Lucky Streak

It's grown cooler, rainier, darker, and even though we continue to swim with elan, sauna and gossip as usual, and plot harmless pranks as robustly as ever, no one can deny the change in the air.  The first coworker departed.  Autumnal hues blush over the plants.  Future plans are no longer far-off abstractions but swiftly approaching reality.  

Hold on -- forget all that salutatory tone, and let me back up to my birthday.  It was a big one, guys, and well celebrated.  Through a fluke of scheduling I had the day off, and my good Antarctica buddy was visiting.  After raining hard all night and morning, the skies parted, the sun shone, and we made our humid way up to tundra.  Aquamarine lake, green hillsides, brown BEAR lazily eating berries a ways off.  I was feeling lazy too, poked around the rocks a bit, then headed back to prepare for Progressive.

Progressive is our annual staff party.  It involves costumes, drinks, and surprise activities.  We sort of bar crawl from one person's tent to the next, joke about/admire their decor, pile onto the floor and bed, and write postcards or play Telephone or Corn Hole or Pin the Antlers on the Caribou.  There were Jell-O shots, kombucha, gin and tonic, and thawed-popsicle-liquid shooters.  There was also surprise cookie dough, wine, and brie to celebrate me being 40.  Only minimal injuries ensued from climbing atop a giant tether ball and jumping off a boat.

Other random updates: I won $30 in poker.  I saw nine mountain goats on top of Cecil.  A bunch of us finally hung out on the big rock.  We discovered it's fairly easy to throw and catch an apple using forks.

Chip Mates ahoy!

Fox Den forking

Spot-on, Luke!

Brock sharing a storybook

Jewel July

We have been gifted with heaps of sunshine the last three weeks, so much so there is a regular afternoon meeting of the Swim Club.  We swim out to the big boat, climb up to roast on its metal top, and jump into the now-refreshing-rather-than-heart-stoppingly-cold water.    

It was downright hot as Luke and I made our way back to what another friend has dubbed The South Side of Heaven.  I had been strategically waiting out the worst of the mosquitoes and watching the weather, and we decided to go for it right after work at the end of the week.  Up trail to tundra, across a not insignificant creek, back behind the first line of peaks that overlook the lake.  We continued into a sort of circular valley, like a boggy tableland surrounded by ranks of mountains.  I struggled both with the steep slope and the EIGHT TRILLION FLIES that accompanied us, who were ceaselessly curious about what it's like inside my ears and on my face.  Thus rather distracted, I did however notice a bright yellow blob in the distance.  We shouted, and that golden creature trotted off with her two cubs, more or less in the direction we also wanted to go.  They were pretty far away and we gave them a good head start, and continued announcing our presence in several languages.  And then -- was that the mama bear again?  No, it was...loping, and bushy-tailed.  Much bigger than a coyote.  A wolf?!

We were sufficiently uninteresting and received no nighttime visitors (other than scads of insects).  I do begrudgingly appreciate them for pollinating the dazzling array of wildflowers.  The alpine lakes we made our way to were absolutely gorgeous, well worth the obstacles.

The sun continued to shine through during my visit to our sister lodge in the remote Kenai Fjords National Park -- a rare treat in temperate rainforest.  Likewise, my good fortune sighting charismatic megafauna continued.  Puffins! Seals! Otters! Sea lions! Humpbacks, humpbacks, HUMPBACKS: bubble feeding in groups; traversing the bay parallel to us kayaking; breaching and slapping fins on the surface!  We joked with our coworker-guide, pretending to be dissatisfied guests: "No orcas?  Can't you make it breach closer?  Two out of five stars."  We paddled along granite cliffs, coves and caves of starfish and anemones, climbed a waterfall, and watched Aialik Glacier calve massive chunks into the sea.  I also commiserated with a cook friend there who gets just as moldy vegetables as me and flounders in the logistical supply spiderweb.  We traded toothpicks for cocoa powder and wondered if either of us will receive peanuts by season's end.

Amidst all this, we celebrated Christmas in July, a secret Santa with handmade and/or stolen (within camp) presents.  I finished a scarf I've been knitting and made fudge and wrote limericks for my person; I received a beautifully framed lacquered piece of birch bark and pressed fireweed, the purple-pink flower whose blooming signifies the beginning of the end of summer.  It's the next wave of pink now that roses have finished, and ushers in August.

the beginning of The South Side of Heaven 

Twin Lakes

gathered in front of the xmas tree

The sun now sets at a totally reasonable 10:30pm.

sunbathing(!) at Glacier Lodge

the ridge above Peterson Glacier

one of many joyous humpback interactions

our coordination with the company's 100-year plan

Midsummer

It's the middle of summer and all is green 

the mosses are fat, the mergansers preen

I've braised chicken thighs about fifteen times 

I've hiked on the weekends and banged up my knees,

indulged in fine pastries and slabs of French cheese

I've paddled the lake when the wind will allow

and sometimes stay up late to gaze at how

the midnight sun sets in a grandeur of gold

and the flowers bloom boldly without getting cold

you can't see the stars as it doesn't get dark

-- for a few weeks yet, anyway --

we'll dance and joke and party and lark

'til we get to closing day 

It's been a rainy/overcast summer, but when we get a sunset it's usually pretty good.

shy damsels, I believe

camp spot, Grace Ridge

As the lake level rises (melting snow and glacier), the shoreline disappears and plants are submerged.

Carrot cake!

Luke atop blustery Grace Ridge

Tonsina Creek, Resurrection Bay 

Ante Antsy

I've been sitting here in my tent trying to come up with a compelling passage about character traits, how strengths bend back upon themselves into weaknesses.  I wanted to segue from a consideration of how Odysseus's wily cleverness curdles into hubris -- his tragic flaw that sets into motion so much adventure and calamity.  At times, adrift in the wine-dark uncertainty of dinner prep, I find myself spurred on and hindered by an innate sense of urgency.

The articulation of this phrase (and how true it rang) in culinary school was akin to finally receiving a diagnosis for a mysterious chronic condition.  Not an entirely threatening one, mind, maybe something like hyper-flexible joints that can benefit you as a gymnast but also can be arthritic.  Anyway, my default setting for "sense of urgency" is, like, 8 out of 10 for basically everything.  Which is a boon and a curse in the kitchen, and life.

I wish I didn't get so wound-up making vinaigrette for a bunch of rich people on vacation, but it is what it is.  It *is* gratifying when my favorite guide thanks me for an on-point meal and relays the (surely figurative) compliment: "They creamed their jeans over the pretzel rolls."

Long weekends are good.  I take a break from moodily pacing around the cellar, glowering at swiftly molding vegetables, despairingly brainstorming notes on scraps of paper such as: "hide in ratatouille," "smother into submission," and "pacify with mayo."  On weekends, I hike and take pictures of flowers.

Yes, I got ruffled feathers about starting the drive early and getting up trail in timely fashion to enjoy three-kinds-of-cheese-mac-and-cheez at a reasonable hour.  But I relaxed into the mountains upon meeting another guardian marmot at the alpine hut.  I yielded to the unassuming but human-swallowing 8-ft-deep cloak of snow that persists atop the foothills and tongue of Mint Glacier.  No amount of urgency can rush the flowers; they bloom at the right time.

Mint Hut + marmot

yellow guys!

Luke on blessedly solid ground after we floundered up to our waists in snow headed up the ridge

little guys!

some pound cake with RASPberry sauce and RASPberries and fried rosemary 

Clearing

Back in 8th grade social studies I wrote a poem (for a class assignment) mimicking the heightened language of Civil War era letters with which I was newly acquainted.  It begins: "We trudge on through the wind and snow/waiting for the sun and warmth the summer winds blow."  I recalled these lines wryly yesterday as a friend and I scrabbled our way up a mountain in increasingly pelting rain, clouds of fog periodically enveloping us.  We pushed through dense alder thickets, crawled between spruce undercarriages, and crossed snowmelt-fattened creeks, all in pursuit of a particular, classic glacial U-shaped valley.  Friends, we were not disappointed.  Subsequent to our tenacity of body and spirit, we laid eyes upon said valley; we descended perilous scree hillsides and jagged rock moraine; we stood upon the very source of Pipe Creek waters, gazed up into the mountain's maw, and cordially greeted the lookout marmot who popped up to judge the worthiness of our mettle.

This was a significant upping of the ante compared to last weekend's also-arduous hike of seemingly endless side-hilling on a 70-degree slope punctuated by snow patches akin to greased slides.  That day at Palmer Creek was followed up by beers and brats and the witty story-songs of John Craigie.

Not all novelty and thrill is found in rarefied climes.  We've been having game night at the big kitchen table after work, costumes encouraged.  And I received a shipment of children's books from a former coworker, ripe for reading in cartoonish voices.  I might also have to share my favorite postcard limericks that arrive sporadically from a traveling friend.

I suppose it's fitting that my current romantic relationship is almost entirely epistolary (though that term is a bit high-falutin' for what is 95% texts).  Thoughts manifested as written words are like a magic teleportation device, or at least a clever parlor trick: they conjure a voice, an ethereal representation of a whole person, making the author present in real time though in absentia.  And you can re-play the conversation, any time, just by re-reading.

Pipe Creek valley + guardian marmot

Flowers are blooming!

embryonic pine cones 

reward at the end of a long day 

a sketchy spot I wandered up to

we stumbled upon a full caribou skull with antlers

"Sumer is icumen in"

It continues to be cool enough to kayak in a sweater, but the trees are filled out and carpets of dandelions, sprinklings of violets, and some tough 'lil alpine flowers have bloomed, even amidst the snowy ridge tops.  Fleeting appearances of full sunshine didn't align to produce morels (that I could find, anyway), but we enjoyed decent weather for the annual hike to Skilak Glacier.  Thirteen people tromped to the lagoon -- current and former staff, plus a few disparate friends.  Four carried pack rafts to paddle back down the river; I took one for a quick spin to see how they handle (feather-light and super responsive), and caught the bug for a new hobby.  But I didn't envy the owners, paddles strapped to their heavy packs, when we bushwhacked through alder thickets.

And then, finally, we switched gears into guest mode, everyone in their actual jobs and schedules.  At last, cooking on my own and able, for a few theoretically uninterrupted hours, to organize a somewhat meager, ragtag collection of food into a nice dinner.  I made baguettes again for the first time in four years; I brainstormed in dietary-restriction-despair one day "vegan marzipan cake -- raisin glue???" and made something reasonably successful; and I cranked punk rock nice and loud while I poured cans of beer into a bowl for pretzel roll dough.  That was a nice moment, sardonic and buoyant.

Another nice moment was post-shift, start of the weekend, just finished with cleaning and food order paperwork.  A classical piano album was ending.  One of the dishwashers is also a fan, so we put on Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg Variations, sat on the floor, under the kitchen table like when I was a kid, and let the music wash over everything.  The superlative synchronization, feeling in sync, synchronicity.

Bye, glacier

Hi, new stove

Hi, other glacier (Palmer Creek, Hope)

Hi, guest dinner

Hi, fiddlehead bug 

Hi, me

The Pre-Pre-Season

A funny/somewhat absurd situation has developed over the last year: a guy friend and I expressed mutual admiration, and then continued seasonal migrations to our respective opposite corners of Alaska.  It's almost as though the earth's wobble would be offset were we both to inhabit the arctic at the same time.  At least we managed a week with friends and fine food before trading places in Coldfoot.

In addition to tending that nascent flame, I warmed up a bit to big city life in Anchorage.  Now, Anchorage is dumpy -- lack of urban planning, seedy "frontier" type bars, and the sort of strip malls that feature a worn-out Italian-Mexican restaurant, pawn shop, and weed store all coalesce into a rather bleak aesthetic.  But sprinkled throughout the drabness one can find excellent ramen and pho, functional and scenic bike paths, and independent bookstores.  And at 300,000 people, it's still small enough that most everyone is decently nice.

It's been a late, cold spring in southern Alaska, but slowly things are coming life.  Leaves popped out a couple days ago.  Snow is melting swiftly up the mountainsides, making for squishy hiking and daily increased river and lake levels.  My first flowers sighted were roadside dandelions, and wild chives should add purple to the landscape soon.

Coworker Luke and I managed to be in the Mayberry-like town of Hope for its spring awakening.  Mid-May is the unofficial start of tourist season, and we watched as summer residents, weekenders, and seasonal workers trickled into town.  Restaurants opened after being shuttered for winter, and we warmed up with beers and dancing to local bluegrass as the evening sky refused to grow dim.

--------

That felt like a good ending place, but I also want to talk about getting out to the backcountry lodge.  Skilak Lake stayed frozen over through the first week of May, so after our days of all-staff training HR lectures and group leaf-raking/bonding at the main lodge, we came out to open up our place.  WE GOT A NEW STOVE!  It gets hot AND the door stays shut!  And new cabinets that I got to paint!  And lots of new staff who seem mostly cool.  Cool enough to dance our butts off sober to stale, trashy club music, then joyfully raft five hours down the frigid river the morning after.  

Kevin boldly pursuing cottonwood buds 

best camping spot, Turnagain Arm

the view from Slaughter Ridge

lounging otter, Homer

rafting picnic lunch with the crew