ANOTHER TYPE OF FLY

Having recently experienced Alaska in March and April, I sometimes question our judgement in spending, July and August, two of the wettest months here.  During Spring, the sun refused to give way to clouds shining day after day while Denali loomed over us.  Now, we watch as tourists line up at the overlook hoping for a peak of the great mountain and resorting to photos of the foothills when the high peaks hide.  The most interesting presentation of Denali is when the summit stands, as if  suspended in space, separated from its base by a wide band of cloud.
     This morning's weather report showed a low pressure system stalled above us.  This means days of moisture, sometimes referred to as light rain, scattered showers, drizzle or downpour......so many terms for precipitation.  We have found that scattered showers, which would be a washout at home, can be quite nice in Talkeetna.  Scattered showers can even mean sun!  I can't lie.  I get pretty jealous when I see the big blue H accompanied by a smiling sun sitting over VT on the weather map.  We've become accustomed to going about our tasks despite the rain and I surprised myself this morning when I walked the dog in a steady drizzle without even thinking or reaching for one of my five raincoats, each one appropriate for a different intensity of rain.  Last night, Bucky found himself increasing the volume on the TV in direct response to the increased volume of rain.  At one point, the Lord and Lady of Downton Abby were barely audible over the drumming drops.  Thanks Jane for this marvelous diversion! 
     The slightest haze of green has recently appeared where Bucky spread seed over our new ground work.  I questioned him as to if it were grass, mold or moss.  Close inspection showed delicate green shoots stretching up searching for sun.  I tried to assure them that the morning weather showed scattered showers arriving in a few days which could mean some sun, so please, try to hang on. 

                                                      stump removal, 13 stumps, two dump truck loads

            Carlisle's cabin clear of stumps, we're hoping to create lawn between her place and ours.

A rainy stretch like this, obscures memory of the sunny weather that preceded it only a few days ago.
On one of these earlier days, predicted as scattered showers, we awoke to some blue sky and multicolored clouds.  When Lisle stood in the cabin doorway in a dress, I knew that something special was on the horizon.  We decided a girls lunch out in Palmer would be perfect and headed to the airport.  This would be a high class lunch, as in altitude not attitude.


flight of fancy

Palmer is probably 75 miles away by car.  It's a lovely town nestled in the mountains with both a pioneer history and modern town appeal.  In 1935, Palmer was the site of an unusual experiment, the Matanuska Valley Colony.  During the New Deal, a colony was planned to utilize the agricultural potential of the Matanuska Valley.  Two hundred families, some impacted by the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, were given farmland and relocated.  Palmer still has many farms and boasts some huge cabbages.  The perfect spot for a farm fresh lunch......maybe with sauerkraut.

The many lakes along the Talkeetna Spur Road.  Our new lot lies near the end of the road at the top of the photo.

Talkeetna looks tiny in comparison to the muddy Talkeetna and Susitna Rivers.

The mighty Matanuska River outside Palmer.

Interesting landscape in the tundra near Hatcher Pass

Pioneer Peak looking down on Palmer

Palmer Airport, bordering the river and golf

Known as the tower house.....This really strange, unoccupied structure sits near the Susitna River.

Our flight to and from Palmer was exceptional.  Seeing what surrounds Talkeetna from the air, gives me a better understanding of where we live.  Miles of forest, lakes, rivers and mountains define the landscape, each special in its own way.  Our girls lunch out was thwarted by gusty winds on landing.  Two touch and goes and we were headed home with a stop in Willow for fuel.  Our appetites were satisfied with lunch in our own town.  Proof that good things are often closer than you think.

One type of fly

July 4th weekend blasted Talkeetna with warm, make that hot temperatures, blue skies and a frantic desire to cram every summer activity into three days. This is an ongoing problem in a place of never ending daylight and where long stretches of rain can dampen our sprirts.  But, days of rain are likely followed by days of sun.  The activity switch goes from the off position, reading on the couch covered with a fuzzy blanket, or in my case my purple polar bear pants, to the on position, game on! Each spontaneously planned activity involves its own style of packing.  Life jackets, stuff sacks of food, coolers, extra warm clothes despite the 90 degree heat, fishing gear, bug spray, pistol and we're off to the boat; extra clothes, camera, flight plan, credit card and we're off to the plane.  Regardless, it's a frantic rush, with each of us heading a different direction retrieving gear, so as not to miss a minute of fun in the sun. Our first trip up the Talkeetna was luxurious.  Rather than bouncing along in Lisle's small boat, we were powering in style, having been granted use of an inboard used in Carlisle's work.  It will be hard to ever find the small boat comfortable again!  However, the inboard's fuel consumption, makes small seem somewhat more desireable. 



Our intent was to scout the Talkeetna for salmon, but it was quickly apparent that they had not yet arrived.  We then decided to try Fish Creek for trout.  A more beautiful stream would be hard to find anywhere.  A few small beaver ponds completed our quest. 





first trout on a fly

Show off!

Fish Creek did not disappoint!

Bear paws

The glacial waters of the Talkeetna are always changing.  The river's many braids, make navigation interesting.  Our return home was a fast and exciting journey, punctuated by launching over a gravel bar, when taking "the road less traveled".  Lisle, never one to hesitate, used full throttle, resulting in just the slightest jerk and grind. High fives all around.

am I right?

                                                                          Is this the braid?
 
In my opinion, there is never a bad day on the river.  I would gladly spend most days on the water, fish or not.  We're thankful for the opportunities provided to us through Lisle and her wonderful friends. 

                                                 putting distance between ourselves and Clear Creek

                                                                      Captain and crew

OF FLAT LAND AND MOUNTAINS

Somewhere in Wyoming 

  

Hurricane Ridge, Olympic Mountains

If there were any doubt that Bucky and I are more of the mountains than of the arid, flat ranch lands of Wyoming, it was validated when we hit the lush, orchards and vineyards of Oregon.  The canyons and valleys offered an immediate feeling of comfort and well being.  Looking out at the organized rows of fruit trees and grapes made me anxious for 5:00pm....my official quitting time, Our driving days can be long, 10 hours the usual, but on occasion, I end my day before Bucky, heading from my co-pilot seat to the comfort of the dinette.  With pastel, plastic wine glass in hand......it is now cocktail hour!  While Wyoming embodied dryness, draining heat and strong winds, the hills and valleys of Oregon wafted the sweetness of ripening fruit and exuded good health.  With the speed limit at 75, not within our reach, and a Wyoming wind almost able to match this, Bucky struggled at times to hold the wheel.  Several times I found myself startled from a state of monatanous drowziness when the tires beneath me hit the rumble strips. 

Harnessing the wind seems easy in WY.

I see Utah!

It was with relief that we skirted the Great Salt Lake and glanced up into the snow capped peaks surrounding Salt Lake City.  The mountains tamed the winds and Bucky's hands relaxed and as he reached for one of mine he mumbled, "this is more like it".  To which I stated the obvious, "yes, we're more of the mountains."

Brigham, Utah sat huddled beneath jagged peaks with the letter B proudly displayed on a hillside above town.  I felt the white steeple was in keeping with a region steeped in the Mormon faith.  It was easy to feel the presence of a greater being with scenery so magnificent.  We slid through southern Idaho wishing we could head up north to Mc Call or slightly east into the Sawtooth Mountains, but knew we needed to stay low and get to Oregon.

fruit fields of Oregon

Mt. Adams, 12,307 feet

Mt. Rainier, 14,410 feet

Long uphills and steep curvy downhills, chain up areas and high mountains shadowed in clouds met the gold of the Oregon valleys.  The smallness of the houses and towns nestled against the greatness of the hills surrounding them greeted us at each turn of the road.  Snoqualie Pass brought us into the high mountains of Washington, the jagged Cascades.



Leaving the Cascades, a place of comfort, we arrived outside of bustling Tacoma, somewhere less comfortable.  Then, quickly out and north onto the Olympic Peninsula, where we had never been before.  We excitedly arrived, 3,200 miles away from Ripton, in sunny Sequim, the one spot on the peninsula that experiences 300 days of sunshine a year!

Cheesman Canyon

We are a family that enjoys fishing.  We each enjoy the sport for different reasons and with different levels of intensity.          If fishing enthusiasm and intensity were able to be measured, Sutton would register in the fanatical range.  So, it was no surprise that he met us in Denver with his rod and reel neatly packed between his dress clothes.  Within hours of arriving and with the help of his Orvis app, he had rented a car and was headed to the South Platte River just outside Deckers, CO.  The following three days, he took advantage of this fabled fishery located about an hour from Denver and close to Colorado Springs.  Cheesman Canyon houses one of the finest stretches of Western trout water with relatively easy public access.  We excitedly tagged along with Sutton on his final day in the Canyon.  Flies and Lies, a fly shop in Deckers, CO, minutes from Cheesman Canyon, provided the needed midges.

tiny, tiny trout bait 

Scouting

The fish could be seen from up high, lying in the current behind the many large rocks in the river.  

Walking along the trail into the Canyon, we were immediately presented with the blackened remains of trees burned during the Heymen fire of 2002.  This fire, which followed years of drought, destroyed thousands of acres.  It's said that the South Platte ran black with ash and fishing was ruined for a number of years.  Young Aspen now thrive beneath the burned trunks of Pine, in the wake of the fire.  Colorado has been blessed with rain this Spring and the So. Platte was running a little high.  It was not possible to cross the river from the area we were fishing, which limited the fishing options, although we saw one angler on the far bank.  The parking area was full when we arrived, yet we were not crowded on the river by fellow anglers. 



                     Cactus and other flowering western wildflowers graced the canyon hillsides.



A fish made off with Sutton's fly in this choice hole.

Some folks find comfort in the pines!



Fisher enjoyed her canyon stroll after having spent two days at Camp Bow-Wow in Denver.  That's another story!!

Fish on!!!

 A Brown Trout

A happy fisherman.  Sutton said it was hard to get fish to take the fly.

There were Mule deer in the grass along the roadside.  This one begged to have its picture taken so I obliged.

Since leaving Denver, we have driven through miles and miles of ranch land with antelope grazing along the Green River in Wyoming. We were surprised by the amount of snow in the mountains outside Salt Lake City and the volume of water in the swollen Snake River in Idaho.  Now the rain hits the windshield as we wind through the river valleys of Oregon.  Next stop, Sequim, WA.



Dead and Alive

"How's he ever going to make it across"?
Bucky and I watched helplessly as a sleek whitetail, in summer red coat, entered the third lane of oncoming traffic. He, a young buck, had successfully negotiated two lanes and now could see the knee high green grass almost within reach.  He stood frozen in the third lane looking at us and those
ahead of us baring down on him. Our trip along Interstate 90 was graced with the beauty of rolling PA hillsides and the peaceful, green calm of the Mohawk River and Erie Canal. Now Ohio spread before us, manicured, non-Amish farmland. I could sense Bucky's sadness as we approached each roadside deer carcass, bloated in the heat.  Each dead deer's formally athletic body lay twisted and contorted by the impact with steel.  Trucks and cars, the wheeled enemies of wildlife daring to venture out onto the blacktop.
"There's another dead one", Bucky commented.
And, when seeing deer grazing away from the highway, "look at those guys, they love the new grass".  There seemed to be no shortage of whitetail deer, dead and alive.  This young buck, marooned in lane three, gave a final glance our way, then with determination sprinted to foraging freedom.  He was well into the field, with grass touching his belly, before he stopped trotting and lowered his head to graze.  My one thought was, "I hope he doesn't make that a habit".
Last night was spent in Indiana at Jellystone Park/Resort, (can you think of a more horrible name?)  Any imagery you might be conjuring of the park's appearance is probably accurate, and should
include a huge concrete statue of Yogi Bear!  Jellystone surrounded a "lake" about the size of our backyard pond in Ripton.  Most of the 900 campsites were occupied by permenant resort residents.  There seemed to be an attempt by each trailer owner to outdo their neighbor in the number of plastic garden sculptures and container plantings used in decorating their small lots.  On our morning walk, Fisher felt compelled to examine and sniff each garden gnome and in a final show of distain for  Jellystone decorating, she peed on an elf!

Bucky decided that the corner Marathon Gas would be our morning coffee stop.  I stayed aboard straightening the cabin littered with Fisher hair as she blows her coat across America.  Twice, we've had Cruise America RVs pass us, each having a smiling Golden Retriever's head peering from the cabin door window, a clever graphic making one feel that traveling with a dog is a breeze!  Why do Goldens always appear to be smiling?  Is it that they struggle to breath through their noses and must leave their mouths somewhat open, resulting in a friendly grin?  Fisher reminds us of Schultz's Pigpen, accompanying Charlie Brown, engulfed in a swirl of dirt and dust.  Hers is a cloud of fine white hair, drifting into the air and covering all that we own.  I looked up from my cleaning in time to see Bucky, juggling two large New England Coffees, hurrying across the parking lot.  A disheveled, middle aged man followed close behind.  Bucky handed me the coffee which I carefully placed in our cab beverage holders, cleared in his absence of the dental floss, used napkins, chapstick and phones.  It's interesting how so many incompatible shapes end up teetering awkwardly in these round recepticles.  I thought to myself, New England coffee, weird.... but instead voiced, "who was that guy"?
Bucky took a long sip of his coffee, a beverage brewed by Indiana water dripping through New England grounds, resulting in a so so cup of joe.
"Oh him..... I think he's homeless".   He went on to say that the "homeless" man had asked if he owned the RV.  Bucky replied that he did, to which the man said, "traveling in that must be FUN".
Bucky assured him that it was great fun, leading the stranger to say, "I'd love to see inside it".
This was when I looked up from my cleaning and heard Bucky's parting words, "you should go to an RV show.  There you can go inside hundreds of RVs".

And, with that we were off, sipping our Indiana New England coffee, listening to our audio book and sharing our cabin with only one invited guest on our trip across America, Fisher Walter.

YOU'RE ONLY AS OLD AS YOU FEEL!

Bucky and I were recently referred to as "elderly" by our beautiful 9 year old granddaughter, Hana.  With that said, I decided it would make sense to reacquaint myself with Google blogger.  I have noticed that as a "senior", not to be confused with the euphoric "senior" about to graduate from high school or college, but rather that forgetful senior seen fumbling for change at the grocery checkout; it would make sense to review using Blogger.  Despite having used this blogging format for many years, I still find it mysteriously confusing.  I decided that this summer I will be so proficient with Blogger that Bucky will no longer suffer through my rants and raves, usually occurring while driving down the highway.  Being "elderly" himself, it's really important that he stay focused on the road.  Up until recently, neither of us has really felt old.  Sure we have a few aches and pains and those stiff knees in the morning, but nothing like REALLY old people experience.  And, sure we take short naps in the afternoon, but why not?  We're retired, we can do what we want.  The realization that we might actually be old, started with Bucky needing new shoes.  So, while in Hartford, awaiting the birth of our new grandson, Justice, Bucky took advantage of the many shopping options and went into Sport Shoe Heaven.  I don't actually remember the store's name, but from the large variety of athletic shoes displayed in the window, this seems fitting. I remained in the car with two year old Joseph, carefully monitoring a domestic dispute, escalating between a young couple in the parking lot.  I had already devised Joseph and my escape route should the couple come any closer.  My nerves were somewhat on edge knowing that Bucky had nearly witnessed a murder when going for pizza the night before.  Traffic on Prospect Avenue was flowing along as normal when he headed south two blocks to Angelina's, home of the best pizza in West Hartford.  However, on his return, yellow crime scene tape lay wrapped around a car resting against the iron fence surrounding the Sisters of Mercy's convent, one block from the house.  What appeared to be a case of distracted driving, maybe an elderly person experiencing a medical issue, was later identified on the 11pm news as a homicide!  Apparently, the female passenger felt threatened by the male driver and decided to shoot him as they rolled down Prospect.  At times, I too have felt uncomfortable with Bucky's driving, but this obviously was a much higher degree of discomfort!  The sisters must have been watching over the rest of us, summoning the car into their fence rather than allowing it to careen into oncoming traffic.  For us, city life takes some getting used to!  With relief, I watched as Bucky exited the shoe store carrying his new shoes and the arguing couple, now locked in a loving embrace, also moved on.  We were back in VT, when Bucky first wore his new shoes.  It didn't take long for our granddaughter Hana to notice them.  Kids have an eye for the latest in shoes.  Caught staring at them, Bucky inquired of Hana, "How do you like my new shoes?"  Hana replied, "They're nice Pa Bucky.  I didn't know that they made Sketchers for the elderly."  "The elderly??????!!!!" Then, in an attempt to make things better, "Oh, Pa Bucky, I'm sorry, I mean antiques!!"  In a struggle to use less hurtful words in describing her grandfather's location on the great timeline of life, she dug her hole deeper.  As has always been said, "out of the mouths of babes comes the truth."  Hana did acknowledge Pa Bucky's good taste, going on to mention that the cool skater kids at her school all wore Sketchers.  Nice recovery!  Now, back to Blogger.  I logged in to my blog after having not visited since last Fall.  I was surprised to see that I had a draft post.  Even more surprising was the fact that it contained a video.  I had never been successful embedding a video in a post.  However, when I tried to open the video, I was presented with the error code, bX-wnrswi, and instructions to report this to Google Support.  I'll have to do this, but with some fussing, I got the video to play!  I wanted to move the video to the bottom of this page, but I haven't figured out how to do that either. Another technicality I'll need to master. You're probably wondering what the video has to do with any of the above.  Pretty much nothing!  I watched it and was delighted to see the snow capped mountains bordering Lake Clark Pass, some of which are volcanoes.  I could sense in Carlisle's smile, her new found freedom, flying above remote Alaska.  It seemed a fitting start to Alaskan Summer, 2014.