On to Alaska

BLOG UPDATE:  The saga continues up to July 25, 2008.

 

BOB:   We made it into Alberta Province only to spend the night in a Walmart parking lot on the evening of July 12, in a small berg named Whitecourt.  The drive has been rugged at times, but what we have seen everywhere has been nothing less than spectacular.  The most common word we have heard from each other is “WOW,” and it would be next to impossible to describe the diverse beauty and traits of each state and province we have been in – so we will attach photos as soon as we figure out how to do it.

On July 13, we left Alberta behind and drove into British Columbia, staying along a side road somewhere near Fort Nelson.  Then on to the Yukon Territory and off the road again on July 14, next to the Boston Pizza restaurant in Teslin, Yukon Territory, which brought back long lost memories of the television series entitled Yukon Territory.   I believe the show was something about a Canadian Mountie or some other hero with a rifle and a horse.  The only thing that I am sure of is that Clint Eastwood actually had nothing to do with the show.  We finally splurged and had our first meal outside the motor home, and found the pizza from Boston extremely good, but suspiciously similar to the pizza from Denver and Phoenix. We will admit however, that shoe leather (as in what we called my mothers too well done steaks) would have been a welcome change from the diet we had so fondly grown to enjoy, and to which our systems had yet to fully adjust to.  About half of what I have ingested so far has been Tums.

Believing that we have said enough about Walmart, we jump to the 18^th of July and

Valdez, Alaska, where we are actually settled into a real R.V. park.  We now have

hookups for water, sewer, and electric.  Since we have hit the highway of Alaska (yes, I really think there is only one road in Alaska) we have seen three brown bears, one wolf, a herd of some kin of the mountain goat, and a moose that Dan got great film of while he was in the water (the moose, not Dan) either having a cleansing bath or rooting food from the bottom of the huge pond. 

In Valdez, we have been advised by our park owner, Thor, who we think is some kind of god, that the salmon are most eager to be fed lures 90 minutes before and after high tide. Thor gives us a booklet of tide charts.  We are further advised that the lure to use is a pinkie.  Thor shows us a pinkie lure.  The advice continues on where to take the lure for the best chance of having it show what it can do.  Thor gives us a map and details the location of Allison Point.  We are then introduced to Charlie, who tells us about his fishing at Allison Point just yesterday.  His story was something like this:  “My buddy here (we didn’t catch his name) and I were down past the power plant, as far as they let you go down Destination road because the oil tankers come in there and it’s all part of  our oil storage for the government and they stop you and you get a fine or they can shoot you, and we had two pinks and all of a sudden this bear come out of the woods (the bear was evidently defecating in the woods) and we seen him and ran like hell.  We left the fish right there on the rocks.  We got in the truck and watched that bear eat our fish.”

Well, we were more eager than ever to get down to the fishing, and it was getting close to the evening high tide time (3:04) so we began our fourteen minute goodbye.  Thor reviewed the entire scenario to be sure we had it all down pat – seven miles down, go past the yellow flashing light, where on the right is the cheapest gas around, turn right at destination road and go five miles down to the warning signs for the oil storage, park and fish along the bank, watch the rocks, they are real slippery, …

  

We had to unhook the RV, as it is our only means of transportation, except for the bicycle Dan brought along, which is way to high for me to ride with comfort, and headed toward our first salmon fishing of the trip, and only eleven days into our “odd”essy.

WOW, WOW, WOW   Dan brought in 12 pinks, Bob 11 pinks.  But Dan got some great film coverage of the three bald eagles that enthralled us for well over an hour.  These eagles were not actually “bald,” as it takes about five years of maturity to earn the white feathers that make them bald.  That did not keep them from performing the incredible mating ritual that Dan caught on film.  In fact Dan attempted to recreate the same ritual that very night in the RV camp office, and I swear he had this older, deaf woman turned on.  It really tickled her feathers. 

FYI:  There are four salmon in Alaska that make runs into the bay and up the rivers to spawn.  The number one for fishing and eating is the king, or Chinook salmon.  You need a special tag on your fishing license for the king, and the run was well below average this year and has been very sporadic.  We arrived too late for the king salmon.  Number two is the silver or coho salmon.  This is the one that is now at the head of our quest.  In the distant third position is the red, or sockeye salmon followed by the lowly pink, or humpy salmon.  The pink is the one most likely to be canned or smoked by the natives here, but also has the best chance of being in your local supermarket.  We saved the first one we caught (by Bob) and cooked it on the grill.  We thought it was great, and are now really looking forward to the better and best of the salmon. 

We will keep you posted!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The saga continues: THE old man, the sea, and me

August 3, 2006  Homer Alaska

The most famous fishing spot not requiring a boat is the Homer Hole, located on the famous “spit” in Homer, Alaska.  (I believe the “spit” is actually a narrow peninsula with a road in the middle, placed here by the god of tourism. )   Filled by sea water, the “spit” has been stocked with salmon young enough to believe this is where they were born, and therefore return for spawning, sort of like college freshmen.  When we arrived, it was a battle scene.  Warriors armed with long, spear like fishing poles lined the beach every few feet, ready for the battle of the fishes.  We settled into a spot somewhat controlled by, not just an old man, but by THE old man.  He had taken his spot at the gateway to the homer hole, and once he established his control, nobody, especially the middle aged parents of the kids who had already fled to the safer end of the hole, dared enter his realm.  Well, being new to the scene and being, well, idiots, we gained the ground on his right, five feet away from THE man.  We gained our ground without loss of blood by sneaking in on his right – his blind side if you will.  You see, this kindly looking old man was stooped at the shoulders as an aged farmer might be, he was wearing old, tattered overalls, and could barely get his line out far enough to make a splash in the water.  We thought we were safe, as he could not turn his head to the right without turning his body around with it, we figured it had to be some sort of injury from fighting a bull or the tax authorities.  We were going to find out what all the others feared – his uncanny control and revenge! 

In a matter of minutes I, yes me, Bob, had a fish on the line.  As the fish fought, you could see that it was a fine, actually very good, well, ok, one of the finest fish ever caught in homers hole.  As this huge, incredible, soon to be the most humongous silver salmon ever to be caught anywhere in Homer, Alaska, ever, got close to the beach, Dan noticed another fishing line resting over my fishing line.  Suddenly my left flank fell – I was being bombarded from my left – viloently nudged, I heard an old gravely voice shout loudly in my ear like a mesmorising whisper “get down and I will bring my line up over and away from your line” or words to that effect.  Then our glares met, it was THE OLD MAN.  I should have been aware of one of the oldest tricks in the book.  THE OLD MAN was going to steal my record breaking silver salmon! 

The battle was lost, this OLD MAN, the one with the smirk, had gained control of MY fish.  BUT, he was too weak and feeble to land my fish!!  So the war was won.  We refused to cede our easement rights to his realm, and he begrudgingly admitted defeat, as he waddled away, with his head down (probably from an injury he received while stealing candy from a kid) we were now in control of the gateway to Homers fishing hole.