Alaskans by nature are friendly, patient and helpful people. Perhaps it's because many live in areas of little population and harsh climate. Things often go wrong and there probably is not an Alaskan who hasn't had to rely on another Alaskan for help. Whereas a New Englander might watch someone struggle and even be critical of the attempts being made to solve a problem, Alaskans are all too ready to lend a hand. Such was our case as we left Clam Gulch after a long day of clamming. Bucky and I have grown accustomed to a loud squeal that coincides with starting the RV. This has been happening since we've owned the vehicle. Although annoying to me, Bucky has lost that range of hearing so he has not been bothered. After a few minutes of squealing, it usually fades away to quiet. However, when it occurs, it is of a pitch and loudness causing people to turn their heads and look our way. It is almost certain that if someone is close by when we start our engine, they will stroll over and offer an opinion as to what is making the noise. In Skagway we were told by a nice older gentleman that it was something to do with our power steering and should be looked at right away. Since then we have been told it's a belt which is either too loose or too tight, a pulley, the compressor for the ac, something to do with our alternator and that propably our belts just need dressing. This conjured up images of nude engine parts and the need for a shopping spree to cloth them. On this particular day, as we pulled away from the beach, a fellow clammer motioned us over and said that we should have the vehicle looked at immediately. It sounded very serious to him. Having nothing pressing to do and being near the large town of Soldotna, we promptly went to the Ford dealership, only to be told that they no longer work on RVs. We were sitting in the cab discussing what our next move should be when Billy approached the driver side window. He had overheard our dilemma inside the dealership and in true Alaskan fashion was prepared to help. Within moments, he looked under the hood, diagnosed our problem, called NAPA on his cell phone and the necessary part was ordered and ready for us to pick up. We were soon sitting in Billy's driveway alongside his fishing boat. Soon Billy's friend Gordy arrived and they buried their heads under the hood. I peered from inside the camper just as Billy placed a stethoscope to the engine. Like an experienced surgeon he listened to our pulsating squeal. Shortly there after, with a new pulley in place, we were given a clean bill of health by Dr. Billy and were seen as fit to resume our normal activities. Billy wanted no money for his help but willingly accepted a jug of VT liquid gold, grade A fancy. He shared with us that he would be leaving soon for NV where he worked in a gold mine, but he had "screwed up his tests". Bucky and I shared a look wondering if it was written, oral or drug. We returned to Clam Gulch to resume clamming, parking away from the man who had sent us "immediately" to the Ford dealer and also away from a couple in a 5th wheel who had been fighting earlier. Clams can bring out the worst in people. Now, all seemed quiet at their site despite the earlier screams of "I want a divorce." Our new neighbors, helpfully showed us their clam cleaning technique which is now our go to method.
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| Alaskan golf |
It was just hours later that we met Grandpa, Grandma and their granddaughter Kiley. As Grandpa, Grandma and Kiley strolled along the beach, Grandpa would point out the dimples for Grandma to begin digging. Grandpa would cheer wildly after Grandma got the clam and then call Kiley over to pick up the dug clam. Grandpa told Kiley how Grandma would clean and cook the clams when they got back home. Grandpa talked to Kiley about the ocean and the sea life while pointing out another dimple for Grandma to dig. Grandma rarely said a word, focused on digging one clam after another. Before long, she was stripped down to a tank top, quickly digging where Grandpa pointed. Grandpa continued to cheer her on. Several hours passed as we dug along side Grandpa and Grandma. Sometimes we were ahead sometimes they took the lead, but never once did Grandpa touch the shovel or a clam. We left the beach with our buckets full and we were thankful that we had counted our clams when an Alaskan State Trooper checked us from his ATV. After a quick change of clothes and a turn of the key in the ignition, followed by an all too familiar squeal, we were headed north to Anchorage. No doubt someone down the road will have the solution for this !
