Saturday, June 24, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
Midweek Hiking Trips - Trying to do Everything
On Thursday night I reserved a US State and Parks Cabin looking out upon Eagle Glacier. The federal cabins are a luxury for a camper - dry, equipped with propane heaters and wood stoves, gorgeous locations, entirely your own. For $35 a night they make cold-weather and wet-weather overnight hikes a delight.
A wet and beautiful 5.5 mile hike through old growth forest and beaver-dammed ponds brought us to the cabin. The view looked out upon Eagle Glacier itself, a waterfall suspended in time, slowly leaking into the large lake stretching before it.
We left our gear at the cabin (setting the thermostat on the propane heater at 70 degrees farenheight) and attempted the climb to the blue ice. After 2 large river crossings, and hours of sliding around on our arses in the rain on slick, steep rockface like primordial sludge, we admitted defeat - we would not be touching ancient ice today. We retreated back to the cabin for a hot dinner.
Impeccable planning and a 4:30am start brought us to the borrowed car by 7:30am with ample time to drive to Auke Bay, visit the Christian Waffle shop for a spelt waffle, maple syrup, God's word and a coffee - and still be on time for work at the Kayak shop at 9am. A quick high-five to congratulate ourselves on the success of our journey in the cabin of the car was soon regretted as I turned the car-key and the truck made absolutely no response. Flat battery.
We started walking. 27 miles out the road, there is not much traffic, but we kept our thumbs out all the same.
Fortune was on our side that morning and we scored a lift in a plush SUV. With just enough time to scoff down some breakfast as planned before 9am.
A wet and beautiful 5.5 mile hike through old growth forest and beaver-dammed ponds brought us to the cabin. The view looked out upon Eagle Glacier itself, a waterfall suspended in time, slowly leaking into the large lake stretching before it.
We left our gear at the cabin (setting the thermostat on the propane heater at 70 degrees farenheight) and attempted the climb to the blue ice. After 2 large river crossings, and hours of sliding around on our arses in the rain on slick, steep rockface like primordial sludge, we admitted defeat - we would not be touching ancient ice today. We retreated back to the cabin for a hot dinner.
Impeccable planning and a 4:30am start brought us to the borrowed car by 7:30am with ample time to drive to Auke Bay, visit the Christian Waffle shop for a spelt waffle, maple syrup, God's word and a coffee - and still be on time for work at the Kayak shop at 9am. A quick high-five to congratulate ourselves on the success of our journey in the cabin of the car was soon regretted as I turned the car-key and the truck made absolutely no response. Flat battery.
We started walking. 27 miles out the road, there is not much traffic, but we kept our thumbs out all the same.
Fortune was on our side that morning and we scored a lift in a plush SUV. With just enough time to scoff down some breakfast as planned before 9am.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Alaska Boat and Kayak
Auke Bay, 17 miles, Juneau
I entered a new niche of Juneau culture today: boats and kayaks. Over a five hour shift I saw a few kayaks come in, a few tinnies, washed some out, sent a few merry paddlers on their way, and chatted to folks about their adventures and the trips they want to do. What fun. What a pleasant way to spend an afternoon at $12/hour.
By knock-off I had made a new friend from Oregon who stayed around until I shut up the shop and we wandered over to the seedy yaughties pub above the Christian waffle shop. One beer and three hours later I was shocked to find it nine pm, with the perpetual Alaskan dusk apon us, it could have been five pm on a Melbourne winters day. The Oregonean had given me some travel ideas, some job concepts in Washington state and Oregon, and I had imparted a list of the best things in Australia to see on a wonderfully etched map of the country that was no more than two centimeters by three centimeters tall. Americans are fascinated with Australia and throw all sorts of questions at me that I had never asked of my country whilst living there. Tonight I was again struck by the phenomenon in the US of exodus from cities to have the ultimate sea-change and find lusher towns with clean air and water. I don't think this is happening in Australia. I think our cities are still too livable. Perhaps it is a function of population, Melbourne or Sydney are not yet suffocating the inhabitants. Are they? Here they talk of 'Californication' - Californians leaving their state for greener pastures, only to turn them into the place from which they ran. I don't see it at home, but I wasn't looking for it now, was I.
This week there is no working amongst the hazardous waste, so I am taking some hours at the kayak shop for Kerry and Mike, who's house I am staying in and who's dog I look after when they go to fish their yearly quota of Halibut, or attend a wedding in Boulder, Colarado. Tonight the journey is making sense and i've once again caught that ribbon of traveller's flow - catching the currents and they present themselves.
I entered a new niche of Juneau culture today: boats and kayaks. Over a five hour shift I saw a few kayaks come in, a few tinnies, washed some out, sent a few merry paddlers on their way, and chatted to folks about their adventures and the trips they want to do. What fun. What a pleasant way to spend an afternoon at $12/hour.
By knock-off I had made a new friend from Oregon who stayed around until I shut up the shop and we wandered over to the seedy yaughties pub above the Christian waffle shop. One beer and three hours later I was shocked to find it nine pm, with the perpetual Alaskan dusk apon us, it could have been five pm on a Melbourne winters day. The Oregonean had given me some travel ideas, some job concepts in Washington state and Oregon, and I had imparted a list of the best things in Australia to see on a wonderfully etched map of the country that was no more than two centimeters by three centimeters tall. Americans are fascinated with Australia and throw all sorts of questions at me that I had never asked of my country whilst living there. Tonight I was again struck by the phenomenon in the US of exodus from cities to have the ultimate sea-change and find lusher towns with clean air and water. I don't think this is happening in Australia. I think our cities are still too livable. Perhaps it is a function of population, Melbourne or Sydney are not yet suffocating the inhabitants. Are they? Here they talk of 'Californication' - Californians leaving their state for greener pastures, only to turn them into the place from which they ran. I don't see it at home, but I wasn't looking for it now, was I.
This week there is no working amongst the hazardous waste, so I am taking some hours at the kayak shop for Kerry and Mike, who's house I am staying in and who's dog I look after when they go to fish their yearly quota of Halibut, or attend a wedding in Boulder, Colarado. Tonight the journey is making sense and i've once again caught that ribbon of traveller's flow - catching the currents and they present themselves.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Taking Shelter
Shelter Island, 2 hours kayak from Juneau, Alaska
Here above the muskeg a sweet breeze blow hints of the spring – Labrador in bloom. I have never smelt a sweeter breeze, there’s something to it. I’m sitting on the future porch of the cabin-in-construction. To my left is the small ‘chapel’, soon to be the sauna. The amber shingles of its carefully insulated roof glow in the morning sunshine.
I hear a whale breathing. I cannot see the water that is above 500 metres away, across this muskeg front yard, over the thick spruce forest, and down to the rocky beach. Beyond this waterbody - the Lynn Canal, and mountains – the Chilkat Range, their snowy reaches bathing in sunshine on this still day. Follow the mountains north and you will come to Haines, and meet Jeff, Robin, and Eli, for a cup of tea and a gossip about who did what this week past.
Here we are at Rick’s with a familiar WWOOFing feeling: travellers, not much money, plenty fit, with appetite, and learning alternatives. Trahern is here. I work with Trahern. He is twenty years old, a self-confessed nerd, tall as hell, skinny, coke-bottle glasses, a mental sponge and a chemistry enthusiast. I like him a lot.
Rick’s Rick: playful, risk-taking, playing the game his own way and bollocks to the rest of it. He’s built a maze of structures here, on muskeg and forested slope – watching where trees fall and milling the bounty, building on-site, or making steep trunk-staircases up to the next level. Walking around here requires fitness and dexterity. There is no wheelchair access. Thin, bouncing boardwalk suspends above deep bog, a narrow log will bring you to the other side of the otherwise impassable slope – if you have the balance. This place is gorgeous and speaks of Rick himself, may he never have to get around with a cast on his leg!
There is Mark, an environmental studies major from North Carolina, and Debbie, an organics researcher from Colarado, and Andy, who is Rick’s surly computer scientist little cousin.
And the hindrances? Mosquitos. In full force: swarms, mists of mosquitos. Graciously, they itch only a little. And the flight path, that is a nuisance I’d do without: Juneau air traffic.
Here above the muskeg a sweet breeze blow hints of the spring – Labrador in bloom. I have never smelt a sweeter breeze, there’s something to it. I’m sitting on the future porch of the cabin-in-construction. To my left is the small ‘chapel’, soon to be the sauna. The amber shingles of its carefully insulated roof glow in the morning sunshine.
I hear a whale breathing. I cannot see the water that is above 500 metres away, across this muskeg front yard, over the thick spruce forest, and down to the rocky beach. Beyond this waterbody - the Lynn Canal, and mountains – the Chilkat Range, their snowy reaches bathing in sunshine on this still day. Follow the mountains north and you will come to Haines, and meet Jeff, Robin, and Eli, for a cup of tea and a gossip about who did what this week past.
Here we are at Rick’s with a familiar WWOOFing feeling: travellers, not much money, plenty fit, with appetite, and learning alternatives. Trahern is here. I work with Trahern. He is twenty years old, a self-confessed nerd, tall as hell, skinny, coke-bottle glasses, a mental sponge and a chemistry enthusiast. I like him a lot.
Rick’s Rick: playful, risk-taking, playing the game his own way and bollocks to the rest of it. He’s built a maze of structures here, on muskeg and forested slope – watching where trees fall and milling the bounty, building on-site, or making steep trunk-staircases up to the next level. Walking around here requires fitness and dexterity. There is no wheelchair access. Thin, bouncing boardwalk suspends above deep bog, a narrow log will bring you to the other side of the otherwise impassable slope – if you have the balance. This place is gorgeous and speaks of Rick himself, may he never have to get around with a cast on his leg!
There is Mark, an environmental studies major from North Carolina, and Debbie, an organics researcher from Colarado, and Andy, who is Rick’s surly computer scientist little cousin.
And the hindrances? Mosquitos. In full force: swarms, mists of mosquitos. Graciously, they itch only a little. And the flight path, that is a nuisance I’d do without: Juneau air traffic.