The Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down

Almost as if waking up from a pleasant dream to realize it was behind on work and better double down to catch up, the weather has cranked out rain, day and night, almost without pause for over a month.  One of the breaks brought winds so strong that we were temporarily stranded; the waves crashed violently up into the trees as the lake is filled to the brim.  The mosses are fat and happy again, and mushrooms are everywhere.

We lucked out for Progressive, our traditional parade-of-homes-plus-pub-crawl.  Costumed in castoff bridesmaid gowns and eye-popping accessories, we troop from tent to tent to visit each other's domiciles, do a fun activity, and have a drink.  This year featured sock puppet making, a round of 1991 Jeopardy!, writing all the postcards one coworker didn't get around to sending, and copious amounts of gin and Yoo-hoo.  

I also enjoyed a brief afternoon of sunshine in Homer, dining on fresh seafood in the company of fellow Coldfooters.  We (they) hustled some pool, chatted up some locals, played some solid three-handed euchre, and got some delicious pastries -- twice.  It was a whirlwind of indulgence, very entertaining for me to tag along on a guys' weekend.  And it felt really good, too, coming back to my cozy tent, getting plenty of sleep, and eating vegetables.

shroomville

The sun shines!

Luke's blazer is so chic

Month in Verse

So covid finally got me

I drew the fateful card

I was downcast, tired, and shivery

the skies went dark and it rained real hard.

I think it came from a town called Hope

where I got to sing some jazz

friends and I hiked a sketchy scree slope

in fog-furious-est wind the mountain has.

I got better and then returned the sun 

I could taste and smell with ease

I climbed up to a tired old glacier tongue

and ate decadent mac 'n' cheez.

Our staff the virus one by one detained

but we rallied to keep up the fun

rafting, story hour, secret Santa reigned

thus our morale was hard won.

Into the lake I dropped my phone

I dived with a friend and he pulled it back out;

I sliced my finger with a rueful moan

a gnarly scar there will be, no doubt.

And here I search for the words to say

I am pleased upon my 39th birthday

with many well wishes, words thoughtful and droll

a beach fire with friends and an old forest troll.

Luke and Krista on a ridge above Lost Lake

Idyllic camp spot

Sam the bridge troll

Grey Skies, Blue Skies

The seaside village of Hope has a small but comprehensive library.  A few of us stopped in to check out the Alaska history section and were instantly engaged by one of the volunteers.  He not only shared his account number so we could borrow books, but talked about world and local politics, let us fill our water bottles, and even gave us some boxed wine.  He also encouraged us to go to open mic that evening, where it turns out the host is a great jazz guitarist.  So I had a couple beers and tried not to look at the twenty or so people in the bar while singing standards and party band covers all night.

Being indoors in Hope was a nice respite from a classically cold, rainy, mosquitoey weekend.  Krista, Luke, and I did some chores as quickly as possible in Anchorage (random drug test, finger post-op/stitches removal, and new car battery, respectively), then retreated to the woods beside Portage Glacier to skip rocks on the lagoon and cook decadent camp stove mac 'n' cheez.  We tried to reach a second ice behemoth above Palmer Creek but were buffeted by what felt like 50 mph winds and alarming clouds of fog on the ridge top, and so returned to Hope for hot drinks and soup.

It's just about the middle of the season, and so many great hikes and books and desserts and birdsongs and winds beckon.  Plans for fall travel also pervade my thoughts, with a confirmed spot on a hiking trek in Bhutan.  You never know where you'll end up.

Up to the Harding Ice Field at Exit Glacier

Portage lagoon

Pasta, veggies, glacier, mosquitoes

Top Ten Cigarettes

10. 18th birthday on the beach at night

9. with couchsurfing host upon arrival in Istanbul

8. Mexican feast/wine party night in Italy

7. culinary school graduation after party rooftop bar

6. Paris catacombs "dining room"

5. (unsmoked) won in bet about slicing tomatoes fastest

4. waiting for delayed plane to land on ice shelf and take my friend home

3. last night on the rock overlooking the lake before sunset

2. Coldfoot dance party break at -20F

1. band practice in Antarctica with my crush

still day on the lake

purply flowers

Lemony Snippet

I think I've said it before, but our lodge is situated on the southeast shore of Skilak Lake, off the road system, and was grandfathered into a national wildlife refuge.  It's about a five-mile paddle or twenty-minute boat ride to either a glacial outwash, a small bay with a forest service cabin, or a boat ramp that connects to the road.  This hilly, washboardy gravel road runs nearly twenty miles and spits you out closer to either Cooper Landing or Soldotna.  Cooper Landing is a tiny town with a few general stores and restaurants and scores of fishing and rafting outfitters.  Soldotna is one of the conglomerations of strip malls and big-box stores that modern society has decided must exist every so often, endlessly metastasizing outward from whence it was spawned.  

But hipster-bourgeois aesthetic has penetrated even rural Alaska.  There's a kombucha "factory," the bookstore has a tiny fancy cheese shop tucked next to it -- and most significantly, there are $12 salmon-dill-creme fraiche waffles that have wedged deeply into my heart (served in an old Alaska Railroad train car remodeled as a diner, no less).  Bits of salmon are integrated with the batter, which cooks up (irons up?) lighter and crisper than any other I've eaten.

It was a fun contrast to my previous breakfast of granola and old cheese slices at Doroshin Bay.  A couple friends and I braved the mosquitoes in a protected corner of the lake to sleep in an old Russian gold prospector's cabin.  We kayaked back to camp just before the wind picked up to stir the glassy water into whitecaps.

One more food story: I have found the perfect lemon tart.  One of our recipe books credits the wonderful Daniel Boulud for its intense lemonyness; perhaps there's some traditional French or Italian technique in the background.  But what it comes down to is grinding up ENTIRE lemons (minus seeds), plus the regular stuff.

Make and bake a shortbread crust.  Then put this in it: 1 1/2 lemons, seeded and chopped, blended smooth with 1 1/2 c. sugar; add and blend together 1 egg, 2 yolks, 1 1/2 Tbsp. cornstarch, 1/2 c. cream, 4 Tbsp. melted butter; bake 45-60 min. at 350, until mostly set

Doroshin cabin

sunset lupin

peaceful lake

Can it really be Alaska Season 6?

I have a new niece/her name is Petrisse/she's last but not least/and generally at peace/with her toes cutely creased 

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After a cold wet spring, Michigan steamed into the upper-80s and everything bloomed, redbud and dogwood and new-green leaves.  I realized my bike might be child-sized, given that my knees are bent when pedaling.  And my parents continue to age gracefully on past their seventh decade.

It feels foolish leaving Michigan on the cusp of summer, but there are compensations in Alaska.  Morels!  Glaciers!  Orcas!  Coworkers who gather to spontaneously sing songs from "The Nightmare Before Christmas!"  And being paid to cook and eat large amounts of filet mignon and chocolate cake.

It has been pleasant settling back in at the Backcountry Lodge.  Arborists came and cut down quite a few trees infested with bark beetles, which means my tent is much sunnier this year.  And a comfy old armchair and new curtain make things even cozier.  I have a cashew container for a pee jar, and sleep well next to the creek, with the exception of a moose crunching branches a few feet away the other night.  

Even though we poop in outhouses, we most certainly are not "roughing it."  But it's fun to joke about rugged conditions in the ba'country.  Both of our red wines are lackluster, and I had to make my own mayonnaise as we're still bringing in supplies, but otherwise life is pretty good.

Glassy day on Skilak Lake

Skilak Glacier and lagoon

Sea lions in Resurrection Bay

There were seven orcas, including babies!

Tent ❤️ 

Patagonia Part V: I Biked 1,000 km!

I wrapped up my cycling in Perito Moreno, a sort of way-station short on charm with the exception of our nice, big, cheap rented cabin.  The owner was grilling out front when we rolled up, very friendly and curious about our trip, and made an offer when I said I was selling my bike.

It felt odd unstrapping my bag and removing the panniers for the last time.  The unloaded bike looked scrawny and naked, and I was wobbly with the weightlessness riding around town.  I exchanged it for a thick stack of pesos and suddenly I was back to being a backpacker, my rucksack full of crackers and bananas for the time being.

Jace walked me and my giant bag to the bus station and I rode overnight about 400 miles south and west to El Chalten.  This is the hiking Mecca of Argentina: the Patagonia clothing logo depicts these peaks, chosen by its founder, climber and environmentalist Yvon Chouinard. I wanted badly to focus my attention on some strenuous treks, to distract from the new loneliness, to continue the adventure in another form...but the stomach bug was back.  I managed to get outside for a few hours at a time, but had to yield to my physical limitations, subsisting on instant mashed potatoes and spending lots of quality time in my hotel room.

I had also decided it would be a lot/too much hustling and flying to get to Ushuaia for an inadequate couple of days.  So, the end of the road, fin del mundo, will wait for another trip.  I headed to Buenos Aires for a few days of big city energy and warm sun.  The Manhattan-like crush of traffic, streams of people, endlessly interesting architecture and neighborhoods and shops -- and particularly sumptuous bakery displays -- were an uplifting endnote to the trip.

To sum up: Argentina is great, get a comfy bike seat, bring lots of Imodium, go with a cute guy who speaks Spanish, eat lots of pastries, and keep in mind the country is 2,361 miles long so you'll have to visit many times.

Rio Las Vueltas, El Chalten

Strangely charming mausoleum miniature town

I got to go sailing in the curiously shallow waters off of Buenos Aires

Tango in the park