Houston, Texas. My father lives here. I never planned to visit Houston; in fact, it was the last place on earth I ever would have gone. But, for reasons I cannot yet fathom, I changed my mind and my carefully planned itinerary, and took a long detour and drove to Houston.
I was born and raised in Chicago, but spent a good part of my “formative” years in Houston. You know, the really pleasant teenage years….bad cloths, loud music, rebellious. I was a willful and stubborn kid. Its possible I had some positive qualities too…they were just hard to come by given my preoccupation with asserting my independence and wearing a sort of “smarty-pants” attitude on my sleeve. No doubt it was a real challenge living with me. But the real problem in our household is that there were two of us…nearly mirror images of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Physically, I look more like my mother, but I think and act a lot more like my Dad. As sure as the sun rises every morning, there would be a clash between my Dad and me. “A clash" is of course an understatement, friction eventually came to define our relationship. As the child, I was the recipient of my Dads often harsh and immovable positions. At the ripe old age of 17, I packed up my bag of hurts and left home. I finished high school, became a single mother and put my self through college…all the while stoking my internal drive with the mantra of “I can do this...he'll see”. I was hoping to earn some love and respect.
Fast-forward 30 years. I now have a great family of my own, my career took off, I live in a charming town in New England, I traveled all over the world, and have a circle of friends whose company I truly enjoy. I love my life. The only thing that has slowed me down is the weight of that damn bag of hurts I keep dragging with me. It actually got a bit heavier over the years. Over a relatively short period of time, I lost my mother, my younger sister Cindy and one of my older sisters, Linda. I stuffed all that tragedy in the bag too. I keep that old ugly bag mostly hidden away in some dark corner of my soul. I think no one knows about the bag...but I'm not so sure.
I wasn’t sure what I would find once I got to Houston. I hadn’t been back in over 5 years. Silly me, I was even a bit nervous. For moral support, I called a few of my old friends who still live there and made plans to visit with them. I even looked up a friend I hadn’t seen in 20 years and also made plans for a visit. As I drive down the street where I used to live so many years ago, I thought the place looked great. The trees were much bigger, lawns and gardens more mature…it was all very pleasant. I made my way to the cul-de-sac where I saw my Dad waiting for me. I was pulling the trailer and he was there to help guide me up the driveway (hopefully without taking out a mailbox or tree). My Dad looked the same, yet different. He was older….86 years old now. He’d had back surgery a couple of years ago, which didn’t do much to alleviate his back problems, and he limped a bit. Time was marching on for my Dad. As I considered this, I realized time is marching on for me too, and my time with my Dad. He walked me through the house and the yard. A hurricane had recently visited its wrath on Houston, and we surveyed how well his property had survived…a few branches down, and part of a fence in ruins, not bad, not too bad at all. When we went into the house, well that was another story. It looked like the hurricane had hit the inside, with a vengeance. It hadn’t, my Dad just doesn’t like to waste his time on housekeeping. A vacuum cleaner stood in the middle of the family room as testament to an attempt to tidy up a bit. My Dad opened the door to a spare bedroom for me to use and then winked at me and said “this was your room, wasn’t it”…yes, indeed. Memories flooding in like the falls I’d seen in Yellowstone several weeks earlier.
Dad, Tony and Family 10/2008
I won’t take you through a blow by blow of my visit. I was only going to stay 3 days, and I stayed a week. I found a mission in returning my Dad’s home to some sort of order (I’ll admit, this required professional assistance). My husband Scott, flew to Houston to join me and was promptly put to work on mending fences. My Dad delighted in all the fuss. I got him his first cell phone..he loved it as he loves all new gadgets. We had dinner with my sister Linda’s son Tony, his wife and children. My Dad hadn’t seen Tony in quite some time, so it was a bit of a reunion…for all of us. I met with some of my Dad’s friends and watched as he held court, taking center stage and entertaining everyone…something that used to drive me nuts as a kid, I now found pleasantly endearing. One evening, as we sat on the sofa to watch TV, I observed that his favorite things to watch were also mine….science, nature and the arts. What started out as mission or obligation, unexpectedly became a labor of love.
I spent some time visiting with my old friends. Whether we were reminiscing about the past or talking about the here and now, it was as though the years disappeared and our camaraderie was as easy today as it was 20 years ago. I was having a really good time, my first in many, many years in Houston. Thank you Barbara, Kelly, and Greer...you guys are great!
During my last night, I talked (and laughed) with my Dad until 3AM. It was unquestionably the best conversation I ever had in my life, with anyone. It was filled with the really important things; our life together as a family and our relationship, the will to leave a lasting legacy, the importance of friends and being the best person you can possibly be. Forgiveness and generosity in all things were visited...frequently. It was honest, raw and filled with the wisdom and reflection of two people who have walked many paths, too often without each others company. I will never forget our talk, not in all my days.
When the time came to leave, I dawdled about…finding things to do to delay my departure. The truth was, I didn’t want to go. Still, I packed up the car, kissed my Dad goodbye and pulled out of the driveway. I looked at him in the rearview mirror and saw a man that I loved and respected….he was always there, I just never looked with my eyes completely open before.
I checked in on the old bag of hurts, it weighs a lot less….
Wounded Knee, South Dakota. I saw many things in South Dakota that were truly magnificent..the Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse monuments, the eerie landscape of the Badlands and the mystical beauty of the Black hills. Nothing in this entire trip has affected me more however than my visit to Wounded Knee. It’s a place where you must turn and face the falsehoods of childhood lessons, where the terrible toll of bias and bigotry is still being played out. and lastly, where the rights and liberties spelled out in the American Constitution that “we hold to be self-evident” were systematically taken away from Native Americans.
Wounded Knee "Monument"Wounded Knee is not an easy place to get to. Once there I drove around in circles for 20 minutes looking for a Memorial, a Monument, something that would mark the place that is so symbolic of the conquest of the West. What I found was a dilapidated h
and-painted sign, a cemetery in ruin atop a charred hill and a “visitors center constructed of a few poles and pine boughs. As poor a monument as all of this was, there was an invaluable “richness” is the history of the area and the present day life of Native Americans provided by two volunteers at the visitor’s center, Mr. Elk and his wife Jerilynn.
Mr. Elk proudly showed me his driver’s license, which indicates he is a full-blooded Lakota Sioux. He and his wife showed me hand-drawn maps of the area from the 1890’s,
positions of soldiers, artillery, and the Indians during the massacre. They told me stories of the survivors and their
Mr. Elk...100% Sioux
families, and finally they told me of the hardships of living on a reservation, their determination to keep their culture alive, and the continued bigotry that dogs their attempts to find employment.
Before coming to South Dakota, I read “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee” by Dee Brown and “Crazy Horse” by Marie Sandoz as well as a few others. These well -researched books stood in stark contrast to my lessons in school about the American Indians as well as the prevailing attitudes of the time. Remember playing Cowboys and Indians? The moral of that game was that the cowboys were good and killing the savage Indians was the right thing to do. All the great old western movies promoted the same sort of story. One of the few positive portrayals of an Indian was Tonto, as the Lone Rangers lackey. I was taught that Wounded Knee was a battle, but that was revisionist history, here is what really happened:
Chief Bigfoot of the Sioux finally gave up his long struggle to have his tribe live as free Indians, when the last of their lands was taken. The remains of his tribe, some 120 men and 230 women and children were starved and hungry from running and living in hiding to avoid being placed on a reservation. They were also cold, it was December, 1890 in South Dakota, and many did not even have blankets for cover. Chief Bigfoot decided to bring his tribe to Pine Crest (an Indian reservation) as a last resort as they would surly not survive the winter. Enroute to Pine Crest, on December 28th, four troops of cavalry approached the tribe. Big Foot immediately had the white flag run up over his wagon. Major Samuel Whiteside, Seventh U.S. Cavalry informed Big Foot he had orders for his arrest and that he would be taken to a cavalry camp on Wounded Knee Creek. Big Foot remarked that he was going in that direction, anyway as he was taking his people to Pine Ridge for safety. Big Foot’s tribe was marched into the Wounded Knee Creek cavalry station, and ordered to make camp in the center. Surrounding them were Whiteside’s Cavalry as well as two Hotchkiss guns placed on a rise overlooking the camp. Later that evening, the remainder of the Seventh Cavalry arrived to join Whiteside’s troops. Colonel James W. Forsyth, commanding Custer’s former regiment now took charge. Two more Hotchkiss guns were placed on the ridge. The guns were aimed at the Sioux encampment. The Hotchkiss was a rapid action weapon capable of hurling explosive charges for more than 2 miles. In the morning, after issuing hardtack rations to the Indians, Colonel Forsyth ordered the Indians to be disarmed. All weapons were stacked in the center of the camp. The cavalry was not satisfied with the number of weapons surrendered and so went from tepee to tepee in search of more weapons. They brought out bundles of axes and tent poles and hunting knives, these were stacked next to the surrendered weapons. Still not satisfied that they’d gotten all the weapons, the soldiers ordered the Indians to remove their blankets and submit to personal weapons search. Two rifles were found and when one of the Indians argued saying that he had paid great deal of money for the gun and it was his, the shooting started. As the Indians ran for cover, the Hotchkiss guns rained down on the Indian camp. The flying shrapnel shred tepees, men, women and children. Some of the Braves fought back with whatever they could pick up off the ground. They were no match for armed soldiers however. A number of women and children running for their lives headed for Wounded Knee Creek. They were shot in the back multiple times. When it was over, Chief Bigfoot along with nearly 300 of the original 350 men women and children were dead. The cavalry lost 25 soldiers, most struck by their own bullets or shrapnel from the Hotchkiss guns. Several soldiers received the Medal of Honor for their “heroic” deeds during the Battle of Wounded Knee. Lets face it; there was no battle, and certainly nothing heroic in the brutal massacre of these people. As for the Indians, their bodies were left on the field, frozen in grotesque shapes.
History shows that we made many treaties with the Indians, every one of them was broken, most before the ink dried. Our belief that there was not enough land to go around and a fear of what we did not know or understand led to the deliberate extermination of the Indians way of life. Everyone wanted a big slice of the American dream, and believed the only way to get their share was to take it from the Indians. There is precious little left of this once great culture.
The land that comprises most of the Indian reservations is generally some of the most
Modest homes on S. Dakota Indian Reservation
useless, barren land in the US. Today, Indian reservations remain among the poorest counties in the lower 48 states. I’ve driven through quite a bit of North America during this trip, it’s a bountiful continent.
While I was standing at the very place where Big Foot and his people were massacred, I reached into my pocket and found the
small wooden Indian “dream box” I’d bought when visiting a reservation in Canada.
Big Foots Marker I bent down and scooped up a small amount of earth from that place and put it in the box. I normally do not do things like this…but I was very moved by the scene and the history. I also wanted something to remind me of the terrible things we do and the human misery that occurs when we think there's not enough "pie" to go around. There always is you know...slice it fairly.
I've just passed this monument. It was made famous in a movie about aliens. A better clue lies in the Indian myth about how this strange formation came to be...here goes:
7 girls were playing happily, when suddenly, a giant bear came bounding out of the woods. The bear began to chase the girls. The girls ran as fast as they could, but the bear was getting closer and closer... They 7 girls saw a flat rock and quickly climbed up on it. They realized the bear would still be able to reach them and so began to pray to Wakan Tanka for help. Because their hearts were so pure, their prayers were answered. The rock began to grow and rise up into the air. The angry bear, scratched and clawed at the rock trying to reach the girls, but to no avail. The rock continued to grow until it became a tower that reached a heavenly height. Then, the 7 girls, being of pure heart, were transformed into 7 bright stars, which together form the big dipper.
If you're stumped....here is another clue. Just over the boarder from this formation lies a town also made famous by Hollywood. But, before Hollywood a man with a reputa
tion as a gun fighter, lawman, stagecoach driver and generally a fearsome dude made his home here. He was shot and killed while playing poker in this town, allegedly holding what became known as the "dead mans hand"...a pair of aces and eights. He lies buried in the town cemetery, next to Calamity Jane. Who is he, and where is the town?
YelIowstone Park, WY. I came to Yellowstone because it was the start of it all…the National Parks system. I came to see Old Faithful, wild animals, mountains and lakes. I was fortunate to see all these things and more. As I reflect on my week in Yellowstone I realize that I received one of Natures greatest gifts, peace. Beautiful sunsets, majestic mountains, a glimpse of fawn gingerly taking its first steps from the safety of its mother all invite you to open your soul to the serenity of the park. Climbing, hiking horseback riding provide the balance of leaving your body refreshed and renewed.
Although Yellowstone is a big park, spanning some 3,468 square miles, it is infinitely assessable. Paved roads get you from one end of the park to another, and secondary roads take you to some of the more interesting park features. Far and away the best way to see the park is to get out of your car and onto one of the many trails…they are all well maintained and run the gamut from a short simple stroll to an exhilarating 4 hour vertical rock scramble.
Tetons w/Snake River
I also went to Grand Teton Park, just south of Yellowstone. For beautiful mountain vistas, this park has no parallel. I went on a half-day tour via horseback. My guide, cowboy Kasey (with a “K”), regaled me with stories of Wyoming and his boyhood in Idaho. Turns out we had a common literary hero in Ernest Hemingway. Kasey went on to talk about his favorite authors, their works and his impression of them. In short order it was clear that Kasey doesn’t spend all his days on the trail…he was one well-read cowboy! The ride included climbs up steep hillsides to get a better view of the Tetons, splashing through a series of ice cold rivers and streams…I always wanted to do that…make a big splash when fording a river on a horse…seems so cool, and it was! My favorite however was riding through a large stand of Quaking Aspens.
The contrast of the white bark against the now golden foliage was striking. The wind rustling through the branches and the small golden leaves flying around, like a hundred brilliant rays of sunshine, was not to be forgotten!
Wildlife was out in force in Yellowstone. It is the rutting season, so male virility was prominently on display. The bugling of Elk would go on for hours around sunset, reverberating through the park. I'd heard that one of the largest packs of wolves lived in Yellowstone, in the Lamar valley. The Lamar is known as the Serengeti of Yellowstone...it all happens in this valley. Try as I might, I never did see the elusive wolf. I did see many, many bison however. They are in the grasslands, the roads, even the campgrounds. I think the bison ought to be the symbol of Yellowstone (not to take anything away from Old Faithful...but read on). The story of the bison is an inspiring one. The American Bison was once the most numerous single species of wild mammal on earth. During the 1800’s, reckless white settlers slaughtered the bison for their hides, sport, trophy and to eliminate the primary source of food for the American Indian. Driven to the brink of extinction, it was in Yellowstone that the Bison made its “last stand”. In a desperate attempt attempt to survive, 23 Bison hid out in Yellowstone’s Pelican Valley in late 1800's. They endured near starvation, predation and the elements. Today, there are now
over 3500 hundred free-ranging in the Park and 100’s of thousands elsewhere throughout the west. This is great success story for animal conservation and the perseverance of the Bison.
Long may he roam.
Arco, Idaho. I used to only say this to myself on a particularly bad day at work..but here at the Craters of the Moon National Park it felt like I had landed on the moon, or some distant planet. The landscape is definitely otherworldly. Its all a result of a volcanic eruption some 2000 years ago. The hardened black lava covers the landscape as far as the eye can see, leaving behind a series of caves, unusual formations, lava pipes and cinder cones. I climbed to top of the tallest cinder cone and found to my surprise this one tree growing on top of what is one of the most barren landscapes I’ve ever seen. I thought about how this tree is a symbol of how life preservers in spite of incredible adversity.
The Survivor
Aside from the Craters of the Moon park, I found Idaho to be incredibly bountiful in her lakes, rivers, mountains, forests and ranchland. I’m ashamed to admit that I really didn’t know much about Idaho…and have always thought of it as simply the potato capital of the US. Happily, I’ve had my narrow view corrected, and enjoyed every minute of it. I was able to spend several days camping in the Sawtooth mountains. The area is really an outdoor paradise, with something to offer in every season. Skiing (both down hill and cross-country) is very popular, and the combination of the mountains and wide-open rolling plains creates an ideal environment for skiers. Hunting and fishing are very popular outdoor activities in Idaho as is hiking, horseback riding and white water rafting.
Idaho is also rich in mineral deposits. Like many of the western states, this fact brought a virtual stampede of people during the 1800’s hoping to strike it rich.
Towns sprung up and grew rapidly during the gold rush days. Today, their “ghosts” dot the landscape as a stark reminder of how fortunes can turn…boom to bust. These towns stand in testament to the “Darwinian” era of business…before government bailouts came into fashion (I guess some would say necessity today). As I strolled the dirt roads of the ghost towns of Bonanza and Custer, I couldn’t help but wonder if history might repeat itself, and where the ghost towns of the future might be?
Hell's Canyon
This has been a fantastic week. I started out on the most Northwesterly corner of Oregon on the coastline. Wow! I’ve never seen such a dramatic coastline. The first hundred or so miles were all about waves crashing violently against mountains and boulders. Blue, blue water, the ever-present scent of pines and sunshine greeted me every single day. I haven’t seen a cloud in over a week! I stopped in several places…they were all great.
Oregon CoastlineSomeone told me Manzanita was wonderful, so I stopped there and had lunch…charming beach town with great organic restaurants. Stopped by on my way back from the town beach and chatted with a women who runs a real estate outfit…hmmm, ever so tempting, she pointed out a charming cottage on the hillside over looking the beach. I am keeping the brochure! The lower part of the Oregon coast then moves on to giant sand dunes….they are everywhere…an ATV’ers paradise!
I then moved inland to the lower central part of Oregon. My goal was to see Crater Lake. Again, more drama than you can possibly imagine. The drama further escalated when I found my way blocked by a large forest fire. It had been burning for several days…natural causes, lightening. Anyway, roads were closed, and I ended up having to wind my way there through a series of secondary roads. The silver lining in all this was that I was able to see more of Oregon…off the beaten path…um, way off the beaten path. Crater Lake National Park is gorgeous. I spent a couple of days hiking and taking in the various vistas around the lake. The pictures just do not do it justice..its a huge lake surrounded on all sides by rugged and unusual rock formations. The water is sapphire blue. Because of the fire, many of the photos are hazy..but you should get the idea.
After Crater Lake, I pointed myself…and my 40-foot caravan, due Northeast. My last stop in Oregon is the Hells Canyon area. The terrain from Crater Lake to the Northeastern part of the state changes quite a bit. I first moved through the high plains area…miles and miles of golden grasses…small glimpses of Mt. Hood and large cattle ranches dot the landscape. My goal was to see Hells Canyon, which is the deepest canyon in the US (I always thought the Grand Canyon was..but I’ve learned otherwise). My base camp was in the Wallowa Lake National Park. To get to the park, you go through this unbelievably charming town called Joseph. The facades of many of the buildings are all in Old West style. What’s really cool about it is that it is sort of an artist’s community. The specialty here is large bronze statues. These magnificent works of art are on every street corner in town, and other places, like the roofs of buildings.
Ride em' cowboy - town square Joseph OR Bronze sculpture, bronze art foundries and galleries were all a part of my life growing up, its what my father did for a living, and what he lived to do! Consequently, there are several photos of Joseph and the art that graces the town. It’s a great town, with wonderful people, restaurants and bars (saloons). On my second day, made the trek to Hells Canyon. I am not sure if its called Hells Canyon because of the terrain…which is hellish, or the road to get there, which is even more hellish.. The road I chose to take, which is really more of a dirt path scratched out of the cliffs, winds 24 miles from the point where I made my ascent. It is so steep, twisted and narrow that I could only go about 10-15 mph…it’s a real white-knuckle experience. There is something exhilarating about scaring the hell out of yourself. When I finally reached my destination, I jumped out of the car and praised the Hell’s Canyon Gods for delivering me! The vista was unbelievable….I stood near the edge and looked down, and then looked around…and told myself the power of nature is truly divine. I carefully backed away from the edge. I also did the same thing I did when I was kid visiting the Grand Canyon; I threw a rock down into the abyss.
I should mention that trip up was nothing compared to the terror of taking the road back down. Even in the lowest gear, it was a challenge to keep the truck slow enough so that it would not slide around the hairpin turns. At one point as I was winding my way down, I could see a truck making its way up….horrors…this is less than a single lane dirt road! Not sure of what scary as hell road protocol is..but since I was on the mountainside, as opposed to the cliff to oblivion side, I slowed to a crawl and edged my left-hand side wheels into the cliff to try to make room for the truck to pass. As the truck inched up to me, the driver rolled down his window and shouted through the dust cloud…”Hey Connecticut..yer a long way from home ain’t ya” I solemnly stated, Yessiree!!
I want to tell you that I did something today that I haven’t done so far on this trip and that is…I did nothing. No driving, no planning, no hiking, no paddling. I took the day off. I know it’s a bit of a joke, when I’m on this extended road trip, but seriously, I haven’t had a day of just hanging out. It’s been great. Right now, I am sitting by the campfire with my laptop..really on my lap, writing this blog entry. The stars are out, and all I can hear is the wind in the trees and the crackling of the fire. The night is so special, I am going to dig out the sleeping bag and sleep outside, with nothing between me and the heavens but fresh air. Goodnight.
Alaska – Inside Passage. The second part of our visit to Alaska included a tour of the inside passage. We took the cross-gulf ferry. It’s about a 3-day trip through some extraordinary terrain. In addition to seeing some spectacular glaciers and rugged mountains, we also stopped in 3 ports. Yakutat, famous for the Hubbard glacier. Hubbard is a tidewater glacier stretching some 76 miles. It is an advancing glacier, and if it continues, it will eventually reach and close the seaward entrance of the Russell Fiord. This will create the largest glacially dammed lake in North America. We also stopped at Juneau, the capital of Alaska (completely inaccessible by land…you can only get there by sea or plane), and my favorite, Ketchikan. Ketchikan boosts the largest collection of Totem Poles in North America…they even grace the front of some peoples homes.
Ketchikan - CreeksideI especially liked the Creekside area of Ketchikan. The salmon were in abundance in the creek and the restored gold-rush era buildings made it easy to step back in time. You can almost still hear the music and levity spilling out from the saloon and onto the wooden sidewalk.
The inside passage is also a great way to see marine wildlife. We saw many, many whales. Pods of killer whales and dolphins were also spotted. I loved it! There is something mystical about whales, and I felt privileged to see so many. One thing I learned while on the inside passage cruise, was that I have a tolerance for about 3 days at sea. The vistas were unbelievable, but the same dining room, same food, etc. made me feel a little closed in. Still, there is absolutely no better way to see that much of Alaska's coastline - fantastic!
PS – It was a tad chilly!!!
Me - On deck
Wittier, AK (~6100 miles traveled). I know, its been quite a long time since I last posted here..but I've been busy exploring and having fun. I've also been away from my laptop and wireless signal (nice to do every once in a while, trust me).
Denali - a rare clear view
When I started telling people about this trip, many of them questioned the choice of Alaska as one of my key destinations. They’d cite all the usual stuff, its cold there, its rugged, it’s a long way away, and there are grizzly bears in Alaska. All true. As for the cold, yes indeed it has been cold. I think it fell below freezing every night. But as a fellow hiker told me, “there is no such thing as the wrong kind of weather for hiking, there is only the wrong kind of clothing!” We went out everyday, and enjoyed some of the most spectacular scenery imaginable. I consider it an honor of nature that on the first day that we went to see Denali, it was perfectly clear and we saw the entire mountain in all its glory. Something that is really very rare I am told. Denali is glorious. Its jagged, snow covered peaks present a sharp contrast to an unbelievably blue sky. It has the highest absolute vertical ascent of any mountain on earth (I know Everest is taller, but Denali has a greater overall bulk and vertical rise).
me - Denali Park
I did travel over 6,000 miles to get to Alaska, and I guess that’s a long way, but going a long way was entirely the point of this trip in the first place…..which has been great. We saw many animals in Alaska, including grizzly bears. It happens to be the time of year when the salmon are making their run upstream to spawn, which provides a veritable feast for the bears. One night while we were camping along the
beautiful lakeshore of Quartz Creek Lake, in the Kenai peninsula area, a bear decided to give our trailer a shove in the middle of the night. The three of us woke with a start. My brave dog made a beeline for our bed, and once firmly ensconced in my lap, managed to muster enough courage to growl at the bear outside.
The bear left without incident (no doubt in fear for its life after hearing from my ferocious dog ☺ ). The next morning, the only evidence that a bear had been about was a deep recess in the beach that the bear had dug to lie down in, and a few salmon skeletons scattered about. I don’t know why the bear decided to shove our trailer, perhaps just to remind us who is king of the forest in Alaska. Which brings me back to the question of why go into the wilderness. There was a time when people were drawn to Alaska, not so much for the wilderness itself, but for what it contained. The gold rush of the 1800’s is a great example and of course there’s the modern day “gold rush” for oil which is unfortunately still going on. Others have gone and continue to go in order to pit themselves against nature itself… .a contest that takes no prisoners and has claimed a number of lives through the years. Another group of people, and I met a few of them, go to Alaska in search of a simpler life, relatively free from the modern world. I didn’t go for any of those reasons. I went because I wanted to see and feel what one of the few remaining wild places on earth was like. I wanted to walk on the tundra, climb in the mountains, plunge my hands in glacial melt and splash my face with the coldest, cleanest water imaginable. I wanted to see animals in their natural habitat, living as they were meant to live. I was able to do all these things and more. I took nothing away from Alaska except pictures, memories and a more profound sense of my own place in the greater order of things.
Go if you can.
Denali Park (5,400 miles traveled). I am so psyched….I was up before dawn. In fact, I was up several times before…going outside my camper, peering into the sky hoping for a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis that the North Country is so famous for. Nothing yet, but I still have several days to go! Today is prep day. I am actually camped just outside the park in sort of a staging area. It’s the last chance to stock up on food, water, propane, and other essentials like wine before heading into the park, which we do tomorrow morning. That’s right, I said we. My son Ben, and my husband Scott, are joining me for the Denali and Alaskan coast portion of the trip. I think they’re going to love it here…hope so. We’re planning to do a lot of hiking….so getting the backpacks organized is key for today. Some of you have emailed me after the Eureka post and asked what’s in the backpack. Here are a few pics and a list. Let me know (soon) if you think I’ve forgotten anything. Don’t know when I’ll be able to post again…but you should expect some great photos of Denali next time.
The stuff in the backpack (minus lunch)
1. Osprey Day Pack – I love this brand. It’s great for my size, distributes the weight well on my hips. Nice airflow against the back. All sorts of pockets, loops, etc. Has a waterproof cover (a must for Alaska).
2. Buck Knife – essential. This brand has been around forever, with good reason
3. Waterproof matches (duh)
4. Flashlight (another duh)
5. CamelBack Water Reservoir. This particular model is great because it has a wide mouth…easy to clean and fill. The hose, is well, convenient. I don’t have to stop and unscrew or flip open a water bottle. Fits well in a compartment on my pack.
4. First Aide stuff – just in case
5. Bug juice. Another essential here. I can honestly say I survived an attack by a swarm of vicious North Country black flies….but only barely! They are truly the thugs of the insect world. Mosquitoes are a mere annoyance compared to these horrors.
6. Chapstick & Sunblock – the sun is pretty intense, even this far north. It’s also light much longer…until about 10PM here
7. Camera, tripod. And binoculars. I have a Canon EOS D20 with a couple of different lenses and filters. One of my favorite pieces of gear on this trip. (not pictured because I’m using it for this photo!). Nikon Prostaff waterproof binocs.
8, SAT phone. Over-priced and poor quality, but better than nothing. It’s the size of a brick.
9. Bear spray. Its bear country. I’ve carried this stuff for the past week every time I go in the woods. More on bear stuff below. Thanks to Des Cika for providing me with the latest in bear spray technology.
Bear Spray, w/safety
10. Trail Mix & Power bars. Now I know people get really religious about what makes a good trail mix. Personally, I like nuts and dried fruit..period. I do NOT like chocolate in my trail mix even though I’m a fiend for the stuff normally. I have never forgotten a trip Scott and I took several years ago and our trail mix debacle. We were getting ready for a weeklong backpacking trip in the Colorado Rockies in the Estes Park. We existed for a week on freeze dried food and trail mix. A huge bag of trail mix. We made the trail mix before leaving. It had nuts, dried fruit, coconut flakes and an ample supply of chocolate chips. It was tasty, and certainly provided energy throughout the day. The problem was that after a day or so the chocolate melted and the whole thing became this giant heavy glop, that was sticky and messy. Chocolate got everywhere, including on us and our cloths…attracting more insects…you get the picture. No chocolate.
11. Walking stick. These are really great for hiking and day climbing. Mine has a couple of different bases for use in different terrain and weather conditions. It also has a built in compass. It has a bell as well (which I’ve put back on for the photo). The idea behind the bell is that it will make noise as you walk as scare off the bear(s). Others consider it a "dinner bell" for the bears.
Bears and bells
I had a conversation some years ago when I was in Montana with a story-telling, tobacco chewing (and spitting) cowboy. It was fall and I’d wanted to go horseback riding on Big Mountain. Turns out you are required to have a guide for this, so I hired one, his name was Cowboy Dave. Cowboy Dave is one of these larger than life, colorful characters who can spin a yarn a minute. He wore a big ten-gallon hat and had a huge Montana belt buckle…nearly the size of the state of Montana! He entertained me all day with one story after another. They were all made up of course. Toward the end of the day I asked about the effectiveness of bells in scaring off bears. I was planning to go hiking the next day in Glacier Park, where there are also grizzlies, and wondered if I should take some bells along. Cowboy Dave leaned back in his saddle and said (with a long drawn out cowboy drawl)…”well, do you know the difference between black bear scat and grizzly bear scat?” I thought about potential answers, and brilliantly surmised that this was not going to be about size and color…so answered, “No Cowboy Dave, I do not know the difference”. His response was simple and straightforward, “the grizzly bear scat has the bells in it” Nuff said. I should add that when I find myself hiking and worried about the bears, I just start singing. Those of you who have heard me sing know that this is enough to scare off anything.
Walking stick w/silly bear bell (bright green). I guess the bright color makes it easier to see in the bear scat.
It all starts with a dirt road. Its long, its steep, it twists and turns and it’s a two and a half hour dust storm. Totally fun…now I know what a 4 wheel drive is really for! I arrived at the public boat ramp of Frances Lake and was greeted by Andrea Laternser. She and her husband Martin, own the Frances Lake Wilderness Lodge. After a 40 minutes boat ride, I found myself on the shore of one of the most stunningly beautiful lakes I have ever seen. I should mention that in the 40-minute boat ride, I did not see another boat, another person or any sort of home or structure on the lake…pure wilderness. The campsite is composed of one main cabin or lodge and a handful of unique guest cabins. One of them was completely reconstructed from the remains of one of the Hudson Bay posts on the lake. These are rustic cabins…no electricity and no running water. Even though it is very rustic and remote, I enjoyed some fantastic meals prepared by the camp cook. The owners are great. They are both experienced guides and know quite a bit abo
ut the local lore and history.
Hudson Bay Company Cabin
20 Year old Girl's CabinDuring my first full day, the history of the Frances Lake region area of the Yukon really came alive. We boated and hiked to a couple of old Hudson Bay Posts. The original cabins, dating from 1930-40s were in various stages of decay. One of the posts had markers of both Indian and white settlers graves. These particular posts were the second Hudson Bay Company installations. The employees of the first posts (circa 1880’s) either perished or abandoned them due to starvation. The starvation issue puzzles me as the area has an abundant amount of moose, caribou, sheep and fish. No one knows why this happened…but it did. Most believe the people the company sent the first time were ill equipped to exist in the wilderness. We also hiked to the remains of a couple of other cabins, each with a unique story. I could write a book about these people, they are so fascinating. One worth mentioning here is the story of a 20-year-old girl who came to this very remote part of the Yukon in 1970 all alone. On her own, she built a cabin and managed to sustain herself for 1-2 years. No heat, no electricity, no running water, and no grocery store! The winters are quite cold here, sometimes reaching temperatures of -80F. Bears outnumber people by a substantial margin…and they are higher on the food chain. On one of the posts of the cabin, she carved her name and the period of time she lived in the cabin. I ran my fingers over it again and again…both intensely curious about her and impressed by her grit. This is truly an amazing account on a number of levels. I should mention that she is still alive today and has been in contact with the owners of the Wilderness Lodge. I hope to be able to contact her one day.
In preparation for the second day, which was devoted to searching for Anton Money’s cabin, Martin, Andrea and I poured over maps, re-read parts of the book and compared the pictures of Money’s hand-drawn maps and written accounts of the location of his gold strike and his cabin. Money’s autobiographical account states that he would hike +/- 3 miles from his strike on Finlayson River to the cabin. He also writes that his cabin is about 5 miles north of what is now called “Money” creek. We ended up with a reasonably tight radius in which to search. The other helpful information we had were the photographs in the book. The photos show a rock outcropping upon which he built a second larger cabin, the original cabin and outbuildings were below this on more level ground. The area at the time of the photos had been completely cleared of the original cypress timber, and you could see that the cabin faced the lake.
It took us quite a while to get from the Wilderness Lodge to the end of the lake where we intended to search. I didn’t mind however. It was a sunny, brisk day and the lake was as smooth as glass…beautifully reflecting the sky and the mountains. As we neared the Finlayson delta I looked for something that would resemble the photo. The shoreline on both sides was completely wooded…not a clearing to be had. We asked ourselves…where in this vicinity would you build a cabin if you had a choice. Someplace sunny, someplace with a good view of the lake, all came to mind. Most certainly you’d want it to be a reasonable distance from where you were working each day. We eventually focused on an area that curved a bit from the river delta and faced down the lake…and into the sun. It had an obvious rise and it also was covered with very different timber…new growth timber, which included poplar and birch. We beached the boat and began hiking. Not very far into the hike we came upon decaying building remnants, which included a cabin and some out buildings. This was exciting…my heart raced with the prospect of having found the very thing I’d been dreaming about for some time..and certainly for over 3,000 miles. The cabin was completely dilapidated, so there was really no way to identify it.
Money's Cabin remains (?)
Further, there was evidence at the site of items that most likely would have post-dated Money’s time there (80 years ago). For instance, there was a large iron stove still standing. It is unlikely that Money would have had anything like this as transport of something this size would probably have necessitated an overland trip…the dirt road I traveled down was not build until 30 years after Money left Lake Frances! However, Martin explained to me that it was common practice to re-use abandoned cabins…particularly among the First Nation people. We then hiked up higher in search of the second cabin. We covered the entire area, but could not find any remains of a second cabin. From the location of the ruins I gazed out onto the expanse of the Yukon wilderness. This view has not changed since the time Money was here. Its rugged beauty inspires as much today, as it did 80 years ago.
I do not know, and perhaps never will if the cabin we found was Money’s. It certainly fits the area described. One thing that is for certain however… I’ve learned that people love a quest. Everyone I told about this wanted to know more, wanted the title of the book, wanted me to tell them how it all turned out. I got all sorts of advice from the local Canadians on how to manage the logistical problems of getting to the site, including an offer to drive me to at least the boat ramp and pick me up a few days later. Martin and Andrea turned out to be great quest partners. They really engaged in the search and now have another colorful character to add to the Frances Lake Yukon lore. I gifted them the book. It seemed the rightful home for Money’s story….back to where it all began. As for me, I found much more than the ruins of an old cabin. My reward for this quest is, I think, the same as every other person who embarks on such an endeavor. It’s the priceless experience of making new friends along the way, living your goals, and the enlightenment that comes from the journey.
Cabin at the Camp
Bob, if you are reading this, thanks for the inspiration. I gave it my very best shot.
PS. A fantastic, pristine wilderness adventure spot: www.franceslake.ca
Watson Lake, Yukon (3,500~ miles traveled) Shortly before leaving for Alaska I began reading a book titled This Was The North, given to me by my neighbor, Bob Reynolds. The book is the autobiographical story of Anton Money. It’s a fascinating read about a young man of 22 who comes to Alaska in 1923, leaving behind a life of privilege in England. He begins his life in Alaska as a clerk with the Hudson Bay Company. He does not long remain a clerk however. The rugged beauty of the North, the chance to pit himself against one of the most harsh climates on the planet, and the potential of finding gold all conspire to lure him away from his desk job. He tells a moving story of developing new skills, learning to work with different cultures (The Native Americans) and building the confidence needed to strike out on his own. Lastly, in many ways it’s a story about being successful on his own terms. He eventually does make a gold strike, and builds a cabin on Frances Lake in the Yukon Territory. He lives here happily for many years with his wife and 2 sons. There are other stories like his about the people who came to settle this part of America. They were all rugged, fierce individuals. As most of you know, many came here during the gold rush, few ever found gold, and even fewer had the capacity to live here.
I am leaving in few hours to go to Frances Lake to search for Money’s cabin. II'll be a there a couple of days. ts been quite an adventure already, just trying to figure out how to get there. The major challenge is the fact that this place is so remote, there are no services available. In particular there is no gas available for over 233 miles. When I pull the trailer, I cannot drive 233 miles before needed to fill-up. My first thought was to purchase a couple of those plastic fuel carriers and a manual pump. This seemed like the way to go, until I imagined careening down a desolate, bumpy road with all that fuel…hmm, rocket man. Maybe not. Then I thought about parking the trailer in Watson Lake and driving the SUV, buying a tent to camp-out in and hiking to Money’s old cabin. I looked at the maps and realized that Money’s cabin (general direction…I don’t know where it is exactly) is a long way from any road…lots of hiking….maybe days worth. I was actually going to do this, until a local told me about a couple that have a wilderness camp up on the lake. I wrote them and they have agreed to let me stay at their camp, and we’ll go by boat in search of the cabin.
You may be wondering…why go to all the trouble? I could tell you that I promised Bob I would go to the cabin, and that would be a true statement. But, it is more than that. I am beginning a new phase in my life. I am inspired by people like Anton Money. I love the idea of success on your own terms, especially after you’ve tried it on someone else’s. Most of all, I’d like to be a little fierce myself
Dawson Creek, British Columbia (~3,100 miles traveled). Busy, busy. Dawson Creek is at the head of the Alaskan Highway. It is the last city of any size before reaching Fairbanks, Alaska. I am busy stocking up on the essentials as well as stuff I think I may not be able to get once I make the push toward Alaska. I am busy pouring over maps at the moment. I am changing my originally planned route as I have a quest to complete before getting to Denali. My neighbor and friend, Bob Reynolds gave me a book a couple of weeks ago which has inspired me. There are reasons and details...which I'll write about next...promise!
In the meantime, I've posted a few (ok about 25) pictures from my first week on the road. The slideshow is at the left. I think if you click on it..you may be able to see the pics, and the captions in a larger format. Let me know.
I'll close for now....still gotta work out some additional details of the new route...plus, there is supposed to be a meteor shower tonight between 3-5am mountain time that I don't want to miss!
Jasper, Alberta, (~2,800 miles traveled) Its dusk and Maya and I have just finished our nightly walk around the campground. I’ve been spying tonight (ok…maybe I’ve done that once or twice before….but no more than that!). I’ve been spying on the other campers, but tonight, I did so with clear purpose. I want to know about their campfires. What kind of people build these great blazing pits of warmth and comfort? I ‘d like to know. In fact, I think I’ve wanted to know all my life. Oh, I’ve managed the cheery fire in the household hearth. It looks good. I guess it creates a certain ambience and all…but no one is really counting on it for anything. I mean all the houses I have lived have central heat. But the real thing…in the great outdoors, for cooking and keeping warm, and sharing a good story or two with friends..… has eluded me. I build them. Some of them even look impressive at first. But they eventually all suffer the same fate, some sort of smoldering, fizzling, campfire wannabe that eventually dies out. Can’t cook with them and certainly can’t use them for warmth.
So here is what I saw tonight. People with great fires have all sorts of camping equipment, in all sizes and colors. Some are in tents, some in RV’s (even the rented ones that have those obscene 1-800 RENTRV on them). Most of them had a good supply of neatly stacked wood. They had tidy camps…..and someone was always tending the fire. I have a suspicion that there is something else that just doesn't meet the eye...I may have to do more spying...!
As I write this entry, I’ve built a fire. I am watching it right now, tending to it. I have put to the test the elements that seem to be essential…here they are:
1. Start with your intention (building a big, warm fire)
2. Gather the necessary elements, start small and build upon success
3. Watch over it …be attuned to what is needed, adjust as necessary
4. Don’t be stingy with the wood
5. Sit back, relax and enjoy every second
6. When its time to go, make sure its completely out, smoldering embers are trouble.
I’ll keep you posted regarding my success. I have lots of time to work on this…after all building and enjoying a great fire is a journey.
Those of you out there that are proficient at this…please feel free to e-mail or comment with suggestions.
Moose Jaw Saskatchewan, Aug 9 (~2,100 miles traveled). Moose Jaw, it’s a place with a colorful history, to match its rather unusual name. If you’ve ever traveled much in Canada you too must have noticed that the “moose” rules. There are more roadside warnings of moose hazards (i.e. hitting a moose on the highway or any roadway is likely to put an end to the car and likely the driver and/or passengers). The warning signs range from comical to downright frightening…and as such, are pretty effective. Anyway on to Moose Jaw.
Moose Jaw was originally settled as an Indian fur trader’s camp. The name Moose Jaw is derived from the Cree Indian name for the place, moscastani-sipy. The term means a “warm place by the river” To the white settlers, the first two syllables, “mosca”, sounded like Moose Jaw.
A railroad was eventually built here, farming commenced and the town’s prosperity eventually depended on the success (or failure) of wheat crops.
At the turn of the century, a large number of Chinese immigrants came to Moose Jaw to labor in the steam laundries and gunnysack factories. They worked in basements, which were scattered throughout the town. A series of tunnels eventually connected much of this,
creating a whole “underground” world. The conditions these people worked in were despicable.
American prohibition brought a whole new, and much more lucrative trade to Moose Jaw…bootlegging. During the 1920’s Moose Jaw grew to become a hub of illegal liquor distribution into Chicago and elsewhere in the mid-west. The tunnel system provided excellent cover for the operation. Speak-easies, prostitution and gambling all flourished in Moose Jaw. This colorful chapter in Moose Jaw’s history is now a pretty interesting tourist attraction, complete with a tunnel tour, actors and a fair amount of animation. Worth seeing if you find yourself in this neck of the prairie.
On the subject
of Moose, the mascot of this road-trip, the protector of the trailer is lacking a name. Not sure of the gender since I only have the head…but as you can see from the photo…its one very attractive moose. This moose holds a place of prominence on the wall of my trailer, and is deserving of name fitting its station in life. So, send me your name suggestions…e-mail or comments section is fine.
I need a name!
Whiteshell Lake, Manitoba. Aug 6-7 (~1,700 miles traveled) . In my last post I mentioned that I believed I was getting the hang of all this. I am at this moment sitting at a picnic table in a campground a few miles from the Ford Dealership in Winnipeg. You may be wondering why I would chose to locate myself near a Ford dealership when I have the great outdoors at my disposal. Well, it seems it was my turn to be given a lesson ..or two. While the beginning of this story doesn’t start off all too well…it certainly ends on a positive note…so read on.
I arrived yesterday (Wednesday) in the early evening at the Whiteshell Lake Provincial Park in Manitoba. The weather was fantastic, about 78 degrees, sunny with a light breeze. The park attendant had already left for the day by the time I got to the park. My name with a campsite designation was pinned to the door. I should add that this a very large park, encompassing several miles, and quite a few lakes, etc. As there were no campground maps to be had, I got back in my car and started driving around looking for my site. Thus began “a series of unfortunate events”. I soon discovered that this particular park has a number of dead-end roads throughout. After a few rounds of having to back up a 23 foot trailer in a small space populated with kids, dogs, boats, cars and other campers, I’d had enough and parked on a hillside corner site that was vacant. I got out and started walking the campground in search of my site. I vowed to always walk the campground instead of driving aimlessly, kicking up dust and disturbing the other folks. I eventually found my site, and walked back to my car and trailer. As I approached the trailer, it became clear to me that I had picked a poor place to park it. I was going to have a difficult time backing down the hill, making a sharp turn and avoiding the trees, picnic tables, fire pits and other campground amenities (which I now was beginning to view as obstacles). I vowed never to park in such a place again. To make a long story short, I soon became frustrated with the backing up, moving forward routine and only gaining a couple of feet of movement in the right direction…at some point the trailer was at a 90 degree angle to my truck (never a good thing) and I decided to just push back a little more and, well you guessed it, disaster struck. The trailer jack-knifed; the edge of it hit and shattered a rear-window on my truck. The sound of glass breaking does have a way of disturbing the tranquility of a campground. After some colorful language and a
nother vow or two of things I would absolutely never do again,
went slinking into my designated campsite leaving a breadcrumb
trail of glass shards.
Pelican Island
Back at the campsite I began to contemplate the impact of this little accident on my future travel plans as well taking a closer look at the “damage”. Every time I got near the broken window, more glass shards would fall…it was as if the truck was continually berating me for the incident. Disgusted, I went back in the trailer to make dinner and ponder my options.. After about 30 minu
tes there was a knock on my door. I opened the door to find women from
John Lopes
(car fixing, joke telling loon spotting phenomenon)
a nearby campsite who had come to invite me to join her family and friends around their campfire. This was the first social invitation of my trip, and I must admit that I was a little taken aback and could only respond with “oh, thank you, but I couldn’t possibly. You see I had a little accident and I have to attend to a window that’s been broken”. She asked to see it, so I brought her over to the truck and started explaining what happened. When I next looked up, several more people had come to look at the window, including her husband, John. What happened next is truly a great chapter in the kindness of humanity. Within moments, all these people started to go to work on truck. Removing all the broken glass, sweeping up the shards that had fallen to the ground, vacuuming the inside of my truck, and taping plastic on window frame, etc. When it was all done, I joined them around their campfire. I must say it was an eclectic group of people. There were people from Poland, Ukraine, Portugal, the Philippines (?) and me. The fire was ablaze in the center, casting a warm glow around everyone. John was a non-stop joke machine. When he wasn’t delivering a perfectly timed punch line, he was regaling us with stories about others mishaps at the lake…my own becoming merely another funny footnote in this summers chapter. Between the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of my new found friends…my troubles seemed to just slip away. At some point during the evening I heard, what I thought was the haunting sound of a loon. I asked others if they heard it…they had, and indeed it was a loon. There are many of them at this lake I was told. I’ve never seen one and asked when the best time would be to catch a glimpse…I was told dusk is probably best, but that they are visible throughout the day. Excellent I thought…I’ll be sure to try to get a look before I leave in the morning. It was after midnight before I made my way back to my trailer, my footsteps considerably lighter than a few hours earlier.
Next morning I went down to the lake at 5:30, camera and binoculars in hand, with my constant companion Maya, trotting along. I waited and watched for an hour or so, sipping coffee and watching the morning mist lift from the lake and slowly disappear. I could hear loons, but I could not see them. It was getting late, and I needed to make the drive to Winnipeg to have the truck fixed. I went back to my campsite and started packing up to leave. John strolled by on his way to the lake and 
asked if I needed any help, or if I’d be interested in a morning boat ride around the lake. I passed on the boat ride (duty calls) and thanked John for the memorable evening. Just as I was about to take off, John came back and said…you sure you don’t want to take a boat ride…I spotted a couple of loons. Perfect. I grabbed my camera bag, and walked
The Elusive Loon
down to the dock and hopped in the boat. In seconds we were skimming across a lake as smooth as glass. John pointed out the loons…a mother with her two chicks..one of whom I was told she adopted. I had the opportunity to watch them for quite a while. We also drove around the lake and I was shown various landmarks, including Pelican Island (the locals call it something else..has to do with all the droppings…I’ll spare you) and another pair of loons. John dropped me at the dock and invited the Gibson clan to visit them at their home in Manitoba anytime. A fantastic morning by any definition.
I vowed never to turn down on offer to share a campfire again.
Water beetle in the morning light.
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