July 18, 2007

Often times it seems our lives settle into a gentle flow/routine that is easy to accept and hard to move out of. The present time seems to be one such.

Onie was up at eight thirty and made the coffee and tea. I followed her at nine thirty. After a little tea we sat down to break our fast with cheerios and banana. The crosswords were filled in as we got our minds in gear.

Inside and outside it was warm, summertime, some might even say suffocating with the humidity brought on by the overcast skies. The swim, soon to follow breakfast would be welcome and cooling.

At ten thirty we left for Skyview and the pool. At twelve fifteen we left Skyview for a drive to Ninilchik but only after fueling at Freddies.

On a day out with the girls Onie had eaten at a little bay side café. She had reported the food was good, the view wonderful, lots of eagles and terns and the prices were reasonable, by Alaskan standards. We set off for the café in a gentling falling rain. The early morning heat had given way to a cool fifty three and now we added a little heat to the interior of the toad, to be comfortable. As the road began to parallel the beachfront the fog rolled across the highway and we slowed our forward progress so as not to come upon a moose standing in the middle of the highway and no time to stop or take evasive action. Many people are maimed or killed each year as a result of vehicle/moose collisions. We don’t want to join their numbers so we’re careful on the highways.

By the time we reached Ninilchik and the little café, it seats about twenty people inside and a like number on the deck, our appetites were rising in opposition to the rain that was still falling.

Inside we approached the window where food orders are taken and ordered jalapeno poppers for a start. Onie opted for a burger and fries while a bowl of clam chowder was my choice.

The rain ended with our lunch and we prepared to drive back to the coach. On the way we stopped by an RV supply store to get some potty treatment and wax for the interior and exterior of the coach.

Back in Soldotna we stopped at Trustworthy for gloves for Onie and a filet glove for me. I already had one, at Lake Road, but opted to get another. We also showed our faces and money in Safeway before returning home at five.

We hurried into the Marlin in a light rain just as the hands on the clock read five.

It was time to make a few notes, play a few games, visit with one another a little and then toddle off to slumberland.

July 19, 2007

We finished breakfast by a quarter of one. It had been a slow moving morning in keeping with the fish movement. Less than two dozen reds have been caught since the first arrival of the seasonal people in mid May. Last year Onie and I caught nine during the first run, her eight and me one. This morning’s paper said there are a lot of fish in the bay. Like last year the mood just hasn’t struck them to begin moving to their spawning beds where they will mate and die. Perhaps they are just hanging onto a few more days of life but eventually, this week or next, they will begin their run and then the fishing and catching will be fast and furious. In the meantime we, like they, are in a slo-mo mode.

We had risen a little before nine to another warm Kenai summer day. The sun came through the high clouds that covered most of the heavens.

Fresh water had to be run through the coffee pot a couple of times before the serious business of coffee making could take place. Ever so often we run vinegar through the system to remove mineral buildup and then fresh water is necessary to flush it before making more coffee. It had been moved outside last night and the vinegar part done. Now the fresh water perked through and then the coffee was made. Tea followed.

Onie worked on getting week seven ready to post while I did some agency business and paid some bills.

A call was placed to the weir counter only to find that yesterday’s red count for the Kenai had yet to be posted.

Details began to be filled in on week eight and then the writer stopped that to prepare some sausage and Liberty toast for breakfast. The crossword was a joint effort as the last of the sausage and egg and milk soaked toast disappeared.

Onie sat back down at her laptop to complete week seven and ready it for posting later in the day while I continued to work on week eight or maybe it was week nine. It was nine.

When Onie was ready she departed for the laundry to upload to the website and get her email. At the coach the fresh water tank was filling. We had both taken a quick rinse off in our own shower this morning and we were out of water. We prefer our own shower to that of any camp ground regardless of neatness or cleanliness.

While the water ran a little more agency business was conducted, some checks written, a deposit readied for the mail and a game of Snood played while the tank topped off. With a hundred gallons of fresh water on board I headed off to the laundry to join Onie doing the email thing. There were only one hundred eight waiting for me.

For two hours we plowed though Email before returning to the coach. We had been working and it was time for play. It was off to the grate for a while and then back from the grate, well exercised but with no fish.

Onie fixed chicken and dumplings for supper. It was preceded by tomato and avocado for our salad.

The fish had to be coming, sooner or later, so I reriged Onie’s pole. She had snagged and broken off all the terminal tackle the last time she fished. Back on the grate we went through our flip, drag and jerk mantra. We both came up empty handed.

With no action on the grate we sought it in the coach both playing computer games before Onie lay down to watch LMN.

My attention turned to fleshing out a few notes. When Onie went to sleep at half past midnight I decided to peck on. At twenty to four I joined her.

July 20, 2007

Onie is making a habit of rising before me. This morning she was up at eight. I joined her at nine thirty. She had already had several cups of coffee before I sat down to enjoy the first tea of the day.

Outside it was warm and sunny.

Blueberries topped our Cheerios and took the wrinkles out of our tummies before we headed off for another morning swim.

On the way back we swung by the post office to mail some bills and a bank deposit before stopping at Freddies. Inside we lingered at Starbucks long enough to get a latte and Chai tea before beginning our shopping.

At one thirty we were back at the coach where I reacquainted myself with the laptop and Onie worked on her slaw for the fish fry at six.

With the slaw prepared and cooling in the refrigerator we went to fish for a while. For all our success we should have stayed in and taken a nap.

Tired of all fishing and no catching we went back to the coach to clean up a bit in anticipation of Gary, Tina and Kyle’s arrival, tomorrow. We also cleaned out the car so there would be plenty of room for them and their luggage.

Kurt came by to tell us the fish were running a little better and thought perhaps we might like to try our hand again. We were doing a little maintenance on our chairs but at the good report left them where they lay and made for the river.

At the river the old flip, drag and jerk was resumed. Soon we could feel fish wiggling by under our lines. We moved forty feet to the deep end of the grate, to be closer to the incoming fish, and began hooking fish but not too well. Eventually one was hooked and grated. The hook was in its mouth so it was bonked, bled and strung. Many more were hooked but none were landed. Could it be that this would be another frustrating day of de je vous all over again? Patience will often pay off when one is where one needs to be and with some patience and more flipping another legal fish was landed and strung.

Then Onie called me for the fish fry. It was six o’clock.

The food was great and the company convivial but with reports from Sonny and Birdie of numerous fish caught earlier I didn’t linger at the table. Left on the deck to be consumed by others was orange roughy, French fries, slaw, potato salad, three bean salad, spicy smoked red salmon spread, two rice dishes, a veggie tray and macaroni and cheese. Bread pudding, chocolate caramel cookies and chocolate chip cookies rounded out the menu, as dessert.

As usual Onie’s slaw was a bit hit. Allen, who is batching this weekend, asked for the remainder of the slaw and Onie graciously acquiesced.

Stuffed to the gills the writer went back to fishing. In just a little while, say ten minutes, another fish was netted and strung to fill the limit of three.

The new fillet knife was unsheathed and put to work. When the reds had been processed and all that remained in hand was fillets we headed for the coach where Onie bagged them for future use.

With our first limit in the refrigerator we sat down under the awning to visit with one another and the neighbors who were dropping by.

Our supper was made and ingested before a few details of the day were pecked out on the keyboard.

At ten we went to bed. Tomorrow would be a long day.

July 21, 2007

Rising at four thirty should always be rewarded with something extraordinary. This morning the writer rose at that hour to be rewarded by the delivery via the Princess Sun of the Bahms, pronounced, bombs. Who wouldn’t rise early if they knew a bomb was arriving, much less three.

With Onie safely and snuggly tucked in bed the toad eased out of the park, at five, and onto the gravel road leading to the pavement. A light drizzle accompanied it to the Sterling Highway where I turned left and headed toward Anchorage.

My destination was not Anchorage, however, it was Whittier where Gary, Tina and Kyle Bahm would be debarking from their seven day cruise of the inside passage. We had talked to Gary a couple of times while they were en route and the cruise had been delightful and the shore excursions exhilarating. Among other things they had sat on the deck to their suite and watched a glacier calve, in Juneau, and zip lined in Ketchikan. Soon they would be setting foot on more Alaskan soil, in Whittier. Whatever they expected was sure not to be what they found. Whittier was originally built as a fuel supply dump for the U.S armed forces during the Second World War. After the war it had segued into a fishing and port village. Most, if not all, of the residents live in two multistory condominiums which are transformed barracks. The "business district" consists of a few latte shops, some walk up food vendors and booking offices for glacier cruises and fishing charters. One can see it in half an hour. They were used to the ports of the Caribbean where one can spend hours wandering and shopping. This would be entirely different.

Gary had called last evening, as we slept. The phone had buzzed at eleven forty, rousing me from a deep sleep. He told me they would debark about eight. I told him that would be fine. I would be there to meet them and would call them while I was en route. The only problem was I was too fuzzy headed to remember that once one leaves Sterling cell signals disappear until one reaches Portage, fifteen miles from Whittier. These thoughts came to me as the Subaru headed their way, the windshield wipers on intermittent keeping the light rain and fog from obscuring my vision. The twilight of the early morning hours turned to half light and the mountains ahead and to my right was soon highlighted by their snowy peaks. When the marshes of Portage lay to my right the cell phone gained a signal. I called Gary and told him I would be there in an hour.

I was fifteen miles away and would be there in about an hour. He inquired why it would be so long if it was only fifteen miles. I explained that the Whittier Tunnel had to be negotiated. It is a single lane. Traffic from Beaver Valley, the Portage side, goes through on the half hour while the traffic from the Whittier side goes through on the hour. The train goes through whenever it is ready. Because the tunnel is long, over two miles, traffic is stopped from entering the tunnel fifteen minutes after the traffic flow begins.

At seven-o-three the Subaru rolled to a stop in the first traffic lane behind the crossbars blocking traffic from entering the tunnel. In exactly twenty seven minutes the crossbars would rise and the tunnel transit would begin unless a train decided to come through.

During the wait I stepped out into the nippy air, walked around the car a little, then stopped to take a few photos of the nearby mountains.

The digital clock above the crossbars counted down the remaining minutes until the traffic from Beaver Valley would begin moving.

At seven twenty five I got back in the toad and started the engine. Others, in what was now a long line of vehicles, including buses, in their own lane, pickups towing boats, in their own lane and eighteen wheelers in their own lane did the same thing. As all waited for the crossbar to rise I saw the headlight of a train in the tunnel. It would be a little longer before we moved.

The passenger train consisted of some eight to ten cars. It carried tourists and locals headed for Portage, Anchorage and other points north including Denali and Fairbanks. Most, if not all, had gotten off the Princess Sun and four of the people on the train were destined to die in a flight seeing crash in a few days.

By seven thirty the train and its passengers had cleared the tunnel and the cross arms swung up. The trip through the solid rock tunnel began. One must straddle the railroad tracks to keep from having the car swerve from side to side. At the same time drops of water fall from the raw rock that makes up the tunnel walls and ceiling and for quite sometime, the speed limit is twenty five miles per hour, one is driving with no daylight showing behind or ahead. The roar of huge exhaust fans drowns out all thought except those of what happens in the event of a big earthquake. Then the reassuring thought comes that this tunnel survived the devastating quake that destroyed the town of Portage and reshaped parts of Cook Inlet. Just as it seems one has gone into the bowels of the earth daylight is seen ahead and then the fuel storage tanks of Whittier appear.

After crossing the railroad tracks the Princess Sun loomed large in my sight. A stream of humanity was flowing outwards and being engulfed by waiting tour buses. After a short comfort stop I steered the Subaru into the parking lot and asked a security guard where one could park to meet debarking passengers. He directed me to a spot out of the wind and close to the covered walkway that led to the terminal.

Parked and locked I left the toad and went in search of the Bahms. At the head of the covered walkway I was met by another security guard. She asked me my business and I explained I was meeting the Bahms. While we were talking I spotted Kyle and waved to him. The security guard asked if I was going to stand there or help the Bahms with their luggage. Off I went into the secure area. Just like that.

Hellos and hugs were exchanged then the luggage was gathered up

and we walked out of the warm terminal into the blustery Whittier morning and the Subaru. Gary and I loaded he luggage then we all sat in the car and headed for the tunnel. It was eight-o-eight. By being expeditious we had made it possible to exit with the eight thirty traffic.

Back in Beaver Valley I turned the toad into the visitor center at portage glacier. A couple of years before Kyle’s aunt Tracy had tried to hold her finger in the water of the glacier fed lake for just a minute.. Now it was Kyle’s turn. At the end of his minute he would get to put a five dollar bill in his pocket but only if his finger remained in the ice floe filled water for one full minute.  One thing about the young is they are usually undaunted by seemingly insurmountable odds. That is why so often they accomplish the "impossible". This morning age and knowledge overcame youth and pride. Kyle kept his finger in the frigid water for thirty five seconds before conceding the water was verrry cold. An hour later he was telling us his finger was still cold.

A stop at the visitors’ center disclosed it was closed until nine. Rather than wait we loaded back in the toad and headed for the Wildlife Rescue Park just across the Seward Highway.

Gary treated as we stopped to pay the admission price. Once again age got a break with a discounted price. We parked the car and got out to walk, taking our light weight jackets and water bottles with us.

Our first stop was the pasture holding caribou and reindeer. Next we stopped to hoot at two owls  before stepping around the corner to say good morning to a rather slim red fox.  Farther on we saw elk,  Sitka deer, and stopped to look for plains bison. They were hiding in the stunted trees and brush so we passed on to look at their cousins the woods bison. In between we stopped to watch a coyote on a log  as he scanned the surrounding area, looking for brunch. Having made a long loop through the park we walked back past the welcome center/gift shop and on to the highlight of the park, for Kyle, bears. There were both brown, grizzly, and black bears. We stopped to watch both as they enjoyed a morning snack, large radishes.  We had seen many animals native to Alaska and while it is true they weren’t in the wild the setting wasn’t exactly a zoo. To be perfectly politically correct, something I find extremely hard to do, these were all special needs animals. Some of them had been injured and some had been orphaned at an age when they were too young to fend for themselves. Now they were safe and secure and even though they were well they would be welfare animals for the rest of their lives, robbed of the ability to take care of themselves by their caretakers. Sounds just like the welfare system in the good ol’ U S of A to me except none of the animals were grousing about the food or lodging arrangements. They were at least happy and content to be taken care of through no effort of their own. We left the welfare park.

At nine thirty we drove back to the visitors’ center where we went in to see what we could see. Kyle and I went to listen to recorded sounds of Alaska, a humpback whale, a wolf, a loon, an elk bugling and many other sounds of the wild. Then we put Kyle in a wild setting and took his picture.

With time passing quickly we took our leave all too soon, loaded into the car and began the drive to the coach.

It was on the road again with Pawpaw at ten. Most Saturdays this time of year sees a great outpouring of traffic from Anchorage, headed toward the Kenai Peninsula and this Saturday was no different. We motored along, dodging in and out of the speed limit along with the seemingly endless line of vehicles, watching for wildlife and admiring the ever changing landscape. The only wildlife we saw was that in vehicles who drove like they had an appointment in Samara..

By eleven thirty we had seen and passed the confluence of the Russian and Kenai rivers where anglers stood in waders fighting the current, sockeye salmon and each other. It continues to be a mystery to me why folk will fight over a fish when there is plenty for all if one is just willing to exercise a little patience. Usually wild animals don’t fight over food being willing to keep looking for their own meal. One can only surmise this is another human trait bred of advancement and civilization even though civilization is anything but civilized or perhaps that is what civilization is, greed, avarice, larceny, murder, adultery and all other things unique to mankind.

Granny Blomstrom, my Mom, used to say her boys, David, John and me, were bottomless pits when it came to eating. In looking at the trait from the advantage of a few years it seems it is more a trait of teenagers in general rather than a particular family. Grandson Kyle is now a teenager having turned that corner this past May. At the same time his age increased his appetite did the same. Now in Cooper Landing he made it known that he was near death and might expire soon if sustenance was not soon forthcoming. We stopped at a local stop and rob, corner grocery. Here in Alaska the term stop and rob is even more appropriate than in the lower forty eight as Kyle and his parents were soon to discover.

Kyle ordered a cheeseburger at the deli, six bucks I think, and headed off to collect a big bag of potato chips, another six dollars thank you. The price tag had been stuck on right below the MSRP of one seventy nine. When Kyle presented the bag of chips to his parents it became apparent that even they have their limits when it comes to indulging their one and only. Kyle ate his cheeseburger and a small bag of chips along with his bottled water. It was difficult to see him suffer such depravation in the middle of plenty but one must learn a few hard lessons when growing up unless one grows up in the welfare pasture. When we had all had our fill, in more ways than one, we piled back in the car and once again joined those trekking toward the Kenai. In addition to our hard earned dollars the lunch break had cost us forty five minutes but it was well worth it as Kyle remained healthy and didn’t die of starvation.

A little over an hour later we were turning into Castaway Riverside RV Park and then coasting to a stop in front of the Marlin. Onie was waiting for us.

Kyle had done some shopping for us, with his own money, and was anxious for us to see what he had brought. He handed a box to Onie. Inside was an Ulu and stand. He gave her another box and in it was a collector’s spoon of Alaska. Gary and Tina had also gotten something for us, a very high quality Ulu, one that would withstand years of use in the kitchen and still remain beautiful and sharp. We thanked them and placed our new things in a safe place.

Since Kyle would be staying with Onie and Papaw we got his stuff out of the car and took it inside then settled down for a visit. Gary and Kyle were anxious to try their hand at catching a red so we headed up to the office to get them fishing licenses. Kyle, being under sixteen, wasn’t required to have one.

Time and tide wait for no man and the hour was growing late for checking in at Gary and Tina’s B&B, The Golden Bear, in Nikiski. Leaving Kyle with Onie we drove into Soldotna and then up the Kenai Spur, through Kenai and past where we turned off the main highway. Things certainly looked familiar and soon it became apparent why that was so. We passed the Nikiski Elementary School where our friend Debbie had taught prior to moving back to Coldspring, last year. When we visited her a couple of years ago she had driven us past this very place.

The B&B was in a very rural setting and one that was sure to be peaceful and quiet, no doubt a welcome change after the noise and hubbub of a cruise. The room was large and nicely decorated. Tina would really enjoy it but Gary would hardly be there with the schedule we had planned. With their luggage it their room and after introductions all around, to the lady of the house, also named Tina, we took our leave and retraced our path to the coach.

We were back in the park and Gary, Kyle and I were on the grate by six. The flip, drag and snatch was explained and demonstrated a few times before the guys and I tried our hand at landing a red. When Onie called us for supper at eight the score was reds a bunch and us zero.

Kurt and Becky, our camping neighbors from Iowa, also joined us for supper; grilled bacon wrapped scallops followed by king crab. Becky brought dessert, an assortment of cheese cake slices. When six pounds of king crab and dessert had disappeared beneath our belts we pushed back from the picnic table and pronounced ourselves stuffed.

Soon a campfire was roaring in the fire pit and chairs were gathered closely around to fight off the evening chill. About eleven Gary and Tina took the Subaru and headed for their B&B.

By midnight our energy level was low as was the flame from the campfire. We said our good nights to our guests as they made their way across the drive to their rig and we entered the Marlin, locked the door, pulled down the shade, tucked Kyle in and went to bed, at midnight.

July 22, 2007

Onie and I were up at six thirty. We let Kyle sleep a while longer. He looked so much bigger lying in the sofa bed than he had a few years ago, curled up on the table bed in the old Pace Arrow.

Coffee and tea were made and we were enjoying our first cups when Gary and Tina arrived from the B&B at seven thirty. Kyle was up, dressed and had a bite to eat and we were off to Talon Air for an adventure extraordinaire.

We arrived at Talon Air right at eight. They are located on Mackey Road on Mackey Lake. We were destined to fly across Cool Inlet in one of their Turboprop Otter eight passenger float planes, floaties.

Onie and Kyle, ready to go

The Otter

While we had been told we would be provided boots and rain gear none was forthcoming and we loaded into the plane. This was to be an up close and personal flying experience. There was no door to the cockpit

much less a stewardess and a sign on the cabin bulkhead announced that "You had better be on fire if your are smoking". I took that to mean it would be a no smoking flight.

The pilot began the starting process for the turboprop and we could hear the engine whine as it was spun up and then engaged. In just a moment the contra rotating props were reversed and we backed away from the pier. We taxied into position at one end of the lake and then the takeoff run began. This was a new experience for the Bahms and Blomstroms. We were all seasoned travelers and had flown many times but never before had we flown in a float plane. The liftoff was almost unnoticed but them we were soaring above the trees and on our way for a day of fishing with bears.

The mighty Kenai River from the air

That was to be our adventure for the day. The flight was short, about twenty minutes but during that time the scenery changed dramatically showing Onie and I an Alaska we had never seen before.

Along the way it began to rain.

When we landed there was no screech of rubber tires contacting pavement only the swish of floats cutting and otherwise placid lake surface. We taxied to a group of skiffs pulled up on a marshy bank.

The waiting boats after our landing

Our guide for the day, Tom, went down the boarding ladder, got into a boat, started the engine and came to the Otter where we were waiting. We went down the boarding ladder, under the protection of the wing, and then stepped into the waiting boat where the seat cushions were wet as would our behinds be as soon as we sat, which was very soon. Fortunately it wasn’t very cold nor was the rain falling hard. It was more of the typical Alaskan drizzle. When our gear was headed out of the plane and into our boat Tom backed the boat out and the B&Bs, Blomstroms and Bahms, were on adventures trail. The ride across the lake took us by a small waterfall, (pic) as well as near mountains, water plants and birds.

Another twenty minutes found us in a queue of boats all waiting for a turn at fishing with the bears. The guides that work this lake and this particular salmon spawning stream have a meeting each year before the beginning of the season, tourist season that is, and set etiquette rules for fishing the area. One of the rules is that no guide will occupy the "honey hole", the area nearest the stream the fish are going up, and the area closest to the bears, more than an hour. We were lucky enough to get there when a guy decided to break the agreement and stay in the honey hole for three hours. This meant our boat and its occupants, us, as well as many others languished while the uncooperative guide, his charges and his boat over stayed their allotted time.

When out time did come the people in the boat behind us were so impatient and inconsiderate that they cast over our lines, sometimes almost hitting our boat, in their eagerness to catch their limit, three fish each. Each of us caught at least one fish with the exception of Gary before our guide pulled away from the falls and the fish. We had been in the honey hole for all of half an hour and that after waiting for more than four hours for our turn, sitting in the rain and falling temperatures. We did see a number of black and grizzly bears feeding.

We even saw one bear swim across the inlet, a hundred feet from our boat, and try to catch some birds that were roosting in a tree that overhung the water. He was as inept a hunter as he was fisher as he caught no fish the whole time we were there.

Kyle with Guide "Tom"

Onie, Soaking Wet

Gary and Tina fishing with the bears

Some folks came out with a different guide service, not to fish but just to bear watch. They were in covered pontoon boats and did not wait for a fishing spot as it wasn’t necessary to get that close to get a good viewing spot of the feeding bears.

When the guide pulled out of the honey hole he eased away from the fishing area before opening the throttle and taking us back to the waiting Otter.

Back on the plane we made the quick trip across the inlet before landing quite smoothly on Mackey Lake and taxiing to the wharf. Here we deplaned and the guide, Tom, put our six fish in a bag for us.

Damp, but not soaked, cool, but not cold, we loaded into the toad for the short trip to Custom Seafood where we dropped the fish off for processing and freezing. They would be shipped to the Bahms once they returned home.

Sometime later Onie and I decided that this trip was not one we would repeat nor would we recommend it to our friends. The inability of the guides to control the behavior of their own group had spoiled our day and for three hundred fifteen dollars each we could find something more rewarding to do.

Many hours had passed since each of rose and for Gary and Tina it had been even longer. Gary was aware that everyone was tired and offered to buy supper for us so his Mom wouldn’t have to cook. There was no argument from us. We headed off to Suzy’s.

Suzy’s is almost always busy and now, at five o’clock, they were packed and a line of folks was standing outside waiting to be seated. We determined it would be about a twenty minute wait and decided to join the line. It would take at least that long to drive back to Bucket’s in Soldotna and there might be a wait there also.

Fifteen minutes later they called us to our table.

We ordered jalapeno poppers and fried cheese for starters. Onie and I shared a Fisherman’s Platter, plenty for the two of us, while Kyle opted for a cheeseburger and fries. Gary and Tina ordered the fish and chips. Everyone was full by the time the check came and Onie and I were most grateful that she hadn’t cooked since she was very tired.

Back at the coach Gary, Kyle and I went to the grate where we tried out luck and skill with the sockeyes. Gary was most successful and the quickest landing a nice male. I hooked one for Kyle and he fought it to a standstill before we netted it. Then it was my turn to put one on the stringer.

Onie and Tina visited while the boys fished. When we returned with the good news of our successes the senior Bahms, Gary and Tina, decided to call it an evening, at ten, and go to their B&B. On the way they dropped off the reds to add to the ones we had caught earlier in the day.

By eleven Onie and I were in bed.

July 23, 2007

Onie and I had just laid down to sleep, it seemed, when the cell phone alarm clock started sounding off. It was two forty.

With a spryness that belied our years we sprung from the warmth and comfort of our bed and began preparing for the boys day out, fishing. Onie prepared egg sandwiches for our breakfasts while the coffee and tea brewed. We shook Kyle awake at five minutes after three. Groggily he climbed out of bed and dressed. It was easy to tell he would not be awake long.

At three twenty five Gary arrived from the B&B. The drive is at least forty five minutes, he had to be awake a little while to dress and last night he had probably gone to bed about the same time Onie and I had. Bottom line is he probably hadn’t had as much sleep s we did but he was cheery and all smiles as we loaded the toad for the trip to Homer and a halibut trip. The trip had been arranged on short notice and we had not been able to book with Larry Croft on the Solitude but had been able to book a six pack trip on another vessel.

With a full tank of gas, Gary had filled it up; we swung out of the park at three thirty with the windshield wipers keeping the light rain from accumulating.

Across the Kenai River Bridge at Soldotna we encountered a little fog but not enough to slow our progress. We had allowed enough time for a fog delay since that is always a possibility this time of year. Near Ninilchik we saw the dense fog we had anticipated and slowed to thirty or thirty five miles an hour. Besides the possibility of colliding with another vehicle there is a real chance of hitting a moose at anytime but lower visibility from fog makes it worse. Moose of course have no headlights to look for but perhaps even worse they are dark colored, almost black when wet, and their eyes do not reflect light like most animals. Without any reflective or marking devices moose are probably the number one reason for car wrecks on the Kenai Peninsula being involved in over four hundred such incidents a year often resulting in death or at least serious for the vehicle occupants. We were being very careful since a little moose up would seriously interfere with our fishing trip. Much to our relief the dense fog only lasted a mile or so and then we resumed our normal speed. Kyle slept on the back seat, like all little boys do when going on an early morning fishing trip with Dad and Pawpaw, while Gary and I visited about all things adult, manly and outdoors.

The road approaching Homer is on a high bluff and as one nears Homer there is a long descent into town. From the top of the descent one has a panoramic view of the bay, spit, harbor and mountains. It is always beautiful and with the right lighting it is absolutely awe inspiring. This morning the lighting was good, at five thirty, and the scene spread out before us, frozen in time, as though on canvas.

It was five thirty when we parked the car and began looking for the Sea Hawk. I had left the confirmation papers at home, the coach, and a senior moment came into play as the name of the vessel was sought in my memory bank. Perhaps it was that my brain was in a loop and at least I didn’t suffer a hard drive crash. Always resourceful I called LaVon, waking her from her slumbers, no doubt, to have her tell me again, what she had told me earlier, the name of the vessel and its mooring place.

We walked towards the berth. Just before we arrived the phone rang. It was a lady from the charter agency telling me that the prop had been damaged on the trip yesterday. A diver was expected momentarily to install a new one they had on hand. She thought perhaps we would like to take the opportunity to grab and extra hour’s sleep. I reminded her we were staying in Sterling, at least a two hour drive, and we were already on the pier, eyeballing a diver who was donning his dry suit. Very sweetly she wished me a good day and good fishing. Then she hung up.

Since we were now watching the diver prepare to remove the old prop and install the burnished bronze new one I inquired as to the length of time to do the job. The lady on the phone had said one hour. Au contraire, fifteen or twenty minutes should do the trick, said the captain. With each passing moment I wished we were on the Solitude which had just slipped her moorings and eased out of the harbor, even as we watched. What with my memory lapse and the delay an ominous feeling befell me about our impending departure and trip.

None the less we fetched our gear from the Subaru and made our way back to the Sea Hawk which was now preparing to get under way. On board were eight other people not counting the captain, who had played Battle, a game well suited to his mentality I thought, with Kyle while the prop was being replaced, and his deckhand. When I told the captain that I had booked us on a six pack he told me we were on a twelve pack and we had better get ready to shove off. With that the engines were started, the mooring lines brought in and we were under way.

What bitter fate awaited us only time would tell? A memory failure, a damaged prop, an hour’s delay and then a twelve pack instead of a six pack was not the start of a great trip though it was sure to be a memorable one.

The Sea Hawk, unlike the Solitude, is not owner operated rather she has a hired skipper who hails from the Florida Keys. Another bad omen if you will. While the Sea Hawk is a vessel of thirty seven feet in overall length she does not share the broad beam of the Solitude and is very prone to heavy rolling in the least of seas as we soon found out. In addition the maintenance didn’t appear to be the best as some of the windows on the cabin began leaking as we reached the open water, which was somewhat rough. A quick glance about discovered the storage place for the life jackets and the life raft. Should the hull be in as sad shape as the superstructure and we had to take to the sea the life raft could save us from a quick death by hypothermia while the life jackets, if we couldn’t get in the raft, would make retrieval of our cold stiff bodies easier for the Coast Guard. With a head reeling from these grim thoughts I sought a place to rest my suddenly tired old bones but alas, while the Sea Hawk is licensed to carry twelve fishermen plus her crew she only has seating inside the somewhat dry cabin for eight and I was not one of those eight. I braced myself, with my hands on the overhead, and rolled with the ocean motion.

When some soul sought the after deck, which was constantly being sprayed from the plunging bow, for a smoke or other respite I gladly took a seat. Resting my head on a bulkhead I tried to get some rest. The short nap that had passed for a night’s sleep was starting to tell on me. Gary was engaged in conversation with one of the other fishermen and Kyle was resting against a bulkhead like Pawpaw. The vessel probably did have vee bunks, like the Solitude, but the doorway leading to them was locked and bore a sign, "Crew Only". Welcome aboard and enjoy your trip was not anything we had heard, yet. Perhaps this trip was one to be endured and not enjoyed. If so the accommodations were certainly in keeping with the aim.

Tossing, rolling and yawing we made our way out to the fishing grounds. When the captain announced we would drift I could feel a dark cloud settle over some of the group. If the Sea Hawk had a tendency to roll, underway, she would surely exhibit her worst behavior while drifting.

It was nine thirty and with the engines quieted, rods and reels were brought out. I have seen a lot of fishing gear in my time, some good and some not so good. This was in the not so good category. The reels were Penn’s but obviously were the object of much use and more neglect. The handles were loose, the bearings shot and the cases very much time worn. The rods, no name seen, suffered from the same neglect and had guides that were rough and or rusty and some had the windings on the guides coming loose. With this equipment in hand we received more good news. We were in three hundred twenty feet of water and would be fishing with four pound weights. That would make reeling up the weight alone a chore and any fish would feel like a monster.

Being the good sports we are we took our rods and reels and let the weights drop to the bottom.

Gary, ready to land his fish

With the wind and tide running together the boat drifted quite rapidly and even with four pound weights our lines were soon at forty five degree angles seeking an elusive bottom. Some hapless soul hooked a halibut and struggling brought it to the surface. It must have weighed at least ten pounds. Without as much as a fare thee well the deck hand flung the fish into the fish box. It appeared that any fish caught would be a fish kept. I took a quick look at the captain to see if we had accidentally booked with Fred, our guide in Ninilchik, but such was not the case. They apparently just had the same idea about fishing, catch it, keep it.

Fortunately the drift didn’t last too long. Some people were already turning various shades of green and their tortured stomachs, prompted by their inner ears, were rejecting meals eaten only a short time ago. The captain, ever the jovial sort, began singing a little ditty about how fish seldom get a warm meal and those "chumming" should continue for the fish’s pleasure. What a guy!

When the engines were restarted a short run was made to another place equally deep and there we anchored. This time when the call went out to man the rods and reels fewer people answered the call. While crowded rails make for tangled lines it was obvious that that problem had been alleviated somewhat. Kyle, Gary and I all began fishing again. As we fished here the numbers at the rail were diminished by two more as they too succumbed to mal de mer.

While the boat displayed her heavy roll and pitch Gary managed to land a fifty pound halibut and one a little smaller. Kyle and I had to settle for two chicken halibut apiece. By noon we had twenty two halibut on board and the anchor was hoisted. We were off for sheltered water, behind some islands, to fish for black rock fish.

This was a new fish to the three of us but we were assured it was very good eating which it did prove to be, even if it did have a strong fish smell. The strong smell could not have improved the feelings or spirits of the five souls who were now sick, in the cabin. With five sick in the cabin that left just six of us fishing. We now had our six pack for fishing but it wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned.

The aged Penns had been stowed along with the much neglected rods and light tackle was brought out. It was in somewhat better shape and catching fish on it would be fun. The captain announced that the limit was five per person and we would fish, those who could and wanted to, until we had fifty five fish aboard. An hour and a half later the limit had been caught.

We were on our way back in by one thirty. Kyle was exhausted and curled up in a corner in the cabin for some much needed rest.

Gary stood outside visiting with the deck hand.

With the wind and tide following us the ride in was not so rough and some of those who had been ill showed signs of life and took a little nourishment.

On the fantail the deckhand was busy filleting fish.

Terns and two eagles followed close behind with the terns lighting on the water to grab a recently thrown carcass. The eagles watched but never went near the terns or carcasses and after observing the activities for a few minutes left for better hunting grounds.

Safely and calmly moored we gathered our things and fish, said our goodbyes and made our way to the toad. It was time to go home. The fishing trip had been long and filled with unexpected turns of events to say the least but the drive still faced us.

Gary and I visited about the fishing, Kyle’s go cart racing, his work and my hunting. Kyle slept on the back seat. In Soldotna we stopped at Custom Seafood and dropped off the fillets, except for a few of the rock fish. They would go with the others to wait for shipping when Gary was home.

With the fish at the processing plant we headed on to the B&B to pick up Tina, for dinnner. While we were there Gary took a quick shower to refresh himself and get off any fish smell that may have accrued to him during our sojourn on the Sea Hawk. Clean and refreshed he joined me back in the front of the Subaru while Tina rode in the back.

We headed back to the coach for supper. On the way Chester Jatzlau texted me to tell me he was on the ground at the Kenai Airport. Knowing David Matthew had given him instructions and drawn him a map of how to get to the camp we drove on to the Marlin where supper was waiting.

Around nine Gary and Tina took the Subaru and headed back to the B&B. Again, we would have to rise early to get them to Anchorage for their flight home.

No sooner had they left than Chester texted me again telling me he was lost. He had stopped in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church of Sterling. That just happens to be where we go to church so I knew right where he was. I just didn’t have anyway to get there at the moment. I went to Kurt and explained the situation to him and asked to borrow his truck for a few minutes to retrieve Chester. He graciously said yes and I was off for the rendezvous. As soon as I got to the Sterling Highway I saw Chester sitting in his car, across the road from me. When I pulled into the parking lot he grinned broadly and waved hello. I told him we were very close and that he should follow me. He did.

At Castaway we checked him in with La Von before heading up the hill to the cabin. Chester and I went in and I showed how the heater worked and gave him the cook’s tour of the place. Then we went to the coach where Onie had some supper waiting for him. We knew it had been a long day for him and besides being very tired he had to be hungry. After his meal he took out some pictures of tractors that he had restored and we spent quite a while looking at the product of his handiwork. Then we looked at some more pictures of his sons and some feral hogs one of them had killed, thirty three on one hunt. They are a problem in his part of Texas just as they are in ours.

At eleven, with Chester and me looking at pictures and visiting about hunting, Onie slipped off to bed. At midnight I told Chester I was tired and needed to get some rest explaining that we were driving to Anchorage in the morning taking Gary, Tina and Kyle to the airport and then driving back. It would be another long day for us. Chester nodded understanding and took his leave, driving his rent car back to his cabin.

I was asleep before he got there, I bet.

July 24, 2007

Onie was up at six thirty. She let me sleep an hour longer. When I rose my tea was made and her coffee was almost gone. She was working on breakfast. Gary and Tina would be here soon. After a cup of tea I woke Kyle and helped him get the sofa bed back in place. He packed his clothes then we had breakfast.

At eight fifteen Gary and Tina arrived from the Golden Bear. Rain had come with them so we loaded Kurt’s truck as the drizzle fell on us. Kurt had offered his truck for the trip to Anchorage knowing we would be severely cramped with all of us in the toad. We accepted his offer and were leaving the toad for his use while we were gone.

The image of the lodge at Castaway RV Park was in our rearview mirror at eight thirty, just slightly obscured by the rain on the back window. Everyone was buckled in and quite comfortable in Kurt’s Ford F150 Crew cab. With any luck Anchorage would be our next stop.

Eyes looked and necks craned as we headed toward Anchorage. Though we had been this way many times before and the Bahms had been a good portion of the way on the drive down from Whittier there is always something new to see. Gary and I visited in the front seat while Onie, Kyle and Tina kept up a steady chatter in the back. The tide was substantially out when we got to Cook Inlet and the sight of the vast mud flats must have been impressive to them.

When one has rounded Cook Inlet one is in Anchorage for all intents and purposes. It was eleven thirty. A discussion was held as to whether the Bahms would like to spend the time before they needed to be at the airport, shopping or eating lunch. Lunch won out. We stopped at a Mexican restaurant. Onie and I had not eaten Mexican food since before leaving home. If the food was good it would be a real treat for us. The food was good and to make it even better, Tina treated.

When lunch was over it was time, one o’clock, to head to the airport. It was a short drive, fifteen minutes, before we deposited them on the sidewalk at the terminal. They would have about an hour and a half to get their bags checked and go through security before their boarding call. Then it would be a long sit down before they got home to harvest, Alabama. We said our goodbyes and exchanged hugs. We had really enjoyed their visit even though it had been very short. We told them we hope they will come back another year.

When one goes off for an extended period things can happen. Something had happened to my left eye. It itched like the mischief, was red and inflamed as well as the lid being puffy. Since we were in Anchorage I intended to see an ophthalmologist. I consulted a phone book and called a couple. Without inquiring as to my need or name they asked my birth date. They had no openings to see me today or another way of saying it was they didn’t want another Medicare patient. We went at the Visitors Center using their yellow pages. We explained out situation and a kind lady there suggested the Providence Medical Center ER. She said she had been there on more than one occasion and that it was a good place to get treatment. She gave us directions and we drove there.

The Medical Center appears to be very new and is modern to say the least. We told the receptionist our problem. She got my name and date of birth and called a nurse. The nurse took us to a small room, took my blood pressure, got my social security number, asked about allergies and placed a hospital band on my wrist. Then we were escorted to an examining room where we waited for a doctor. Another nurse came in to determine exactly what the problem was and get insurance information. She said a doctor would be in shortly. He was. An M.D. came in looked at my eye and wrote as his diagnosis, "red eye", then said he was sending me to a specialist, an ophthalmologist. He gave me a referral sheet, thanked us for choosing Providence and left. From the time we got to Providence until we left was probably no more than thirty minutes and everyone we met had been very nice including the doctor. He was really a nice guy. He wore a beard.

The ophthalmologist, Dr Eric Coulter, officed a few blocks away. After a little wandering we found his building and him. We parked, went into the building and rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor and his office. I wondered if the building rocked during an earthquake. We checked in with the receptionist, a Russian woman I think, and took a seat to wait our turn. I filled out an information sheet for her and the billing department. It asked for all the usual stuff but in addition had a line I had never seen before on a medical information sheet. It asked me what I liked to be called. My first name is Charles and in many doctors offices I am still called that even though I have told them, repeatedly, that I prefer Tom or Thomas. Here, in the last frontier, someone is asking a good question. We had to wait until four to see the doctor. He apologized for the delay but we understood since we knew he had been seeing patients with appointments. He examined my eyes, gave me an eye test and asked which implant I had in my left eye after cataract surgery. I told him. He seemed pleased. He then told us that I had two ingrown eyelashes. They had grown down from the lid and into the eye. He plucked them out and gave me some drops to put in my eye two or three times a day for the next few days. In the outer office the relief was already being felt. We said goodbye to the receptionist at five thirty.

It was time to start back to Sterling and the coach. We were in Anchorage rush hour traffic which is like saying you are in Houston at ten o’clock Saturday morning. There were lots of cars and traffic but it was moving along very smartly and there were no tie ups. Knowing the drive would be long and how tired we were we stopped for a latte and Chai tea.

We rolled into Sterling at eight fifteen. We stopped at Freddies to fill the tank before heading to the car wash to rinse off a little accumulated grime and then going to the Marlin. We got there at nine thirty.

We were both worn out but I somehow found the energy to fish for a while, with Chester. We hadn’t had time to show him the ropes before we left and knew he was eager to try his hand at catching a red.

By ten thirty my energy supply was totally depleted. I wished Chester good luck with the fish and headed for the coach. He followed me and then went to his cabin. It was ten thirty.