activity in this area at night". It was after eleven. Even though it was still light we were smart enough to know this qualified as night in bear terms. We skipped the river and started on home. We paused at the vale close to Castaway and sure enough there was a big cow moose taking her evening meal. We watched for a few minutes before heading on home.

It had been a big day and the last thing that was needed was a long time standing in front of the stove preparing supper. We had warm ups. Then Onie settled in front of her laptop and me in front of mine until it was bedtime.

Someone may be trying to turn Alaska into Camelot. It seems it rains during the night now and the morning fog clears by nine. At least the rain is coming and perhaps will fall enough to turn the dry conditions into safer damper ones. The fire danger has been high almost everyday since we arrived. A lightning strike could turn the place into an inferno without the much needed rain.

Cool temperatures are returning too. Of course summer, July, is almost over and fall, August, will soon be here. A killing frost will follow in September and then winter has arrived.

The sun shines between the intermittent rains.

After breakfast we packed up and headed for the fishing hole. Four hours of steady fishing produced four keepers that weighed twenty one and a half pounds.

We stopped at Fred Meyer on the way home for groceries and fuel.

Our satellite hookup let us catch up on a little news and the market before we went out to build a campfire.

While I got the fire going, wet wood you know, Onie chopped onions and got other fixings together for our hotdog meal. A light north wind kept the mosquitoes at bay while we enjoyed the hotdogs and the fire. We burned two hours worth of wood and then went to the coach.

Onie watched a little Lifetime, playing spider during the commercials, and I tried to get a little more into my laptop before going to bed.

When one fishes so much that the hands swell, shoulders hurt and hips ache from too much movement it is time for a day off no matter how much it is really not wanted. That day had arrived. There would be no fishing.

I spent more time writing and Onie played spider and read. While Onie read I tired spider.  Then a few entries were made in the Agency books. Onie had turned to and busied herself cleaning house. When I finished with my bookkeeping we went to wash some clothes and check on our e-mail.

With those chores out of the way I went off to find some light bulbs for the coach as well as the sewer hookup part. The duct tape was still serving quite well but the repair needed to be done. A trip to the Trusty Hardware in Soldotna provided me with almost everything I needed including some appliance repair material Onie had been wanting. Back at the house we put the light bulbs in and then I repaired the sewer line.

A phone call from Mark, at Fine Line Auto Body & RV Repair, let us know the fender panel was in his shop in Anchorage.

The day was wearing on and we had to prepare for a big evening out, around the park campfire. Wednesday and Friday the park owners, Dennis and Anita, host a potluck dinner. This takes place at the front of the park around a large campfire. Everyone brings a dish, their own chairs, drinks, plates and eating utensils. On Wednesdays the main course, open fire grilled fish, is provided by Dennis and Anita. On Fridays we buy our own main course. Tonight the main course was halibut and silver salmon. Onie made deviled eggs for our contribution.

Dennis starts preparing the fire at six thirty and cooking the fish at seven. We arrived at seven. A small group of folks was already there. Onie placed the deviled eggs on the table that already held a green bean casserole, bread, green salad and lox with crackers and cream cheese. As more folks arrived the table filled completely. Except for the downwind side the circle around the campfire was complete when the fish was ready at seven thirty. The thirty or so folks that had been visiting and sharing experiences of life in Alaska and on the road made their way to the campfire to get a serving of fish and then headed to the table to round out their meal. When the meal was over I treated myself to some raspberry cobbler with Cool Whip on top. As we settled in our chairs Onie and I agreed that this was a fine thing for the camp owners to do and we hope it will set a trend for other camps to follow. There is certainly much else here that other camps could emulate, to their own benefit and to the benefit and comfort of their campers.

Well the meal was over, we were stuffed and normally we would be ready for a little quiet time but not tonight. Conversation that had died down with the fire, while we ate, came roaring back when Dennis threw another log on the fire. Mike, a friend of Dennis’s, and I visited at length about what is involved to hunt Dall sheep. He told me about a seven and a half day hunt, out of Birdwood, where he stalked sheep for hours only to watch them wander into a protected area at just the moment he got into shooting range. Day after day he experienced this frustration until one day a ram with a seven eight’s curl made a mistake. Mike had spent a day packing his tent and supplies in and now that the hunt was over he had to pack everything out including the ram. Just after starting out he dislocated his ankle. With no one to help he placed the ankle back where it belonged and continued his hike, with half his original load. The pain from his ankle slowed him considerably and he knew he couldn’t make it to his truck that day so he settled on camping next to a small creek. After carefully placing the sheep meat a hundred yards away from his camp he set up his tent and ate a cold supper. Then he soaked his ankle in the creek. His foot, ankle and leg, to his hip, had turned black and blue from the injury and walking. The pain from the ice water was excruciating but he swore he could see the swelling go down with each minute he endured the cold. The next morning he broke camp and hiked on out to his truck where he discovered he had left his headlights on, for seven and a half days. With his cell phone he was able to call his wife who brought the battery out of his boat. At home he treated his ankle and waited until the next day to go back for the rest of his gear and sheep. When he got back to place he had left it the gear was in tatters and the sheep was gone. A bear had made a meal of the sheep and destroyed the gear. At least he didn’t have to pack it out.

While Mike was relating this bit of Alaskan life to me his wife was visiting with Onie about a trip she and six of her girl friends were taking tomorrow and the next day, canoeing and camping. Yes, that is right. Seven women, sans men, were going to canoe down a river, set up tents, spend the night in bear country, break camp, canoe some more and then meet Mike who would take them and the canoes back home. These are not teenyboppers. These are grown women with children and grandchildren and this is Alaska. In all fairness you should know they were taking a couple of friends with them to help them in case an angry bear did make an appearance, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson or perhaps it was just one friend, Mr. Colt. In any event I was given to understand that the friend was big and able to stop a bear by just speaking, once.

Dennis, Mike and I visited about the township of Sterling and their desire to incorporate it. They have both worked very hard, donating time and money, to build a community center and they would like to see more things for the community of five thousand. There are of course many who are averse to the idea of an incorporated city and see it as only one more layer of unwanted government and control of their lives. Will incorporation be progress?

Dennis had allowed the fire to burn low while we talked local politics and the clumps of people around the fire had melted away with the dying firelight. It was time for the rest of us hangers on to go home. Onie and I gathered our chairs and other items and walked to the house. It was eleven o’clock. We wondered how the last four hours of our lives had passed so quickly.

We weren’t finished with the day.

At home I made some notes about this day off while Onie cleaned the few things from our night out.

Books kept us company until we retired at two.

The last day of summer dawned sunny and cool. It stayed that way, for the most part.

We broke our fast with sockeye chowder, tea and coffee.

The stories in our books beckoned and we answered. With the coming of the afternoon hours clouds returned and reminded me it was time to make a few more notes. Onie read on in her book following the adventures of make believe people. We have both read more, lately, than we have since we retired and I must say we enjoy it immensely. I can hardly wait to get back home to our library.

We cleaned the icebox out for dinner. That means heat ups. We love our heat ups. They are always great, sometimes better than the first time around, and it gives Onie a break from the kitchen.

A little nap put us in fine fettle for a trip to the river.

At six o’clock we made our, almost daily, pilgrimage to the Kenai.