Glacier National Park; Trail of the Cedars; Avalanche Lake; Highline Trail; Goats Galore!

One of our objectives this summer was to do more hiking in Glacier National Park. We are now camped just a few miles from the West Glacier, Montana, park entrance. My Lovely Bride did some research on "Best Hikes" while I was driving, and came up with several that we would have time to complete. Our hikes are time-limited in that we do not leave Rudy and Gretchen alone for more than seven hours. Our first hike was a twofer, combining the Trail of the Cedars and the Avalanche Lake Trail. Here is Your Faithful Correspondent admiring the cedars and hemlocks on a lovely sylvan path. While well-worn, the path was (relatively) lightly traveled, and we also appreciated that most hikers were considerate of the quiet, cathedral-like environment and kept their voices low.


 
 

Glacier is known for its lofty peaks, even higher than those found near our home in The Villages, FL. This is Mt. Clements, 8,760 feet. We are viewing from about 3,450 feet; that's just over 5,300 feet, more than one mile of elevation difference... a lot of rock, and a bit too steep to climb.

Since a climb up Clements Mtn. would be rather strenuous, we headed up an easier trail along Avalanche Creek. The rushing waters were raucous, especially through a gorge cut through the living rock by this small but powerful glacially-fed stream.

While grizzly bears are one of the serious topics of concern locally, the biggest danger here in Glacier is actually water. Drowning in fast moving, ice-cold streams is the most common cause of accidental deaths in Glacier, with falls while climbing or hiking coming in second place. Regarding bears, most hikers carry bear spray, but it is very rare that it ever has to be used in self-defense.










Our turnaround was at Avalanche Lake, which is fed by the Sperry Glacier on Gunsight Mountain. All of the park's glaciers were formed during the Little Ice Age, a period of cooler temperatures starting in the 13th Century and concluding in the mid-1800's.










Our second day of hiking was one we had been looking forward to all summer, the Highline Trail. Here we find Suzanne checking out the route at the trailhead, with the back side of Bearhat Mountain, 8,684 feet, looming in the background. You may observe that she is wearing a fleece under a windbreaker. It was in the high 40s even in the sun, and layering was a necessity. By the way, while looking at Internet posts about the hike, we found an interesting story from just a week prior, when one hiker had to climb down a steep cliff face to avoid a grizzly bear approaching on a very narrow part of the trail... you can see the photos of this encounter taken by another hiker here. Coincidentally, this was the same area where just last year a young newlywed pushed her husband off a cliff following an argument. She got 30 years, by the way.

 

Here is My Lovely Bride,in the same area, sans grizzly or homicidal newlywed. You may note a green wire cable affixed to the wall to provide added security. A narrow two-lane road, the Going to the Sun Highway, is about 300 feet below her, out of the photo. The maximum length vehicle allowed on this road is 21 feet, so all you see on the road are bikes, cars, pickups, shuttle vans, and the park's open roof red taxis. Oh, and I forgot to mention the occasional Harley, whose intentionally very loud exhaust noises can be heard for miles reverberating from mountainside to mountainside - "there oughta be a law..."

Wildflowers were running riot throughout our hike, many of which I could not identify. This three to five foot tall flower is bear grass, also known as squaw grass (Xerophylum tenax). The latter name derives from one of its uses by Indians in making baskets. Plant colonies typically only bloom every 5-7 years, so we were lucky to see these.









The mountain scenery of Glacier National Park is breathtaking. It was always near the top of my bucket list, and this is now our third visit, and we have only begun to make a dent on the list of many trails, lakes and peaks that we want to experience. Part of the problem is that because of the typically late Spring and early Fall snowfalls, July, August and September are the only months to hike here. Three years ago we arrived on July 3rd, and the Going to the Sun Road had been closed due to heavy snow until just the day before.

Speaking of snow, this picture is a bit deceiving. We were standing on a relatively small patch of snow just off the Highline Trail at Haystack Pass, but the surrounding air temperature was in the 70s, so we were quite comfortable in shorts, and in fact I had been sweating because of the uphill climbs... My Lovely Bride, being a woman, does not sweat. She may glisten, but she never sweats.








This photo illustrates a quality of Glacier NP that becomes very evident once you arrive - there are very few flat spots in this park. This knifedge ridge, actually a glacier-cut arete known as the Garden Wall, is a rock climber's dream, but we opted to skip this very technically challenging route for a quicker return to the car because (a) Rudy and Gretchen were missing us, and (b) there was a nice bottle of Cabernet awaiting our return as well.

Just before arriving back at the trailhead, Suzanne noted a wildlife roadblock ahead. It wasn't a grizzly, but three mountain goats (Oreamnos americanus) who were walking calmly down the trail. Mountain goats have double layers of wool that allow them to survive winter temperatures to 50 below 0 F and winds to 100 mph. They are amazingly sure-footed, able to climb 60 degree slopes with ease.








Fortunately, this family gathering was only temporary, and we were able to safely complete the remainder of the trail without any cliff traverses. Although I have been called an Old Goat, I do not claim to have the same sure-footedness as this fellow.

An Informal Concert; Wild Annie; Birthday Greetings; A Lakeside Dinner; Army vs. Navy

While Suzanne was back in The Villages, she had a very kind invitation from Michelle and John Uss to join them for dinner and music. Here are Michelle, Suzanne's sister Janice, and Ruthie sharing a moment of frivolity. Michelle is an expert pianist, and Janice an accomplished vocalist...













Suzanne brought her little C flute from home, and luckily found that she hadn't forgotten how to play it while away on our summer tour...


















Michelle and John's Shih Tsu Annie was also active that evening. Annie is what is euphemistically called "a bundle of energy". Rudy and Gretchen were a bit jealous that their Dog Mom was hanging out with a strange dog...

My Lovely Bride returned to Idaho on Tuesday, and we were all very happy to have her home with the rest of The Pack. She got lots of sloppy kisses from Rudy and Gretchen, and even one from me. One of the first entries in the Plan of the Day (POD) - Navy people will understand that acronym - was delivery of a birthday card and prezzies. Rudy and Gretchen had picked out two nice glittery tops for her, and Rudy was insistent that he be allowed to help open the package for his Dog Mom.








Suzanne also received a Native American smudge fan made of turkey feathers, rabbit fur and lapis lazuli, created by a practitioner in Coeur d'Alene.
















On our last night in Idaho, we were invited to a grilled steak and chicken kebob dinner with Jim and Mark, both airline pilots, at Mark's house overlooking Lake Coeur d'Alene. It was a splendid meal in a beautiful setting with great conversations. Mark is a JetBlue captain, flying mostly to the Caribbean, and Jim flies the Dallas Mavericks around and used to fly "special charter missions" to Iraq and Afghanistan. (Note: airline pilots have more wild stories than Navy ship drivers. Some may even be true.)

Here is My Lovely Bride wearing one of her new tops, chosen to match little Gretchen; a half mile below Mark's deck, a marina on Lake Coeur d'Alene holds dozens of moored boats. Like Lake Pend Orielle, this lake was created by the melting of glaciers 12,000 years ago. We envied Mark this beautiful view, but then remembering that this was August, wondered whether we could grill or sunbathe on the deck in January...












Finally, here is a brief exchange of emails between Lieutenant Colonel Charles Cunis, USA (Ret), AKA "Crusty",  featured in Suzanne's new book "Wolf's Message," and Your Faithful Correspondent, CAPT, USN (Ret), AKA "Salty", regarding a recent post about out of date cans of food, my hiking experiences in the woods, and my reference to trees as "green thingies." Those with any military experience will immediately recognize some fundamental differences between the Army and the Navy...

1. From Colonel Cunis; Subject: Observations of the Army and the Navy approaches to life's situations:

    -Navy tosses canned goods with 7 months past "alleged" expiration date of 7 months. Sailor lives.
    -Army ground pounder eats C-rations packaged during Korean conflict while with the 3rd Armored Division (Spearhead) in Germany in 1964-1966. In 1967-68 same C-rations manufactured date presented for dining consumption with The Big Red One.. Bon Appetit. Soldier lives.

    -Navy on patrol.  My Dear Captain. When you go off on your solo trips "into the woods" do you leave a strip map with the "route out" and "route back" with estimated ETR? With your MLB in the Villages Port of Call who is watching your "back" in case a tree falls on top of you?
    -Army patrolling doctrine(APD) requires that you register the patrol with the unit Staff Duty Officer with the time of departure, "route out", "route back" (never the same way as the "route out"). Commo checks on scheduled basis". ETR. Please assure me that you are following good APD. You can call me "Dad"

    -Navy discovers trees (Green thingies)
    -Army says "Green Thingies" Ha, Ha, Ha "Green Thingies" Stop! Please Stop! Does the bear s--- in the woods"?

2. From Captain Giesemann. Subject: Different approaches to life displayed by the Army and the Navy.  Sir, I appreciate that your experiences are somewhat more field-proven than mine, but the Navy has its own lessons, to wit:

A. When we discover out of date cans of food, we trade them to the Army for beer.

B. Navy on patrol in hostile sea areas goes into EMCON, with all communications secured, to remain stealthy. When in contact with the enemy, comms are authorized. This is called the "Shoot first, talk later" doctrine.

C. Navy Ships don't usually leave their planned route because we make it up on the fly. That way, you don't have to lie about where you're headed when you're really just going out for a beer.

D. Green things at sea are called waves. There are even more waves on the ocean than trees in the woods.

E. "Doctrine" is for the Army and the Chair Force. Navy uses command initiative. Sometimes it even works.

F. Yes, I think bears do s--- in the woods. But I wouldn't follow one to observe that behavior. You Army guys are really strange.

G. Back to food. When my battleship found some fishing boats off Nicaragua, we drove alongside and traded ice cream for fresh shrimp. You guys eat 20 year old C-rats??? Dude, you might think about at least trading them for some scrawny water buffalo... Or baluts???

Her Mother's Daughter; Empty Trails; Oh, Deer; It's Moraine, Not Maureen; Sanaya Waves; Dog in a Bag

I hope I can get away with long distance slander. Well, it's not really slander, because this is a true story. But I'm going to get into trouble with two women, and that's a Most Dangerous Game. In a previous post, I mentioned that Suzanne's mom Ruthie had this thing about not throwing away cans of food until long past their expiration dates. I'm talking 4-5 years or longer. She blames it on being born during the Depression. I never thought that was a genetic attribute until this week when I was going to fix pasta with clam sauce while My Lovely Bride was home in Florida visiting her mom. I inspected the date on the can from the pantry, and saw, to my shock, despair and consternation... "Best By Jan 2013". Hmmm; the can looked okay, but you never know... I had two options, (a) give it a shot and take a chance on salmonella or some other dread stomach ailment; or (b) toss it. I chose option (b), and lived to tell the tale. (I'm not sure whether that shall be a long-term condition when My Lovely Bride returns, so if this is my last post, you'll know why.)

I continue to be amazed by the paucity of other mountain bike riders and hikers on the trails here in Idaho. I have accumulated almost seven hours of bike and foot travel on the gorgeous trails of Farragut State Park, and have passed all of eight other trail users, all within 1/2 mile of established campgrounds, none deeper in the woods. Admittedly, many of the other campground users have ski and fishing boats, but many others do not.








So far, I have seen more whitetail deer (Odocoileus virginianus) than people out on the trails, including this doe and fawn early one morning. I kept my distance so as not to disturb them, and they walked off into the woods a few minutes later.

The only structure visible in this photo taken from a trail high on a hillside is the park's water tower. All the green thingies are trees, mostly hemlock, larch, cedar and fir. I haven't seen any bears, but am now carrying my industrial-sized can of bear spray, just in case, because I can't assume that there will be another hiker for miles around.










 Now, about the green thingies... oh, yeah, "trees"... here in Idaho, logging provides lots of jobs, and is of more than passing interest to the locals. They practice sustainable forestry here (take that, you Sierra Club people!), and looking out over the woods from a mountain top seems to support their efforts.... it's a sea of green, everywhere you look. There is one sawmill on the road toward Coeur d"Alene, and the piles of logs there are very impressive. Next time you send a card or write a letter (yes, some people still do that), use your laser printer, or use TP (I was being delicate here), thank a logger.



Now for a sociological note. After observing the behavior of fellow campground users, I am beginning to believe that many spend most of their time watching TV, playing video games and eating hot dogs/drinking beer. I don't completely fault the last activity; I am guilty of it myself on occasion. But I watched one guy load up a huge plastic bag of empty beer cans, wine bottles and a single Bombay Sapphire bottle, and his party had only been there for a few days. (Worst of all, they didn't invite me over, darn the bad luck!) On the one hand, I am happy to have the trails to myself, but on the other hand am worried about the lessons being taught to youngsters today. In my humble opinion, they should be out in the woods, not skateboarding around a campground on asphalt roads. I have not seen a single father out hiking with his son or daughter, only older adults (30 and up) and a few teenagers. Sigh...

On my hike yesterday outside the park, I scaled an old (very, very old - 12,000 years old, in fact) glacial moraine left over from the Ice Age. This area was once covered in ice by the Cordilleran Glacier, and there are many glacial erratics and piles of boulders scattered about the Coeur d'Alene Mountains. Peek Hole Rock is one, dropped when an ice dam blocking the Clark Fork River burst, releasing 500 cubic miles of water, which then ran at an estimated 60 mph downstream, tossing boulders wherever it pleased.

Okay, another sociological lament... but not a rant! This time the subject is political correctness and the Boy Scouts. Having been a Cub Scout, then a Boy Scout, and finally an Explorer Scout, I think I know the organization pretty well. Farragut State Park once hosted the largest Scout Jamboree in history, with 40,500 scouts attending. Back then, these towering cedar poles were raised to honor the Scout Laws, attributes that Boy Scouts were supposed to uphold: "A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent." Large letters on each pole illustrated each of these attributes. I found these poles about a quarter mile off the nearest road, in now-dense forest, with no easy access to them for visitors. In the recent past, new "Friendship Poles" were erected with a large parking lot adjacent. The new poles state a new message in several languages. "For Friendship". C'mon, what was wrong with the old ones? Like, they sounded too much like good citizenship?

Just back from another mountain bike ride in the woods. Now, the thing about woods is that they have lots of trees there. Who knew? This is not an earth-shattering revelation, right? Well, there was a windstorm recently, and lots of trees were knocked down, including the three below, in the space of 75 yards, which effectively blocked the trail. I was able to lift my bike over the first, but the second and third were so close together that I had to bushwhack around them. All part of the fun and zest, as we used to say in the Navy...

As you know, MLB is back in Florida... I would like to thank the couple of hundred attendees at Suzanne's Sanaya session on Sunday evening in The Villages who gave me a long-distance wave. I recognized a lot of smiling faces there, and know that Suzanne was so happy to be back with all of you, even if just for a few days. We are looking forward to our return to TV in October! 








Whoops, a late entry. I was going over some photos from our Alaska trip, and found this one of a "Dog in a Bag" that I hadn't published. Rudy is a great traveler, and he always gets lots of attention when people see him in his travel kennel.

Birthday Girls; Wild Corvette Chicks; Dinners Out; Fishies; White Hats; Running with Deer

Yes, it's official. My Lovely Bride is a year older. Being a Southern Gentleman, I could not possibly divulge her actual age, but to me, she's about 35. You can either do a "number drill" on that figure, or deduce her chronological age from her PT this morning, when she ran 53 minutes, did 53 pushups without a break and 53 crunches. She is back in Florida celebrating with her mom Ruthie, with whom she shares a birthday. Here are the Two Lovely Birthday Girls this morning, after they received some nice flowers from an admirer.







Suzanne's Lovely Sister Janice is visiting from West Chester, PA, and today they were out in the Corvette tooling around The Villages, shopping and hopefully not breaking any speed limits or spending too much on hot-looking clothes (I'm not very hopeful on that last item, but there are certain fringe benefits to that kind of shopping). This selfie was taken in The Red 'Vette, at a stop light or in a parking lot, rather than on I-75 at 105...












Okay, here's a complaint. I'm in a state park with Rudy and Gretchen, and we're eating leftovers, while MLB is back in Florida going out to dinner every night. What is wrong with this picture??? No, not the photo at right... But here we have evidence that MLB is out partying... The three party girls with brother Brent at a country club in The Villages, with Brent's Lovely Bride Cheryl acting as photographer. (While I had leftover pizza in the woods). Sigh...

Actually, I have taken advantage of the time alone to do some fishing. (Yes, Bob, and "catching" as well.) In fact, I caught this nice one on my very first cast! I landed four smallmouth bass and perch last night, and two this morning, and decided to do "catch and release" rather than having fishies for dinner. (At least I know now that I can feed my family when Social Security runs out of cash.) Five reasons for my catch-and-release decision: (1) I forgot my fish cleaning kit with dedicated cutting board and fillet knives at home, (2) because of reason (1), I didn't want to use MLB's cutting board and knives, because of the fish smell that would remain, (3) they weren't trout, salmon or walleye, (4) I was feeling generous; and (5) they'll be bigger next year. Oh, and reason (6)... I was feeling lazy. The joy of fishing, though, is not so much in catching fish as simply being a part of the environment. While on the pier, I watched an osprey circling overhead, looking for breakfast. It was more than a casual pastime for her (him?), because there was surely a young osprey in the nest to feed as well as the beautiful bird I watched diving and carrying away a nice fish.

Where are Rudy, Gretchen and Ty, you might ask? Well, we are in Farragut State Park, Bayview, Idaho, north of Coeur d'Alene. This used to be a naval training center in WWII, where 293,000 sailors went through boot camp from 1942-1945. During the war, it was the largest "city" in Idaho. One of its buildings, the Camp Bennion Drill Hall, was large enough to have six full-size basketball courts, an Olympic-size swimming pool, a chapel and a boxing ring; 2,000 men could watch a movie there (the young sailors probably did not rate recliner seats). Basic training started out at 13 weeks, but was shortened to 6 weeks when the war intensified (both to ship losses and the amazing building rate that US shipyards achieved after Pearl Harbor). The memorial you see here is to the young sailors who trained here and did their duty to their country on all the world's oceans.



Why put a naval training center in Idaho? Supposedly Eleanor Roosevelt had flown over the lake on a trip to Seattle, and when her husband Franklin was looking for a secure inland location for a major training base, she suggested this location. It is adjacent to Lake Pend Orielle (pronounced "Pond O-ray"), where the Navy now has a submarine research facility, located here because at 1,150 feet deep in some places, it is the fifth-deepest lake in the US. Formed by glaciers eons ago, it is 43 miles long, and most of the lake's shores are unpopulated. The acoustics (absent the noise from jet skis on weekends) are very similar to the open ocean, ideal for testing full-size submarine prototypes. (A Russian spy trying to get information around here might be just a bit conspicuous...)

The land around Lake Pend Orielle was the traditional home of the Kalispell Indians. The name of the lake is French for an ear hanging, which the Kalispell often wore; coincidentally (?), the lake is shaped like a human ear. The woods here are full of wildlife: deer, elk, grizzly and black bears, coyote, gray wolves and moose all reside in the vicinity. I have been mountain biking over many of the park's trails, and have startled six deer... it's eerie to be riding along at 12-15 mph, and all of a sudden, two fawns or a buck and doe going 30 mph in graceful bounds break out of the woods and cross the trail not 50 feet in front of you. Thankfully, I have not crossed tracks with a bear, but I think they keep clear of the state park because of all the people around. (Note to self: in four full hours of mountain biking on approximately 30-40 miles of trails, you have not met a single other bicyclist... like in Alaska, urban sprawl and overpopulation are not issues here... carry your bear spray! "Yessir!")

It's a Sign; Eats, Shoots and Leaves; More Signs; Size Does Matter; Clear Lake; Chindii; Abandoned!

I really get a kick out of strange signs... I'm not referring here to the metaphysical type, which often refer to synchronicities or guidance from one's guides... but rather to those that have either contextual or grammatical errors or meanings that provide mirth or consternation. Here's an example: while visiting Wrangell, Alaska, we dropped in on the local market. I looked at the sign above the door, the sign painted on a delivery van, and even my register receipt to confirm the name of the grocery: Bobs' Market. I asked my cousin Jim if there were more than one Bob, but he confirmed that there was only one. I suspect that Bob's high school English teacher must be rolling in her grave...

My high school English teacher, Mr. Langlois, is part of the reason that I have long been sensitive to poor punctuation, particularly regarding the use of commas and apostrophes. I hadn't thought much about this until I received a gift from Beth and Mike Pasakarnis - a copy of Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by Lynne Truss. The title refers to a joke - a panda walks into a cafe, orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air. A waiter asks, "Why?", as the panda heads for the door. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife book, tosses it over his shoulder, and says, "I'm a panda; look it up." The waiter turns to the appropriate entry, which states, "Panda. Large black and white bear-like mammal native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves." I will officially thank Beth and Mike here for connecting me with the greater community of correct punctuation sticklers, otherwise known as "comma and apostrophe nerds".






This sign was found at the base of an RV's right front tire in Medical Lake, WA. It seems that the owner had found several streams of urine on his tire, and either didn't like the odor or the lack of respect for his vehicle. In deference to his sign, I moved on to another less obvious (and public) target.









A bed and breakfast's advertisement in Wrangell made me chuckle. While many businesses tout their reputation as "the best in the state" or "world-renowned", this B&B owner is realistic and honest. Sadly, the owner's business plan has not been totally successful, since the B&B is for sale.







This photo was taken at Pats Lake, near Wrangell. I didn't get photographic evidence of the lack of an apostrophe on the sign, but decided that the beauty of these wildflowers outweighed the grammatical error in the lake's name. (See, I'm not a total nerd...)

















The last sign to be posted (today, at least) is at the Muskeg Meadows Golf Course clubhouse. Even ignoring the misspelling of the first word, I find it novel that players are required to buy alcohol to play the course...

Lest a prudish reader assume that Your Faithful Correspondent is being crude, rude and socially unacceptable in the fourth subtitle (Size Does Matter), let me dispel their concerns by referring them to this photo of our coach alongside a very cute and fully functional trailer with the following sign on its rear: "I go where I'm towed to." I decided not to comment to the trailer's owner that ending a sentence with a preposition is "wrong, wrong, wrong", as drilled into my noggin by Coach Charlie Myers, my high school Latin teacher. He also taught me not to insult or pick fights with guys bigger than I/me/myself. (Pick your ending.)  Coach had received his grammar training in a Jesuit high school, and you don't mess with Jesuits!




We are now at Clear Lake Recreation Area, a small campground and marina run by Fairchild Air Force Base near Spokane, Washington. This was our view the other night; our enjoyment of the sunset was abbreviated, but not spoiled, by a swarm of mosquitoes that threatened to eat me alive. For some reason, they did not bother Suzanne at all. (A case of professional courtesy, perhaps? As everyone knows, female mosquitoes feed on human blood, while males feed on flower nectar and plant juices.) SMACK!











Of course, one of the positive aspects to being camped on a lake is that we can get out to kayak early in the morning before it gets too hot or noisy (from the speedboats and jet skis). Paddling is one of my favorite pastimes, and here I am admiring a granite outcropping at the north end of the lake.









"Dust devils" are very localized whirlwinds, much smaller and less powerful than tornadoes. Typically, they range from .5-10 meters wide and 3-1000 meters tall. We passed this one just west of Spokane. Whereas tornadoes are associated with thunderstorms, dust devils form as a swirling updraft on clear, sunny days. Several disparate cultures associate the phenomenon with spirits:
- the Navajo refer to them as chindii, the spirits or ghosts of dead Navajos
- the Australian term willy-willy is believed to be a derivation of an Aboriginal word meaning a bad spirit that often disciplines (or abducts) children who misbehave
- in the Middle East, they are called djin, genies or devils
- in Egypt, the fasset al 'afreet translates as a ghost's wind
- the Kenyan Kikuyu tribe calls it a ngoma cia aka, or women's devil/demon
(I was loath to include the Kikuyu interpretation, as some might accuse me of gender discrimination, but since my head is still ringing from the mosquito-related Smack!, I figured, "What the heck...")



Finally, My Lovely Bride is about to abandon me. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. She is about to fly back home to enjoy a week with her Lovely Sister Janice and her Lovely Mom Ruthie. Suzanne and Ruthie share a birthday on August 1, and Janice will visit from West Chester, PA for the festivities. I have alerted all of the local girlie hangouts to be prepared for the arrival of the Three Wild Things. I hope that their escapades will not get so rowdy that the local constabulary has to be called in, but you know how girls get when they are on their own...

A New Book; Dachshund Prey; Fish and Crab Feasts; Muskeg Meadows; Petroglyphs; Boneyard; Chief Shakes; Skunk Cabbage; Gonif; Woof, Woof!

Great news, blog followers: Suzanne's newest book, Wolf's Message, is out! You can find the Kindle version on Amazon, with the hard copy coming out in a few weeks. Suzanne has also posted a really cool YouTube video on the new book's page on her web site, www.LoveAtTheCenter.com

One of the most scenic spots we visited on Wrangell Island was the Nemo campsite area, perched on a high ridge in the Tongass National Forest overlooking the Zimovia Strait. Here are Jim and Betty Abbott (on their 49th anniversary, by the way) at an overlook, with the peaks of Etolin Island in the background. With an area of 339 sq. miles, Etolin is the 24th largest island in the US, and had a population of 15. There are more elk on the island than people. Urban sprawl is not considered a serious problem here.






Rudy and Gretchen have been enjoying our Alaskan adventure. Next door is a grassy area where this cute little cottontail (and others... you rarely find just one - why is that?) is often munching grass and sunning. Of course, our puppies haven't caught one, but the chases have been entertaining for all concerned... well, okay, maybe the rabbits haven't gotten a vote, but R&G certainly had fun.










One of the other advantages of visiting my cousin Jim in Alaska has been the fabulous seafood his wife Betty has prepared for us. We have enjoyed halibut, home-smoked salmon, Dungeness crabs and shrimp over the past few days, some hand-delivered by their lovely neighbor Denise, whose husband had just come back from crabbing. You can't get any more fresh than that! Here we have the Abbotts and My Lovely Bride steaming and picking crabs. The meat is actually sweeter than most blue crabs I'm used to from the Chesapeake and Louisiana, and one big crab makes a meal. (Suzanne is trying to consume half a crab without picking it... hmm, a bit crunchy...)

Golf isn't the first thing you think of when you plan your trip to Alaska. When Jim arrived in Wrangell back in the 70s, there was no golf course for a couple of hundred miles. Being an avid golfer, it took him awhile to get the US Forest Service, the state, town and other entities to approve the project, but Wrangell's Muskeg Meadows golf course is one of his big accomplishments. Thousands of hours of volunteer work and fundraising resulted in a beautiful course that is both challenging and unusual, with snow-capped peaks in the background. It is USGA rated and sloped (Blue 70.2/119, White 67.8/110, and Red 68.4/112). And oh by the way, Jim won their major tournament back a few years ago.



Wolves and bears are occasionally seen on the course (fortunately, no golfers have disappeared - so far), and there is a special "Raven Rule" that allows you to replace your ball without penalty if it is stolen by one of those pesky birds (provided there is a witness). The course was carved out of second-growth rain forest on a hillside near town, and several creeks and huge boulders replace traditional sand traps. The rock in the center of the fairway here is about 20 feet high. Jim states that golf balls bounce really well off granite... unfortunately, most ricochet into the woods. If your ball goes off the fairway, it's virtually impossible to find, because the undergrowth (mostly alders) is so dense.



There is even a beautifully-groomed 250 yard driving range with eight stations. A tournament was scheduled for the day after we left, so I was unable to show Jim and Betty my renowned skill and prowess at the game. (Suzanne, why are you laughing?)

One of our stops on the Wrangell Tour was Petroglyph Beach State Historic Park, where you can see the largest collection of Native American rock carvings in Southeast Alaska. The word is derived from the Greek words petra (rock) and glyphe (carving). The specific reasons for the carvings is unknown, but experts suspect that they were intended to commemorate important events or to ensure success in hunting and fishing. The petroglyphs here in Wrangell are carved in dark gray metamorphic rock just above the high tide line. This petroglyph represents an orca, or killer whale (Orcinus orca). In the local Tlingit native culture, the orca (called Blackfish) is one of the most powerful creatures in nature. It has a definite supernatural quality, representing an extremely powerful and deadly force of nature to every creature except man, whom Blackfish is said to look after. The Tlingits also believe that nature's creatures are equal to man (if not more worthy than most humans)... after reading the latest news, I think I agree completely with the Tlingits.

Near Petroglyph Beach we found a boneyard with three abandoned fishing boats. Built of wood, they are slowly returning to their natural state. Wood deteriorates quickly in this wet climate, but for now they make for a scenic photo. (Note: a boneyard in this context refers to a place for storing retired aircraft or boats.)

In Wrangell Harbor is Shakes Island Historic Site, location of a replica of a 19th Century Tlingit tribal house, reconstructed in 2012-2013. Chief Sheiyksh (pronounced Shakes) is the traditional Tlingit leader's name. There is no relation to the English idiom, "no great shakes", which after exhaustive research, appears to have originated in the 17th Century as meaning "nothing to brag about" and is apparently related to a gambler's poor throw of the dice with low points (no 7 or 11). (Who knew?)






I have learned a little about horticulture and Alaskan plants from my cousin Jim, who is a Master Gardener. My Lovely Bride and I noticed this huge plant on the Rainbow Falls Trail the other day, and shot a photo of it. Jim identified it as western skunk cabbage (Lysiciton americanus), named that because of the "skunky" odor produced when in bloom. The odor actually attracts its pollinators, scavenging flies and beetles. The leaves are the largest of any plant in the Pacific Northwest, 20-53 inches long. It grows very well in marshy conditions, and was introduced to the United Kingdom (which is mostly marsh, anyway) in 1901 as an ornamental. Here in Alaska and British Columbia, its roots are eaten by bears after hibernation as a laxative (I am not making this up), but it is not known if that is a secondary reason for its importation by the Brits... For those vegans thinking of cultivating skunk cabbage as a main course, the following warning from Wikipedia may be of interest: "Caution should be used in attempts to prepare western skunk cabbage for consumption, as it contains calcium oxylate crystals, which result in a gruesome prickling sensation on the tongue and throat and can result in intestinal irritation and even death if consumed in large quantities".




Next, our Word for the Day: gonif, noun, alternative form of ganef; Hebrew or Yiddish for a rascal or thief. (Thank you, Ken Ring, for this entry.)

Finally, this snippet will probably get me into trouble (again) with My Lovely Bride. Back on August 27, 2013, I posted the "dog salmon" story of when MLB got a great deal at the grocery on keta salmon, "a real bargain at $2.00/lb". As we were eating, I looked up keta salmon, and found that it was actually called "Chum, or dog salmon, used by the Eskimos to feed their sled dogs because of its poor economic value". My big mistake was barking like a dog during dinner... MLB threatened to pour red wine over my head if I didn't cease and desist. I told this story to Jim and Betty, and when we visited the Wrangell City Museum, there was a board with carved salmon, including dog salmon. Here she is getting a close-up of the offending fish... I don't understand why, but Suzanne was less amused than were Jim, Betty and I at her encounter with Oncorhynchus keta.