Harvesting Light: Illuminate the Story

Solstice Sunset

2011-12-23T12:43:00.000-08:00

The shortest day of the year: 12/21/11...

At 5 Hours and 28 minutes of daylight

the sun clings to the glaciers and mountains throughout the day.

The golden hour of light extends through the whole day. Illuminating this vestige of past seasons standing stoically against the extinguishing light.

Mt. Redoubt, an active volcano lies across the expanse of ice, mud and water of Cook Inlet. When will she toss off her fitful slumber and come to life once again with the important work of creating land?

Kelsey Metcalf, a student at Chugiak HS, joins me on this photo outing hoping to pickup photo techniques; her eye for composition makes this an easy exercise

Battling the wind and kissing the ice was rewarded with these images of solstice sunset on the inlet. Winds gusting to 20 mph from the southeast insured we didn't get to comfortable

Carr-Gottstein Park affords panoramic views of the inlet, allowing access to the Cook Inlet Wildlife Sanctuary

Kelsey learns about some off-camera flash from the others side of the camera

A winter cyclist tracks beckon us to explore further the icy expanse

Certifiable? In paragliding anyhow...

2011-01-23T17:38:00.000-08:00

Peace Good People: I'm claiming the top of Mandredungha, the site of my first 800m top to bottom paraglide takeoff as a monument to Peace.

Why not? Crazier things have been done...I'm carving out a little bit of peace in this little country of 30 million people and 8,000m peaks. I met some of the most amazing people, who were giving and of good heart, and of course I met the polar opposite. But the background behind me should remind anyone who journeys here that beauty is all around you and peace should be as easy as breathing... that is if you have the will power to leave your baggage behind and experience the here and now without regret.

Instructor Ivan pulling some hefty "Wing Overs" (Attitude of camera is correct)

Paragliding is the perfect sport to leave all your baggage behind and gain a whole new perspective.

Last blog entry I ended on a high note: first high flight, and a perfect landing. The next two flights I found myself lacking the proper focus as I couldn't sit back in my harness. Here's an example of not being able to sit back in the harness...but on a tandem flight.

A tandem Flight with Ivan, my paragliding hero and guru

We unload our gliders into the anxious arms of the local villagers

looking to make a quick 100 rupees, more than most Nepalis make in a whole day

This friendly villager was the only one to ever porter my glider at this site,

she saved me on a day that I was running a fever and had poor balance,

I flew anyway!

Paragliders finding little pockets of lift above Sarangot

Kids from Pume pack our gliders for some candy money

They literally attack us as we land yelling "Packing?!?"

Pume Paragliding Packers Play Pilot (P.P.P.P.P.)

And you thought I couldn't do it Dad!

Pume Packers Photograph Pilots

Mac Daddy Mikel revs the Indian-Made Motorcycle at the Mandredungha landing site

Caught this paraglider scaling ol' Fishtail while enjoying a tandem flight with my paragliding instructor Ivan

Left to right: Far left Dhauligiri-8168m, Annapurna South- 7219m, Annapurna I, Hiunchuli-6441m, Machhapuchhre (Fishtail)-6993m, Annapurna III-7555m, Annapurna IV-7525m, Annapurna II-7937m

Defying Gravity

2011-01-04T03:05:00.000-08:00

Just say the words: "Defying Gravity", and I get shivers down my spine as I hear Wicked's Elphaba singing this proclamation:

"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me
Tell them how I am
Defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity

And soon I'll match them in renown
And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

Of course this bit of hubris is the kind to find you flat on your face having "ate it" hard.

But that is the path one takes when they learn to grow feathers and defy gravity. What's it like? We've all had a taste of it, whether it's riding a plane, feeling weightless on some crazy amusement park ride, or falling in love all doped up on love hormones.

Here's an excerpt from mediaindia.net's lifestyle and wellness section on the love hormones:

Neurobiology of Love

People in love could experience mood swings, sleeplessness, racing heart beat, loss of appetite and are generally lost in their own world. So much so one can easily spot love’s countenance. Now, Neuroscience makes sense of this ‘heady’ state of love....

When two people fall madly in love, the brain’s pleasure centers are activated causing the release of few chemicals-dopamine, pheromones and serotonin. These chemicals are directly responsible for excitement, increased heart rate, lack of appetite and sleeplessness.

So here I was telling Heather that there was a new girlfriend and her name is "Parapente". At first Heather shook her head as she observed my obsession manifest in dreams of flying, tossing and turning I would wake up well before dawn, before the rooster would even crow I heard the coming of dawn in other ways; the guy who yelled "hey" or the Nepali equivalent, to be answered by the echo of Phewa Lake. His yelling would give way to the patter of a whole school going on their morning run, they would stop to stretch at the Blue Sky paragliding landing. This patter and chortle of voices would give way to another more lock step run as the local army unit would go on their morning run. All the while I would visualize myself flying, using the techniques my Catalan instructor Ivan Ripoll had taught me: from the days ground handling the glider with vultures soaring on thermals overhead, to the chicken flights gliding for 15 seconds before gravity had its way, to the 800m above ground level flights catching thermals like a juvenile hawk. Each day brought new experiences and challenges. Challenges mainly from within, as they usually manifest themselves. The important thing was that I could see myself flying in my waking and unconscious state of being. Having seen that, it was not much of a stretch to soar and even perform fledgling tricks.

First day of the course we started on the ground. The thought being if you can't control your glider on the ground how could you hope to control it in the air, plus we eliminate gravity's lethal punch, but some bruising after tripping on some cow pies and uneven terrain was par for the course near one of Nepal's few golf courses. It was a long drive out to this location and the day started with introductions, on the Basque "team" was Mikel and Sabe, they would receive instruction in Spanish from our Catalan Paragliding guru Ivan Ripoll, who then would provide instruction to the English crew of Alan (An English Artist/Teacher), Surain (Nepali working for Frontiers Paragliding, the sponser of this class), and myself. Bits of Spanish were mixed with Nepali and English to create a Dal Bhat-hotdog-frutti de mare. What does one do in such a situation you eat it all up because it's going to be an unique mash-up! We reached our destination, the top of some cliffs along above the river valley below. Winds were light and the vultures sat at the edge of the cliffs waiting for the rising thermals to give them their free flight to their next meal-so it wasn't a free lunch, but you would get a free ride there. We walked down a jeep trail after feigning interest in jumping off the cliffs straight away. Laughing nervously knowing it wouldn't be long before we were jumping off stuff a lot higher than this!

First practice in this multi-lingual course: We hardly learn the names of the different lines and important features of the glider before we are in our harnesses inflating the glider and running into the wind to maintain glider inflation while we learn how to steer. By the time the bite of the paragliding lines had turned each of our arms into that of a junkie, defined by the many welts that cascaded up our forearms; we were hooked on something but it wasn't chemicals from without but those that were triggered by the experience of learning to fly! The natural high was first triggered for me as I inflated my glider later that afternoon when the wind picked up. Ivan told us to run hard and flare the brakes to transfer the energy into a brief bit of near weightlessness. So, away I run and just before the ditch that claimed more than one of us neophyte paragliders I pulled the brakes hard and for a brief moment I was levitating above the ground to the whoops and cheers of my colleagues as I "hurdled" the ditch. What fun! Can I do it again and again? Of course theory had to be injected here somewhere so while the Basque group lengthened their welts on their forearms and levitated to whoops, the English-speaking team learned of airfoils, lift, angle of attack, and the history of paragliding and then it switched again. This went on for the rest of the day until we packed it all in, exhilirated and a bit tired. We climbed to the crest of the cliff and made our way to the jeep. The jeep ride threw into relief our experience as we passed a Bollywood movie set at a shell of a building adjacent to the Golf Course. I noted the golden hour sun channeled skillfully via reflectors to the actors and actresses as I imagined the soundtrack that was playing in time to their lip syncing pleas. The fleeting scene gives way to reality as the dust enters our lungs in the back I decide to try standing on the back tailgate a sure way to keep from motion sickness and some of the dust. The road is slicing through fields on either side with homesteader houses on each side. One of these folk holds a long bamboo tree with a metal hook with electrical cord coming off and strings it to his abode. Talking about playing with fire! We finish the day scouting our first high flight at Kao Danda with a hike into the rice paddies to survey the take off and landing zones. In another two days we will be flying from here!

The next day we're off to the golf course again, but this time we will be doing "chicken" flights by late morning. The ground handling pumps us up, and the theory and pre-flight briefing gets us even more anxious. I'm ready to fly, lets go brothers (jum jum dis). We hike away from our ground flight proving grounds hungry for more. An egyptian vulture leads the way with some Himalayan Griffon vultures already thermaling above the sun-soaked cliffs. I carry the windsock to the center of our landing zone, while Mikel practically runs up the hillside to get his glider spread out. Seeing his placement I decide to spread my glider a litter higher and to his left. I go through my pre-flight check: the cells are ready to accept the rushing air for inflation spread out properly, the a-riser lines essential to inflation are untangled, and the subsequent b, c, and d-riser lines untangled and not caught in the vegetation, and of course the old brake untangled and ready to go. My ozone major wing prepared, it's time to get in my harness, buckle both leg loops and finally the waist, cinching slightly the leg loops. "Check-check", I say into the radio. I top it off with the old helmet to protect my noggin'. Pre-flight check finished, I watch as Mikel inflates his wing, but a little after taking off he pulls the brakes hard as we did to get suspension during ground handling. This action is quickly followed by Ivan ordering him to release the brake. He lands ok, but far from the landing zone. It's now my turn. Ivan double checks everything and away I go on my first chicken flight! My glider inflated I run with my chest forward until I can feel the ground no more! In the air, defying gravity, for 20 seconds I steer a little to the right, following Ivan's directions and flare the brakes at the precise moment that Ivan asks to land squarely in the landing zone. Yes, my first taste! I'm hooked, and "cauliflower" my glider by gathering up the lines in loose coils until I get to the actual wing. Away I go back up the grassy hill a good 10m further up the hill, daring Ivan to call me down... I spread my glider above Alan's and wait for everyone to finish their first round. Sabe goes next with a beautiful little "shake a tail feather" flight that just gets me more lathered up to go. Surain's flight has us all on edge as he veers far to the left and almost over another cliff towards the river. Ivan yells for him to turn right but Surain is still looking to the river and in paragliding their is a magnetism that seems to occur when you fix your gaze on a landmark. A shift of body weight and your turning that way regardless of what you are doing with the brake/steering lines. He lands at the edge of the cliff, his glider actually going over. We all gasp but realize that if he kept going he just would of had a longer flight, what fun!

I hardly remember to eat lunch because I don't want to lose my spot in the flying queue. Alan had a rough first flight, he is a bit heavier than us and and less athletic, but his heart is fully into the pursuit of flight since he flew with a tandem pilot 4 years ago. He has dreamed ever since of one day doing it solo. Here he is an art teacher from England, I believe Manchester; or is that just the football team he favors? Anyway, he finds himself at a crossroads at this stage of his art teaching career, having shifted from a visual arts track to an interest in theater. His background is mainly in sculpture and I point out he now works with moving sculpture in theater. He is at an interesting crossroads in his life as he is deconstructing his former life and rebuilding a new one. Paragliding seems to be one of the new foundational blocks. His second flight he gets off properly, much smoother than the first. Ivan shepherding him nicely. We all hoot and holler for his first successful chicken flight! Us chickens kept edging upward and the wind became a little more erratic, coming cross to our position when we wanted it to be head on. The solution was to pull the brake some on one side and steer the glider into the wind during the take off. By the end of the day we were getting be be a little "cocky", pun intended!

A quiet moment before take off as I wait for the wind

Day three brings us to the big leagues, a high flight: 100m above ground level! Needless to say we are all a bit apprehensive, but excited. The day starts with a long climb, still cool with temps in the mid 50's. We all decide to hike up without porters at least on the first flight. I see a falcon hunting as we near the top and watch it do a hovering flight before continuing its survey of the ridge we are on. I find out later this is most likely a kestrel as they are quite a bit larger than the American counterpart. At the top we survey the flight and see the pinpoint of color of the windsock far below now framed by a group of twenty Nepalis hoping to be hired as porters when we land! Ivan goes through the flight plan as our co-instructor Graham readies his glider for a test flight of the route. He takes off in a beautiful fluid fashion, seating in his seat harness almost instantly. He carves out some nice turns and makes his way towards the river and the landing site. We see him land right by the wind sock. Perfect!! Of course my glider is already unpacked, as I want to go first for some strange reason. I think I just don't want to wait and think about this whole thing too much.

The thing about jumping off a cliff is that there is in fact a point of no return. This didn't seem to matter or was drowned out by a kind of calm before the rush. I felt strangely calm waiting, my arms outstretched holding the riser and brakes in each hand. I took a few long breaths in and out waiting for a nice puff of wind coming up the the hill. My focus singular: breath and wind, and then Ivan says, "Ok let's go." My heart leaps at the command and pumps rapidly to feed my anxious muscles with vital oxygen. The glider is pulling me back slightly as it makes it way overhead my arms tense and body leaning forward to counteract. Ivan yells: "Now run..." Away I go chest flared forward, arms back applying a little brake pressure for control. The ground gives way to the fluid current of the valley wind. I am airborne!

Defying gravity for the first time

A sudden rush engulfs me and I must focus to hear Ivan's instructions over the radio. He's telling me to sit back and then make a 90 degree turn to the right. Sitting proves very uncomfortable, I have to use stomach muscles to stay reclined in the seat. Not ideal, but this will only be a 1 1/2 minute flight and maybe we can make some adjustments once I get down. I shift my hip over to the right side of the harness and then pull down the brake on the right side slowing the right wing allowing the left wing to continue at normal speed thus producing a nice right-hand turn. Following the ridge line I see a procession of wedding goers making their way up a hill above the rice paddies to a cleared flat promenade. It looks like a stage from this vantage as some lilting music reaches me and catering folk move diligently to setup tables in anticipation of the guests. I learn later that this month is the last auspicious time for a few months for weddings. Hence, wedding processions become a daily part of the commute through Pokhara streets. Ivan crackles over the radio: "Turn left now, then balance...good" I look to the river in the distance making note of the high tension wires in the distance and I take a peek at the landing zone, the windsock still too small to afford me any wind direction feedback. Ivan cuts in again, the master puppeteer: "Now turn 1/4 turn to the right... good and balance...Graham now yours." Graham cuts in and begins the landing approach instructions: "Sean, I need you to make a half turn to the left...good, now hold that course" My eyes are fixed like a hawk on the windsock, my target. These "s" turns graduate into more open turns as I am drawn to my Virgo roots by gravity's inexorable grasp. For every 6m I glide I drop 1 m. "Now make a quarter turn, you are on your landing run" advises Graham. I see clearly the windsock with a headwind indicated by its bearing, perfect. I apply the brakes slightly and keep my gaze on the windsock and away from the ground rushing below. Only 15 feet away from the windsock I flare the brakes fully and land softly. Success, I managed to land perfectly on my first flight! Graham pats me on the back and asks how it felt, and I tell him, "It was awesome:, a loss for words. The magical moment is dispelled quickly with a chorus of voices asking, "Packing?", but then a fourteen -year old and veteran packer, Raju takes me under his wing and we pack the glider together, the adrenaline still wearing off from the flight and a big smile on my face.

Rice Paddies, windsock, river oh my!

Flying high above Pokhara a haze shrouded background

From Left to Right: Surain, Mikel, Meerkat, Ivan, Alan, and Sabe

The Great Nepal Baggage Caper!

2010-12-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

Heather finds the Infinity point in the relaxing Garden of Dreams in the heart of Kathmandu

View Out from the Art Gallery in the Garden of Dreams

I was finally reunited with my wife after a month and a half apart outside the bustling Kathmandu airport; and I was finally reunited with my Mac Pac backpack after 8 days in transit! I last caught a glimpse of where it needed to go as I was made an extremely short connection using my sharp elbows. The Korean Air Boeing 747-400 plane sat in a taunting stance in its bay as we taxied to the gate in our Alaskan Air plane. I knew that I had a chance but my bag... no way!

After hopping to the international terminal on foot and making a few ill advised turns I made it to the Korean Air ticket counter and they frantically called down to the gate that I was coming... and one of the ticketing agents escorted me, running in high heels I thought it would be no problem to break into a run with a full pack and rolling carry-on, but I soon found myself flat on my face, as Jenyfer would say "I ate it!". The high-heeled agent squinted at me, and then said: "Now we walk". And so we did and I made it on the plane with time to spare, very motivated to see my baby!

Hari, our taxi driver from Pokhara to Kathmandu and back again

Now I've made it to Pokhara, Nepal. Heather met me at the airport in Kathmandu, I was surprised not to see her waiting for me outside with a card that read "Mr. Merewood", but she got stuck in a 4hr traffic jam just a little outside of Kathmandu. So my delay for a visa, customs, waiting for and then filing a delayed-baggage-claim, and then exchanging money was nearly perfect timing. I only had to wait and endure 30 minutes of folks trying get me to take their taxi or go to their hotel... culture shock was to commence with the hectic driving as we left with our driver Hari who was going to transport us from Kathmadu, to Bandipur, and then all the way to Pokhara.

To ask a Nepali a question is an interesting exercise as they want to answer in a positive way. So when asking about luggage that most definitely will be delayed until the next Korean Air flight that only comes twice a week you get answers such as" It will be on the Thai Airways flight and it will arrive tomorrow at 1:00pm", and then when that deadline passes you are told that it might be Monday morning, and when the morning passes you are offered hope that it will arrive in the afternoon. So, immediately I adopted an approach of enjoying Heather's company and all that the middle hills of Nepal had to offer, and diligently made backup plans with people who know what is possible. Ganga, the proprietor of Sacred Valley Inn in Kathmandu not content with just giving me a positive answer told me some options for having my bags catch up with me in Pokhara. They involved either a tourist bus or private jeep after someone went to the Kathmandu airport with a copy of my passport and missing baggage claim to pick it up.

With the clothes on my back, my baby as my constant companion, and Hari as our intrepid driver we made it to Bandipur as night fell. The countryside framed tightly in the windows of the our mini taxi moving at 40 km/h a montage of color, vistas, and exhaust mixed with dust that permeates everything. At Bandipur we checked into one of the pricier places called Old Bandipur Inn, built around the turn of the 20th century it's charm ranged from it's extremely short door entrances, ornate wood carving, and of course the balcony with a view of the Annapurnas in the morning.

Our Room in the Old Inn Bandipur

Chickens going to the butcher

A Village Elder prepares a blessing for Heather from a paste made from natural dyes

Spiders abound on our trek to Nepal's largest cave- Siddha Cave

An Old Man Waits waits near a temple below Bandipur

View of the Annapurnas from our room at the Old Inn

Traditional dress and modern are displayed here in this high stakes dice game capture

Siddha Cave Art

An Old Man reuses a bit of cardboard and fashions it with his mini scythe

We arrived in Pokhara and many more adventures have occurred since: parahawking, tandem paragliding, Nepali Highland Games, a beginning paragliding pilot course for Sean. All of these adventures will be brought to light in this blog at some point, but right now my days are filled to the brim with paragliding, Heather and the the happenings of this Nepali community. Please be patient with me as I update you.

Bear Valley Tramp Above the Clouds

2010-11-13T20:58:00.000-08:00

It snowed heavily last weekend and into Monday rush hour, so I decided to find the snowiest place in the Anchorage bowl to go for a little snow tramp.

Bear Valley from the Ridge with Cook Inlet in the distance

The idea was all Jonathan's... at least that sounds good. You see Jonathan wanted to get some preseason hiking in to prepare for his extended downhill skiing season out at Alyeska, a ski resort close to Anchorage. The idea was hatched over a couple rounds of beer at Firetap, a local brew pub with his litttle two-year old Kyla, and his wife, Monica in attendance. Jonathan is my next door neighbor at work, and serves as a sales rep for a portion of the AK territory. The idea was the following morning I would drive my little Honda Civic Hybrid straight up the snowy mountain to get to the Gurry- pad in Bear Valley. From there we would do a snowshoe hike to the peak that rimmed the bear valley and trek even further beyond towards Turnagain Arm.

After a little difficulty finding their place in the dark, Jonathan ran out into the middle of the road so I wouldn't pass them in the pre-dawn light. With a cup of courage in the form of coffee and early morning entertainment provide by Kyla, we were off with snowshoes in hand and cameras slung for a hike above the clouds. Jonathan is in pretty good shape for a young whipper-snapper. He blazed the trail pretty much the whole way, leading us on a scenic detour through snowshoe hare thickets blazing a new trail where there definitely was none- a character trait, maybe.

After finding the trail quite a ways up the mountain we were rewarded with views of Bear Valley below, the Inlet beyond and shadowy hints of Flattop in the distance. We had loads of climbing to do, to make it above the clouds and to a snow-crested ridge that led to our goal still way out of sight.

We were both enjoying the exercise, getting to breath crisp fresh mountain air, and drop all stresses of the work week beyond with each step higher. Jonathan spoke of how the snowpack loading and how avalanches happened, good old gravity at work! Snow packing just right to become ball bearings on which the snow above rides, with devastating results. He showed me the crust layer in a column of snow that was the precursor to this phenomena. Cool!

As we gain the ridge I take multiple photos of Jonathan looking all heroic, with sinewy shelfs of wind-blown snow providing leading lines into this winter wonderland of sky, snow, and mountain peaks. We can now see the goal in the distance, a peak with craggy rocks much like the battlements on a castle tower. A flock of Snow Buntings meet the challenge of the howling wind and pass over the ridge moving in unison banking to catch the golden rays of sunlight before diving to find more forage in the shrubs. There is much Snow Bunting "gold" to be found over the "sun dogs" of Chugach State Park, the gold is the many seeds found in the shrubs that they frequent for cover and food. Didn't quite have the equipment to reach these guys and do them justice but maybe sometime soon when I win the lottery!

Looking up towards Bear Valley

Now it is "Nepali Flat": up and down at regular intervals, but not straight up as they say in the Himalayas. This tramp is just what I need to get back into shape for the mountains of Nepal. I will be joining Heather for the whole month of December to witness and partake in Parahawking: Falconry, paragliding, and vulture conservation all wrapped up into one amazing experience. Heather is on the Parahawking team and you can read her Notes from Nepal blog to learn more. It's been difficult being apart, but it is awesome that we can grow as individuals too. Still the semi-tropical climate of Nepal is beckoning in the face of a long winter, and now the days are so short! In Bear Valley, there's a whole month when sun doesn't even crest the rim of the valley. We are coming very close to that time right now where the sun just skims across the horizon too lazy to go very high.

Well the ups and downs are great, but I stupidly wore carhartts on this adventure so the moisture is slowly but surely wicking up the cotton canvas fabric making its way to my crotch! Not a friendly place to be wet with wind and cold. So once we get to our peak and eat our snack I'm ready to get down pretty fast. The mountain is pretty amenable to this goal letting us gain lots of speed on the downhills as we almost ski at times and of course fall. This compounds the discomfort until I find myself wearing garb that weighs as much as chain mail. We do get down the mountain twice as fast as it takes to go up, so it feels good to change into to dry clothes and hangout with the Gurry fam over some hot tea. Next weekend I should be ready to put on the old cross-country skis.

Peace Good People,

Meerkat out...

View of Flattop and the Knik Arm and Valley beyond

WE MADE IT!! Day 12- September 14th, 2010: Tok, AK - Anchorage, AK

2010-09-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

Mt. Sanford (16,237 ft) in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park

I think the cats know their traveling days are almost at an end. Usually they walk around the truck for about an hour or so in the mornings before settling down and going to sleep in their kennels or underneath the seat. This morning it took them closer to two hours before they finally settled down. Maybe it was the rough road we encountered as soon as we left our hotel in Tok, or maybe it was because they had heard we were supposed to be in our new home on the 13th and it has taken us a day longer. Whatever the cause, it's an interesting morning, trying to keep the cats from walking on the dashboard or going underneath Sean's feet as he's driving. Finally, they settle down and we're able to enjoy the scenery - more gorgeous fall colors and snow-capped mountains!

Our road takes us past Wrangell- St Elias National Park and the 12,000-16,000 peaks gracing the park, as well as the Matanuska glacier, melting on this sunny mid-60 degree day.

Matanuska Glacier

I'm at the edge of my seat as we enter the Anchorage area - my first view of our new home! As we pass into the city boundary and come up to a highway intersection, I see a sign that reads: Caution, high moose traffic area (I'm not joking).

Anchorage welcomes us!

We pull up to our new apartment - which was in pretty bad shape when Sean first looked at it -to see what the landlord had gotten done as far as improvements during the past 2 weeks. We now have all new appliances in the kitchen... and a pile of old appliances sitting on the lawn outside the door. The landlord had said he was going to replace some of the old, smoky-smelling carpeting, and thankfully he decided to replace all of it. However, with his full-time job, he didn't have quite enough time to finish everything - the 2nd bedroom, dining room, entry ways and the master bedroom closet are still floor-less. Sean and I aren't able to completely get settled in our new place until the floors are done, but the cats settle in immediately! Orzo figures out how to open the cabinet below the bathroom sink, just enough so he can slink into his new favorite hiding spot. We move the cat tower in, so Gnocchi immediately climbs to the top (even as we're still maneuvering it into position) and sits surveying her new domain.

The apartment needs some painting and a little TLC, but I think we'll all be able to settle in quite nicely.

Here is a re-cap of our journey:

States and provinces traveled - 15

Miles traveled - 4725

Gallons of fuel used - 590.63

Highest price paid for gas - $6.42/gal (Muncho Lake, Yukon)

Lowest price paid for gas - $2.36/gal (somewhere, TN)

Cups of coffee consumed - 44

Bugs killed - 6,127,428

Pictures taken - 2,400

Meows heard - 532

"Eh"s heard - 97

Pothole avoidance percentage - 43%

Flat tires - 1

Dropped cell phone calls - 11

Credit cards put on hold due to suspicious activity - 6

Thanks for following along on the blog!

I think I will enjoy living here; I already have a list of about 15 things I want to do this weekend (Sean said I had to narrow it down a bit). I'm looking forward to exploring our new home, and we're looking forward to having visitors to show around!

With love,

Heather, Sean, Gnocchi and Orzo

Mount Susitna or "The Sleeping Lady" across the Knik Arm from Anchorage.

Look closely and you can see the city lights of Anchorage.

Day 11- September 13th, 2010: Teslin, YT - Tok, AK

2010-09-14T00:30:00.000-07:00

A blog from Heather...

Today is the day we are supposed to arrive in Anchorage, but the drive is taking longer than originally thought on account of lugging a big trailer behind us. Sean's boss graciously has given him an extra day of travel before he has to go back to work. So this morning we wake to the sun coming up over Teslin Lake in the Yukon Territory.

We also visit Whitehorse today, the capital of the Yukon, a bustling metropolis with its population of 25,000 - in comparison to the population of the entire Yukon Territory at 28,000. As the woman serving us coffee at breakfast stated: "It's definitely not crowded."

At every turn of the road we come to another breath-taking view - snow-capped peaks, brilliant fall colors interspersed with evergreen spires of spruce trees, and glass-like reflective lakes.

Soon after our refueling stop at Destruction Bay, we are faced with a 200 km section of the Highway that our guidebook warns us is a little rough due to being built mostly on permafrost. Most of the road is paved - with just a few sections of gravel - but the road is definitely not in prime condition. We come across more of those POUSs (Potholes of Unusual Size), and there are sections of the road which appear to have had strips peeled away by a vegetable peeler. Other sections of the road look in deceptively good condition, but when we drive over them we find out there are series of dips and ridges that would make a roller coaster jealous. Then of course, there are the stretches of a combination of all three: the amusement park dips, vegetable peeler strips, and POUSs.
This road is the ultimate test to my packing skills - we will see how many of our belongings will fall victim to the Alcan Highway.

Finally we reach the border, our stomachs rolling, and chat with the very nice Border Patrol Officer. He tells us how his son lives in Asheville and about the book he's currently reading, and then waves us through. A somewhat smoother road and three grazing moose greet us as we enter our new home state.

Our first stop in Alaska is at an overlook in Tetlin Wildlife Refuge, where we discover the first victims of the Alcan: our bikes and bike rack are gone! Somewhere along the Alaskan Highway in the Yukon our bikes are laid to rest, the straps of the bike rack having simply snapped under the stress of the all the jostling. We try to look on the bright side: "At least we didn't lose the car." "Now we get new bikes." And most important of all, "We made it to Alaska!"

We pull into the Snowshoe motel in Tok and I have my first experience viewing the Anchorage news. The top stories tonight: speculating on what will be the amount of the yearly government payment to every Alaskan resident, worries about walruses trampling their calves due to loss of sea ice and overcrowding of the population,and the potential of rising hiking fees to climb Denali/Mt. McKinley. The after-news show consisted of the smoky green aurora borealis we spotted behind our hotel. This is definitely a unique state.

For now, we'll get some sleep. It's just an 8-9 hour drive tomorrow and then we'll be at our new home. The cats aren't the only ones looking forward to getting out of that truck.

Day 10 - September 12th, 2010 Fort Nelson, BC - Teslin, YT

2010-09-11T23:55:00.000-07:00

The day starts with the smell of coffee serving the dual purpose of covering up the cigarette smell in the hotel room and getting me caffeinated for the road. We’ve finally gotten caught up on our blog last night. Heather stayed up late working on it so I’ll take the first shift driving.

As we pack up, Orzo, seeing the writing on the wall finds the only “hiding place” he can in this ratty room at the Blue Bell Inn of Fort Nelson, BC – our most expensive room to date at $122, but beggars can’t be choosers (and it’s better than the discounted AAA rate of $161 at the Super 8 across the road). Not looking forward to another day in the truck, Orzo hides by noodling his way under the ruffled bed-spread. Heather nearly has a heart attack looking for him in every corner she can think of, and even looking around outside, before finally figuring out the lump on the bed is not just blankets. We give him a quick rub under the chin, and try to calm our nerves, before leaving him in his “hiding place” as we pack the rest of our stuff into the truck.

As much as he doesn’t want to get into the noisy, rumbling truck again, it seems he doesn’t want to get left behind even more. When we come back into the room he is right by the door, looking at us expectantly.

We don’t leave anyone behind in Fort Nelson, the lowest place on the Alaskan Highway, as we head north towards Summit Lake, the highest point on the Alaskan Highway. Once we’re on the road, we realize today is the day of the animal. We see a moose, a bunch of caribou, a herd of endangered wood bison, a woodchuck, bald eagles and of course hawks.

Endangered Wood Bison grazing and lounging beside the road

We’re fully into the Canadian Rockies now and trying our best to heed Heather’s mom’s advice of “keeping the rubber side down.” A task made difficult by the 9% grade and hair-pin turns.

This section of the road is reputed to be one of the most beautiful, and as the sun even decides to make a strong appearance today, we stop a few times for photo opportunities.

Muncho Lake, British Columbia

The highway skirts along Muncho Lake – the copper oxide giving it a tropical-looking blue green color – and then enter Yukon Territory, “Larger than Life.”

We stop in Watson Lake, to visit the Sign Post Forest. This random collection of signs has been growing here since 1942 when a homesick GI working on the Alaskan Hwy decided to post a sign to his hometown of Danville, IL. The trend has apparently caught on, as there are now more than 60,000 signs decorating this small town.

Sign Post Forest in Watson Lake, Yukon Territory

Afterwards we have an early dinner at Bee Jays truck stop, accompanied by many interesting characters. Some sample snippets of conversations over-heard: “Isn’t it amazing how a person gets a promotion and they immediately gain 6 hat sizes.” “ You and Dave have been having a pissing contest for as long as I’ve known you.” “Aren’tchu the man with deep pockets?” “I have deep pockets… with nothin’ in ‘em.” We are also entertained by the photos decorating the walls – pictures of semi wrecks in all seasons as various forms of 18-wheeler yoga – it’s a little macabre.

We travel on towards the setting sun of the Yukon to a lodge just outside of Teslin, YT. Teslin gets its name from a Tlingit word, Teslintoo, which means “long, narrow waters.” The town is situated on Teslin Lake, which stretches for 92 miles. Our little cabin has a view of the lake, and we have just enough daylight left when we arrive to enjoy the view before tucking in for the night.

Day 9 - September 11th, 2010 Whitecourt, AB - Fort Nelson, BC

2010-09-11T23:26:00.000-07:00

"There are three dangers of the Fire Swamp: the flame spurt, the lightning sand, and Rodents of Unusual Size (ROUSs)."

There are also three dangers of the Alaska Highway: the majestic moose, the empty gas-tank, and Pot-holes of Unusual Size (POUSs).

As soon as we get on the highway this morning, we see warning signs: "Moose Row" " Save our Wildlife" "Watch for Moose."

We don't see any moose aside from those on the multiple signs, but we do see many red-tailed hawks as we leave Alberta and enter BC, "The Best Place on Earth," according to the signs. The terrain is getting hillier as we enter the foothills of the upper Rockies. The first town we come to in BC is Dawson Creek, which is also the entrance to the "World Famous Alaska Highway." We fill up our reserve gas tank and enjoy the scenery.

Heather attempts to navigate my camera, as I drive the hilly road. An interesting scene on the side of the road, finds the camera left untouched in Heather's lap as we both try to make sense of the situation. An ultralight airplane, and a tent, right on the side of the highway. Apparently it is not uncommon for people to use this highway as a runway. Flying along enjoying the scenery from the air, they landed on the highway and pulled just off the road to camp for the night.

A couple of hundred kilometers later we have our first encounter with an un-paved section of the Alaska Highway. We knew we would come across these sooner or later. I'm not sure either of us suspected there would also be pot-holes you could lose a moose in! We slow the truck to a crawl and try to avoid the pot-holes as best we can. After only about 10-15 km, a lovely patchwork pavement returns. I will not take it for granted again.

Soon, however we spot another ominous sign looming ahead - this one a literal sign, reading: "Last gas station for 100 km." We look at the gas gauge on the truck - just over a 1/4 of a tank. That won't get us far at the rate of 7 miles to the gallon as has been our standard on these hilly roads. We pull into the gas station only to find it closed for the evening (it is 7:45 pm). There was a reason we filled that reserve gas tank. We add the extra gas to the truck and we're able to make it to Fort Nelson for the night, where fueling stations and overpriced hotels abound.

Day 8 - September 10th, 2010 Regina, SK - Whitecourt, AB

2010-09-11T08:04:00.000-07:00

More wind and rain greet us this morning. Fields of amber grain mark the windy miles (kilometers) as we travel to Alberta. The unseasonably cooler temperatures set off the show of fall colors - orange, red and golden trees line our path. We see periodic breaks in the trees of boggy wetland areas, lots of hawks hunting in the open space along the road, and pairs of magpies flitting from tree to tree. Orzo, still afraid of the windshield wipers, spends the balance of the day underneath the seat of the truck.

We make it to Whitecourt, Alberta in time to witness the setting sun turning the sky various shades of purple, red and orange. We walk from our hotel to dinner past a factory spewing smoke into the sky over this industrial town. The particulates in the air adding to the drama of the sunset. Beauty can be found anywhere and in anything.

Day 7 - September 9th, 2010 Winnipeg, MB - Regina, SK

2010-09-11T08:03:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Prairie's Edge. You can see the bee-shed on the far left

and the new dome community center in the distance on the right.

We wake up in our tiny guest cabin at Prairie's Edge Eco-Village and set out on a tour of the farm. Daniel, one of the village's founders, meets us on the road and shows us around.

Daniel keeping a smiling eye on the pancakes.

Most of the homes are straw-bale construction, or made with found materials, and powered by wind and solar. The whole premise of the village is to create a closed loop between the land and the inhabitants on the prairie's edge. The world's largest solar oven sits between rows of organically grown food on one side and an earthen-covered root cellar on the other.

Borage with it's edible flowers in the morning dew.

The newest building on the property is still being built - it's a dome home donated to the village by someone who wanted it removed from their property so they could build a bigger "cabin." The Eco-Village members dismantled the dome and rebuilt it on their property. Right now it houses a few barn swallows and this year's braided garlic crop, but in time - and with insulation - it will become a vibrant community center. Soon, I'm sure, it's walls will also be graced with the colorful murals found on most of the other buildings in the village: bumblebess on the shed housing the bee-keeping supplies, a Turtle Earth symbol on the summer kitchen, and the Indian-looking vine motif on the large straw-bale home.

Much too soon, it is time to be back on the road. Our bellies full of ground cherries and our hearts full after spending time with old friends again, we load the cats back into the car and head back towards Winnipeg and our big rig.

Agates in the sunlight.

We say our goodbyes to the parents, and watch them head back towards St Paul in their dirty car. Then, despite the rain and a serious headwind of 35-40 km/hr, we make it to Regina Saskatchewan for the night.

Day 6 - September 8th, 2010 St. Paul, MN - Winnipeg, MB

2010-09-11T08:01:00.000-07:00

My parental units graciously offered to drive our U-haul and shadow car all the way to Winnipeg, Manitoba. We accepted hoping to conserve our energy and visit more on the long drive through MN and ND. I also liked the idea of having my Deputy Sheriff father answering the questions at the border as I have a penchant for triggering searches with my hippy hair and goatee. This hippy must be smuggling something illegal in this big truck. But the questions were probing but easy. "Do you have any firearms, knives, etc." My dad volunteers that he owns firearms, and the border officer cuts him off politely telling us that the questions are more directed towards me. I pause, thinking a moment. The border officer asks why I have to think about it, and I tell him that I was thinking about whether I had a pocket knife or not, but I remember it was already confiscated at the airport in Anchorage. The border patrol let us through with no problem. Everyone says it's more difficult getting back into the US, so we'll see what happens at the Alaska/Canada border.

Driving across Manitoba, we spot numerous red-tailed hawks and even a couple Northern harriers, distinguished by their white rump-patches. Once we reach Winnipeg, we help the parents get settled in a hotel before we borrow their car to drive to Prairie's Edge Eco-Village an hour and a half outside of Winnipeg. We almost make it to our destination when we come across a large mud-puddle that tries to swallow the car. The mud-puddle is unsuccessful thanks to the members of the eco-village who come to push and pull us out. Was this car clean when we started out in St Paul this morning? Now it's covered in mud and dust on the outside and cat hair and litter on the inside. Thanks Buse parents for the loaner... sorry about the mess!

Day 5 - September 7th, 2010 St. Paul, MN

2010-09-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

We woke up to the smell of Dad's famous banana pancakes with lots of yummy fresh fruit to snack on. Pre-breakfast entertainment: the Lenox Avenue wild turkeys make a performance of "Sacajawea Brings Thanksgiving up the Alcan." My predatory photo scouting split the flock in two, to the chagrin of the gobblers. The lethargic dew-paralyzed insects provided some forage for the turkeys as act one comes to a close I corraled the majority of them so that the U-haul figured as a prominent background - snap! My stomach rumbles audibly and the pancakes call to me, so farewell wild toms.

After breakfast we pay a visit to Gail at The Raptor Center. Gail introduces us to Whisper, a human-imprinted barn owl. We meet the other residents there, everything from Boreal owls to bald eagles. My favorite is the Northern harrier that Gail is training to hover. She has had a month hiatus in her training, but Gail agrees to try to fly her for us today. She flew the harrier to the perch, but the harrier quickly lost interest in the orange lure that Gail swung enticingly near the other perch. When the harrier did fly she surprised me with her vertical take off. They are known for this particular flight pattern and often hover over marshlands searching for their prey. It also comes in handy when landing on their nests found on the ground.

Finally, I capture a few good frames, and promise Gail a few with a photoshopped heroic sky background. As the session comes to a close, the Northern harrier enjoys a stroll through the audience very curious of us she scampers about avoiding Gail and the glove that means her fun will be over. The session ended, it's time to say our goodbyes.

The afternoon is spent attempting to keep up with the nieces and nephews of the Buse clan before having dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Pad Thai on Grand. Heather orders her usual, green curry noodles, and washes it down with yummy Thai iced tea. I enjoy a yellow curry seafood noodle dish that could easily feed three people!

Our bellies full, we head to Keith and Susan's house in Minneapolis where we visit over Keith's delicious homemade chai. A perfect wrap up to our visit to see friends and family in the Twin Cities.

Day 4 - September 6th, 2010 Chesterfield, MO-St. Paul, MN

2010-09-10T21:20:00.000-07:00

We got an early start this morning beating the breakfast bar staff to their post, so we grab some food for the road. The spoiled cats fuss about leaving the luxury of our hotel suite that we've had for the past two nights, but it's time to saddle up for a long haul to the Twin Cities. The cats settle down pretty quickly after their morning "crawly-time". This is the time you must block them from doing such things as slinking under the gas or brake pedal, as their favorite spot is under the driver's seat. This spot is protected from the big, bad 18 -wheelers that ply the byways, and of course the terrifying windshield wipers. Orzo will head for cover anytime the wipers are in use, Gnocchi could care less.

We make it to St. Paul in good time and meet both the Lepinski/Buse Parental Units, including Heather's brother Keith, and his girlfriend Jessie at India Palace for dinner. Singh, the General Manager, still remembers us from catering our wedding nine years ago! Bellies full, and content with good company we make it back to the Buse geo-desic dome for some much needed sleep.

Day 3 - September 5th, 2010 Chesterfield, MO

2010-09-10T21:16:00.001-07:00

Congratulations Bryan and Carina!! Heather and I were grateful to be witness to your special day.

Day 2 - September 4th, 2010 Newport, TN- Chesterfield, MO

2010-09-08T05:06:00.000-07:00

Gnocchi keeps watch of the road on the dash for a spell

It is slow going through Kentucky’s rolling hills pulling the trailer and maxing out at 35-40mph on the uphills and 70mph on the downhills. Today the cats discover that they can go underneath the seats in the cab and they use this safe house to hole-up in most of the afternoon, sleeping as if they were home. We are glad that they are getting more comfortable.

Orzo licks his chops as Gnocchi stands unimpressed by the road kill

Heather looks into the sunrise as we saddle up for the day

As we enter St. Louis we enjoy the many views of the arch, crossing the many bridges that span the Mississippi. Heather plays camera-man as I direct the exact moment to snap pictures of the arch. We avoid the backlight angle and wait patiently for the money shots that can be had at 55mph, pulling a trailer with two squirmy cats crawling all over you.

Gnocchi provides ample distraction before she holes down into her kennel for the balance of the day

When we finally make it to the hotel we set up the cats in their suite and run off to the Groom’s dinner. After parking a couple doors down in a pet hotel/veterinarian’s office - how ironic it was to have 20 pair of cat eyes watching our U-haul - we ran across the lawn of a storage facility, chasing a rabbit as we skip like little kids to the restaurant. We enjoy a wonderful evening of culinary delights and good company with Carina, Bryan and their families.

Alaska or Bust- From Charlotte to Anchorage: Day1 - Sept. 3rd, 2010 Charlotte, NC- Newport, TN

2010-09-07T07:27:00.000-07:00

Thank you everyone who helped pack up our whole house into a seventeen foot U-haul and clean our place! We rented it the first day we tried!

The sun hangs low over the smug-sized skyline of the Queen City, the perfect canvas for the rich warm colors of sunset to bleed to the edges of the western sky- a giant beacon calling us to head for the mountains, for the first leg of our journey to Anchorage.

Orzo stands at full height looking for prey in the ditch and Gnocchi finds something of interest out the side window

The seventeen foot U-haul with mom’s attic groans under the weight of all our belongings, including a trailer with “Cassandra”, our white Honda Civic Hybrid, and of course our two kitties, Orzo and Gnocchi. Gnocchi meows balefully, as Orzo punctuates her howls with staccato high pitch counterpoint meows. They keep time for the first little bit of the journey through the city and then begin to get used to the new vehicle. Gnocchi explores the floor beneath Heather’s feet pausing to sniff the litter box that is in her way. Orzo, curious to a fault, tiptoes across the dash from my seat to Heather’s, pausing right in the line of sight that Heather needed to keep this boat on track! She adjusts by straining to see around him and follow the curvy mountain highways at speed. It was one of these curves that causes our “nimble” cat, Orzo to slip as if he was a cartoon character on a banana peel and he lands with claws dug deep into Heather’s leg! Things cool down and the cats get used to their temporary home on wheels.

Gnocchi rests her head on the U-haul steering wheel

"The Best Anniversary Present Ever!"

2010-08-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

At the end of a ten long days in a row of work I found myself smiling ear to ear when Al, my manager, said he would contribute $450 towards a last minute plane ticket to see my wife for a long weekend! Our anniversary falls on August 4th and I had booked a flight and car rental to Charlotte without a peep to her. In my frenzy to make it to the airport I had no time to call her and check-in for the night, and once at the Anchorage International Airport I quickly surmised how impossible it would be to carry a conversation while going through the lengthy security line without her asking such questions as: "Why is it so noisy; What are you doing?". The airport was hopping, as we are in the height of the tourist season now. So I shot off a quick text: "I'm on my way to the Kenai Peninsula and will not have cell phone coverage, going on a camping trip, probably won't be able to talk until later Sunday" Sixteen hours later with a sleepwalking stop in Dallas, I finally made it to Charlotte and got a set of subcompact Toyota Yaris wheels. So away I went calling her immediately around noon, the usually morning check-in time with the four-hour time difference. I made small talk with her at first, asking about Charlotte's weather as I drove from the airport the heat causing me to use A/C for the first time in a month.

She was a little perturbed with me at first since I had been neglecting her the past two days and not adhering to the twice a day call schedule. When asked where I was, I quickly scrambled into what Heather calls "Liarhead" mode: "I'm in Soldotna now". "You stayed in a tent last night with bears around?", she asked. "No I stayed in a cabin that Lifetouch rents out occasionally", a white mouse lie based on fact. She asked what I was doing today, and I told her that hiking and breathing in fresh air was on the menu for today. She fixated on the bear danger again probably fueled by my most recent sighting of a black bear on the Turnagain Arm Trail while running. The bear when presented with my whooping and standing ovation took a disinterested bow and lumbered on sticking to the trail for another 100 yards before sauntering off up the hill. "I have bear spray and don't worry I'll put it on my hip", I assured her. It was at this moment on the Wilkinson Parkway in Charlotte, NC that I took a quick turn in CVS Pharmacy and explained to Heather in a very convincing liarhead: "I'm going into a convenience store in Soldotna to pickup a few supplies for the trail", when in actuality I was getting some listerine for our first kiss that was going to happen in fifteen minutes in my estimation.

"I'm Melting", in a good way!

All did not go as planned... When I made it to our street I started rummaging for my camera as I was going to be a papparazzi at first and take some "belly" shots. But she heard the rummaging and got a little perturbed as it can be quite loud with the bluetooth headpiece system. When I finally made it to the door and knocked, having put the cell phone in my armpit to keep the cover up as long as possible, she didn't say anything at first. I knocked again, and finally she acknowledged that someone was at the door, and that she wasn't going to get it because she was still in her P.J.s, so I went into full liarhood mode and laid it out. I told her that I had sent a package for our anniversary and wanted her to open it while I was on the phone. "Just get the door", I pleaded. She peeked her head into the living room and saw the yaris and informed me that their was a strange car in the driveway. I told her "Don't worry just get the package on the porch" as I was stooping low on the porch, sweating bullets in the muggy charlotte sun. I wanted to laugh out loud this was so crazy, to be locked out of my own house with my woman on the other side of the door afraid to come out!

Finally I coaxed her out and my heart pounded with excitement faster then the high-speed shutter bursts from my camera as she peeked out from around the door. Her face started with a funky deer-in-the-headlights look then waxed into a smile and finally went into a full melt down as she put her hand to the camera and we embraced and kissed, her tears of joy tasting salty as we kissed. I guess the listerine got rid of the sixteen hour flight breath! After I calmed her down I told her about my plans for today and tomorrow and told her to start packing.

Panoramic view of the Blue Ridge Mountains from Mount Pisgah Inn

The adventure itinerary begins with a trip to Lake Lure, then dinner with our friends the Brewsters who just got a new dog Mac, and then berry-picking along the parkway with lunch at Mount Pisgah Inn. Finally back to Charlotte for an encore of friends and neighbors and time together...

French Broad River at Chimney Rock

Heather as Eagle

Heather found the perfect rock nook

Blueberry-picking time!

A little tart but hey made a yummy mixed berry crisp

Horses near Chimney Rock

The "Mac-attack" is out

Kimberly is the New Executive Director of the Friends of West N. Carolina Nature Center

Congratulations Akimbo!!

Tom is about to dig into the fabled Apple Cobbler at Pisgah Inn

A desert spread at Pisgah Inn is not complete without some French Silk Pie, "beyond-rich" is the only way to describe this confection

The Brewsters and Merewoods chilling in the berry-patch above graveyard fields

Talkeetna and Mat-Su

2010-08-09T18:44:00.002-07:00

Gather up your dogs the dogcatcher is coming!

What is it like to live at the end of a 15 mile cul-de-sac, where the population in the winter hovers around 300 and balloons to over 3,000 in the summer?

Talkeetna is a Native word that means: “Where the rivers join”. The Talkeetna, Chulitna, and Susitna Rivers all join near this originally Tanaina Indian village. The European settlers made this a mining settlement in 1896, which predates the later settlement of Anchorage and Wasilla. The gold rush along the Susitna brought many prospectors to the area, and eventually a steamboat station was built, followed by the construction of the Alaska Railroad in 1915-19. The population boomed to 1,000 before falling sharply with the completion of the railroad and the advent of World War I. The whole town was placed on the National Registry of Historic Places in 1993. Many of the surviving log buildings are historic landmarks with a story.

One such historic building is the Fairview Inn, established in 1923. The self-proclaimed “Heart of Talkeetna”. It has the dubious honor of hosting Former President Warren C. Harding: “he stopped for lunch briefly before pass[ing] away”, proclaims their website. My interests lie in the visual candy that this bar/inn offers up: a stuffed bison head, a bearskin, a picture of the women of Talkeetna, who in 1983 where served free drinks compliments of the Playboy crew that was in town, and a 5 cent slot machine gleaming with a polish only oily hands bent on winning over the many decades could produce. This place is an original. Much like my traveling companion Mark Turner, a former Talkeetnite of two years. We are here to drink in the past, and I can see it washing over Mark as the smells, and the stories of the people that still linger here overwhelm him, but so much has changed too. Mark asks after many people to learn that many of them have passed, his favorite pizza place burned down. Somebody left a candle burning upstairs and the result: a hollow burnt out shack. The whole town has morphed from a funky amalgam of Athabascan native culture meets west coast granola mixed with some of the families that settled in the railroad and mining days of yore to a more tourist-oriented mecca. Princess Tours has an office in town and other outfits bring tourists by the busload. They come to imbibe the sweet nectar that is small town Alaskan charm, and their dollars flood the local economy during the summer months to ebb as winter approaches. The railroad spur here leads into the heart of Denali country. It is here that climber’s dreams build up steam to the summit.

Imagine the flood of climbers from all over the world descending upon this town, full of piss and vinegar. The Brits would try to drink each other under the table. They would start full of life and weeks later after they cast their lot against the force that is Denali they came back a shadow of themselves, having spent weeks at altitudes with less than half the oxygen found at sea level, and the grueling regime of up then back down that is required to acclimatize and prepare for the final summit bid. I know in my heart that I don’t need to climb to such heights, having climbed to the top of Gokyo Ri with Heather in 2000 to view the pantheon of 8,000m + giants. We made it to just shy of 18,000 ft. and I had a pretty good headache and felt queezy but in awe of the serpentine shape of the longest glacier in the world wrapping it hulking mass from Tibet into Nepal. This glacier framed a scene of such massive peaks including Mankalu, Mt. Everest, Cho Oyu, and Kangchenjunga. It was a clear day, cold, and afforded perfect views into the heart of the Himalayas. My little Pentax K1000 did its manual magic and worked in spite of the battery-numbing cold. Heather was a trooper having agreed to go to such heights. Our trip to New Zealand, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Bangladesh, and India was culminating in this effort to see the top of the world- Nepal. The whole journey we kidded each other, that it was a “test, if we could put up with each other for nearly six months of arduous backpack-style travel, we must be meant for each other”. It has proved true; we’ve survived a whole year living a 4 hours drive apart from each other in Minnesota, to her loony idea to move to North Carolina to be a “wild wings educator” at Charlotte’s Carolina Raptor Center, to my crazy idea to move to Alaska and start my new position as AK’s photo manager and leave her and the cats behind for two months! We have had many adventures and I know in my heart that I have found my lifelong companion. She completes me. She is steadiness and stability in any situation, and at the top of a mountain with half of the oxygen is no exception! She cared more for my welfare then her own, asking after me as I struggled with headaches.

Denali is a completely different mountain than Everest, it is much more massive. Denali towers 18,000 feet from its base to its peak, whereas Everest is only 12,000 feet from its base to the summit. Everest reaches its great heights with a giant assist from a high plateau that is its foundation. Denali by contrast is taller and more massive but does not get a giant assist to send it over the edge when measured from sea level. When measured from sea level, Mauna Kea on Hawaii’s Big Island is the tallest on earth rising 32,808 ft. above the sea floor. I could not even see Denali today. Mark had this picture in his head that he bagged years ago, when he shot film. It was Denali in the background and the foreground was the Susitna river leading the eye right into McKinley. Today would not be the day to bag this shot. The clouds completely veiled the majesty of the mountain.

Alaska is the last frontier, when it comes to America at least. This fact was visually reinforced when Mark packed a caliber handgun I had never seen in my life into his rucksack. I asked him: “What’s the gun for?” He gave me a quizzical look and said “bears?!” To which I replied sardonically: “Don’t you have to be an amazing shot or you’ll just piss off the bear more?” He grinned back showing some of his well-worn, tobacco-stained teeth. Well, I didn’t have bear spray and I kinda liked the idea of Mark walking down Main St. Talkeetna slinging a gun on his hip so I acquiesced. We hopped into my Honda passport that I just acquired in a trade with my landlady, Suzan. I provided her beautiful pictures of one of her properties that she had up for sale. I did the full work up providing beautiful lighting with three flashes: one stationed outside one of the windows to the room with a warm gel to replicate the look of the sun beaming through the window at a low angle. She loved the images and so now I had full access to her oldest daughter’s car that had a tricked out bumping- bass car stereo system with mp3-ready miniphone jack. Of course we were styling as the bass was bumping bringing my ipod to life with tunes from Nina Simone, Michael Franti, and Dead Can Dance interweaved with some bluegrass and folk, much to the chagrin of Mark whose face contorted into a veritable pucker when blue strings started strumming. But he let it ride as we hit the highway with The Mammals blaring with puffy bass. Pioneer Peak showing its full glory today. Awesome, I can totally see Heather and I living out in the valley.

We head to the Knik River, crossing the swollen glacier and snowmelt fed river as our stomachs rumble from the yummy fresh Matanuska Creamery Ice Cream we had the night before. The river has rebelled against any confinement of its banks of late. One fella who has lived here nearly 30 years has found most of his land swallowed up by the river and the water is only 50 feet from his house! He can’t sell and he refuses to leave as the water rises, he stands as a captain going down with the ship. Alaskans are tough and rebelous lot. I wonder what I would do in the face of a force of nature endangering our house. Part of me sees some convoluted plan to harness the rivers energy, but in the end we would just be adrift, our foundation being eaten up by the turbid water of the Knik.

The Mammals give way to some Michael Franti and the whole car bumps with bass and lyrics tuned to a spiritual reckoning. Our first stop was to visit Marie, Mark’s significant other at the Matanuska Creamery. I had already enjoyed a pound of fresh cheese curds from the creamery and loved the idea of sampling more of their fine products. I picked out some garlic and herb cheese curd per Marie or should I say “Cream-Marie’s” suggestion? I was then offered Alaskan Honey Ice Cream straight from the mixing vat and I melted right there- Yummy!!! We left the creamery greeted by sunny weather and big grins on our faces.

After filling up at $3.32/gallon- ouch! Mark thought it was time to fix the passenger side door that wasn’t quite to spec anymore and the upper half let a lot of road/wind noise infiltrate the cabin of the passie. He proceeds to apply his considerable heft to the door while torqueing it towards him. The result: a door that no longer was noisy, but would not shut properly!! I yelled out “dude”. He proceeded to explain that he braced the door with his knee while he applied the weight, and that the door was like that etc. “Ok, don’t worry about it”, wondering how I was going to explain this to my landlady, but that was for another day. I think all Alaskans dabble in the fine art of auto body repair. Many of them figure the value of their car and the cost of the repair is so prohibitive that they have nothing to lose if they “fix” it. Mark made up for the mishap by going into full tour guide mode as he explained how he was a lumberjack felling trees in this very forest to build log cabins. He lit up when I told him that we might build a log cabin on some land at the outskirts of Anchorage and he pledged to help. His wages back in the 80’s for felling trees was $1 to fell and another to skid, and I think he said another to run it through a debarker. What a crazy job.

The closer we got to Talkeetna the more cloudy and less promising the weather became until we knew that we wouldn’t be able to see Denali. But in the end the journey with Mark and his stories augmented with a soundtrack that brought on cue Dead Can Dance as we rolled through the landscape; a whirling dervish of chant and beat that intertwined in a spirit dance. It was the perfect mix for a journey to the confluence of three rivers.

Alaskan Wildflowers Lit by the Midnight Sun

2010-07-25T15:42:00.000-07:00

Walk into a field of wildflowers sometime and you'll be amazed by the infinitude. So many different stages of a flower's life unfolding and changing before your very eyes! This one is performing a sun salutation.

I visit this hill side when the sun decides to poke its head out behind the many clouds that seem to bear hug Anchorage as of late. The 10:30pm or 11:00pm sun brings this field alive, as the lights create a dance of highlight and shadow and everything in between.

Color drips with saturation on this rich Buttercup.

The full Wildflower shoot will be posted in my Portfolio

You are welcome to purchase any of these photos to help us raise the funds to move!!

Companions in the late day sun

First birth, then tickling, and finally adulthood

Clinging to Death

Wolverine Peak Vantage Panoramic

2010-07-22T19:35:00.000-07:00

This image from Wolverine Peak is comprised of 15 images and spans a 180 degree view of Turnagain Arm on the far left to Chugach State Park in the foreground, giving way to the grid of streets that is Anchorage, and the Cook Inlet beyond, with Anchorage's quite sentinel: Mt. Susitna in the background.

Please go to my website for a larger version of this and others:

http://www.harvestlightphoto.com

All Photographs are for sale! Email for inquiries.

Click on the Alaska link...

7/5- The Ascent of Wolverine Peak

2010-07-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

Wolverine Peak 4,530 ft

I was told that bear spray was the most effective way to deter a bear from charging you and ripping one into a shadow of a ragdoll. A prudent hiker going into an area where only a week ago a sow had mauled and killed a hiker who was protecting her cubs, would have prepared, and stocked up on bear spray, noisemakers, and even a good old Saturday night special. Well prudence has never been my middle name, its Gregory, as in gregarious and plenty loud with my big old hiking boots to announce my presence.

Bluebells I believe they're called

The big hike idea begins with Dennis Buller, my right-hand man at the AK Lifetouch office. He’s describing how to get there using typical Anchoragisms: you head towards the mountains on Tudor Rd., you look for the moose that’s always hanging out at the corner of Baxter and Campbell Airstrip Rd. then take a right and go over a fork of the Campbell River. “The road turns into Basher Rd., named after this guy who just bashed down everything he came across on his property so they named the road after him… keep going like 4 or 6 miles until you come to the power lines, the trailhead parking lot is on the right after the power lines” explains Dennis. I ask Dennis: “Are you hoping that I get mauled by a bear so you can be the Photo Manager?” We laugh together as he explains how to avoid the area where the mauling took place. So I arrive safely at the Basher Rd. trailhead access to Chugach State Park. The goal: climb Wolverine Peak, (elevation 4530ft.), photograph moose and other wildlife, and enjoy the sun while it lasts. Cloudy/rainy weather seemed to be the staple weather pattern until today. I get going at a brisk pace following the power lines until they drop right down into a ravine. I hear the creek far below, a chill goes up my spine as I think of the mauling that happened below. The plan: stay up on the ridge and keep it moving, which is hard since every bunch berry, and flower begs to be photographed as the morning dew still clings to their thinly veiled sex organs. The trail splits many times, and I happily follow a path that keeps me away from the creek below. At some point the trail plunges downwards and I reluctantly follow as I worry about the creek area, but soon realize that this is just a wetter drainage not the spine-chilling creek heard earlier. This would be prime moose habitat, but today their tracks and milk-dude scat are all I see of them.

Bunchberry: I'm too early for yummy little berries

1/2 million-acre Chugach State Park overlooks Anchorage and provides welcome respite from city-slicking life

The trail begins a steady ascent as I look over to the north to see hikers on the spine of near point, a pleasant hike to the a panoramic hilltop. I choose a more strenuous hike to Wolverine that Dennis said would take me all day. The trees and shrubs became more stunted and the bunchberries became scrappy little white flowers holding on for dear life as the wind whipped. Should I put on another layer? The answer came by meeting a couple who was decked our in their gore-tex jackets. My sweaty t-shirt serves me another 100yds. And then a gale-force wind from the north nearly lays me down on the cairn marking the intersection of the wolverine peak trail at the ridge. My hands fumble with my gore-tex jacket and long- sleeve shirt as I weigh my options. Should I pussy out here and head back down, tie myself off to this cairn and become a human kite, or head up the steep trail? I choose to go forward chasing a group of hikers already up on the scree. The hunter becomes the hunted as a mountain trail runner approaches from below. She runs to the scree then power walks until she meets me halfway up the mountain. A gopher greets me with an alarm call as I get my wind-frozen hands to operate long enough to take a few frames on the gopher scurrying to another hiding place. The wind whips and threatens to blow me off the mountain, with every lash I hold firm waiting it out, but soon there is no lull in the wind and I must plod forward leaning hard into the gale. I catch up to the group of three hikers. One of them is wearing shorts. He sprints ahead then waits for the other two to catch up, his legs chapping with every step up the scree. The other two: a girl wearing a pack that would last me on a three day trip, and her boy companion walks with her packless. I jokingly ask why “the girl” why she was required to carry the heavy pack. She answers: “It matches my eyes”. We talk about the wind and the view then I get on my way.

Ground Squirrel, and it's little one are alert to my presence on the trail

I think of all the things I would acquire if I allowed myself to match these items to my eyes. A mountain of hunter green and azure blue camping and outdoor gear extends to the clouds on my back, and soon I’m paragliding to the top of Wolverine peak buoyed by the friendly gale-force wind to the applause of the gophers amongst the rocks. Reality sets back in as the wind lays me low, a not so subtle slap to the face after letting my mind wander. As the body aches the mind seeks respite in the tall tales of the mind.

A thin rusted skeleton frame of a plane with a desiccated tail sits as a reminder of a disaster on this mountain pass. I know that the small planes can’t go real high up. Their cabins aren’t pressurized, so 3,000 to 5,000 ft. tends to be their max altitude. Wolverine Peak has an elevation of 4,530ft. A plane coming over the Chugach Range instead of over Turnagain Arm would just barely clear this elevation. The wind itself would nearly slow the plane to a stand still. Very rough swirling squalls could’ve buffeted the plane and sent it into the heart of Wolverine Peak. The wreck makes for an interesting leading line into a landscape of mountains, inlet, and the grid of anchorage streets far below. The muscles are burning now but I gain the ridge and just have the spine to the peak to complete, there is some shelter here, but every time I pass a rock gully the wind finds me and stings me to tears.

Anchorage and the city street grid far below

The final steps to the summit I reserve for the moment, plopping down in the lee of the summit to grab a clif bar and other quick energy confections as I ready my freezing camera equipment for some panoramic images. After bagging the 180 degrees towards Anchorage, I climb to the summit and get met with a wall of wind that is hardly deterred by my clothing, sapping vital body heat from me by the second. The mountain air rushes into my lungs and I quickly take pictures of a valley that leads to a snowmelt-fed lake. My eyes are full of tears begging the wind to relent and just like that I’m hopping like a sheep down the spine of the mountain, trying not to be too exuberant in my gallop lest I take off and never come back. In less than fifteen minutes I gain the ridge below, and begin my descent towards the tree line. A string of people are now making their way up the trail, many stop at the cairn and turn to go back down after experiencing a few moments of the wind’s fury. But a stout few continue up the slope where I just loped down like a dall sheep.

A snowmelt lake and stream facing east from the summit

The rest is child’s play, but on the way I pass many parties from families to grizzled-looking-mountain men, to happy-go-lucky labs with saddle packs. The final stretch brings me to the power lines again, but this time my canter causes a disgorgement of my camelback and miscellaneous camera equipment goes flying out into chest-high brush. After searching for fifteen minutes I find everything but the lens hood for my 70-200mm 2.8 lens and in the process have cause a beaver-like flattening of the weeds on the side of the trail. Fate brings me a family on their way up the trail. Just when I think of giving up, one of the preteen kids comes running around the corner. He holds in his hand the lens hood and a big grin. I thank him and make it back to the Basher Rd. trailhead in one piece with all my gear eye-matching or not, and a sense of accomplishment at having climbed to the top of such a formidable peak.

Signs of moose on the trail as I head back down

7/1-7/4: Hot Rodding into Anchorage; the Journey Continues at Full Speed!

2010-07-11T16:36:00.000-07:00

For those of you just starting to follow this blog: Welcome! It has been a journey that has brought me to some of the most beautiful and remote corners of Alaska, and now the journey continues… This time, my wife Heather, and my two cats Gnocchi and Orzo will join me on a new adventure here in Anchorage, Alaska. We are moving and most likely will call Anchorage home for many years. At the moment I am serving as the scout, laying the foundation for a successful navigation to a “country” that is changing rapidly. The mission: to make friends, find a home, and in the professional arena: hire, train, and inspire a team of photographers as we approach our fall portrait season at Lifetouch.

A Rare True Bungalow in Merry Oaks

Meanwhile, Heather is leading the charge on the home front to sell our cute bungalow on Longfellow St. in Charlotte. If you know anyone that likes the idea of being near the queen city, yet feeling like they’re in the country, send them our way. It is a unique 1920 bungalow on a large double lot with a large workshop. Huge willow oaks, and red oaks are joined by their fecund pecan, apple, fig, peach, and plum trees neighbors to give the homestead added character. Our street dead ends into the back of Merry Oaks Elementary School and has only 9 houses on the block. Friendly neighbors abound on this block and we help each other out. We will dearly miss our house, neighbors, and many friends, but look forward to a bright new chapter of our lives in Alaska!

I’ve been in Anchorage for ten days and already I’ve seen things from interesting perspectives. After settling into the office for a couple days I had a long July 4^th weekend to play and see more of the area. I decided to contact Mark Turner, the very first person to greet and welcome me to Anchorage last Fall when I came up to cover bush photography schedules serving the Kotzebue and Upper Peninsula communities. The adventure: Hot Rod Racing! Mark one of the official photographers at nearly all of the Palmer International Hot Rod Association Track.

Mark Turner, Hot Rod Photographer!

The track sits on a heroic piece of land with Pioneer Peak, the largest peak in the Matanuska Valley as a backdrop. Anything with an internal combustion engine is raced on this frontier drag strip: snowmobiles, motorcycles, H20 cooled vw beetles, jet engine propelled cars, nitrous supercharged vehicles, every stock car you can imagine busting out with a supped-up engines, dragracer supercharged vehicles, and their pint-sized versions for the sons and daughters of the big daddies. Mark introduced me to a whole sub-culture that revolved around the quest for speed and style.

This member of the "Old Geezers' Motorcycle Club" enjoys a Coke on this rainy race day.

Tatum Sidewinder Ruiz waits his turn to burn rubber on the shorter 1/8 mi. run for kids. His supped-up "go-cart" will max out around 70mph!

The Nevada Rattler Crew Waits out the rain

Rickie Ruiz packs one of the Nevada Rattler's two parachutes. He checks the car inch by inch from front bumper to parachutes for any imperfections.

The Nevada Rattler's Engine

I was introduced to the crew of the Nevada Rattler and the Alaskan Grizzly Bear, the marquee contenders who were paid to bring the crowd to their knees with the ear-deafening rumble their engines produced as these dragsters reached top speeds of over 200mph during their ¼ mile run! As Mark observed: “Everything in your body tells you to run”, when one of the big daddy racers comes barreling down the track. Another turn of phrase he used: “They make you want to pee your pants and run for your mommy”, I’m paraphrasing here, since many of these aphorisms were peppered with colorful words. A few points while photographing the races the rumble of the cars actually caused Mark’s camera drive to malfunction and not actuate the shutter!

Tatum Sidewinder Ruiz's car stalled and needed a mechanical jump start

Pre-race inspection on 7/3 at the Alaskan Raceway sees overalls to sunday dresses

The races started tame enough. We donned our orange-colored vests as our badges of courage and “safety”. Mostly we just looked cool in the pit wearing these vests and slinging several thousands of dollars worth of camera gear. I was Mark’s shadow in the beginning learning where to be and where not to be. I told him point blank that if he every saw me doing something bone-headed to get my attention by waving like a madman. Which was not to hard for him since he had lots of practice doing this sort of thing the weekend before to “ruin” the shots of another photographer who he was seeking revenge on, for breaking the code of race photography by getting in his shots. I wasn’t sufficiently hydrated to mark my territory on every guard-rail, speaker post, or cement square.

A Full Burn-out leaves no trace of the crowd of people, cars, and R.V.s here at the Alaskan Raceway

Chris Ruiz visualizes his run

The testosterone was thick and the smoke from the burn-outs choked me at first, but I got some great shots at wide-angles and close to the cars as they burned rubber in the water box. I observed Mark’s style and saw the artist shine through as he practically did pirouettes dancing a fast-paced tango with the cars as he thrust forward with confidence to get a low-angle shot his partner, the smokin’ car, thrust forward repelling his advance with rippling slick tires and over a ton of energized steel, chrome, and rumbling tailpipes. I used some of his dance steps and made up my own dance and reveled in the noxious yet intoxicating eau de nitrous my partner sprayed before she began her dance. I captured wheelies, cars enveloped in a vulcanized veil of smoke, long burn-outs by the big daddy dragsters, the people, the breakdowns, and the larger environmental shots. I was in the pit just a few feet from cars that took-off with such torque that their rear drive tires rippled and warped testing the bolts that held the tires to the rims! My favorites included “The Grim Reaper”: great burn-outs and edgy starts with wheelies; the maude 40’s-style roadster that popped a wheelie and shimmied sideways making straight for me at the rail as I sidled away from the strip, the Doo-Rah Racing mobile that I captured in its full-motion glory, and of course the Classic ’55 Chevy. I can see why this photography is such an attraction to Mark. As the day of racing draws to a close I leave a little early to make it to a July 4^th celebration at Campbell Lake in Anchorage.

AK-Day 25/26 Prince William Sound, Soldotna to Homer

2009-11-20T20:00:00.000-08:00

AK-Day 25/26 Prince William Sound_Soldotna to Homer

Blustery Prince William Sound

Well my time in Alaska is winding down. I will miss the spunk of the locals, the beautiful vistas, the amazing wildlife to be found around every corner!! But truly it is time to get back home and see my wife and tend to the home for a while.

Did I mention that it is downright frigid here, with unseasonably cold weather. Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula have been experiencing a cold blast that brought temperatures below 0. The up shot is that I had relatively clear weather for my flight into Prince William Sound. Often the Sound is shrouded in fog this time of year, unless a cold, high-pressure system clears it out. I scored another bush flight by signing on to take school portraits at the small settlements of Tatitlek and Chenega Bay. I was rewarded with a flight over the Chugach Mountains, Turnagain Arm, Kenai Peninsula, and finally Prince William Sound. The school district chartered this flight to fly their principal, science camp consultant, P.E. coordinator, a teacher, supplies for the next couple of weeks, and my whole photography studio. The little Navajo was close to its weight capacity, so the pilot opted to follow Turnagain Arm and over a pass rather than fly straight over the mountains to Prince William Sound.

Sunrise over Turnagain Arm

Props to Prince William Sound

An Avalanche waiting to happen

I snapped away savoring the co-pilot seat as we made our way towards Prince William Sound. The only obstacle to good shots seemed to be the props on either side of the plane. A wonderland of glaciers, mountains and an early morning sky lit the landscapes beautifully. While I could rest now on the plane and enjoy the scenery, I knew that once I landed it would be wide open to setup, photograph the school, and pack up and be back to the landing strip at Tatitlek in less than two hours. The principal only seemed interested in making conversation with me around the fact that I must make haste. I told him not to worry, I would be the king of efficiency. The science consultant, Alan, and the P.E. coordinator, Kirstin both helped me organize the students or setup/pack-up my gear. Even with the speedy schedule I was able to do a nice group picture outside in the cold, with mountains and sound vignetted by trees in the background. The school loved the change of pace, usually they were photographed under their deck!

A "Clear" Prince William Sound

The second location, Chenega Bay according to the pilot was wiped off the map by a tsunami after the 1964 earthquake. The town was totally rebuilt in a new location further south in the sound, nestled between a few hills. Today heavy winds and low cloud ceiling threatened to keep us for the night. The pilot exclaimed: “we just made it.” I asked him if he meant we just made it over the hill or… he explained: “the cloud ceiling is dropping, and another half an hour and we wouldn’t have made it out”. I was a little worried because I overheard him relating to Kirstin how he had landed on this landing strip and his brakes wouldn’t respond. Apparently it was an ice rink. He was by himself carrying cargo only. Normally when this happens the pilot just takes of again. But he was past this window of opportunity and the end of the landing strip was fast approaching. In theory he could stop by spinning out like one of those BMW professional drivers on a closed course. Gunning one engine and putting the other in reverse (?), he could rudder like a canoe and turn around and face the other direction. He pulled the maneuver and flipped a bitch in a $300,000 twin-engine Navajo. The consequence of crashing it would be termination and most likely black-listing in AK. As landing strip end lights were passed the plane groaned to a halt. This story seemed to be working the necessary magic on Kirstin. Their flirting was in overdrive leading to a “walk” to show him around Chenega Bay, and an invitation for this Friday for another walk.

Kirstin describes how my packing of the wing compartment has caused us to fly with a sagging attitude, apparently a tag was poking out a little!

Tatitlek

By the second school, I had everybody working like a well-oiled machine. The principal wrote on the evaluation: “The most organized and efficient photographer we’ve had. I’ve been here for nine years”. We loaded the up the Navajo, a much easier job with less passengers and gear. An adult bald eagle flew over as we finished up and headed to the top of the runway. I took a few frames of the eagle as we took off, wondering as we wizzed by what he was thinking of the Navajo. The flight back afforded some of the best scenery to date. We flew right over the mountains as we made our way to Anchorage.

We landed in Anchorage without incident and my day was just halfway over. I still had to drop these jobs and some of my equipment at the office, then grab a background for my groups job tomorrow all the way back in Soldotna on the Kenai peninsula. I flew over the Kenai to get back to Anchorage!

The drive to Soldotna would bring me over some familiar ground as I had driven to Seward the first weekend after photographing the Lake and Peninsula School District. However, this time the roads would be slick with winter fully set in. Three hours later and no circulation to my fingers I pulled up to my reserved cabin in the woods. Awesome!!!

The next day I photographed “Wow! Groups” at Cook Inlet Academy, a Christian school in Soldotna. Their day began with a pledge to the “Christian Flag” as well as the American Flag. The staff and students enjoyed doing the more relaxed family-style group posing. The Senior group featured a guy dressed as a pirate and a few of the girls grabbed some pumpkins from their recent fall banquet. Inspired by the props and posing, the seniors relaxed and it showed more of the relationship and personality of this class. A very enjoyable picture day!!

Mt. Illiamna

Mt. Redoubt

I made a deal with the Anchorage territory to arrange to have the rental car for two extra days so that I could cruise the rest of the Kenai Peninsula to Homer. The drive was beautiful affording excellent views of the volcanoes: Mt. Illiamna and Mt. Redoubt. I made it to Homer just in time for sunset. I headed straight for the spit to see if there was any eagle activity. I was not let down. Well there was not the crowds of eagles that you would find in the summer I enjoyed following a pair around the spit getting closer each "sitting". The sky was bumping, inspiring me to take a few landscapes between eagle shots.

An immature Bald eagle flies over Homer Spit

Finally I could "rub" two eagles together in one photo at Homer Spit

Kachemak Bay and Homer Spit

Kachemak Bay

AK-Day 13/24 Ambler/Anchorage: Sunset to Moonrise

2009-11-16T13:34:00.000-08:00

AK- Day 13/24 Ambler/Anchorage: Sunset to Moonrise

The sunsets in the Arctic region linger like a stone skipping a few times before it sinks into wavy water. The photons travel through a great deal more of earth’s atmosphere than in the lower 48. The result is many unusual displays: photons bending, refracting, shown through ice crystals. I captured an interesting phenomena as the sunset on my plane ride from Kobuk to Ambler. The sun-burst reminds me of how many of us drew the sun as children: long rays emanating from a crayola yellow-orange orb.

When in Ambler you must amble… After the picture day sessions I set out looking to capture a view of Ambler and the Brooks range that holds a vigilant watch to the north and spans over 100 degrees of the compass. Hiking along the road grew tiresome so I set off through a stand of aspen. A Bev Doolittle picture came alive before my eyes as I plotted the best angle to capture a particularly uppity stand of dwarf aspen that clung to the permafrost. Back on the road, I made my way further up the slope curious of every path that veered off the road. I had not encountered any Hondas, (four-wheelers) or trucks. It would appear that I had the hill to myself. At a fork in the road I looked both directions and saw a grove of trees that shepherded a number of crosses to my right. On approach I noted that the crosses seemed to all face the mountains, probably a significant totem to the Inuipaq of the region.

As I took a number of pictures of the scene, I made note of the crosses. They were clusters of family graves. I looked at the Ticketts’ clan site. A number of them died early: Rodney Tickett Jr. and Tony Tickett both died at 18 years of age, as did Derek Sam Reed. Why so many deaths in the late teens? I learned from Paul Clark, the principal at Deering School that the number one cause of death for teens is suicide, and that it often happens in May even as the ice is breaking up and spring is about to spring. Why at such a hopeful time of year, when things are about to spring back to life do they take their lives? He hypothesized that their diet might contribute. A lack of vitamin D causes SADS (Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome). Traditionally much of the Inuit diet consisted of seal, walrus, and whale. All have high amounts of vitamin D. With the advent of a more processed American diet, they were lacking in this key vitamin that is often produced by exposure to sunlight. Yet the sun shines so weakly and for such a short period in the winter that it does not trigger the necessary chemical reaction in the skin. Alcohol was a close second, as Paul observed and many others I spoke with: there is no such thing as a social drink here. You drink to get drunk and these teens had access to sno-gos and Hondas, insert any number of horror stories here. We might not have given them blankets laced with smallpox virus, but our culture can definitely have a devastating effect on this native population.

Early this morning my wife called, I had been expecting her to call. Her voice wavered, and I could tell she had been crying and it was everything she could do to keep it together to tell me the news I had been coming to expect over the last couple weeks. Our cat Miel had shown some signs of recovery but ultimately could not overcome the shutting down of his kidneys and severe anemia. “He got up and ate this morning”, reported Heather which was a major feat considering he could hardly use his hind legs these past couple days. I conjured up the image of our cat in my head with the recent surgeries he had: a shaved belly, and his two front feet were shaved so it looked as though he were wearing ugzs footwear. What a stylin’ cat to the end! We’ll have to add one more name to the growing list of names that he has earned over the years: Miel, Noodle, Udon noodle, Buddha, Buddha belly, Ugzs. What would be the secret name he keeps to himself ala the musical Cats? “I held him in the crook of my arm and he purred for a half an hour before we left for the vet” Heather described. Heather used to joke that she was the cuddler and I was his playmate as I goaded him up the six-foot high cat post as I would empty the basket of cat toys “playing rough” as Heather would call it with the cat. He would spike like a volleyball player the various balls I tossed at him until he grew tired and offered his Buddha belly to me to pet if I dare… The other night Heather, the great cuddler, had worked the cat up into a great purring frenzy and put the transmitter-side of the phone to his mouth. A warm purring rattled the phone and I could hear him gulping back some of his saliva as he does when he’s really happy and drools all over. At that moment I said goodbye to him, knowing that I would likely not see or hear him in the flesh again.

A full moon rose over the Brooks Mountains to the east. The air became chillier as I continued east looking for the best vantage to capture the moon as it rose. I choose some flowers that decorated a grave site and a grove of trees to vignette the frame, as the eye would be lead back to the mountains and moon against the rich blue sky. I lingered, captivated by the scene even though I knew I must be getting back in case the plane would arrive early. I skirted the hilltop, heading south following a four-wheeler trail. I took another composition of the moon, this time a dead tree, with a large stand of aspen in the middle ground that popped out like spirits hovering, waiting for the moon to give an order. I could sense another sound on the horizon, a Honda or a plane? I made my way back west running at times down the slope, hoping to make it to the main road so at least the maintenance guy could find me. My steps turned to large bounds padded by soft mukluk soles, the ground crunching under foot. Familiar landmarks raced by, would I make it? I made it to the road in time to see that it was indeed rush hour to the airport as a number of Hondas buzzed by with trailers jumping to the bumps that riddled the road. I ran again at a brisk pace as I approached town I could see the very large trailer pulled by a smiling maintenance man. I made it as I looked down to see that I was one glove short. I must of dropped it here on the main road since I had them all the way down the hill. He took me quickly back to the school to retrieve my camera bag that I left in the principal’s office. Sherry McKenzie, the principal saw my haste as I interrupted a meeting and told me that it was not my Bering Air flight. Witnessing the temperament of this maintenance guy, I knew that he would not waste any energy on loading my equipment into the trailer unless there was need. So I told her goodbye and ran to my waiting ride, knowing that the plane was early and I must hurry to catch it. The crunch and groan of the ice was audible over the hum of the engine. After dodging the minefield of potholes at the bridge, we went full throttle up the hill past a streak of aspen to the airport. Yes, we made it just in time! I saw the Bering Agent, Henry Mack loading some of the last of the gear in his truck. I had taken his portrait with his family the night before and smiled as we approached. Away to Kotzebue now, and more adventures…

I want to thank all of the people who supported Heather as she cared for our ailing cat. I especially want to thank Kimberly Brewster, who gave us courage and helped us ask the right questions during this difficult time. We are so happy to be supported by so many people. You guys are the best! I know that when any of you are in need of support we can be there for you. As for the kitten, he was truly an extraordinary cat with some dog tendencies mixed in. He had been with Heather and I since the very beginning and though we will miss him dearly, we recognize that it was his time. We were glad to share those many years with him as he kept life interesting by providing a warm lap and play routine that will be sorely missed.

AK-Day 19/20 Noatak to Kivalina

2009-11-12T20:55:00.000-08:00

AK-Day 19/20 Noatak to Kivalina

A winter storm is brewing outside as the windows whistle and creak, giving to the wind’s fury. A perfect “A” pitch whistle woke me a few times before I closed the offending window to the kindergarten classroom in McQueen school in Kivalina. The weather forecast calls for a winter storm with winds gusting above 40mph, and snow depth ranging from 6”-10”. Could this be the first snow to stick this season?

The peeled paint, exposed sub floor, and crumbling acoustic tile contrast sharply with a glistening smart board, personal macbooks for high schoolers, and wireless routers. Kivalina is at a watershed moment with the Chukchi Sea rising slowly due to global warming, and more importantly, the ice that typically shields Kivalina from the fury of the wind off the sea stays liquid longer and can than threaten the homes with flooding during late fall storms. Will Kivalina be able to deal with this rapid change or will it find itself adrift culturally and physically?

The Wulik River meets the Chukchi Sea

Rocks were bulldozed on the shore to create a barricade against the wrath of the Chukchi

They will not build a new school at Kivalina, because the town may not be here long enough to support the school. The school district cited falling enrollment when it scuttled its planned renovation of the school this past summer. Taking pictures I noted plenty of primary school kids and the number of students dwindling as I worked my way through the grades until there was just 4 seniors in a PK-12 school of 122 enrolled. Two of the seniors were pregnant. Qatuk, one of the 5^th year seniors who had buckled down the past couple years so that he’ll graduate this year, helped me shepherd the students to Dr. Al Fant’s science classroom. I took about every students’ and staffs’ portrait in the span of just over two hours. Some of them I took twice, a common occurrence in the bush, where “prepay” just doesn’t have that sound of urgency. So I’ve learned over time to enlist help with signing in the “retakers” so that their image will have “their wishes” as I’ve learned to term the: 1) pose selection, 2) color of the background, 3) package options etc. Qatuk has a light schedule, only coming in for half of the day to take a few classes. He kept order and noted any errors on the alpha cards, he knew everyone’s name. After finishing up school pictures I would quickly break down to setup for community pictures that would start at 5:30 pm. This would be another twelve hour plus day…

I began the day in Noatak, which is over the hills and east from here. After waking up from a good night’s rest cushioned on a mattress, rather than a thermarest, I felt refreshed. After packing up, and getting together a few breakfast snack items I was off to the library to reconfigure my studio from a family portraits’ set from the night before to the school portrait set. This would probably take at least twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes in I went back towards my room to find that the door was locked to that wing of the building that my posh classroom suite was on. So I went back to setting up with unfresh breath that I masked with some good earth tea, yum! Right as I was finishing up, a teacher that I told to meet me for his portraits just before 9 am was asking if I was ready. I told him I would be ready in a few minutes and noted that he was early. After finishing his portrait, the cafeteria staff came over to foist today’s breakfast on me senza meat. They had learned I am a “veggie”, as they term it, and knew I wouldn’t be partaking of the commodity beef special of the day. One of the cafeteria staff’s son had his portrait taken yesterday, and I was a rock star to her after getting a beautiful portrait of her special needs’ son smiling, looking into the camera, and folding his hands by his lap with his wheelchair covered up with my perfectly-matching grey sweater. The principal at Noatak sent the cafeteria staff member back, to help finish up lunch service, she left unsure how the portrait would turn out. About five minutes later, I called her back, looking warily towards the office to see if the principal was looking over. Satisfied his attention was elsewhere I waved her over hurriedly and she sprinted across the cafeteria into the safety of the library screened by my background for the moment. She positively rejoiced upon viewing her son’s portrait, and ran back after using a passing class as cover before reaching her kitchen. My belly stuffed with two breakfast mini-meals between portrait sittings, I greeted a Inuit man with a full carhhart lined jumpsuit that was drenched in the smell of the nearby Red Dog Mine: diesel, oil, and metallic dust combined to announce his mining occupation. I made another portrait of his son with his “wishes”, he was satisfied, his break from the mine drawing to a close. He thanked me and gave me a hearty hand-shake as we looked each other in the eyes, I noticed a metallic bead in the corner of each of his eyes. Away he went to continue the unearthing of lead and zinc, and I was back to extracting smiles using my own tools: a smile, jokes, and a sense of humility.

The Road to Red Dog Mine near its port on the Chukchi Sea, the road allows 200 ton trucks to ferry their loads to the global market place

The day was flying along after setting up, taking pictures, doing paperwork and checking-in with the office, meeting with the principal to discuss picture day, and breaking down to load it on a truck to catch the morning flight to Kivalina, where I would setup for school pictures while eating lunch in one hand, take all of the pictures anticipating a low turnout with the blizzard approaching that night, and then breakdown the school portrait setup. Finally, setup for family portraits while eating dinner in one hand. This is what the Beatles call a “Hard Day’s Night”, but it would afford me two half days before traveling again back to Kotzebue, Nome, and then to Anchorage. This is all assuming that I will be able to fly out tomorrow in these conditions.

A blown-snow eye view of Kivalina

Anthony Baldwin, the maintenance guy at Kivalina took all my gear to the landing strip. An obstinate honda pulling a large trailer, the vehicle of choice in the bush until the cold and snow set in.

After an eventful community portrait session, which ended with me resetting up after half breaking down the studio. I took the last portrait session of Arthur Swan Sr. with his wife, and what I assumed was their grandchild, but I’ve been totally wrong so many times with relationships that I no longer use them to give directions on posing but rather rely on actual names or joke names that lighten the mood. Too many times I’ve called someone “ big brother” or “big sister” and they are the mother or father! Two-Thirds of the families that came down were “Swans”. These Swans came regaled in full beaver and wolf fur parkies.

The natives have the right to take many animals that white hunters and trappers are not allowed to hunt. For instance, seals and walruses can be hunted, and with the advent of the gun, and snow-go, (snowmobile). They just shoot, and snow-go up to it hoping it doesn’t sink, if the walrus sinks they just continue shooting until they get one. The spear and buoy method that insured little or no waste has been abandoned for convenience. This waste is frowned upon in some quarters of the community, but they are not listened to... there is not much in this landscape so they take what they can get, forgetting their ethic of not wasting meat. In many native traditions, the animal is viewed as giving their spirit so that the native community members could survive. The natives do not term the taking of game as "killing" the caribou, for instance, but rather they "catch" the caribou.

This seal carcass in Buckland has been here since summer, it was shot, but sunk, when it was recovered the meat was spoiled. It now sits outside Donald's house, a student I met in Buckland.

A hide drying out in the crisp 0 degree air on a honda, this hide will be fashioned into some clothing or accessory most likely

A boy waits with his grandfather at the Kivalina Landing Strip

My hope is that the Inuipaq would shed some of the bad cultural trappings they have embraced from white society and fill them with some of their more noble traditions. But it has to be their idea, and led by their elders or youth. The white teachers and other support staff from the outside bring the promise of learning, but these teachings, to be successful have to be supported by the community. What if there were more Inuipaq role models in the schools and the community was harnessed? Volunteers could teach their traditions and integrate that into the curriculum so that the various subjects could hold meaning. Right now they mean nearly nothing to most of the students I met. Who knows, I might see some of these students next year and some of them will have made a decision to learn and ultimately graduate. But I only capture them for that brief moment and then I'm gone. And Kivalina is no different.

A Kivalina man goes "hooking" in the lagoon, maybe he'll catch some trout

Back to Anchorage...my last few images in the Arctic

Stay tuned in for more "prequel" blog posts.

AK- Day 10/11, Above the Arctic Circle

2009-11-03T00:56:00.000-08:00

AK- Day 10/11, Above the Arctic Circle: When I became Dog Food...

The buddhist axiom: "this too, shall pass", uttered by my friend Mark as he stood barefoot, in sandels with a couple feet of snow packed by winter sport enthusiasts under his cork-cushioned sandels.

Staying warm and happy: is it a state of mind?

Looking out at the Bering Sea beyond Kotzebue Sound

Mountains rise up above the tundra below

Landing in Kotzebue after early morning flight from Anchorage left me a little groggy but excited to behold more of the arctic; beyond the pre-dawn ice reflecting promonitions of a land actively and brutually shaped by fire, water, and ice.

This rugged landscape once kissed the Asian continent, and brought a people whose descendants still populate the Arctic to this day.

The Inuits I would be visiting lived "up river" along the life-giving banks of the Kobuk river. Guarded by the Brooks range to the north, these settlements were in prime caribou country, the primary source of protein for the region.

I would learn quickly, that a picture day "up-river was a very different affair then, Lake and Pennisula School district, and downright alien compared to a Charlotte, NC Picture day.

I traveled to Kotzebue, with another bush photographer, Paul. I learned that he is a conservation biologist that marked earlier chapters of his life. His travels brought him to Iran, India, and remote regions of Alaska among other places. He studied the intricate dance between predator and prey. His specialty was large cats. For instance he studied a species of lion that lives in a narrow range of teak forests in India. As his stories and nuggets of wisdom were shared over the more mundane pieces of logistical business we had here in "Kotz", I gained a respect for his view on life: a scientist's lens, that saw sets of facts and sought to make sense of them. A way of life that depended on asking the right questions to seek truths that in the end are relative. The world is a rich mosaic of grey tones, not a graphic black and white picture.

Deep discussions were put on hold as the the rumbling in our bellies sent us on a quest to find a restaurant before we hit the bush!

All of these prized buck caribou antlers were shot by one inuit kid, who shot his first caribou when he was three according to a proud dad that scurried to load up his truck with supplies.

Our "five minute" walk to the Bayside Restaurant became fifteen as we kept hoping the next building would be the restaurant. The fractured ice, stacked up on the shore reminded me of the knots in my stomach. Finally the church-going proprietors of the "Empress Restaurant" as they shuttered their restaurant gave us the courage to walk two more doors down to the Bayside restaurant.

Inside, hot tea thawed us out as I waited for a halibut sandwich and Paul set his eyes on blueberry pancakes and fueled stories of survival in cold places. In the end the stories came back around and I was telling Paul about my time in Bangledesh, where on a layover the customs officials had taken our passports. We were all put up in hotels for the night. The following day, Heather and I wanted to explore the neighborhood. We went out with an open mind, soon a small crowd was following us around, wondering what we were up too. One man offered to show us his home and his family. We followed him back to this shanty shack were we meet "babu" and his wife. His wife grasped "babu" as I took a portrait of them with the light sweeping through the doorway across their faces. The father, not wanting to offend his guests motioned for us to follow him to the tea stand so thjat he could get us some tea and biscuits. The average income of a bangledeshi is about one dollar a day, and he wanted to buy us tea and a snack. I wouldn't have it, so I paid for the tea and biscuits... Paul and I shared some other stories based on the theme of "fast friends". We both had encountered local people in whatever country who wanted to please us so bad that when we asked if we were going the right direction they would reply: YES. When in fact it would be the wrong way. They wanted to please us so bad that they would rather mislead then disappoint you. But do they consider it misleading? They think that they are doing you a favor by keeping you happy for the time being, the last thing they want to do is make you unhappy. Shades of grey overlapping and meshing to create an image... now turn it around... what do you see? What does the person next to you see?

Hoar Frost creeps up the branches, growing day by day like an ivy covering its host

Shungnak School, the largest school "up river"

When I landed at Shungnak Landing Strip, the first thing that I asked the pilot was: "Did you radio the school, do they know to come pick me up?" His reply: "I notified my agent", did nothing for my confidence for being picked up anytime soon, I asked both the person waiting in a pickup truck to radio somebody, and someone on a 4-wheeler to find the maintenance person for the school. It was a Sunday, and the ominous words from Bering air ticketing agent in Kotzebue: "Did you know that someone died in Shungnak?" rang in my ear. Everyone left, the post person took the mail including a package I took on the plane from the village before, (whoops, I think I broke one of the holy FAA rules), I started adding layers as the -10 degree air was harsh against my lungs. A few layers later, I wondered how I was going to get my 140 lbs self, and my 356 lbs. of gear to the school for a shoot that was supposed to happen tonight in a town that was grieving for its recent loss. About twenty minutes later a couple drove up on a four-wheeler with a little riding lawn mower trailer rolling behind. I asked if they were here to pick me up as they looked askance over me. "Actually we came to pick up some dog food, have you seen any?" as they gesticulated towards my gear. I told them that I was their photographer. I found out later that it was a much known fact that Theresa and Greg were looking for a shipment of dog food for their hungry dog who had been subsisting on freezer seconds. Could the guy in the pickup have used that fact to get these two teachers from the school out to the frigid landing strip to pick me up by announcing on the village radio that their dog food had arrived?

At any rate. their dog food had arrived, I hope they are ready for a lean, vegetarian blend with a spicy kick!!

Ak-Day 4: Igiugig on Illiamna Lake

2009-10-26T14:09:00.000-07:00

AK-Day 4 Igiugig on Illiamna Lake

Eat your heart out anglers!! I’m sitting in a village that is the site of the largest run of Sockeye Salmon in the world, and if that doesn’t interest you, how about the best Brook Trout fishing in the US! Look it up! I’m at the mouth of the Kvichak River at Illiamna Lake. Jason Bickling, the lead teacher at Igiugig School tells me that Illiamna Lake is the largest lake in the U.S. that is not bordered by Canada. By volume it is second to Lake Superior. “Imagine a sea of red flowing across the lake, that’s what you would see from the air if you were here for the salmon run in July” says Mr .Bickling. Over 40 million pounds of salmon are caught and processed during the run.

But let’s back up a little here… I need to tell you a little about flying in a large turbo prop plane, and then turning around and riding in a single engine Cessna style craft with all of my photo equipment, belongings, and food…

The day began in Anchorage, with a quick taxi ride to the airport from my B&B.

As I approached the Pen Air ticketing counter the two employees whispered like two junior high girls telling each other a secret. I told them my name and produced my ID. They were disappointed because one guessed that I was a Susan and other one thought I was a Kirk. It was a game they played to pass the time. Humor was like a friendly virus that infected all of the employees and many of the passengers of this local passenger plane service. There was no security checkpoints. You could just walk on with any weapon you wanted, but the people of this region aren't known for such crimes.

When I arrived in King "Spammin'", Mark and Kristen of Igiugig School were waiting for me. I guess the long lens slung over one shoulder and a camera bag slung on the other gave me away.

They asked if I had everything. I told them that I didn't have my equipment yet, it was supposed to be waiting for me in the cargo area. The lady at the ticket counter told us that on account of it being Sunday, the cargo hanger wouldn't be staffed until my Pen Air flight's luggage service was over. So Mark, who I learned was the primary school teacher at Igiugig, swung the superintendent's SUV to the loading dock. Eric, the air cargo guy let us in and together we located my palette with my fifteen pieces of photo equipment neatly stacked. From there Mark went back to his class on wind energy at the little tech college in town. He tells me that the guy running the class is rich as he got in on the ground floor of the solar energy business, and does wind power as a hobby. Mark and Kristen's House in town is off-grid and powered by wind energy and solar. How inspiring!! Kristen drove me down the only improved road in the region from King Salmon to Neknak, all other destinations you have to fly, walk, boat, 4-wheel, or walk a very long way. We weaved our way through Neknak to a small private airstrip run by King Air charter.

We found the office and strode in, I called out as it looked as if no one was there. Someone came from the leaving quarters. I asked if I could clean up a nasty cut to my ring finger on my right hand. She showed me to the kitchen were I washed the cut and gladly took a bandaid to keep from bleeding all over. The whole time I could hear my wife in my head quoting Anthony Bourdain's, the author of "kitchen Confidential", at his first kitchen job. He burns his hand on something hot from the oven. The black sous chef on the line strides over to him and clutches a red hot pan from the oven and says "What you want white boy, burn cream, a bandaid?!" Well I needed a bandaid and I don't care! I graciously thanked her and went back out to office area to look for my pilot. In the middle of where I was walking was this big mammoth of a dog whose mangy hair fell in clumps on the floor, his eyes were full of matter and clouded with cataracts. This dog was as old as they get. I stooped down to offer my hand to pet his head when my hostess yelled out "Don't touch him!" Well it was too late, I had already patted him on the head. "He bites, he even snaps at me", she said. I felt like the dog whisperer. But all the whispering in the world wasn't going to change the fact that this dog was on his last leg. After loading a recent wedding picture collection into my image editing program, I went out to help the King Air Owner and pilot, John, load his large cessna. Everything fit, but one piece went in the nose cone, my cart. Secretly, I didn't care if we forgot it as this was the very piece of equipment that had sliced my finger up. Returning to the office to verify the flight schedule and say goodbye to Kristen, we had to open the door with the old, cantakerous dog blocking the door. He slowly struggled out of the way. John commented that he had become mean because he couldn't move out of the way like he could as a youngin'. Everything checked out and we were on the way, this would be my first flight ever in cessna!

As we taxied up the runway I felt a surge of excitement. On the other hand it was just another day for John, and he went on about how the last shots in the civil war were fired in Alaska. "You see the British favored the confederates"; multiple switches and instruments were toggled in a cadence to the story, and "they took over several whaling ships" he related. "Back then whaling was an important industry", said John. The throttle was thrown into full and we hurtled down the runway with a slight fishtail feel giving an edge to the experience. We're away!! John swerves a few times, perhaps testing the equipment as he takes a couple hard pulls from his coffee.

Flight from Naknek to Igiugig in bold red, the yellow is Brooks Camp, where about every picture of Brown bears catching salmon in front of a waterfall was taken according to John, captain of my large Cessna.

The whole studio packed into the cessna

The Kvichak River guides us into Igiugig

The landing was fun and uneventful, we met Jason and his son Ronon at the Igiugig Vistor center. Jason was very helpful throughout my stay. He put me up in the itinerant teacher apartment complete with kitchen and private bath. Posh baby! After getting settled in and cooking myself a tuna patty melt, I was ready to take Family pictures. Only two families came down but with toddlers it was plenty interesting.

After family pictures it was time to stretch my legs and take in the massive Illiamna Lake.

A decayed Russian Orthodox steeple pokes its steeple up above the tundra scrub

With so many millions of pounds of salmon running in July, you have to preserve the plenty for the lean times

I learned from Jason Bickling that the the proposed Pebble Mine site near Newhalen would certainly poison Illiamna Lake, and the rivers it flows into on its way to Bristol Bay. The greatest Sockeye salmon run and really the whole ecosystem hangs in the balance as the sockeye are a keystone species without which the whole ecosystem would crumble. True, the price that fisherman get for a pound of salmon has collapsed from $1/pd in 1970 to the current .70/pd today. Yet a week's stay at the local fish lodges per angler during the summer fetch $8,000!

So, what is the value of an intact ecosystem that is sustainable, and supports the native communities that depend on it?

AK-Day 3 Drive to Seward and the Alaska Sea Life Center

2009-10-25T01:02:00.000-07:00

Lower Summit Lake reflects the wizened mountains.

AK-Day 3 Drive to Seward and the Alaska Sea Life Center

This one is going to be a visual journal with captions. I’m heading into the bush tomorrow, and may not be able to post to this blog until Sat. the 30^th.

Wish me luck in the bush!!!

Iditarod Railroad cutting through the Kenai Peninsula to its terminus at Seward

Mature Bald Eagle hunts mallards at Salmon Creek

This eagle's nest was behind the local chiropractor's office outside Seward

An immature bald eagle roosts on a power line pole as I enter Seward

Here's a mature bald eagle a few poles down... they are like pigeons here!

The Sun breaks through over windy Turnagain Bay

AK-Day 2: Orientation for my expedition to the Lake and Penn School District and Flat Top Mountain Excursion

2009-10-25T00:46:00.000-07:00

AK-Day 2: Orientation for my expedition to the Lake and Penn School District and Flat Top Mountain Excursion

The nights are long this time of year in Alaska, and the sun has to battle over the Chugach Mountains before it can send any photons into the breach and light up Anchorage. The weather pattern this time of year has a huge dollop of clouds rolled into the forecast most days and today was no exception. The sun finally poked its head out around 9am, by that time I had gotten up and showered, practiced some hatha-based yoga to get the kinks from the plane rides out, and eaten breakfast with the proprietor of Wildflower Inn B&B, Alan. Yummy scrambled eggs and granola-infused yogurt hit my plate and leaped right into my mouth as I hungrily ate my breakfast.

Gayle, the travel/operations staff guru for the AK Lifetouch Photography Territory swung by early to settle the check and give me a ride into the office.

At the office I finally met Al George, the AK Territory Manager and Debbie, their Operations “Princess”, (Her title is posted on her office wall). I worked on the final touches of my first blog entry while Al attended to the flurry of things on his plate.

Over instant coffee Al and I went over the itinerary for my first week in the bush, where I would be photographing the native villagers in the Lake and Peninsula region of the state. I would start in King Salmon, the largest town in the region, and the furthest point south for this expedition. An easy way to find the lake and penn district, Al noted, is to follow the Aleutian chain of islands back to the peninsula part of the mainland.

Al gave me a native perspective on picture day: it would not be an orderly procession of students and parents bringing their money envelope all filled out correctly. In fact I would not be on their radar screen for many in the community until I was there. Then, it would be time to think about picture day. The native people of this region and others largely lived in the present: if it was time to catch the kings running the river then that’s what they were doing, when the caribou reached a critical mass near the village then they were hunting the caribou to secure meat for their subsistence. Al recounted a time when a village near Illiamna Lake cancelled picture day and invited him to hunt the caribou near their village with him. He spent the day hunting with them and they took quite a few caribou to fill their stores for the winter.

If the weather permits the charter flight to run, and the community has their head in the idea of doing pictures then picture day goes something like this:

You will usually arrive in the village in the afternoon. Most villages have between 15 and 20 families in the village. Upon arriving at the school, unpack your equipment; make a radio announcement to the village that you are there and that you will be starting family portraits at whatever time. We usually do this between 6 and 8 PM. Your radio announcement will go something like “ Akutan Community this is Al George with Lifetouch Photography. I am at the school and will be starting family pictures at 6 PM. Please come down for a family portrait.” Almost all villages communicate this way. If there is not a radio you need to call each family and tell them the same thing. You only need to call if (1) there is not a radio for village communication or (2) the village is larger than 25 families.

After you photograph families the evening is yours. Most schools you will sleep in a sleeping bag on the gym or library floor. IN some schools I found a comfy classroom. Some schools will have guest quarters for you, but do not count on this. You will carry your food with you, as most villages do not have any restaurants. The schools will allow you to use their school kitchen for your food preparation.

In the morning you will want get up early enough so that you can shower, eat and get dressed before the staff shows up. Always ask when that will be the afternoon before. J You will want to call the charter company first thing to confirm your travel for the day. Confirm means to verify their arrival time and your projected ready time, as well as weather. Next call the school that you are going to and confirm with them your projected arrival time via the Charter Company. Check in at the office in Anchorage.

You will usually photograph the siblings and individuals next, followed by classroom groups. Schools will usually do an all school group as opposed to individual classes.

Always confirm with the principal or the head teacher that you can pack up. Get packed up, do your paperwork and load on the plane. Just before getting on the plane call your next school to let them know you are on your way. They will pick you up. Your flights are usually short and in some cases the runway is 10 minutes from the school. (excerpted from “Bush Travel Procedures”, Al George).

After the orientation of the route with Al, it was time to delve further into logistics. A clipboard with itinerary, photography schedule, flight info, and notes served as my logistical touchstone ran through the required hoops to make this expedition go off without a hitch.

It began with Kristen, one of their team leaders. She showed me how paperwork was done in the AK- “Don’t mess with Alaska baby!” After coaxing a few vignettes about bush travel experiences from Kristen and Jeremy, another AK photog, it was time to pull job bags. Jeremy’s talk of muddy water coming out of a village tap prompted me to make a note to secure some bottled water. Using my printed schedule we started pulling job bags with paperwork that filled a large box that would be shipped along with a whole Camera/Studio setup to King Salmon.

Mike McCrudden, the AK Photo Manager finally made it to the office after a full slate of morning fires to put out: photographer’s alarm didn’t go off, faulty equipment bailouts, and somebody forgot to go to one of their jobs. After introducing myself I started asking only the nitty-gritty questions knowing how valuable Mike’s time was.

A potentially perilous mistake was averted thanks to Kristen when she noted that we pulled the wrong job bags for my route, as it was decided that I would be doing another photographer’s bush route that had come down with the swine flu. Al had presented both routes during the orientation, and it wasn’t clear which one he had decided on, so when I was handed my schedule I just went off that info.

Post-potential crisis with my paperwork, I redoubled my efforts clutching my clipboard and writing down quick notes so that I wouldn’t forget anything as it would take a whole day to get to me if I needed something. Mike would pop in between my preparations and inquire about when I would be ready to load up and go to the airport as the deadline for shipping my equipment was 2:30 pm, and that time was quickly approaching as I scrambled to double check everything. I found myself getting distracted as Lucy, an office staff member who prepares all the job bags, wanted to relate stories and advice about the area. She had some first hand knowledge and advice to give me about the villagers and customs. I didn’t want to be rude and I was hungry for the knowledge she was going to give, so I slowed down and listened.

She confirmed what I had heard from Jeremy, about the muddy water, and recommended that I bring lots of water. She also touched on the effects of alcoholism on the native communities and how to secure my belongings with the help of school staff. She also said that I might be invited to a steam bath. If I was invited she told me to “put a wet wash cloth over my face and sit on the bottom seat, as they will try to really turn up the heat to see how it will affect the white guy”. I asked if they did the steam bath in the buck, thinking of my experience with Kohlstedt’s Finnish Sauna in Finland, MN She also said that “ traditionally the baths not co-ed, and if they do try to invite you to a co-ed one that they might be up to something and not to participate. Seemed like good advice, as I didn’t want to offend the elders in the community by breaking any of their rules.

Coming up against the clock, and feverishly writing down any requests that Mike made in regards to the air cargo shipment procedures, it was time to go… but it wouldn’t be with Mike. Mike had to go photograph another job and was having Julie, a first-year photographer, and her partner in crime, Samantha. We were off at a quick pace as Julie checked out about every guy on the highway, considering men outnumber women 2 to 1 that turned out to be a constant occupation.

At one point the median was fast approaching and Sam let out a bellowing “Jul-ie!!!” She quickly veered back on course and giggled as only an invincible twenty-something would.

Averting disaster we made it to Alaskan Air Cargo center and pulled up the ramp to unload. The guy greeted as he signaled for a forklift driver to come over. We loaded the palette and counted the pieces: 15!! “Where to”?, he asked. King Salmon, “King Spammin’ it is.” The fifteen pieces weighed a whooping 328 pounds and would cost just shy of $500 to ship to King Spammin’, whereas I would cost just $206 to make the jump.

My gear shipped by deadline, it was time to cruise up to Flat rock to find some moose. Julie and I made the windy journey up above Anchorage in search of rutting bull moose and views of the city.

Here’s what we found…

Day 1- Arriving in Anchorage, AK

2009-10-23T09:26:00.000-07:00

Day 1- Arriving in Anchorage, AK

Snow-capped mountains and inky blue water had been teasing me ever since Seattle’s sentinel: Mt. Rainier took the stage early in the afternoon between fitful snatches of sleep. The clouds parted like gauzy curtains to reveal the majesty of Rainier. Camera stayed tucked away as I lamented being on the wrong side of the plane, but the massive snowy cloak reflected enough light to illuminate the cabin as I basked in the sheer beauty and wildness, however vignetted by

passengers and accoutrements of modern life. Rainier was the prologue to a land sculpted by ice, water, fire, and tectonics-Alaska.

I’m on one of the greatest adventures, and as Mark, fellow Lifetouch photographer and guide on my arrival would say: “People come to Alaska to run from something or THEY’RE LOOKING FOR ADVENTURE.” I was definitely in the later group and reveled in the adventure already unfolding… Mark asked if I wanted to see some sights and before I knew it we were off to Beluga Point after checking in over the phone with the proprietors of the Wildflower B&B; I told them I’d be around in another two hours. Mark and I were of the same mind, why go to a hotel when the light was positively scrumptious at the moment… recognition flashed in his

eyes, yummy light before creature comforts.

Heading down Seward Highway at post-tourist invasion speeds we cut through Potter’s Marsh scouring the rusty red reeds for white ornaments: Swans!!!! The swans busied themselves with feeding, flashing their feathered rumps in the air as I jumped out of Mark’s van p

ositively skipping with joy. I had to calm myself down to get a sharp frame of the swans hanging out with some mallards. Content for now, we scurried on, chasing the light towards Cook Inlet. Mark and I bantered about what we liked to shoot, he likes dragsters and anything fast. Second, Models if they behave and knew how to follow his direction, and third: wildlife, if it wasn’t “gay”. “Gay” to Mark seemed to capture anything that had a tired or clichéd feel to it, which I found to be somewhat ironic. For Mark, being original had a certain aura to it. A cowboy

swagger weaved in and out of his stories about adventures in the back country, sexual conquests, and former jobs ranging from buffet bartender at the snazzy Cook’s Hotel in Anchorage to lumberjack in Northern Minnesota. At one point he claimed that if you took the cowboy out of somebody you would have a Canadian, because the Canadians were closer to the British, and we all know how un-cowboy the British are. Anyway the point seemed to be: “Don’t mess with Alaska!” especially since several states of Texas could fit in her.

Mark and I hit it off. His laid back, funky humor kept you glued to the honey that is the present.

As the light got sucked up by the clouds and Anchorage stood grey against the backdrop of Chugach Mountains, I turned my sights to Denali that shown like a beacon over Knik Arm as the sun shone with its full might upon the peak. It hung, suspended like a French vanilla ice

cream scoop with a light amount of whip on top. I felt that the mountain, by showing its elusive head to me was welcoming me to Alaska, and that the adventure was already unfolding...