Wind and rain move in huge gusts across the lawn disturbing the yellow leaves of the birch tree outside my bedroom window. Propped against the pillows of my bed, I watch raindrops bounce like Mexican jumping beans off the porch decking. Others slide and slither creating translucent streaks on the bedroom window. The metal roof drums in accordance with the quantity of rain hitting it, sometimes a soft soothing rhythm but a chaotic clamber when the rain and wind join forces.
October is a transitional month. The days have shortened and the colors of Fall in Vermont have arrived. There is no formula to predict when "peak" color will occur or how long it will last. There are years when the leaves appear as yellow or brown minus the striking reds and orange. This Fall, peak seemed to erupt overnight with gorgeous color. It was as if Mother Nature heard our desire and surprised us with a polychrome display. Each country road and hillside produces an "ooh and ahh!"
Bucky and I left Alaska in mid-September. The endless light of Alaskan summer was being replaced by increased darkness. The transition into Fall was a reminder for me to take my headlamp when visiting the outhouse before sleep. Hunting season had arrived and we were anxious to spend a few days in search of black bear and moose. We debated where to go and how to travel and eventually settled on a boat trip up the Susitna River. The boat was packed for camping, including the dog, Pika.
The temperatures at night were cold and morning frost covered our tent. By afternoon, layers of clothing were shed and the sun generously shared its warmth. This time of year is unpredictable and by its very nature, leaves me feeling uncertain. Change is occurring and there is no way to stop it.
Not long after setting up our first camp, Carlisle spotted a bear down the beach. She and her Dad headed out by boat while I stayed with the dog. I was left with a rifle as there is no telling what could happen. Shelter, fire and a way to defend oneself are basic necessities.
Bucky and Carlisle returned within a few hours, saying they had a good look at the bear, but never had the opportunity for a shot. Bears are active along the river this time of year, eating dying salmon. They must prepare for winter and are focused on storing fat.
We're thinking alike!
Returning after stalking the sighted bear.
Salmon carcasses littered the shoreline and the air was ripe with the sour stench of rotting fish. It's desirable to camp near a "beary" spot, but not right in the bear's kitchen.
As soon as we pulled the boat ashore at our second campsite, I noticed the slack water boiling with fish. The dorsal fins of congregated salmon cut through the calm water. Some fish broke the surface in a series of death throe leaps. Pika, was quick to notice the activity and chased the fish, darting in and out of the water while running along the shore. This is the end of the line for these salmon. They have laid their eggs and no longer have the strength or desire to swim back into the fast water of the Susitna.
It was our hope that bears in the area would venture by for a fish dinner. Finding bear tracks helps confirm that bear are around.
This appeared to be an ideal place to see bear except, we found no bear tracks.
Carlisle had hunted this very spot the previous Fall and saw many bears and was lucky enough to take one. From our camp we could clearly see both banks of the Susitna, each had gentle sloping banks and beach on which bear could travel. Across the Susitna, a fresh water stream entered the river. This along with the dying salmon flopping in the back channel made a perfect hunting scenario. The boat made it possible to float silently downstream or motor upstream if a bear was sighted.
There is no doubt in my mind that if we had stayed at this spot longer we would have had success, but as is so often the case when hunting, it wasn't to be.
However, for me, any amount of time spent on the river is time spent in paradise!
Life at our cabin in Talkeetna is quiet, relaxed and uncomplicated, but being on the river takes quiet to a new level. The only intrusions are the changing sounds of the river, the wind whispering through the spruces, the cascading water of a waterfall, the hoot of an owl or the occasional rumble of the train headed to or from Fairbanks.
Throughout the days, boats passed by with folks headed upriver. One carried a man and woman around Bucky and my age. Their boat was much larger than ours and they stood bundled against the sharp wind. Stretching the length of the hull was dimensional lumber which I assumed they were hauling to their cabin. There are communities along the Susitna River which can only be reached by boat, train or plane. Cabins nearer to Talkeetna can be reached by 4 wheeler or by snow machine. It has always seemed to me that folks living "up the tracks" or "up river" are really modern day pioneers. This remote lifestyle demands wisdom, smart choices and an understanding of natural surroundings. There are no roads, no electricity and in some places no phone service. But, for those who wish to live without today's modern conveniences, it must be a rewarding lifestyle.
We eventually motored up river to a settlement near Indian Creek where a friend has a cabin. He built his cabin bit by bit over many years. Now, becoming older, he wonders how long he'll be able to make the trip from Anchorage and drive his boat upriver. His cabin, as is true of most, requires a generator for electricity. He stores the generator in a locked metal container when he leaves the cabin. It requires a bit of strength to heft the heavy generator out and into service. He voiced that when he could no longer lift the generator out of storage he'd know it was time to sell the cabin. This was said with sadness in his voice. However, watching him stand in the swift current of the river, wielding his fly rod and hooking trout after trout, I didn't foresee that day arriving anytime soon.
At this special time of year, the salmon have dropped their eggs and most fish are dead or dying. The Rainbow Trout gobble the eggs without fear and become enormously fat and colorful. The beach at Indian Creek was littered with salmon carcasses. Pika didn't hesitate in finding the rankest fish and repeatedly roll on it. It was necessary for Carlisle to bath her before putting her back in the boat. Once under way, the fresh breeze did very little to reduce her putrid smell.
The trout were hanging where the clear water of Indian Creek met the silty Susitna.
A boatload of men dressed in hunting camouflage and a 4 wheeler loaded onboard, were obviously hunting. Most Alaskans are hunting for moose or caribou at this time of year. Using a 4 wheeler makes getting into the back country easier and is a great help in getting a moose out of the field. Each passing boat produced hearty waves from kindred souls on board.
It seemed a few strong wing flaps of our Alaska Air 737 and we were no longer in Alaska, but reunited with our RV in Montana. Air travel makes short work of traversing Canada! From here we began our journey home to Vermont.
It took a day to restock and reorganize the RV, but then we anxiously hit the road. The antelope that were so scarce in early July now seemed to be in every field. Despite their numbers, I was never able to get a decent photo.
Smoke from the horrendous fires in California and Oregon followed us East and we were not in clear air until the mid-west.
I find myself taking repeated photos of the same old homesteads, fields of baled hay and churches every trip. I have several good photos of the same church near Malta, MT. However, I have never seen people there! I was excited to see a stream of cars and pickups headed up the steep drive. Perhaps it was a funeral procession. As a passerby, I felt somehow included by snapping a photo of life or death as it happened.
Within days we were in New York state and almost home. The beauty of upstate New York and the history that accompanies it, might be overlooked. Towns dating back to the 1700's are surrounded by rivers and lakes. Hill top farms and bright red barns dot the rolling green countryside. Making a livable wage could be difficult here, but if a "good life" is measured by something other than financial wealth, northern New Yorkers are indeed rich.
Vermont greeted us with warm temperatures and sunny skies. It was just what I needed to facilitate unloading the RV.
When I prepare the house for our summer renters I put many of our personal items away. Now I must recall where I stashed our things. It takes about a month for our house to return to normal. The RV is now cleaned out, antifreeze is in place and it sits at the top of the driveway waiting for Spring. Texas and New Mexico are attractive when Vermont winter gets too long.
A short trip to our cabin in South Wheelock, VT provided some beautiful autumn moments.
Stannard Vermont church.
We applied an ebony stain on our cabin just before leaving for Alaska. It's taken me a while to get used to it. The logs were badly in need of some type of preservative and Bucky had gallons of this stain given to him. Initially, I loved it. Now, I'm not sure, but it's here to stay.
There was a time in Vermont when rural families lived on subsistence farms. Even those who lived near town had farm animals. Our cabin was once surrounded by open fields. It now is enclosed in trees. I walked up the road to some neighboring camps to see if I could see grouse beneath the numerous wild apple trees. This isn't a good year for apples, but these trees held some fruit. Adjacent to one camp is a barn. It's not particularly old and for some reason was never completed. I peeked inside.
I've never seen a young child up here. It made me wonder who would have ridden this little trike down these bumpy dirt roads?
Home is a special word. It applies to a place one feels an innate closeness to, a love for. It isn't always where one is born, but it might be! I was born in Burlington, Vermont and Vermont is still my home. I have never lived in another state. I have lived in Ripton since 1973 and that is where our children were raised. Some have moved away, but they all call Vermont their home.
Our front yard in Ripton looking at Bread Loaf Mountain.
