Bon Voyage, Bon Appetit

Sights, smells and sounds of a new season. The warm morning breeze with fruitful notes of the budding  forest. The crisp evening air with a setting sun. My last night on the Agulowak beckons a farewell to the simple life and what a beautiful evening it is. This very picture was taken moments ago, and the sight will remain throughout the writing of this post.

Spring is nearly summer and over the past month, the massive transformation from that snowy, blinding white to the bare ground was nearly overnight. The river rose hourly, ice breaking and forcing itself down the narrow chute of waters just outside my cabin. Crashing and breaking, though nothing nearly as impressive as times past. There can be shelves of ice, feet thick bull dozing gravel up five feet or more on shore as the power of the river is relentless. I only saw a handful of small pieces this year get pushed up, mere inches in thickness and quite disappointing.
Long days and short nights, a wildly dramatic change from just months ago and even at midnight, I still don't feel like its bed time with how light it stays.
Every day, the budding leaves rise from bare branches which have choked them in so long. Fighting for that sunlight, reaching further outward filling in the voids throughout a stick ridden tree and bare treed forest. It now is alive and healthy, green and glowing. The hills erupted in shades of green and the whole of Bristol Bay is vibrant and young looking. A fresh start.
The wildlife has dispersed into the forest once more, having their offspring and continuing the cycle of survival in this northern land. Much to my surprise, a pair of Tundra Swans made themselves at home on the open waters for about three days in their migration pattern or perhaps taking a little vacation from other parts unknown. Arctic Terns have been increasing in numbers daily and are devouring the smolt as they head down towards the ocean. The char have also increased in numbers, also devouring the little fish striving for that big blue salted water they'll call home for the next 4 years or so.

So as I prepare for another departure, a little reflection on the past months is filled with mixed emotions.  Seeing photos of hard times, for one reason or another remind me of all the thoughts I had in that period of time. Same goes for the photos of great times and the other daily grind in between is fading away. There were days that I hated the cold, and days I loved it. Days I loved the sunshine and days I loved the snow. Fishing was spectacular as always and the overall warm winter was spectacular. There seems to be less and less of the bad times as the seasons pass but they will always remain. This is my third winter season, and I feel like things are starting to settle in nicely. Perhaps there is room for a little fine tuning of a few more creature comforts but I think I've got a good grip on this life of remote isolation.


The bon appétit comes in tomorrow evening and henceforth until next fall. Day dreaming for months has my stomach yearning for that first bite of a new meal. The first flavors of that savory or sweetness that I can hardly recall, and some I couldn't even describe its been so long. I have dreams of sushi and donuts, burgers and salads and fresh berries. A pizza! Truly anything will be welcomed and sorely overdue. The very idea of getting out to stretch my legs and actually move around is so refreshing and these next few hours until that happens are full of anxiety.
It is also an overload to the senses when I first depart. Every one of my five senses are firing off so quickly that I feel like I have a sixth sense or a super power to be so sensitive to everything. I smell everything, for good and bad. I hear pins drop and cars crash and all the other decibels from a thousands sources in between. I see as though for the first time. Lights are flashing, glaring and reflecting. Colors that run the spectrum and it all goes by so incredibly fast. My eyes are caught by every bright or shiny thing (or person) and there has to be a stronger word for distracted and how I am. I've seen it before, but its as if I've never seen it. Everything that I ingest will be a new flavor, that will either trigger a fond memory or be a new treat. And touch. I dread this one from my dislike of germs. I try not to touch hardly anything and have to remember to wash my hands! You get in the habit of not washing hands that often out here, mainly because there isn't much need for germ sake and the other would be its inconvenient to heat a little water, mix it up, wash, rinse and twenty minutes have passed. So I try not to touch much and wash every chance I get. Along that note, I also try to take at least two showers a day and take full advantage of a washing machine. When I get out, I think the best way to describe my overall outlook is a very healthy and vigorous zest for the things in life.



Alaska has been quite good to me this past year, and I have a deep affection for this wonderful place I often call home. Being a caretaker is easy for the work involved but extremely trying and difficult on the mind to withstand it. There is a good deal of physical labor, though I don't count that part as work, more as exercise but I find the work is located in the mind. Whether it is from isolation and solitude or monotony of the same exact day, every day, I can't say with certainty. I feel more inclined to say the latter in my scenario. The mind is a very powerful tool, and I hadn't really noticed just how so until time spent here allowed me a glimpse. It works with and against you and can be your worst enemy and your best friend. Sometimes just moments apart. Most jobs will have some sort of resistance and difficulty but it usually isn't ones own mind. I hear from many people that this job isn't really work for me and I would like to say that its not your typical go to a job style work, but it certainly is hard work to remain of sound mind and semi sober in thought through what has been known as a form of torture throughout history. Isolation.
Now I can't sit here with the view I've got and the comfort of tea and a cookie and tell anyone that I'm being tortured. I will say, not every day is like the one I am having today and some of them do feel quite a bit more torturous than anyone would like.

I still choose this and happily so. My anticipation for next year has not begun, though a small part of me does wish it were only March.
For this season, for this wonderful day and until the onset of winter in October….

The Rise

A couple of weeks have passed since the return of this magnificent Bald Eagle. There are two, though often only one is within sight. Perched above the river bank, patiently glaring down with angling anticipation of returning rainbows from t;he lake system and the sloth like char that meander the shallows. I knew it was getting that time and it was only a matter of when. Would it be days or weeks until that first rise in the water. The first hatch of bugs.
Growing impatient by the day, the eagle nearly plucked out two ducks from the river while diving and grazing on algae underwater. As soon as they submerged themselves, the eagle gently leaned forward off its perch, falling with grace into a diving flight, swooping down and arching upwards, giant wings frantically flapping to stay in place, a brief hover and then dive! No luck. Again for duck number two and again no luck. A sight to see. The ravens usually chase and harass the eagles, the fox harass the otters, otters harassing fish and finally there is lone fly rod to complete this lively cycle.

The first rise, was seen more than a week ago, but not until today did a solid hatch of small moth like, semi stonefly looking bugs appear and so did boiling, swirling rings on a glassy water. The rise would be to the left, to the right, ten feet in front of me or fifty yards upstream. Between the intermittent rain and sleet, the calm would produce great signs of feeding fish, and then like a switch, turned off again. On and off all afternoon and finding the right combination of fly in these short windows of opportunity was four times a charm. Finally an all black size 14 black dun fly did the trick, though not before considerable effort. I think it was a fluke really. Mainly relying on the hunger of the fish, seeing as my casting and presentation wasn't nearly what it should be. Nevertheless, "fish on" was said mumbled to myself, or in my head I can't recall. The excitement to bring in the first spring rainbow on a fly, not to overpower it and not to underestimate its size and current speed against the 5x tippet. I've got the knot down, never worrying about that, only my eagerness to retrieve and over aggressive stripping of the line. This particular fish was a beauty, about eighteen inches and quite healthy. No real shoulders on it, but there are plenty more to come.
I expect the challenging parts will be to keep control over my fishing territory from the wildlife that will certainly decimate my odds at catching if they have their way of feasting.
The other morning I launched a real lunker of a lure out and pulled in a nice char, twenty inches and a real treat for the fox. Didn't see him again for two days and when he returned, he was smiling.

The woodcutting season is finally over! Closed April 10th, I was thrilled to have cut when I could given the weather and finding perfect snow conditions along with the ever elusive dead tree. I'd venture to say that these parts of the woods are picked over near clean for the standing dead spruce. There were some questionable places I went in search of that great trailer load of firewood and next years warmth. Some hills were more forgiving than others and some were down right beastly. There was one area in particular that from the lake was an immediate fifty foot climb, a shelf followed by another steep climb and another and another until reaching the designated cutting area and available trees. I was happy to launch myself up the hill but coming down with four or five hundred pounds in tow was a wild ride to say the least. It was slow moving until that last drop that shot out onto the lake ice… and it truly was a one, two, three give it all you got sort of run down the hill. The trailer pushing its weight onto the tracks of the machine… speed was the machine's friend. Once out on the ice, it was a nice easy slow down and turn around to dump the wood and go back up again for more. I have to say that gathering wood from this particular area was the most challenging and the most fun I've had up here during the cutting season. Another of the best times was cutting a tree just shy of three feet in diameter and getting it down exactly where I wanted it. The fifteen inch length rounds were nearly too much to handle and I contemplated having to cut them in half just to load the sled. It wasn't a very tall tree, coming in at about sixty feet and probably having a full cord of wood in those massive branches, I took great satisfaction from getting this haul completed. Probably a total of twenty five to thirty trees were felled by this lumberjack for the 2014 spring season. The stack as it stands is about fifty feet long by four feet wide and four feet high. Some large trees, some smaller ones and a few random ones from the property make up this years quota. I saw a few others out there that will be future giants to harvest, but still growing healthy enough to keep out of my saw's reach.

The trailer by Northern Sled Works is absolutely a workhorse and worth every penny of the thousand bucks that it cost. Even with the small 340 Polaris, hauling anywhere from seven hundred to a thousand pounds was quite within the machine's capability. My stacking skills will fail long before that trailer gives out. Fantastic in every way.

I still enjoy my days devoted to second breakfast -

And I enjoy my leisurely afternoons -

While out scouting timber for those cold days inside by the fire, I came across an unusual track that has been seen and agreed with that it has a good chance of being a Lynx. Given its gate, weight on the snow and track depth from pressure, lack of claws, fairly circular  (though this picture wasn't the best) and the overall size, this seems to be the best guess. Although I was only less than a full day too late to see or follow, this track belongs to another wild encounter I hope to have someday. The local ranger has confirmed seeing Lynx and further settles in my mind that I'm sharing this river corridor with the presence of a feline nature.

Nearly the middle of April, I grow weary in the daily tasks of hauling buckets of water to the cabin. The showers are well worth it, but I feel about due for a real, on demand hot shower without having to haul, heat and empty the water. I do however have that magical degree of 142 that feels just right for my quick daily dose of clean.  Food supplies are ample and amazingly so. The options are limited and have rapidly lost appeal, but nothing a quick trip into town didn't fix. Only going twice this winter, I stocked up on fruits and a variety of sauces to accompany and revamp the daily one pan wonder of quinoa, halibut and either corn, peas or broccoli. I do get creative, though rarely for dinner. A few weeks back, the neighbors joined in on a caretaker dinner night over at my cabin, dining in style with a nicely made soup and fresh bread with a little touch of the cookie variety for dessert. Again, two nights back I ventured over that way for a wonderful pizza night done just right in the cast iron pan. What a pleasant change to have a real homemade pizza!

With approximately five weeks of the good life remaining, days are becoming increasingly difficult to endure with the anticipation and anxiety of leaving my little safe haven of paradise. Paradise really shouldn't contain anxiety, so maybe this is just a really good place to be for nearly eight months. Anxiety over what to do with the stress of day to day life that everyone has been living. Coming and going, using money and cell phones, dealing with things I've happily left behind. I probably only share in fifteen percent of the things that most everyone else lives daily, though up here I still have a phone and some meeting times to speak with people, I'm not too envious of the remaining eighty-five percent that I left back in October. Soon enough, I'll join the ranks of society, working and scrambling, living at the foothills a beautiful mountain range, rarely having a moment to look up and enjoy the view. Always pushing through traffic to get somewhere to do something, at a cost to my wallet and to my soul. It's a safe thing to say that I'm missing this cabin already. On the days when I don't numb the anxieties, for whatever reason it isn't called for, I enjoy the solitude and quiet far greater than the beauty of this geographic location. Having grown accustomed to the life lived alone, I feel a bit like a toddler might on the first day of kindergarten when confronted with sharing a toy for the first time. I truly don't feel like playing with others, hoping that when I do, I'll do it well. There will be no escaping back to my cabin. There will be no cabin. This privilege to experience life as a caretaker has either ruined me or enlightened me. I feel both.

Not going down the roads of sorrow for a life about ready to lose, staving off the alluring shine of a bottle next to me in the dim light that says, "carefree times ahead", I'll refrain from becoming too anxious, worried or melancholy about anything that isn't happening right this moment.

Possibly Kinfolk?

Cobbler for Everyone!

Fresh basil from the window sill garden made the ingredient list complete for a peach cobbler I had been waiting some time to try. I planted the basil in october, and what little remained after a sprig here and there died off over the months of figuring how much or little to water and fertilize, I was ready to harvest. It didn't take but a slight tug to free the tiny stems, an already miniature basil variety, from the mossy soil that had so gingerly incubated the seeds. Watering the different herbs has required a tender hand on the pour, often resulting in pools that most certainly depleted vital nutrients. Nonetheless, the day had arrived to make the much thought about cobbler. A youtube video later, I was elbow deep in flour, sugar and a few non typical ingredients like cracked pepper and parmesan. Two cobblers were made, one made it to the picture round, the other was eaten too soon. It was a mixture of blackberry, raspberry and strawberry. Very good flavors on this unusual crust, but the peach with basil and pepper was also a winner and I just happened to snap a photo prior to cooking. No evidence was seen after they cooled off, not even a trace by supper time.

An odd thought struck me the other day. I churn inside when someone uses the term "outdoorsy" to describe themselves or their likes and or dislikes, but when did this term become relevant? If you think back a hundred years or not even, when was being inside an option? Everyone would have been classified as outdoors or nature oriented. Men and women alike would have led lives that should they have had the need to market themselves in any capacity, the term outdoors would not have occurred. It is possible that one might have on a bark piece of paper that they spent a year or ten outdoors, but the term to classify themselves as indoors or outdoors did not exist. Anyone that would say, much less use the term outdoorsy, is self incriminating evidence that they are in fact a house cat, a couch potato, a lover of walls, ceilings, floors and boundaries. Questions arise all the time such as, do you like the outdoors? Do you enjoy nature? and my favorite of course, are you outdoorsy?
I just don't know when the term was coined and accepted as a hobby, distancing ourselves from the life that seemingly every other person in history actually lived. Perhaps it started with the convenience of cars over horseback. I really can't say, but all I know is I cannot stand to hear people express the term as a hobby instead of a natural bent. Rants aside, the outdoors is not a hobby or a box that we check next to our likes or dislikes… It just is. The box should say "indoorsy". So the next time someone asks me if I am outdoors oriented or that dreaded other term with a "y", I'll know what to ask them in reply.

The weather is such a boring subject but its the most widely discussed up here because of its unpredictable change, what it allows and the chores that need tending to before a storm. The sun was in hiding for some length last month, and for a week now its been my daily companion. I'm very glad.
The neighbors had their arms wide open to receive me last Sunday for dinner. The trail down to their place is nearly nothing to follow, just a jumbled mess of fallen trees, alders and dry ground. I had been attempting to make it out of here and only got as far as the first creek that proved impossible to cross without some sort of aid. I built a bridge and thought I was bound for exploration and adventure. That might be glossing it over a bit, but cabin fever strikes without warning and preventative measures are always better than finding remedies. Sunday arrived and I bundled up head to toe, not an inch of skin was exposed to the sub zero temps as I double checked my gear and snow machine. I set off with a little too much enthusiasm to cross my less than safety approved bridge and wound up tossing myself off the machine when my glove gunned the throttle. Shaking the powder off, I got back on and set off. Bumps and bruises incurred through the gauntlet of branches and trees that poke and prod as I whip past in a frenzy for the open meadows. No sooner did my bridge come when crossing flawlessly, did another creek arise. The pounding rain storms and warm temperatures earlier  had eroded every drainage that could have possibly been. If  so much as a rock was out of place, it was ten times the hole and obstacle to swerve around. Trees had violently been heaved across the trail, some twenty feet or more from the splintered trunk that remained upright. Some of these massive spruce trees looked like prime candidates for a toothpick factory in China. Where one hurdle occurred, a new path was needed. Stuck here and there, lifting, pulling, pushing… all the while trying to keep from tipping over at every tree well, protruding stump or rock. Creek after creek, some of which I entered and shot out of, others I came to a skidding halt before nosing in the opposite bank. On one single occasion, I reversed the machine, aimed it at the nearest point across and gunned the throttle as if judges were about to score the jump for gold. My cargo included peace offering tortilla chips for the neighbors who love the finer appetizers of salsa and chips. I gave them what was left, certainly more smaller pieces than whole.

Nothing more than a few bruises, a small price to pay for a wonderful dinner with friends and some human contact amidst the lonely (in a good way) work of an Alaskan caretaker.

                                                  One bridge made out of a few needed.

               This tree snapped at the trunk, others 15 feet up. Winds were excessive, to be polite.

               Eight downed trees on the property in one storm. No damage.



February had the best full moon all winter, thus far. It rose one night as if someone had stuck it on a lamp post right outside my window. The color was there, the size and it could have fooled anyone to think it was in fact a lamp. I caught it just after the tree line, which is hard to distinguish but the spruce silhouettes are there. Moon beams have often been a term I never have seen or recognized until this past month. I've seen a few hundred full moons, and never thought much about the beam. It isn't all that often that a picture captures sun beams, through clouds on stormy day usually or through cracks and crevasses here and there. Apparently the moon does the same, not nearly as sharp or lively, but poking through the clouds just right, sure enough there are moon beams. Watching the night light arch across the widest sky ever seen, casting shadows in frigid lands to see darker black upon black; calmly reflecting wrath from an inferno to be called a gentle glow; beams are bright and straight; a pitted and porous ball of dust, a controlling force, a brute of our world, haunting, lurking, sacred; a sad man

LET THERE BE LIGHT…

Let there be light, and there was light…. except in the far reaches of life on the Agulowak. I have had one visible sunset in what would seem a six week accumulation of sunsets. The other night as our daily storm blew off into the horizon with the setting sun, I saw something just shy of a miracle. It was color. Suddenly the depth of darkness only known to myself and living organisms at the bottom of Marianas Trench was shattered by rays of ultra violet, vitamin d saturated, cancer causing glorious sunlight. Is that an exaggeration? Not much. A run on sentence perhaps.

Life in Alaska this winter is no more frigid than tropical. Variance's in weather are drastic and damaging to my fragile state of mind and to the summer watershed for the upcoming salmon runs of the prized Bristol Bay. But for myself, I can't quite make plans a day in advance due to the uncertainty of the elements. Horrendous winds have beaten my little cabin without mercy or avail for days. Shaking walls and flexing windows have my nerves on edge for the imminent crashing of a tall spruce tree that is perched on the hill towering over my rooftop. Computers rattling on the table, my cup of water vibrates true to the example given from a the great film Jurassic Park. The scare comes from a two thousand pound tree crushing my roof, not the man eating jaws of a breach in bioethics of cloning gone awry. So sleep has been peaceful when it happens, but the volume on my iPod can't even drown out the worst of the wind gusts. I'm alive.

Cooking hasn't been spectacular by any means, for the good or bad. Arguments with solid evidence could be made for the negative. I've made some nice soups and a few desserts with the added twist of a massive breakfast here and there. Despite weather's best intentions to keep me down, my appetite is thriving like never before. I've adopted the act of having two breakfasts daily, a more carb rich lunch and my usual protein enriched dinner with a very persistent sweet tooth to follow. Portion control is something I know nothing of and I don't  care to learn. We all have goals. We all have pleasures. Mine is gluttony in food and given the deprivation of almost everything else in the world right now, my embracing actions with food intake are safely one hundred percent justifiable. No one is  here to speak against me.

The two foxes are here some days and gone the next. They visit the neighbors down the on the lower lake and my only thought is that they are trying to work off all the good feeding they receive. Salmon, steak, turkey, salami, sausage… who would say no? I've even satisfied their sweet tooth with a graham cracker now and then. Maybe a piece of chocolate too.
There are several moose still in the area and they wreak havoc on my trails with the post hole sized foot print they leave times four for every moose. It is  real hazard for walking around and twisting an ankle.  It happens to be two sided that when you twist your ankle, its already in ice so there's no need to move.

More wood on the fire is needed for light, tea to follow for warmth-

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch...

Christmas came early for my cabin this year and instead of a jolly fellow, this little beast showed up.
It all started with a long overdue snowfall that brought a few good inches of winter my way. I wanted to run the snow machine, as I hadn't been able to for a few weeks now. This truly does seem to be the most tame winter so far… given the fact it just began yesterday. Well, I was right behind my cabin on a hill, when this waddling creature made his way right in front of me. Mostly covered in snow at the moment and headed away from me, I really wasn't sure what to make of it at first and whether or not to run or chase had my mind pin balling the ideas while still trying to figure out what it was. Well it didn't take that long before I realized it wasn't a wolverine or a beaver but instead it was just a large, the largest I've ever seen, porcupine.
I wanted quills but not bad enough to crawl under the cabin and do what all the dogs and foxes and other curious animals do, get poked. I left him alone after a few pictures and he wandered off to do what porcupines do.

My fox friends are here, a big one and small one. I believe they know each other well enough to be courteous but not enough to share. One day, I was looking after the only one around at the time, the larger one when in suddenly took off. A few minutes later it returned with the small one and they both have taken turns guarding my front door ever since. I can't hardly go outside without one of them there, and if no one is on guard, I try to walk quietly to get water or to the freezer without having the hungry mouths come begging. I enjoy their company, watching them bicker and play around and how alert they are to the things I couldn't even begin to imagine hearing. I think that if a mouse sneezed across the river, they would stare for an hour trying to determine where their hunt would later take place.  Speaking of doomed mice, I am a trophy hunter for them now, with numbers climbing towards thirty. Another successful night of trapping had a nice, well fed mouse laying appropriately still on the little black plastic death pad that I call a great invention. Whether feeding the fox, a crow or magpie, a trout or whatever gets to the mice after I'm done doing the deed, I'm just very satisfied to have them out of the cabin and able to sleep quietly through the night.

I've made it past the shortest day of the year, the darkest but certainly not coldest. Yesterday it was in the low forty's and rather wet with rain and scattered sleet showers. The snow that was here, albeit not enough to bury my foot in, is now not enough to make a snowball. Christmas is in a few days and it was a nice treat to fatten myself up a little with some holiday cooking. I made cookies, just over four dozen for the month of december and within a week they were gone. The first few days I kept saying I'll freeze the rest as I nabbed one here and there, snacking away without a care. The last few days of my reckless, lack of self control gluttony were without a doubt the best. The cookies had a chance to absorb some moisture and become that prime, highly sought after, perfect cookie. There isn't any looking back and I'm not ashamed to have eaten all that butter and flour, because I just made another holiday snack and this time I went big.
Apple pie. Apple half pies. Although the pie wasn't anything to get excited about, it is safe to say I have a clean pie dish waiting for another baking inspiration to occur.

And finally another baking day happened with some delicious bread. I had wanted to make stuffing for thanksgiving but didn't have bread and decided not to hassle with it. After making this with the intention of stuffing, I ate a piece and then another and finally a third. I don't know which will happen, either stuffing or just eating sliced, buttered and salted, warm bread. Feeling guilty about all this indulgence won't really happen, but I do need to consider pacing myself. As you can see in the photos, these friends of mine are all to eager for sampling and they are not one to complain about anything that comes their way. Taking the pictures needed to be faster than their ability to dine and dash. Let the record state: They are quick.

Barely an example of not sharing well, the open mouths, one in the top left corner


Merry Christmas to everyone from the not so frozen and not so alone north -

Thanksgiving III

An even zero this morning at eleven a.m. and a high of eight by afternoon. The sunset last night was a pleasant sight for my dreary, white-washed sore eyes. Its been thick fog, low ceilings and cold all week, with the first good sign of a break this morning for Thanksgiving. The third year up here for turkey and pie is always a good milestone, third times a charm is often what people say. Duck was on the menu, not turkey or grouse, but a nice little canadian duck. No, I was not the hunter and yes it was from the store. As much as it pains me to say such a thing, I wasn't able to provide the sacrificial bird of my own accord. Nevertheless, it was a very nice change, a great, rich and robust flavor in the fat which made for a fantastic gravy. The meat itself was nothing to go on about but the gravy sure is. Pumpkin pie, quinoa and a few sprigs of fresh parsley from my window sill grown plants… A little color and good for one bite. I had made the pie last night, wanting it chilled after a discussion of which was better, warm or cold. So with that said, the smell was all to tempting and I had cut the first slice out before the duck had even seen the fires of an oven. I had to cut one more slice for dinner, and one more shortly before bed. After all, it is a celebration day, a holiday and a feasting day.
I won't be able to burn off the calories with all the rats in their race tomorrow while shopping, maybe a swim will do.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and hopefully it is a good start to the holiday season.