My beautiful wife and I made the long trip from Alaska to the lower 48 states for a little vacation time. We arrived in Idaho to visit the folks and friends, just in time for an elderly friend's funeral.
A funeral is one of my least favorite things to attend but closure and seeing the family and friends makes it well worth it.
My old Pastor was one of the speakers and spoke a short message that has had me thinking about it ever since. I'll share it as best as I can recall.
Pastor Norman Rutzen added up his dear friends days giving a total of about 33,000 days Gene had lived.
A lifetime can be summed up as a life or as certain days.
Out of 33,000 days Pastor's friend Gene took one day to make a phone call to his then high school buddy.
Norman had been targeting the military though his final years of high school taking prep classes in order to enter college as an ROTC giving him fast track to becoming an officer. His steps were pretty much planned out... until one day... Gene called him on the phone.
"Hey Norman," Gene said, "you need to pack your things and come to a Bible School your friend Jim and I are headed to."
Last thing Norman was thinking of doing.
Norman chewed it over and thought about it, deciding that he would give the Bible School a bit of a try because of his two friends.
Pastor Norman related how he had arrived at Bible school and something got ahold of him. As that school year progressed he realized that he was being Called into the ministry instead of a career of directing military battles.
Just One Day that Gene made a phone call changed forever the path of one of the greatest Pastors I have ever listened to.
I chewed that over for weeks. I have grown up under Pastor Rutzen's ministry, and can tell you, that changed my life.
We started a small church in Idaho and it grew steadily until a new larger one was built. That church filled in a hurry. Hundreds if not thousands of people were ministered to.
I know of four churches that this man has been responsible for pastoring or starting and through those churches mission works around the world have been supported.
The churches and the mission works have been entirely about saving lives and souls.
Now... the thoughts I have been chewing over...
I personally know how very intelligent Norman is. Had he become a military officer he would have quickly risen through the ranks... who knows how quickly or high. (My guess would be near the top)
I did a quick google search and found the United States involved conflicts (wars if you please) Norman would have been involved in.
Korean War 1950-1953
Cuba 1961
Vietnam war 1961-1973
Dominican Republic 1965
Lebanon 1982
Grenada 1983
Panama 1989
Gulf War (Kuwait and Iraq) 1991
Somalia 1993
Haiti 1994
Bosnia 1994-1995
Kosovo 1999
Afghanistan 2001-2014
Iraq War 2000-2010 and still policing at present
I look at that list and think of how many thousands and thousands of men (boys) who would have lost lives directly as a result of the command of Norman, be they our troops or the ones we attack.
I sit back in my chair almost stunned...
That one day Gene called Norman amounted to such a major change. It really didn't make a difference for Gene. He would have gone on and lived his life pretty much as he did, but that one phone call in that one day of 33,000 made such a difference for so many, many people.
Pastor Rutzen ended his funeral talk with the thought that we never know how important just one day can be in each of our lives.
How true that is.
Thank you, belated, Gene that you had the courage to pick up the phone and make at call in that one day of your high school life. That call effected so many people around the world in such a positive way.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Wild Alaska Comes At A Cost
I chose the name of this blog living wild Alaska because of the nature of this rugged land. Nothing is easy, and if you mess up the land demands payment... usually at the cost of life. Seldom do you get a second chance.
"Hey Earl, how's it going?"
I heard the voice of my friend Mac, owner of a competitor charter company. Mac has three boats just down the finger from where I tie up mine.
I looked up from scrubbing my fish hold," Hey Mac, How's it going with you?"
I looked at his grinning face. Mac always seemed chipper and grinning even in the heat of the busy, bone wearing charter season.
"You finding any salmon? Mac asked as he sat on the side of my boat.
"Ha ha! You joke," I shot back at him.
We both knew it was one of the worst years for king salmon harvest in South East Alaska.
I tugged on the dock water hose.
"Hang on your tangled on the tie up cleat," Mac said as he bounded off the boat to untangle it for me.
"Thanks man, you saved me climbing out of the fish hold." I said
"What I was wondering," Mac said, "if you have a child pfd (life jacket) I could borrow?"
"I don't, but you can get one at the top of the ramp from the harbor department," I replied.
"Those are type three, and I need a type one," Mac said.
"Sorry I don't or I'd sure loan it to you," I said.
"I'll try Brian or Howie," Mac said as he stood and walked away. I've got a flight seeing in a little while, so got to keep moving. Have a great evening,"
"You too!" I shot back as he hurried down the dock.
It was hot and sunny, strange for our rain forest area, but making me hurry the boat clean up to get home to a nice shower.
I arrived at the boat the next morning at my usual 4:45. I quickly readied the rods, reels, restocked the coolers for the new day's clients. I untied and shoved off to head to Cresent harbor where I pick up the clients.
I was idling out of Sealing Cove harbor when I heard the Coast Guard announce:
"Pon Pon, Pon pon, pon pon (pronounced pawn pawn). I cranked the radio up to hear clearly.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau, United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau. Time 8:45 pm Alaska daylight time. Report of an over due float plane. A red and white plane has been reported overdue as of 8:00 last night in the vicinity of Katlian Bay. All mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, help if necessary, and report to the nearest Coast Guard.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau - out."
I turned down the volume on the radio just as my cell phone rang.
It was Howie.
"Hey Howie, how's it going this morning?" I chirped cheerily to him.
"Not good. Did you hear Mac's plane is missing since last night."
All the blood drained out of me. I grabbed onto the steering wheel of the boat gasping for breath.
"No!" I whispered into the phone.
"Mac took one of his clients on a short flight seeing to look at mountain goats last night. Only supposed to be gone 20 minutes but never made it back."
"oh my goodness. No!" I hope he landed somewhere waiting for the weather to break," I told Howie.
"That's what we are all hoping for," Howie said hanging up.
I looked out the window of the boat low fog covered all the mountains almost down to the ocean, making a coast guard aerial search impossible.
Clients came on board all excited for a new day of fishing but my belly churned with worry for Mac and his client. Maybe they landed on one of the many high lakes and could not get radio signal out.
I announced to our fleet of captains that the pon pon was for Mac. All of us knew him well.
The pon pon continued all through out the day as the heavy fog clung to the mountains. We could hear search and rescue calling for Mac on hand held radios as they hiked nearly impossible mountains to lakes they hoped he would have landed on. No reply from Mac.
The heavy fog misted cold and clammy onto the fishing fleet. If Mac had crashed and on the mountains he would be suffering from hyperthermia. Time was ticking away quickly.
"Please Mac, make it through somehow," I breathed prayers to myself.
All that night we heard the Coast Guard Helicopters fly search patterns. Darkness and fog could not be a good combination.
Howie called the next morning his voice hallow, "They found the plane... crashed nose down in a creek... Mac's body still strapped in. He didn't make it. They are still searching for the client. Maybe they will find him alive."
I was numb. I stared out the window of the boat listening to the happy chatter of excited clients climbing on board. It would be a tough day.
Search and rescue did find the client's body also lifeless down the creek a bit. For some reason the plane just spiraled out of the sky into the creek.
Rugged Alaska once again leveed its toll of human life when dealing with its beauty.
Mac had dealt with difficulty before. I wrote a couple years back about Lucky To Be Alive and how he and a deck hand lived through the sinking of their boat. He lived then, now this land dealt him the final blow.
Each day I see his boat captains walk past my boat. Life is going on, not easily, but still doing their duties to clients.
I hear the powerful roar of the beaver float plane engines roar over head... I cringe thinking about Mac.
One week after Mac's crash another float plane launched out of Ketchikan 11 people on board. It crashed into the top of a mountain and all persons survived, some broken bones and cuts, but alive.
We may never hear why Mac's plane crashed. There are always questions and suppositions surrounding something like this.
I know it is tragic. It leaves a scar on those around. We will go on, but I will always remember my final chat with Mac just an hour before he crossed from life to eternity.
Good by my friend.
The Grey day they searched for Mac's plane in fog covered mountains
"Hey Earl, how's it going?"
I heard the voice of my friend Mac, owner of a competitor charter company. Mac has three boats just down the finger from where I tie up mine.
I looked up from scrubbing my fish hold," Hey Mac, How's it going with you?"
I looked at his grinning face. Mac always seemed chipper and grinning even in the heat of the busy, bone wearing charter season.
"You finding any salmon? Mac asked as he sat on the side of my boat.
"Ha ha! You joke," I shot back at him.
We both knew it was one of the worst years for king salmon harvest in South East Alaska.
I tugged on the dock water hose.
"Hang on your tangled on the tie up cleat," Mac said as he bounded off the boat to untangle it for me.
"Thanks man, you saved me climbing out of the fish hold." I said
"What I was wondering," Mac said, "if you have a child pfd (life jacket) I could borrow?"
"I don't, but you can get one at the top of the ramp from the harbor department," I replied.
"Those are type three, and I need a type one," Mac said.
"Sorry I don't or I'd sure loan it to you," I said.
"I'll try Brian or Howie," Mac said as he stood and walked away. I've got a flight seeing in a little while, so got to keep moving. Have a great evening,"
"You too!" I shot back as he hurried down the dock.
It was hot and sunny, strange for our rain forest area, but making me hurry the boat clean up to get home to a nice shower.
I arrived at the boat the next morning at my usual 4:45. I quickly readied the rods, reels, restocked the coolers for the new day's clients. I untied and shoved off to head to Cresent harbor where I pick up the clients.
I was idling out of Sealing Cove harbor when I heard the Coast Guard announce:
"Pon Pon, Pon pon, pon pon (pronounced pawn pawn). I cranked the radio up to hear clearly.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau, United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau. Time 8:45 pm Alaska daylight time. Report of an over due float plane. A red and white plane has been reported overdue as of 8:00 last night in the vicinity of Katlian Bay. All mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, help if necessary, and report to the nearest Coast Guard.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau - out."
I turned down the volume on the radio just as my cell phone rang.
It was Howie.
"Hey Howie, how's it going this morning?" I chirped cheerily to him.
"Not good. Did you hear Mac's plane is missing since last night."
All the blood drained out of me. I grabbed onto the steering wheel of the boat gasping for breath.
"No!" I whispered into the phone.
"Mac took one of his clients on a short flight seeing to look at mountain goats last night. Only supposed to be gone 20 minutes but never made it back."
"oh my goodness. No!" I hope he landed somewhere waiting for the weather to break," I told Howie.
"That's what we are all hoping for," Howie said hanging up.
I looked out the window of the boat low fog covered all the mountains almost down to the ocean, making a coast guard aerial search impossible.
Clients came on board all excited for a new day of fishing but my belly churned with worry for Mac and his client. Maybe they landed on one of the many high lakes and could not get radio signal out.
I announced to our fleet of captains that the pon pon was for Mac. All of us knew him well.
The pon pon continued all through out the day as the heavy fog clung to the mountains. We could hear search and rescue calling for Mac on hand held radios as they hiked nearly impossible mountains to lakes they hoped he would have landed on. No reply from Mac.
The heavy fog misted cold and clammy onto the fishing fleet. If Mac had crashed and on the mountains he would be suffering from hyperthermia. Time was ticking away quickly.
"Please Mac, make it through somehow," I breathed prayers to myself.
All that night we heard the Coast Guard Helicopters fly search patterns. Darkness and fog could not be a good combination.
Howie called the next morning his voice hallow, "They found the plane... crashed nose down in a creek... Mac's body still strapped in. He didn't make it. They are still searching for the client. Maybe they will find him alive."
I was numb. I stared out the window of the boat listening to the happy chatter of excited clients climbing on board. It would be a tough day.
Search and rescue did find the client's body also lifeless down the creek a bit. For some reason the plane just spiraled out of the sky into the creek.
Rugged Alaska once again leveed its toll of human life when dealing with its beauty.
Mac had dealt with difficulty before. I wrote a couple years back about Lucky To Be Alive and how he and a deck hand lived through the sinking of their boat. He lived then, now this land dealt him the final blow.
Each day I see his boat captains walk past my boat. Life is going on, not easily, but still doing their duties to clients.
I hear the powerful roar of the beaver float plane engines roar over head... I cringe thinking about Mac.
One week after Mac's crash another float plane launched out of Ketchikan 11 people on board. It crashed into the top of a mountain and all persons survived, some broken bones and cuts, but alive.
We may never hear why Mac's plane crashed. There are always questions and suppositions surrounding something like this.
I know it is tragic. It leaves a scar on those around. We will go on, but I will always remember my final chat with Mac just an hour before he crossed from life to eternity.
Good by my friend.
The Grey day they searched for Mac's plane in fog covered mountains
Thursday, February 1, 2018
Saying Goodby
I looked over on the truck seat as I drove to the harbor one last time. The old grey faced yellow dog laid on the seat beside me. I opened the window to let her sniff the air as she has always loved to do.
She can smell where we are going as good as a person can see. He nose does not lie. I turn into the harbor parking lot and she slowly and shakily makes her way to her feet. She still gets excited about the harbor and the boat after 14 years.
I gently lift her bony body out of the truck and we make a walk in the slushy snow blanketing the grass of the harbor lawn.
Jaz proudly walks ahead of me sniffing the grass as usual. She reads all the weeks pee-mail left by all the town dogs. I look at my watch... time to go.
I lead my great friend into the vet who performed a knee surgery on her at the age of less than a year and gave this great dog a life of hunting as she was born to do.
With gentle hands we lay this wonderful friend to rest.
I drive home with tears blinding my vision. I can only think of all the years my family and I have shared with this yellow dog.
Jasmine, or Jaz as we called her came to our family as little fuzzy lab puppy. We found an ad on Craigslist for a pure bread, but not a breeder fancy dog. "Both parents good hunters," the ad read.
It was around Christmas time and the snow blanketed Idaho as we brought the puppy home. The little yellow puppy loved playing in the snow, chasing anything we would toss for her.
I trained her as much as my limited knowledge allowed. She was a quick learner, and was retrieving birds in just a year, not knowing much, but giving it her all.
My Dad had his little puppy about the same time and Reba and Jaz became great friends and hunting buddies. Reba was a much stronger dog but Jaz was making up for power in smartness.
Jaz learned hand signals. My first dog to conquer that skill. Reba would blast out and find the obvious birds while I guided Jaz to the ones in the brush or across the water buried in the trees. They made an incredible team.
Many times I would be walking out of public land with a limit of duck to come upon a blind with other hunters and their dogs. I'd always ask how they were doing to find out they had a duck down across the water in the thick brush or trees.
"I'll send my dog," I would reply, then command Jaz, "Back!"
That little yellow dog would head across any expanse of water until I would stop her with her name, "Jaz," She would turn and look at me "Over!" I would shout and show her with my arm which way. She would keep on until I guided her to the down bird.
Several times after retrieving a cold bird for other hunters I would be offered money for her.
"Nope, not for sale," I would smile patting the yellow lab. I think she knew she was the star of the show.
Jaz and I hunted all over the place. We hunted the lakes around Sitka. We would fly to Idaho and hunt all my old haunts from years ago. The years tumbled by quickly.
All too soon the grey hairs began showing up in the yellow fur of her face. Reba developed hip problems and had to be put down. Now we were only hunting with Jaz.
Jaz started showing the same hip problems as Reba and my wife went on a tear to find natural supplements to help her out. In no time the hip problems disappeared.
Jaz hunted her final hunt for Snow Geese in Idaho. She could retrieve them out of the field but the birds in the river proved too much. Oh she tried. I sent her on a long retrieve and she gladly made it proudly bringing the goose back to me, but she paid dearly as the next morning she could not walk without extreme pain. I would never send her into the water again.
I talked my wife into getting a puppy to replace Jaz in the hunting area. Jaz became our house pet. She loved going for walks on the many trail systems around Sitka.
We tried to make her retirement as great as possible. We gave her bones to chew all the time, the walks in the woods, rides in the car, special stops by the coffee shops for the dog cookie treats. She loved all of it.
Her hearing failed and she became almost totally deaf. We are not sure but it seemed her eyes were growing dim as well. We would guide her by touching her back gently, and a loud hand clap could sometimes get her attention when away from us a bit.
You always know that pets lives are short lived, but it always seems too soon.
That terrible day had arrived and I knew it was time to say good by to my little good friend.
We still turn to find her in the house or on the trail, only to see emptiness. I grabbed up the dog bowls the other day, to find I had made a nice bowl of food for jaz.. I wept as I moved it into the puppy,s bowl.
They say you are only blessed with a few good dogs in your life, and I can honestly say Jaz was one of the best.
I never got out of bed at 3:45 a.m. in the summer that she didn't get up with me. Every time I showered I could open the door and see her laying at the door waiting for me.
I know time heals all wounds, but I also know there will always be part of me missing with her. That one special hole in the heart.
Good by my little friend.
May the gentle winds blow in your soft yellow fur. May your swimming lakes be calm and warm. May you always find your yummy chew bones full of sweet marrow, and your birds always within reach.
Jaz when we first got her loved snow
Jaz with her first goose
Jaz last retrieve
My final walk with my friend
She can smell where we are going as good as a person can see. He nose does not lie. I turn into the harbor parking lot and she slowly and shakily makes her way to her feet. She still gets excited about the harbor and the boat after 14 years.
I gently lift her bony body out of the truck and we make a walk in the slushy snow blanketing the grass of the harbor lawn.
Jaz proudly walks ahead of me sniffing the grass as usual. She reads all the weeks pee-mail left by all the town dogs. I look at my watch... time to go.
I lead my great friend into the vet who performed a knee surgery on her at the age of less than a year and gave this great dog a life of hunting as she was born to do.
With gentle hands we lay this wonderful friend to rest.
I drive home with tears blinding my vision. I can only think of all the years my family and I have shared with this yellow dog.
Jasmine, or Jaz as we called her came to our family as little fuzzy lab puppy. We found an ad on Craigslist for a pure bread, but not a breeder fancy dog. "Both parents good hunters," the ad read.
It was around Christmas time and the snow blanketed Idaho as we brought the puppy home. The little yellow puppy loved playing in the snow, chasing anything we would toss for her.
I trained her as much as my limited knowledge allowed. She was a quick learner, and was retrieving birds in just a year, not knowing much, but giving it her all.
My Dad had his little puppy about the same time and Reba and Jaz became great friends and hunting buddies. Reba was a much stronger dog but Jaz was making up for power in smartness.
Jaz learned hand signals. My first dog to conquer that skill. Reba would blast out and find the obvious birds while I guided Jaz to the ones in the brush or across the water buried in the trees. They made an incredible team.
Many times I would be walking out of public land with a limit of duck to come upon a blind with other hunters and their dogs. I'd always ask how they were doing to find out they had a duck down across the water in the thick brush or trees.
"I'll send my dog," I would reply, then command Jaz, "Back!"
That little yellow dog would head across any expanse of water until I would stop her with her name, "Jaz," She would turn and look at me "Over!" I would shout and show her with my arm which way. She would keep on until I guided her to the down bird.
Several times after retrieving a cold bird for other hunters I would be offered money for her.
"Nope, not for sale," I would smile patting the yellow lab. I think she knew she was the star of the show.
Jaz and I hunted all over the place. We hunted the lakes around Sitka. We would fly to Idaho and hunt all my old haunts from years ago. The years tumbled by quickly.
All too soon the grey hairs began showing up in the yellow fur of her face. Reba developed hip problems and had to be put down. Now we were only hunting with Jaz.
Jaz started showing the same hip problems as Reba and my wife went on a tear to find natural supplements to help her out. In no time the hip problems disappeared.
Jaz hunted her final hunt for Snow Geese in Idaho. She could retrieve them out of the field but the birds in the river proved too much. Oh she tried. I sent her on a long retrieve and she gladly made it proudly bringing the goose back to me, but she paid dearly as the next morning she could not walk without extreme pain. I would never send her into the water again.
I talked my wife into getting a puppy to replace Jaz in the hunting area. Jaz became our house pet. She loved going for walks on the many trail systems around Sitka.
We tried to make her retirement as great as possible. We gave her bones to chew all the time, the walks in the woods, rides in the car, special stops by the coffee shops for the dog cookie treats. She loved all of it.
Her hearing failed and she became almost totally deaf. We are not sure but it seemed her eyes were growing dim as well. We would guide her by touching her back gently, and a loud hand clap could sometimes get her attention when away from us a bit.
You always know that pets lives are short lived, but it always seems too soon.
That terrible day had arrived and I knew it was time to say good by to my little good friend.
We still turn to find her in the house or on the trail, only to see emptiness. I grabbed up the dog bowls the other day, to find I had made a nice bowl of food for jaz.. I wept as I moved it into the puppy,s bowl.
They say you are only blessed with a few good dogs in your life, and I can honestly say Jaz was one of the best.
I never got out of bed at 3:45 a.m. in the summer that she didn't get up with me. Every time I showered I could open the door and see her laying at the door waiting for me.
I know time heals all wounds, but I also know there will always be part of me missing with her. That one special hole in the heart.
Good by my little friend.
May the gentle winds blow in your soft yellow fur. May your swimming lakes be calm and warm. May you always find your yummy chew bones full of sweet marrow, and your birds always within reach.
Jaz when we first got her loved snow
One of the hunts for Jaz smiles for the boyys
Jaz last retrieve
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Tsunami. Run For Your Life
Fire sirens blared outside our bedroom window, sounding like they were right on top of us. "Bummer," I groggily think glancing at the clock. 1:30 a.m. "I hope someones house is not burning up."
"Tsunami Warning! Immediately move to higher ground!" The voice over the loudspeaker sounded like it was from world war 11 at some concentration camp.
I shot straight out of bed and looked out the window. No fire truck. What is going on?
The siren continued to blare. My wife raced to her cell phone.
"We have a tsunami coming at us! We have to get out NOW!" She encouraged. "Matt said to come to his parents house up on the mountain."
The siren is blaring and the metal voice keeps demanding all to run for the higher ground.
Our condo sits right on the ocean. Great views, easy access to town, but also right in the path of any tsunami wave.
What do you save out of your house when you think all you don't carry out in a couple minutes will be lost forever?
I am thinking of survival. I grab my hunting rifle which sits loaded from a hunt a day ago. We are trying to get dressed, get our two dogs up, and then grab everything of importance, all the time the crazy insane siren is blaring and the voice demanding everyone to run for their lives.
I grab survival food for the us and the dogs as my wife gets our important paperwork and passports.
I race down to the truck and fire it up to defrost the nights snow. We are facing three inches of new snow from yesterday. It is going to be slick and cold.
We are on our phones to our daughter telling her where we are going and to meet us there.
We load the dogs into the truck and join the bumper to bumper chain of cars making their way along the ocean front to the roads climbing the mountain above us.
I opt for a road that is fairly steep but a short route to the house we are heading for. I turn up the hill to see a car stuck mid way up, flashers blinking their warnings. A truck is spinning sideways around the stuck car, but finally obtains grip and makes it around the car.
I easily crawl around the stuck car looking at almost panic in the occupants faces. "Do we stop and help them?" I ask my wife.
We don't want to leave anyone behind but figure they are high enough to be out of danger and can leave the car and walk further up the hill to one of the many houses above.
Lines of cars are packed on the road outside Matt's folks house. I squeeze in between two and up into the driveway. I am idling the engine to build heat in the truck for the dogs when Matt taps on the window.
"Made it!" he states the obvious. "You can put dogs in garage if you want, then come inside."
"I think the dogs will be fine for a while once I get the truck warmed up. They can snuggle for warmth if needed," I reply.
I open the door and almost run into our daughter walking up the drive. "The car is stuck down the hill," she informs me.
" Is it in danger zone?" I ask, knowing Slater will be trying to get it free and up the hill. "I'll run down and help if needed," I tell her.
"No. It is just a block away. He is trying to park it in a driveway now."
We shuffle into the house and join Matt's family and several other families.
The waiting game has begun.
For the next two hours we sit listening to a radio and the relentless blaring sirens and the voice of doom telling all to evacuate to higher ground.
The earthquake a 7.9 was centered in the ocean about 200 miles Southeast of Kodiak Island. We pull up our charts on our Ipads to see that puts the quake straight out from Sitka. There would be no land mass to block the rushing water headed our way. If the tsunami did hit it would be brutal to our little town of ocean front buildings and homes.
Kodiak would be hit first. At around 2:30 a.m. the Kodiak harbormaster post online that water is receding out of the harbor... not good at all.
Anyone who has watched the tragedies on the news of other tsunamis knows the first is receding water followed by the rush of incoming which races until it overflows ocean boundaries and wipes out everything in its path.
We are glued to radio and mobile devices.
"Kodiak had declared that only a three foot surge was observed," Matt informs us. "Looks like we may not get washed away tonight."
At 3:30 in the morning the siren stops it wailing and chimes the theme of star wars.... danger is over. We can all return home.
Like the big city ball games we wait for the traffic to clear a bit then work our way down the slick road to the stuck car. We wait until our daughter is back on the road and then follow them down the hill. Matt is right behind us making sure we all get out.
Home looks very good as we walk in the door. The dogs are wound up knowing something happened tonight out of the ordinary. I unload the truck and pack it up the stairs as my wife puts it away.
It is after 4:00 a.m. when we make it back to bed. I am restless hearing the blaring sirens and the metal voice echo in my mind.
We talk about what we managed to grab for the run and what we could have added to help out.
We are grateful for caring friends and for family who looked out for each other this night. We are grateful to be able to come to a standing house, warm and comfortable, and not a pile of wet tangled rubble.
Thank the Good Lord for keeping us all safe this night.
cars lined up along the road at top of hill
waiting out the tsunami warning at 3:00 a.m.
"Tsunami Warning! Immediately move to higher ground!" The voice over the loudspeaker sounded like it was from world war 11 at some concentration camp.
I shot straight out of bed and looked out the window. No fire truck. What is going on?
The siren continued to blare. My wife raced to her cell phone.
"We have a tsunami coming at us! We have to get out NOW!" She encouraged. "Matt said to come to his parents house up on the mountain."
The siren is blaring and the metal voice keeps demanding all to run for the higher ground.
Our condo sits right on the ocean. Great views, easy access to town, but also right in the path of any tsunami wave.
What do you save out of your house when you think all you don't carry out in a couple minutes will be lost forever?
I am thinking of survival. I grab my hunting rifle which sits loaded from a hunt a day ago. We are trying to get dressed, get our two dogs up, and then grab everything of importance, all the time the crazy insane siren is blaring and the voice demanding everyone to run for their lives.
I grab survival food for the us and the dogs as my wife gets our important paperwork and passports.
I race down to the truck and fire it up to defrost the nights snow. We are facing three inches of new snow from yesterday. It is going to be slick and cold.
We are on our phones to our daughter telling her where we are going and to meet us there.
We load the dogs into the truck and join the bumper to bumper chain of cars making their way along the ocean front to the roads climbing the mountain above us.
I opt for a road that is fairly steep but a short route to the house we are heading for. I turn up the hill to see a car stuck mid way up, flashers blinking their warnings. A truck is spinning sideways around the stuck car, but finally obtains grip and makes it around the car.
I easily crawl around the stuck car looking at almost panic in the occupants faces. "Do we stop and help them?" I ask my wife.
We don't want to leave anyone behind but figure they are high enough to be out of danger and can leave the car and walk further up the hill to one of the many houses above.
Lines of cars are packed on the road outside Matt's folks house. I squeeze in between two and up into the driveway. I am idling the engine to build heat in the truck for the dogs when Matt taps on the window.
"Made it!" he states the obvious. "You can put dogs in garage if you want, then come inside."
"I think the dogs will be fine for a while once I get the truck warmed up. They can snuggle for warmth if needed," I reply.
I open the door and almost run into our daughter walking up the drive. "The car is stuck down the hill," she informs me.
" Is it in danger zone?" I ask, knowing Slater will be trying to get it free and up the hill. "I'll run down and help if needed," I tell her.
"No. It is just a block away. He is trying to park it in a driveway now."
We shuffle into the house and join Matt's family and several other families.
The waiting game has begun.
For the next two hours we sit listening to a radio and the relentless blaring sirens and the voice of doom telling all to evacuate to higher ground.
The earthquake a 7.9 was centered in the ocean about 200 miles Southeast of Kodiak Island. We pull up our charts on our Ipads to see that puts the quake straight out from Sitka. There would be no land mass to block the rushing water headed our way. If the tsunami did hit it would be brutal to our little town of ocean front buildings and homes.
Kodiak would be hit first. At around 2:30 a.m. the Kodiak harbormaster post online that water is receding out of the harbor... not good at all.
Anyone who has watched the tragedies on the news of other tsunamis knows the first is receding water followed by the rush of incoming which races until it overflows ocean boundaries and wipes out everything in its path.
We are glued to radio and mobile devices.
"Kodiak had declared that only a three foot surge was observed," Matt informs us. "Looks like we may not get washed away tonight."
At 3:30 in the morning the siren stops it wailing and chimes the theme of star wars.... danger is over. We can all return home.
Like the big city ball games we wait for the traffic to clear a bit then work our way down the slick road to the stuck car. We wait until our daughter is back on the road and then follow them down the hill. Matt is right behind us making sure we all get out.
Home looks very good as we walk in the door. The dogs are wound up knowing something happened tonight out of the ordinary. I unload the truck and pack it up the stairs as my wife puts it away.
It is after 4:00 a.m. when we make it back to bed. I am restless hearing the blaring sirens and the metal voice echo in my mind.
We talk about what we managed to grab for the run and what we could have added to help out.
We are grateful for caring friends and for family who looked out for each other this night. We are grateful to be able to come to a standing house, warm and comfortable, and not a pile of wet tangled rubble.
Thank the Good Lord for keeping us all safe this night.
cars lined up along the road at top of hill
waiting out the tsunami warning at 3:00 a.m.
Friday, December 29, 2017
Little Guys Big Birds. Big Guys still Big Birds.
Just yesterday , it seems, I wrote a little story about little guys with big birds. It was about a hunting trip I made with my brother and nephews. I will kind of highlight some of that trip.
I was down from Alaska in Idaho visiting family and hunting with anyone who would go with me. Wayne called me to say the geese had been flying over his farm and we might want to come and make a field set to see if we could harvest some big honkers.
About that time my brother called saying he wanted to take his middle boy and his friend on a hunting trip. Sounded good to me.
We arrived at Wayne's after a couple days of snow lay on the ground and it was snowing that morning. Biting cold, and not a for sure hunt.
We bundled the young boys up with all the clothes we could find and headed out into the field to set decoys. In the darkness we could hear the geese roosting on the river honk occasionally. At least there were birds nearby.
At shooting time we raced the trucks out of the field and got the boys hunkered down on the ice of a frozen pond behind a big clump of tules.
Snow fell in the early dawn making the cold feel even colder. The boys were cooling off from running around during the decoy set up. Little feet were stomping and gloved hands were slapping.
"Geese! I hear geese," I hissed to the mounds of moving clothes around me. We all crouched low behind the weeds.
A big flock of geese rose from the river and came directly towards the decoys, as they back flapped down I barked, "Take em!"
The quiet morning erupted in gunfire. We adults let the boys shoot first and we noticed a couple birds dropped at their shots.
"Go get your birds!" I shouted to the excited boys.
We watched as they dragged the monster geese back to the ponds edge. Wow, those looked like big birds for those small boys.
The morning was non stop goose action. as one flock would scatter out another would come sailing out of the snow and into the decoys. It did not take long for all of us to shoot our limits.
Just yesterday my Nephew Nick called asking to take a friend on a duck hunt.
"I haven't found much, but we can go try the river," I told him. "Meet me at the boat ramp."
Instead of being driven hunting by Dad, it is now driving himself in Dad's truck.
How can yesterday move so quickly?
I race the boys up the river in the jet boat. I look at them crouched against the biting cold of a teen degree morning boat ride and realize they are not boys, they are young men.
We unload the boat at my selected island and by the time I get the boat tied and hidden the young men have most of the decoys set out.
White frost covers the trees adding the white of the snow on the ground. "Better put your whites on," I inform the guys as I check the time. "Just a few minutes till shooting time."
"I hear geese," I hissed to the young men. "One coming right at us."
We crouched low in the brush and weeds of the island and watched as the goose sailed into our decoys.
"Get him!" I shouted and again the morning stillness is shattered by the thunderous roar of guns.
The young men are so quick at getting on the bird that I don't even get my gun up. I smile to myself.
Little Halibut dog makes a retrieve on the goose and high-fives get passed around.
The cold morning is busy on decoying birds and guns speak over and over again. I watch as the young men hold up the big geese admiring each one.
My mind cannot help but go back to that morning sitting on the frozen pond watching the little boys lug the big geese around. It was only yesterday, my mind keeps saying, but my eyes tell the real story.
Yesterdays pass by so quickly. Little boys grow into men so quickly.
Once again I am thankful for every day I get to spend with my family and friends out in the wild hunting or fishing. There are few memories cherished more than some of these tough trips.
We laugh at the frozen guns, the craziness of doing some of these hunts, but it builds character, it builds a life time of memories, and believe me, each instance becomes a memory far too quickly.
Young Boys Big Birds
Young Men Big Birds
I was down from Alaska in Idaho visiting family and hunting with anyone who would go with me. Wayne called me to say the geese had been flying over his farm and we might want to come and make a field set to see if we could harvest some big honkers.
About that time my brother called saying he wanted to take his middle boy and his friend on a hunting trip. Sounded good to me.
We arrived at Wayne's after a couple days of snow lay on the ground and it was snowing that morning. Biting cold, and not a for sure hunt.
We bundled the young boys up with all the clothes we could find and headed out into the field to set decoys. In the darkness we could hear the geese roosting on the river honk occasionally. At least there were birds nearby.
At shooting time we raced the trucks out of the field and got the boys hunkered down on the ice of a frozen pond behind a big clump of tules.
Snow fell in the early dawn making the cold feel even colder. The boys were cooling off from running around during the decoy set up. Little feet were stomping and gloved hands were slapping.
"Geese! I hear geese," I hissed to the mounds of moving clothes around me. We all crouched low behind the weeds.
A big flock of geese rose from the river and came directly towards the decoys, as they back flapped down I barked, "Take em!"
The quiet morning erupted in gunfire. We adults let the boys shoot first and we noticed a couple birds dropped at their shots.
"Go get your birds!" I shouted to the excited boys.
We watched as they dragged the monster geese back to the ponds edge. Wow, those looked like big birds for those small boys.
The morning was non stop goose action. as one flock would scatter out another would come sailing out of the snow and into the decoys. It did not take long for all of us to shoot our limits.
Just yesterday my Nephew Nick called asking to take a friend on a duck hunt.
"I haven't found much, but we can go try the river," I told him. "Meet me at the boat ramp."
Instead of being driven hunting by Dad, it is now driving himself in Dad's truck.
How can yesterday move so quickly?
I race the boys up the river in the jet boat. I look at them crouched against the biting cold of a teen degree morning boat ride and realize they are not boys, they are young men.
We unload the boat at my selected island and by the time I get the boat tied and hidden the young men have most of the decoys set out.
White frost covers the trees adding the white of the snow on the ground. "Better put your whites on," I inform the guys as I check the time. "Just a few minutes till shooting time."
"I hear geese," I hissed to the young men. "One coming right at us."
We crouched low in the brush and weeds of the island and watched as the goose sailed into our decoys.
"Get him!" I shouted and again the morning stillness is shattered by the thunderous roar of guns.
The young men are so quick at getting on the bird that I don't even get my gun up. I smile to myself.
Little Halibut dog makes a retrieve on the goose and high-fives get passed around.
The cold morning is busy on decoying birds and guns speak over and over again. I watch as the young men hold up the big geese admiring each one.
My mind cannot help but go back to that morning sitting on the frozen pond watching the little boys lug the big geese around. It was only yesterday, my mind keeps saying, but my eyes tell the real story.
Yesterdays pass by so quickly. Little boys grow into men so quickly.
Once again I am thankful for every day I get to spend with my family and friends out in the wild hunting or fishing. There are few memories cherished more than some of these tough trips.
We laugh at the frozen guns, the craziness of doing some of these hunts, but it builds character, it builds a life time of memories, and believe me, each instance becomes a memory far too quickly.
Young Boys Big Birds
Monday, December 11, 2017
A Whale Watching Duck Hunt
A couple of my good friends, hunting buddies of course, came to Sitka in November to hunt Sea Ducks
Terry and LaRell have sat in the snow goose blind beside me, telling stories for many years. It is always a pleasure to have them around.
The weather forecast was typical for November... wind, wind, and more wind. "Gale warnings. Northwest winds 35 knots building to 50 or higher. (50 knot winds is about 58 miles an hour)
I was wanting to get out on the ocean to try for some of the more exotic sea ducks but that might have to wait.
Our first day found us trying to get to a spot I has scouted and found some Harlequin Ducks. We crossed a channel and started bucking our way in some fairly choppy water. Spray drenched the front window of my charter boat and then started spilling a bit of green water over the sides into the back of the boat. Nothing too bad, stuff I have to go through much of the summer guiding clients to fish.
"This could get pretty ugly by this afternoon if the wind builds to what the forecast is calling," I commented to the boys as I concentrated on my twin throttles to keep the boat as dry as possible.
"I thought it IS bad now," LaRell shot back. I noticed he was hanging onto the crash bars fairly tightly.
"This is totally do-able," I informed them. I went on to explain how we go through water like this much of the summer.
"Let's go around the islands and take a look. I will pull the plug on the day the moment the wind starts building", I said.
We arrived at a rock that I have shot birds at in years past and unloaded the skiff and decoys.
"You guys go set up at that rock. I'm going to just drift around out here and keep an eye on the weather," I said as I spun the boat away from the departing skiff.
I had no more gotten out of sight when I hear some shooting. "Good," I thought, "I just need them to find a few birds."
It wasn't long before the wind start puffing like it was going to blow for real. I raced around the islands to the boys and informed them we had to move.
They had shot a few birds, but not a great hunt.
We raced back through the ugly water, which had now built to where the waves seemed to have teeth, very slow going. I did my best to distract attention from the pounding waves with stories.
"Right over there is where a boat went down in a storm..." I started telling the first of many boat sinking stories.
I think my stories worked as grips on the hang on bars increased. White knuckles glared in the storm darkness.
We beat our way to town and then headed out a different direction. We found the sea ducks!
A calm spot was black with resting Surf Scoters.
We set up and I anchored the big boat and joined the boys for a great sea duck shoot.
We shot enough that we maxed Terry and LaRell out on the Scoter species for their annual limits.
It took a couple of days for the weather to settle down enough to get back to the rock of our first morning hunt.
It did not take long to harvest some beautiful harlequin ducks and I shot a couple Surf Scoters as my limit allowed.
We picked up and headed back to town. Crossing Eastern Channel we came upon a huge pod of bubble feeding whales.
Birds were hovering over the whales by the thousands, telling the story of the bubble feeders.
We pulled over to watch the show. We could not tell how many humpback whales there were in this group but there were a bunch... to say the least.
The huge whales would surface for mighty breaths of air, dive deep and begin blowing bubbles into schools of herring. The bubbles confuse the herring and allow the family of whales to open their enormous mouths and come straight up through the little bait fish.
It was an amazing show. I see it several times a summer while guiding, but never with this many whales.
Our phone cameras were click and rolling video as much as we could. We just wished we had some better cameras with us.
Once again Alaska has blessed us with one of its many surprises. The rough water delay forced us to wait until we timed a magnificent whale show perfectly.
Why not turn a duck hunt into a whale show?
Bubble feeding Whales
LaRell and Terry hunting sea ducks
Surf Scoters and Harlequins
Terry and LaRell have sat in the snow goose blind beside me, telling stories for many years. It is always a pleasure to have them around.
The weather forecast was typical for November... wind, wind, and more wind. "Gale warnings. Northwest winds 35 knots building to 50 or higher. (50 knot winds is about 58 miles an hour)
I was wanting to get out on the ocean to try for some of the more exotic sea ducks but that might have to wait.
Our first day found us trying to get to a spot I has scouted and found some Harlequin Ducks. We crossed a channel and started bucking our way in some fairly choppy water. Spray drenched the front window of my charter boat and then started spilling a bit of green water over the sides into the back of the boat. Nothing too bad, stuff I have to go through much of the summer guiding clients to fish.
"This could get pretty ugly by this afternoon if the wind builds to what the forecast is calling," I commented to the boys as I concentrated on my twin throttles to keep the boat as dry as possible.
"I thought it IS bad now," LaRell shot back. I noticed he was hanging onto the crash bars fairly tightly.
"This is totally do-able," I informed them. I went on to explain how we go through water like this much of the summer.
"Let's go around the islands and take a look. I will pull the plug on the day the moment the wind starts building", I said.
We arrived at a rock that I have shot birds at in years past and unloaded the skiff and decoys.
"You guys go set up at that rock. I'm going to just drift around out here and keep an eye on the weather," I said as I spun the boat away from the departing skiff.
I had no more gotten out of sight when I hear some shooting. "Good," I thought, "I just need them to find a few birds."
It wasn't long before the wind start puffing like it was going to blow for real. I raced around the islands to the boys and informed them we had to move.
They had shot a few birds, but not a great hunt.
We raced back through the ugly water, which had now built to where the waves seemed to have teeth, very slow going. I did my best to distract attention from the pounding waves with stories.
"Right over there is where a boat went down in a storm..." I started telling the first of many boat sinking stories.
I think my stories worked as grips on the hang on bars increased. White knuckles glared in the storm darkness.
We beat our way to town and then headed out a different direction. We found the sea ducks!
A calm spot was black with resting Surf Scoters.
We set up and I anchored the big boat and joined the boys for a great sea duck shoot.
We shot enough that we maxed Terry and LaRell out on the Scoter species for their annual limits.
It took a couple of days for the weather to settle down enough to get back to the rock of our first morning hunt.
It did not take long to harvest some beautiful harlequin ducks and I shot a couple Surf Scoters as my limit allowed.
We picked up and headed back to town. Crossing Eastern Channel we came upon a huge pod of bubble feeding whales.
Birds were hovering over the whales by the thousands, telling the story of the bubble feeders.
We pulled over to watch the show. We could not tell how many humpback whales there were in this group but there were a bunch... to say the least.
The huge whales would surface for mighty breaths of air, dive deep and begin blowing bubbles into schools of herring. The bubbles confuse the herring and allow the family of whales to open their enormous mouths and come straight up through the little bait fish.
It was an amazing show. I see it several times a summer while guiding, but never with this many whales.
Our phone cameras were click and rolling video as much as we could. We just wished we had some better cameras with us.
Once again Alaska has blessed us with one of its many surprises. The rough water delay forced us to wait until we timed a magnificent whale show perfectly.
Why not turn a duck hunt into a whale show?
Bubble feeding Whales
LaRell and Terry hunting sea ducks
Surf Scoters and Harlequins
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Ocean Weeds
I grew up around gardens as a boy, and later, doing some gardening myself. I love to grow vegetables then pluck and eat them. One thing I did not enjoy during my gardening career was fighting weeds.
I also grew up in a church setting, and as a boy learned of the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and how that sin lead to God implementing weeds as a reminder to us all of that disobedience.
Genesis 3:17 and 18 tells me ; "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; 3:18 "Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee..."
Weeds!
My move to the ocean had me all excited. I could work harvesting fish and not have to pull weeds! Oh how wrong I was.
The ocean is full of its own variety of weeds.
We are in our third season of El Nino water currents. Warm water, and with that comes big fat juicy jelly fish.
Starting slowly, the jelly numbers have increased until it is now hard to get bait to certain depths due to getting slimed by the jelly fish. One little strand of jelly on a bait and salmon or halibut will not touch it.
I troll two lines for salmon and one side will be catching and catching while the other just drags along doing nothing. I quickly run the dead side to find it totally engulfed in jelly fish. I have a brush on my fish cleaning tray just for that reason.
I grab the brush and scrub jelly fish all over the back of the boat, add fish attracting scent to the bait and send it back down on the down rigger hoping it will catch a fish before getting clogged with jelly again.
Running back and forth all day checking for jelly fish has a guide sweating just like pulling weeds in the garden back in the lower 48's.
Another weed in the salmon garden is the huge Sea Lion. A line will pop out of the down rigger and the client has a big salmon fighting grandly... all of a sudden line starts screaming off the reel and the pole is nearly dragged out of the clients hands. The "fish" rushes towards the surface even though they don't fight like that. A huge brown head will burst out of the water displaying the lovely salmon. "Sea Lion!" someone will shout. We all stand and watch helplessly as the massive beast shakes the fish in the air, breaking it into bite size pieces to be quickly consumed. One more fish lost to an ocean weed.
Every once in a while a big Salmon Shark will show up and bite salmon off the hook. There is not much tell other than a client reeling in a fish to the boat and have it show up as just a fish head, the body bitten neatly in half.
Halibut fishing brings a whole set of different ocean weeds. In August the ocean waters of South East Alaska reach its warmest temperatures and with those warm waters come Blue Sharks. Blues are the worst of the weeds to be fought. Any blood washed out the boat into the water will have Blues quickly circling the boat. A client will drop a nice fresh chunk of halibut bait and the waiting Blue will simply bite the whole thing off. You can reel back in, bait up, drop back down only to have the swarming Blues bite the bait off again and again. When you run out of hooks or lead weights your halibut fishing day is over. The Blue Shark "weeds" cost us guides a whole lot of money as well as mental stress.
Dog Fish. Spiny Dog fish is a little sand shark that is also a type of ocean weed. The dog fish lives near the bottom and bites like a halibut. Nibble, nibble, nibble then nothing for a while on the line. I have the client reel in to find a shiny bare hook. The little dog fish can eat bait off a hook in no time at all. It doesn't sound bad until it is you reeling up from nearly 600 feet deep to find another bare hook. In a short time all on board are hoping to get rid of the spiny dog fish weed!
The daily battle of weeds on the ocean is wind. Morning after morning all the guides are glued to computer screens trying to figure out wind and wave patterns.
I work with a group of guides and each morning we will gather and lay out our days game plans, it always centers around the wind.
"Windyty shows it might blow till noon then drop a bit," one guide will remark. "I checked Fishweather," another will comment, " it shows nice near shore with the blow coming later."
We will only know for sure by heading out to open ocean for a look. Monster waves smashing over the top of the boat means the wind is definitely blowing and a new "plan" followed.
Summer after summer I find myself battered and beaten by rough ocean. I have to go where I can catch the best fish for the clients. I don't want to be out in nasty ocean, but at times there is just no other way to produce. I do my best to be safe, to call it quits before the ocean turn too ugly, but it seems there are many times I find myself driving my boat through some very blowy heavy seas.
I am looking at about three more weeks of guiding left, my body is beat up I am so very tired... and mostly from dealing with all the silly ocean WEEDS!!!
Salmon Shark
I also grew up in a church setting, and as a boy learned of the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and how that sin lead to God implementing weeds as a reminder to us all of that disobedience.
Genesis 3:17 and 18 tells me ; "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; 3:18 "Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee..."
Weeds!
My move to the ocean had me all excited. I could work harvesting fish and not have to pull weeds! Oh how wrong I was.
The ocean is full of its own variety of weeds.
We are in our third season of El Nino water currents. Warm water, and with that comes big fat juicy jelly fish.
Starting slowly, the jelly numbers have increased until it is now hard to get bait to certain depths due to getting slimed by the jelly fish. One little strand of jelly on a bait and salmon or halibut will not touch it.
I troll two lines for salmon and one side will be catching and catching while the other just drags along doing nothing. I quickly run the dead side to find it totally engulfed in jelly fish. I have a brush on my fish cleaning tray just for that reason.
I grab the brush and scrub jelly fish all over the back of the boat, add fish attracting scent to the bait and send it back down on the down rigger hoping it will catch a fish before getting clogged with jelly again.
Running back and forth all day checking for jelly fish has a guide sweating just like pulling weeds in the garden back in the lower 48's.
Another weed in the salmon garden is the huge Sea Lion. A line will pop out of the down rigger and the client has a big salmon fighting grandly... all of a sudden line starts screaming off the reel and the pole is nearly dragged out of the clients hands. The "fish" rushes towards the surface even though they don't fight like that. A huge brown head will burst out of the water displaying the lovely salmon. "Sea Lion!" someone will shout. We all stand and watch helplessly as the massive beast shakes the fish in the air, breaking it into bite size pieces to be quickly consumed. One more fish lost to an ocean weed.
Every once in a while a big Salmon Shark will show up and bite salmon off the hook. There is not much tell other than a client reeling in a fish to the boat and have it show up as just a fish head, the body bitten neatly in half.
Halibut fishing brings a whole set of different ocean weeds. In August the ocean waters of South East Alaska reach its warmest temperatures and with those warm waters come Blue Sharks. Blues are the worst of the weeds to be fought. Any blood washed out the boat into the water will have Blues quickly circling the boat. A client will drop a nice fresh chunk of halibut bait and the waiting Blue will simply bite the whole thing off. You can reel back in, bait up, drop back down only to have the swarming Blues bite the bait off again and again. When you run out of hooks or lead weights your halibut fishing day is over. The Blue Shark "weeds" cost us guides a whole lot of money as well as mental stress.
Dog Fish. Spiny Dog fish is a little sand shark that is also a type of ocean weed. The dog fish lives near the bottom and bites like a halibut. Nibble, nibble, nibble then nothing for a while on the line. I have the client reel in to find a shiny bare hook. The little dog fish can eat bait off a hook in no time at all. It doesn't sound bad until it is you reeling up from nearly 600 feet deep to find another bare hook. In a short time all on board are hoping to get rid of the spiny dog fish weed!
The daily battle of weeds on the ocean is wind. Morning after morning all the guides are glued to computer screens trying to figure out wind and wave patterns.
I work with a group of guides and each morning we will gather and lay out our days game plans, it always centers around the wind.
"Windyty shows it might blow till noon then drop a bit," one guide will remark. "I checked Fishweather," another will comment, " it shows nice near shore with the blow coming later."
We will only know for sure by heading out to open ocean for a look. Monster waves smashing over the top of the boat means the wind is definitely blowing and a new "plan" followed.
Summer after summer I find myself battered and beaten by rough ocean. I have to go where I can catch the best fish for the clients. I don't want to be out in nasty ocean, but at times there is just no other way to produce. I do my best to be safe, to call it quits before the ocean turn too ugly, but it seems there are many times I find myself driving my boat through some very blowy heavy seas.
I am looking at about three more weeks of guiding left, my body is beat up I am so very tired... and mostly from dealing with all the silly ocean WEEDS!!!
Salmon Shark
Blue Shark
Rough Ocean
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Amazing Alaska
A doctor made me realize how amazing Alaska really is. Well... the doctor himself didn't do much for the amazing part... a slip with a knife during a routine gallbladder surgery caused him to open me up like a zippered duffle bag, and instructions of no lifting anything for 6 weeks.
I was due to start taking clients out fishing in one week from the surgery date. Not suppose to happen according to Mr. Dr.
When ones income is based on a mere 100 days, missing five weeks is not an option.
I started thinking of anyone who could come to Alaska and help me on the boat as a deck hand.
A charter company in town loaned me one of their deckhands for a week until I could get my Nephew, Luke, flown up from Idaho to help.
Luke dropped a very busy baseball schedule to help his ailing Uncle. Of course, like any good fisherman I did dangle some very tempting bait in front of the young man. Money! Like most fish I catch, He jumped at the bait and was hooked instantly.
Luke was to spend two weeks with me but my recovery was a little slower than I thought, so I talked him, and his dad, into one more week.
The first sunny day we were on the ocean Luke stood in awe of the view. Jagged mountains rise from the ocean to scratch the sky with snow crowned peaks. He imparted most of his wisdom in his words. "Wow," he said, but I noticed his phone taking picture after picture. At sixteen words are few but phones are busy.
We (Luke my lifting arms and legs) dropped the anchor for halibut, baited the hooks, and sat back munching on cookies waiting for halibut to bite.
"Whoosh!"
"Whales!" someone shouted. Everywhere we looked was blowing spouts from whales. Phones were in hand and filming began. One whale wanted to be the star of the show and began jumping (breaching) over and over again getting closer and closer to our anchored boat. We had a front row seat to the most marvelous whale show of the summer. Luke was so impressed. "Wow," he said.
He burned the airways back home sending photos and videos so I knew he enjoyed it.
Fishing was tough and we had to make a long run to a bay for King Salmon and on the way saw a boat stopped. Around the boat were killer whales. I stopped a mile short of the other boat as I could see the pod working our direction. We drifted as the Killers puffed and displayed the tall fins coming ever closer. In no time they were right on our boat. All of our phones and cameras were filming when one of the whales did what is called spy hopping. He (or she) came straight out of the water and turned to get a good look at us.
"Wow! Did you see that? Did you get that on film?" everyone was shouting. Fishing took a second seat that day to that wonderful killer whale stunt.
Luke wrestled 100 pound halibut that shook him like a dog ragdolls a stuffed toy. I was too busy watching to think about filming it for him. He will always remember the sheer power of a huge fish.
We caught giant Ling Cod, even caught a small one that tangled itself in three lines so badly it could not even wiggle. Luke took pictures while I did my best to untangle the mess.
We caught Skates, Dog fish sharks, rock fish of every color, as well as most of the salmon species.
Some got a "Wow" but all got a ride home on Luke's phone.
Our final day on the ocean with Luke, a client hung his bait on the bottom while fishing for halibut. I grabbed the rod and jerked and jerked trying to pry the hook out of the snag. It was very stuck. At last I cleated the braided line to the boat and allowed the huge ocean swell to either pull the hook free or break the line. The hook pulled free but it felt like the client had a big rock coming up with the hook.
"Must have worked a rock off the bottom," I commented to the client, "or it could be an octopus, but it seems far to heavy to be an octopus."
I have clients catch a couple of octopus each summer and it always seems like they are snagged on the bottom until you pry the octo off the bottom.
I was ready as the "rock" came into view. It was a huge octopus! I quickly swung it on board and the fun began.
It was so large I could not get it off the deck by myself . The tentacles suctioned so tight that Luke had to help me. That critter would get legs stuck on everything. I had to laugh when it was plastered to Luke's rain pants, making little popping sucking sounds when he peeled it off.
"Oh Wow!" Luke exclaimed, and I knew he had the prize of his trip. The phone was once again snapping pictures after pictures.
I took Luke on a hike up a mountain to show him where I deer hunt. He found a bear paw print in the mud the made him realize we are not entirely the top of the food chain.
I am so thankful I had the weeks with my Nephew. I am more thankful that he once again showed me how incredible Alaska really is.
breaching whale
spy hopping killer whale
huge octopus
bear track
I was due to start taking clients out fishing in one week from the surgery date. Not suppose to happen according to Mr. Dr.
When ones income is based on a mere 100 days, missing five weeks is not an option.
I started thinking of anyone who could come to Alaska and help me on the boat as a deck hand.
A charter company in town loaned me one of their deckhands for a week until I could get my Nephew, Luke, flown up from Idaho to help.
Luke dropped a very busy baseball schedule to help his ailing Uncle. Of course, like any good fisherman I did dangle some very tempting bait in front of the young man. Money! Like most fish I catch, He jumped at the bait and was hooked instantly.
Luke was to spend two weeks with me but my recovery was a little slower than I thought, so I talked him, and his dad, into one more week.
The first sunny day we were on the ocean Luke stood in awe of the view. Jagged mountains rise from the ocean to scratch the sky with snow crowned peaks. He imparted most of his wisdom in his words. "Wow," he said, but I noticed his phone taking picture after picture. At sixteen words are few but phones are busy.
We (Luke my lifting arms and legs) dropped the anchor for halibut, baited the hooks, and sat back munching on cookies waiting for halibut to bite.
"Whoosh!"
"Whales!" someone shouted. Everywhere we looked was blowing spouts from whales. Phones were in hand and filming began. One whale wanted to be the star of the show and began jumping (breaching) over and over again getting closer and closer to our anchored boat. We had a front row seat to the most marvelous whale show of the summer. Luke was so impressed. "Wow," he said.
He burned the airways back home sending photos and videos so I knew he enjoyed it.
Fishing was tough and we had to make a long run to a bay for King Salmon and on the way saw a boat stopped. Around the boat were killer whales. I stopped a mile short of the other boat as I could see the pod working our direction. We drifted as the Killers puffed and displayed the tall fins coming ever closer. In no time they were right on our boat. All of our phones and cameras were filming when one of the whales did what is called spy hopping. He (or she) came straight out of the water and turned to get a good look at us.
"Wow! Did you see that? Did you get that on film?" everyone was shouting. Fishing took a second seat that day to that wonderful killer whale stunt.
Luke wrestled 100 pound halibut that shook him like a dog ragdolls a stuffed toy. I was too busy watching to think about filming it for him. He will always remember the sheer power of a huge fish.
We caught giant Ling Cod, even caught a small one that tangled itself in three lines so badly it could not even wiggle. Luke took pictures while I did my best to untangle the mess.
We caught Skates, Dog fish sharks, rock fish of every color, as well as most of the salmon species.
Some got a "Wow" but all got a ride home on Luke's phone.
Our final day on the ocean with Luke, a client hung his bait on the bottom while fishing for halibut. I grabbed the rod and jerked and jerked trying to pry the hook out of the snag. It was very stuck. At last I cleated the braided line to the boat and allowed the huge ocean swell to either pull the hook free or break the line. The hook pulled free but it felt like the client had a big rock coming up with the hook.
"Must have worked a rock off the bottom," I commented to the client, "or it could be an octopus, but it seems far to heavy to be an octopus."
I have clients catch a couple of octopus each summer and it always seems like they are snagged on the bottom until you pry the octo off the bottom.
I was ready as the "rock" came into view. It was a huge octopus! I quickly swung it on board and the fun began.
It was so large I could not get it off the deck by myself . The tentacles suctioned so tight that Luke had to help me. That critter would get legs stuck on everything. I had to laugh when it was plastered to Luke's rain pants, making little popping sucking sounds when he peeled it off.
"Oh Wow!" Luke exclaimed, and I knew he had the prize of his trip. The phone was once again snapping pictures after pictures.
I took Luke on a hike up a mountain to show him where I deer hunt. He found a bear paw print in the mud the made him realize we are not entirely the top of the food chain.
I am so thankful I had the weeks with my Nephew. I am more thankful that he once again showed me how incredible Alaska really is.
breaching whale
Saturday, March 11, 2017
The Debt
For some reason I realized today that I have been acquiring and paying a debt my entire life.
It is the end of Idaho snow goose season and I had gathered a group of guys to help pick up decoys. After hunting dark to dark for the past 18 days I felt it high time I call my folks. Mom was going to a birthday party at noon and was wondering if I would take Dad to lunch. I had one better. Take him to lunch then to help pick up 1,500 white decoys.
Driving to Parma I realized how often we had made that trip in the years gone by and now it had been one full year.
Dad has been my best friend all of my life. As a runner in high school I could always hear his soft voice above the slap of our feet as he always encouraged, "That a boy, your doing good."
Dad loved hunting and fishing and hauled my older brother and I all over the place to find new adventures. He was leading edge in wanting hunting vehicles, buying a jeep like amphibious for hauling out deer and elk. The silly thing just never seemed to run. He then bought a two wheel drive motorcycle that would almost climb trees.
Later in life, I found myself in the middle of a muddy divorce. That steady calm voice on the track field was in my ear once again through the wires of the phone line. Every day, without fail, Dad would call and always end with, "Ok, just checking on you."
Dad was one of the first recruits drafted in world war two. Like the movie, Hacksaw Ridge (I strongly recommend every one see it though I Never push movies on this blog) Dad refused to take up a gun against another human. He chose, like the movie, to enlist in the Medics division. He worked as a nurse helping the doctors save lives be they American or Japanese. To dad they are all humans with lives and dreams, families, and goals.
I did not know Dad before the war, but I grew up knowing a man who raised farm animals for food and money. He treated them with respect and kindness even though many ended up on our supper table.
At age of 19 I moved into my own house and our relationship changed a bit. I now see it as a debt meter.
Children, as a whole are racking up debt to their parents. Food, lodging, cars, gas, in my case shotgun shells, and rifle bullets. Teenagers rack up the most and quickest debt. Now it is clothes, girl friends, endless school activities that require almost endless funds from the parents.
My parents were so gracious in giving even though they probably could not really afford it, or it cut into things they were dreaming about. My brother and I worked on farms in the summer to help out, but our small earnings ran out way before the school year.
So I moved out and now I began taking my dad on hunting and fishing trips. I would have dad meet me each morning of duck or goose season for a hunting trip some where. I worked nights so days were for a quick hunt before bed time.
I bought a jet boat for running the river in search of ducks, and a bass boat for screaming across a lake in search of bass. Dad was a ride along on most of my trips.
I never hunted with a friend that I didn't ask if my dad could come along, most of them would quickly say yes.
The debt meter had stopped swinging my way and was swinging slowly to "repay".
The divorce years once again had that meter swinging wildly my way. Even on hunting and fishing trips, I was hard on Dad. I knew it but the anger inside would burst out aimed at him. How I regretted it each time it happened. He was meek and mild and would just grow quiet. My debt meter was pegging at the top.
I then headed to Alaska, the land of adventure, to the very town my Dad had fished out of after the war. I bought a boat eerily similar to the one he owned some forty years earlier.
I brought Mom and Dad up to Alaska as much as I could. For Dad, it was like living a dream, for Mom it was just a way to touch base with her son.
I wrote constant letters, then when email was invented, I flooded their computer with emails. The debt meter was swinging nicely back in repay.
My winters, after summers of fishing, were always back in Idaho and the hunting trips were endless. Dad and I did our best to keep the waterfowl migrating past our area.
I went from commercial fishing to guiding and once again I had dad up as much as possible. I still recall him catching a 90 pound halibut on his 90th birthday! Amazing.
Age comes calling to us all so quickly. A man in his 90's feels it so much. A friend of that man also carries that load. The tough hunting trips were replaced with less often simpler ones. I turned to my age friends for those grueling long hour hard work episodes.
Dad sat at home more and more. My hunting fire still burned almost out of control. I had nephews coming up and was channeling energy towards them. I was staying long in Alaska to partake of the nectar of that amazing land.
Dad and Mom caught up with me through phone and emails, and eventually I started this blog for them. Dad always love reading my writing pushing me to become an outdoor writer. Now he could read each experience tempered only by an internet that reaches all people. I try to keep the killing and the details to where all can read and enjoy.
My debt meter slowly worked its way past half and into his corner. For that I am so thankful.
Today, just a long month away from reaching 98 years old, Dad is helping stack snow goose decoys in a muddy corn field. I take him to the blind where we used to shoot mallards and Canadian geese. I explain all the improvements since he hunted it a year ago.
I had told mom I would put him in a chair to watch us work but Dad was not about to do that. I didn't want him falling in the pond so I placed him on the four wheeler and gave him his first ever lesson in driving a four wheeler. This was the machine he had dreamed of when I was a teenager. but it hadn't been invented yet.
Halibut, my dog, raced to her usual place behind the driver and I stood on the trailer as we circled the corn field picking up stacks of decoys the boys were piling up.
Dad got off a couple of times wanting me to take over but I insisted he finish the course. He could not hear me say, "That a boy, you can do it." over the slap of the four wheeler tires,
We then went from and ATV to a UTV to feed Wayne's cattle. The UTV is a three person side by side with a dump bed. Once again I saw the pleasure in Dad's eyes. "Wow," was his choice of words.
I dropped Dad off at home and then it hit me about the debt meter. I so hope my debt meter has pegged out on repaid!
I have tried to live my life with my folks so I have no regrets. At the end of it all I want us to be all squared up.
I try to call my folks every day. I usually end by saying, "Just checking up on you."
I love you Mom and Dad and thanks for such a great life.
Dad driving his first four wheeler at age 98 halibut riding shotgun
It is the end of Idaho snow goose season and I had gathered a group of guys to help pick up decoys. After hunting dark to dark for the past 18 days I felt it high time I call my folks. Mom was going to a birthday party at noon and was wondering if I would take Dad to lunch. I had one better. Take him to lunch then to help pick up 1,500 white decoys.
Driving to Parma I realized how often we had made that trip in the years gone by and now it had been one full year.
Dad has been my best friend all of my life. As a runner in high school I could always hear his soft voice above the slap of our feet as he always encouraged, "That a boy, your doing good."
Dad loved hunting and fishing and hauled my older brother and I all over the place to find new adventures. He was leading edge in wanting hunting vehicles, buying a jeep like amphibious for hauling out deer and elk. The silly thing just never seemed to run. He then bought a two wheel drive motorcycle that would almost climb trees.
Later in life, I found myself in the middle of a muddy divorce. That steady calm voice on the track field was in my ear once again through the wires of the phone line. Every day, without fail, Dad would call and always end with, "Ok, just checking on you."
Dad was one of the first recruits drafted in world war two. Like the movie, Hacksaw Ridge (I strongly recommend every one see it though I Never push movies on this blog) Dad refused to take up a gun against another human. He chose, like the movie, to enlist in the Medics division. He worked as a nurse helping the doctors save lives be they American or Japanese. To dad they are all humans with lives and dreams, families, and goals.
I did not know Dad before the war, but I grew up knowing a man who raised farm animals for food and money. He treated them with respect and kindness even though many ended up on our supper table.
At age of 19 I moved into my own house and our relationship changed a bit. I now see it as a debt meter.
Children, as a whole are racking up debt to their parents. Food, lodging, cars, gas, in my case shotgun shells, and rifle bullets. Teenagers rack up the most and quickest debt. Now it is clothes, girl friends, endless school activities that require almost endless funds from the parents.
My parents were so gracious in giving even though they probably could not really afford it, or it cut into things they were dreaming about. My brother and I worked on farms in the summer to help out, but our small earnings ran out way before the school year.
So I moved out and now I began taking my dad on hunting and fishing trips. I would have dad meet me each morning of duck or goose season for a hunting trip some where. I worked nights so days were for a quick hunt before bed time.
I bought a jet boat for running the river in search of ducks, and a bass boat for screaming across a lake in search of bass. Dad was a ride along on most of my trips.
I never hunted with a friend that I didn't ask if my dad could come along, most of them would quickly say yes.
The debt meter had stopped swinging my way and was swinging slowly to "repay".
The divorce years once again had that meter swinging wildly my way. Even on hunting and fishing trips, I was hard on Dad. I knew it but the anger inside would burst out aimed at him. How I regretted it each time it happened. He was meek and mild and would just grow quiet. My debt meter was pegging at the top.
I then headed to Alaska, the land of adventure, to the very town my Dad had fished out of after the war. I bought a boat eerily similar to the one he owned some forty years earlier.
I brought Mom and Dad up to Alaska as much as I could. For Dad, it was like living a dream, for Mom it was just a way to touch base with her son.
I wrote constant letters, then when email was invented, I flooded their computer with emails. The debt meter was swinging nicely back in repay.
My winters, after summers of fishing, were always back in Idaho and the hunting trips were endless. Dad and I did our best to keep the waterfowl migrating past our area.
I went from commercial fishing to guiding and once again I had dad up as much as possible. I still recall him catching a 90 pound halibut on his 90th birthday! Amazing.
Age comes calling to us all so quickly. A man in his 90's feels it so much. A friend of that man also carries that load. The tough hunting trips were replaced with less often simpler ones. I turned to my age friends for those grueling long hour hard work episodes.
Dad sat at home more and more. My hunting fire still burned almost out of control. I had nephews coming up and was channeling energy towards them. I was staying long in Alaska to partake of the nectar of that amazing land.
Dad and Mom caught up with me through phone and emails, and eventually I started this blog for them. Dad always love reading my writing pushing me to become an outdoor writer. Now he could read each experience tempered only by an internet that reaches all people. I try to keep the killing and the details to where all can read and enjoy.
My debt meter slowly worked its way past half and into his corner. For that I am so thankful.
Today, just a long month away from reaching 98 years old, Dad is helping stack snow goose decoys in a muddy corn field. I take him to the blind where we used to shoot mallards and Canadian geese. I explain all the improvements since he hunted it a year ago.
I had told mom I would put him in a chair to watch us work but Dad was not about to do that. I didn't want him falling in the pond so I placed him on the four wheeler and gave him his first ever lesson in driving a four wheeler. This was the machine he had dreamed of when I was a teenager. but it hadn't been invented yet.
Halibut, my dog, raced to her usual place behind the driver and I stood on the trailer as we circled the corn field picking up stacks of decoys the boys were piling up.
Dad got off a couple of times wanting me to take over but I insisted he finish the course. He could not hear me say, "That a boy, you can do it." over the slap of the four wheeler tires,
We then went from and ATV to a UTV to feed Wayne's cattle. The UTV is a three person side by side with a dump bed. Once again I saw the pleasure in Dad's eyes. "Wow," was his choice of words.
I dropped Dad off at home and then it hit me about the debt meter. I so hope my debt meter has pegged out on repaid!
I have tried to live my life with my folks so I have no regrets. At the end of it all I want us to be all squared up.
I try to call my folks every day. I usually end by saying, "Just checking up on you."
I love you Mom and Dad and thanks for such a great life.
Dad driving his first four wheeler at age 98 halibut riding shotgun
Saturday, February 18, 2017
For The Love of Hunting
Many times in my married years I have come back home from hunting trips, told my dear wife about how thing went to have her roll her eyes and say, "You've got to be crazy to do that."
I think she has hit on something but keeps most of it to herself.
Snow has been piling up in South West Idaho and the reports were almost unthinkable. I was pacing in front of the window in Alaska watching rain fall at the rate of a quarter inch per 12 hours. Snow?
My bored pacing finally lead my wife to hand me a plane ticket to Idaho ( I think hoping to have me disappear into a deep snow drift).
"Go. Get out of here. Do whatever bored hunters do in lots of snow." she commanded me. I am such an obedient husband I grabbed my hunting dog and was on the first flight out of town.
Snow was everywhere. It was piled in the streets, in parking lots, and crumpling sagging roofs. Perfect hunting weather.
I dug for two days to free the jet boat and headed for the Snake River.
Wayne, my trusted scout had been seeing some geese on the river near his farm.
"Launch down river and run up to my farm," he told me thinking that if I had engine trouble I could simply float back down river to my truck and trailer.
The thermometer was tickling the minus numbers so that was a wise call. Things happen to mechanical equipment in very cold conditions.
Bright and early I arrived at the boat ramp areas. There is a ramp on both sides of the river right near a bridge.
The Idaho side had a huge mound of frozen snow blocking the entrance from the highway. Snow plows. Those crazy plows had thrown massive walls of slush off the road and into the driveway of the boat ramp. It would take a tank to remove it now that it was frozen solid.
I drove across the river to the Oregon ramp. Same situation. "Probably the same snow plow doing this to me. How dare he shut down my hunting for highway snow removal."
I turned the truck and trailer around and headed up river to a ramp that might be open as it is on fish and game property.
I cruised down a little bumpy lane that it looked like one tractor had bladed a deep groove in the snow just wide enough for a truck to pass through." If I meet someone on this road one of us will have to back up a long ways,'' I though.
I made it to a little boat ramp tucked away in some wooded area. The tractor had plowed out parking for three truck and trailer rigs and all three were full of trucks with empty trailers. Hunters who had beat me to the river.
It was difficult to get the trailer lined up with the ramp working in the confines of walls of plowed snow, but at last I had the boat lined up with the ramp.
I knew the ramp would be icy with the other trailers dripping water as they launched earlier, but was not prepared for just how slick it was. (the chains on the other three truck tires should have warned me).
The boat crested the lip of the ramp and then the back tires of the truck. I eased down a bit and then things went south in a hurry.
The boat trailer tire caught the deep snow at the edge of the ramp and took off upriver, the truck hit sheer ice and slid with all tires locked up.
Instantly the boat trailer jack knifed and the heavy truck sliding out of control pushed it sideways till the whole catastrophe hit the water of the river.
I put the truck in low range four wheel drive and tried to east forward. Four wheels spun like it was not in gear. I tried backing into the river a bit to get a little run at it but did not want to kink the trailer any more than it was. I was stuck.
I called Wayne and told him my dilemma. "Hang tight, I'll be right there. You can hook onto me with your winch and we'll get you right out." Like I was going anywhere!
While speaking to Wayne on the phone, a Department of Fish and Game truck with two officers towing a boat arrived. Great.
I jumped out of the truck slipped my way up the ramp.
"I'm kind of blocking the ramp," I stated the obvious to them.
"Yup, looks that way," college education dripped from every word.
" I can't get moving as the wall of snow the boat plowed under itself is jamming things up," I said. "I've got a shovel in my truck but it is buried under 50 goose decoys. I'd have to unload to get to it."
"There is a shovel in the back of my truck, " the officer said, "and we have sand bags we can open to give you more traction."
I grabbed the shovel and slide down the ramp to the truck and trailer. I dug like a mad man knowing I'm holding up these two gentlemen who are being paid by me (government wages).
The two officers saunter down to my jammed up outfit, I think after a cup of coffee, and start pouring sand up the ramp.
"Ok, give it a try," they said to me.
I handed one of them the shovel and try to open my truck door. Locked!
The truck is idling away with the door locked. My lab pup jumped up on the door to see out the window and locked both doors.
Both officers look at me like I have egg on my face.
"Hey no worries," I smile back. I have a hide a key somewhere under the back of the truck. I might have to lay on my back in the river to get it, but I'll find it.
It is not very pleasant laying on your back in the slush you have just shoveled out from under you boat in zero degrees weather to look for a key, but I did find that little magnetic box.
"Got it!" I whimpered to the officers who were rolling their eyes.
I unlocked the door, received licks in the face by the smiling lab puppy who, I'm sure, locked the door on purpose to show me how cold it is swimming in a river in January.
I try to drive the truck onto the sand the officers have spread. The truck just sweeps it right into the river.
Wayne shows up but cannot get around the fish and game boat and truck. One of the officers has to figure out where to drive his rig out of the way without getting stuck himself.
Wayne parks at the top of the ramp and runs my winch cable up to his truck. In no time we have winched my truck up straight and I back the boat into the river.
It takes some time to thaw the engine enough for it to turn over but at last it roars to life in a cloud of outboard smoke.
I tie the boat to a tree, load my gun, decoys, and bags, then drive the truck back up the ramp, the sand doing its marvelous job.
At the top there is no place to park. Wayne and I talk it over while the fish and game boys launch their boat.
"I think I can back the trailer into the deep soft snow and keep my truck on the plowed surface and leave this guy room to back his trailer past me," I told Wayne.
The plan works until the boat trailer hits soft snow. It jack knife's just like the boat ramp. I ease forward to unkink the trailer and the front of my truck drops into four feet of soft snow. I'm stuck again just as the officers come zooming up the ramp with their trailer.
Wayne and I do the winch maneuver again and get me back on the plowed surface.
"Just bring your trailer to my house," Wayne offered, "I'll bring you back to the boat, and then we can do the shuffle when you get ready to trailer again tonight."
I have to run back down the ramp and unload all my valuables like my gun and pack out of the boat, of course, right past the waiting officers.
I smile and wave as I trudge back past them with an arm load of stuff, my drenched backsides frozen into a solid block of ice.
I spoke to my wife that night.
"How was your day?" she sweetly asked.
"Oh the usual. I just went hunting by myself today. Got to meet a couple new guys on the boat ramp and spend some time with Wayne."
"I'm so glad. must be so nice to do the things you love," she said.
Hmmm... if she only knew... I would ONLY do it for the love of hunting.
plowed lane through the snow
I think she has hit on something but keeps most of it to herself.
Snow has been piling up in South West Idaho and the reports were almost unthinkable. I was pacing in front of the window in Alaska watching rain fall at the rate of a quarter inch per 12 hours. Snow?
My bored pacing finally lead my wife to hand me a plane ticket to Idaho ( I think hoping to have me disappear into a deep snow drift).
"Go. Get out of here. Do whatever bored hunters do in lots of snow." she commanded me. I am such an obedient husband I grabbed my hunting dog and was on the first flight out of town.
Snow was everywhere. It was piled in the streets, in parking lots, and crumpling sagging roofs. Perfect hunting weather.
I dug for two days to free the jet boat and headed for the Snake River.
Wayne, my trusted scout had been seeing some geese on the river near his farm.
"Launch down river and run up to my farm," he told me thinking that if I had engine trouble I could simply float back down river to my truck and trailer.
The thermometer was tickling the minus numbers so that was a wise call. Things happen to mechanical equipment in very cold conditions.
Bright and early I arrived at the boat ramp areas. There is a ramp on both sides of the river right near a bridge.
The Idaho side had a huge mound of frozen snow blocking the entrance from the highway. Snow plows. Those crazy plows had thrown massive walls of slush off the road and into the driveway of the boat ramp. It would take a tank to remove it now that it was frozen solid.
I drove across the river to the Oregon ramp. Same situation. "Probably the same snow plow doing this to me. How dare he shut down my hunting for highway snow removal."
I turned the truck and trailer around and headed up river to a ramp that might be open as it is on fish and game property.
I cruised down a little bumpy lane that it looked like one tractor had bladed a deep groove in the snow just wide enough for a truck to pass through." If I meet someone on this road one of us will have to back up a long ways,'' I though.
I made it to a little boat ramp tucked away in some wooded area. The tractor had plowed out parking for three truck and trailer rigs and all three were full of trucks with empty trailers. Hunters who had beat me to the river.
It was difficult to get the trailer lined up with the ramp working in the confines of walls of plowed snow, but at last I had the boat lined up with the ramp.
I knew the ramp would be icy with the other trailers dripping water as they launched earlier, but was not prepared for just how slick it was. (the chains on the other three truck tires should have warned me).
The boat crested the lip of the ramp and then the back tires of the truck. I eased down a bit and then things went south in a hurry.
The boat trailer tire caught the deep snow at the edge of the ramp and took off upriver, the truck hit sheer ice and slid with all tires locked up.
Instantly the boat trailer jack knifed and the heavy truck sliding out of control pushed it sideways till the whole catastrophe hit the water of the river.
I put the truck in low range four wheel drive and tried to east forward. Four wheels spun like it was not in gear. I tried backing into the river a bit to get a little run at it but did not want to kink the trailer any more than it was. I was stuck.
I called Wayne and told him my dilemma. "Hang tight, I'll be right there. You can hook onto me with your winch and we'll get you right out." Like I was going anywhere!
While speaking to Wayne on the phone, a Department of Fish and Game truck with two officers towing a boat arrived. Great.
I jumped out of the truck slipped my way up the ramp.
"I'm kind of blocking the ramp," I stated the obvious to them.
"Yup, looks that way," college education dripped from every word.
" I can't get moving as the wall of snow the boat plowed under itself is jamming things up," I said. "I've got a shovel in my truck but it is buried under 50 goose decoys. I'd have to unload to get to it."
"There is a shovel in the back of my truck, " the officer said, "and we have sand bags we can open to give you more traction."
I grabbed the shovel and slide down the ramp to the truck and trailer. I dug like a mad man knowing I'm holding up these two gentlemen who are being paid by me (government wages).
The two officers saunter down to my jammed up outfit, I think after a cup of coffee, and start pouring sand up the ramp.
"Ok, give it a try," they said to me.
I handed one of them the shovel and try to open my truck door. Locked!
The truck is idling away with the door locked. My lab pup jumped up on the door to see out the window and locked both doors.
Both officers look at me like I have egg on my face.
"Hey no worries," I smile back. I have a hide a key somewhere under the back of the truck. I might have to lay on my back in the river to get it, but I'll find it.
It is not very pleasant laying on your back in the slush you have just shoveled out from under you boat in zero degrees weather to look for a key, but I did find that little magnetic box.
"Got it!" I whimpered to the officers who were rolling their eyes.
I unlocked the door, received licks in the face by the smiling lab puppy who, I'm sure, locked the door on purpose to show me how cold it is swimming in a river in January.
I try to drive the truck onto the sand the officers have spread. The truck just sweeps it right into the river.
Wayne shows up but cannot get around the fish and game boat and truck. One of the officers has to figure out where to drive his rig out of the way without getting stuck himself.
Wayne parks at the top of the ramp and runs my winch cable up to his truck. In no time we have winched my truck up straight and I back the boat into the river.
It takes some time to thaw the engine enough for it to turn over but at last it roars to life in a cloud of outboard smoke.
I tie the boat to a tree, load my gun, decoys, and bags, then drive the truck back up the ramp, the sand doing its marvelous job.
At the top there is no place to park. Wayne and I talk it over while the fish and game boys launch their boat.
"I think I can back the trailer into the deep soft snow and keep my truck on the plowed surface and leave this guy room to back his trailer past me," I told Wayne.
The plan works until the boat trailer hits soft snow. It jack knife's just like the boat ramp. I ease forward to unkink the trailer and the front of my truck drops into four feet of soft snow. I'm stuck again just as the officers come zooming up the ramp with their trailer.
Wayne and I do the winch maneuver again and get me back on the plowed surface.
"Just bring your trailer to my house," Wayne offered, "I'll bring you back to the boat, and then we can do the shuffle when you get ready to trailer again tonight."
I have to run back down the ramp and unload all my valuables like my gun and pack out of the boat, of course, right past the waiting officers.
I smile and wave as I trudge back past them with an arm load of stuff, my drenched backsides frozen into a solid block of ice.
I spoke to my wife that night.
"How was your day?" she sweetly asked.
"Oh the usual. I just went hunting by myself today. Got to meet a couple new guys on the boat ramp and spend some time with Wayne."
"I'm so glad. must be so nice to do the things you love," she said.
Hmmm... if she only knew... I would ONLY do it for the love of hunting.
plowed lane through the snow
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Look Out For Bears
Beautiful Sitka Alaska is full of amazing things to do and see. The wild mountains stretch from the ocean to tickle the clouds above. Walking trails have been carved out of the mountain sides to provide some form of entertainment for the rock bound citizens.
It seems on a non pouring rain day that one can meet half the town on our main trail named the "cross trail" . This trail winds across the face of the mountain and spans our entire town.
You can hike from the base of Harbor Mountain all the way to the salmon infested stream named Indian River.
I cannot help but compare living in Sitka to living in some city in the lower 48 states.
Each morning the early crowd of work-out people rise and greet the coming day. The women in the lower 48 states shower and put on a good layer of hair spray.
The women of Sitka also greet the morning with a wake up shower and also grab a can of spray. Herein lies the difference. The women of Sitka reach for a can of Bear Spray.
Bear spray is simply a can of high powered propellant loaded with red pepper. It is the same spray that the police and military use in crowd control or to stop charging criminals, but in a much heavier volume.
Lower 48 women may turn on the T.V. to learn about the trouble places in the city to avoid. I can hear the news anchor blurting out, "Be warned that there is a mugger in the park on the east side of the city."
The women, and men, of Sitka can turn to a different source for their reports. It is a Facebook page called, "Sitka Bear Report."
This year was a bad year for the big Brown Bears to roam our little town's streets. Low salmon numbers in the streams coupled with a very thin berry crop on the mountains lead the hungry bears to the logical food source. The town garbage cans.
A normal year may see one or two bears scamper into town to forage on left over pizza crust, but this year it seemed nightly we would find bears tipping trash cans in search of treasure.
I open the bear report page and scan for sightings. Here is a bear report read for the morning.
I will leave out the names of the posters for their privacy.
"My co-worker said someone saw a bear cross Sawmill Creek road." Nov. 7
"My dog went on high alert on Wolf Drive." Nov 8
"Bear spotted out Sawmill Creek Road around 2500 block. We literally just saw this Huuuuuge bear cross the main road right in front of my tiny Subaru. My dogs were freaking out inside the car. Oct. 31
"Bear just tipped over our trash cans and ran off towards Toivo. Area around Shuler Dr. Watch out." Nov 1.
"Bear early this morning on top of Lance Dr." Nov 1
"Yesterday at about 8 a.m. there was an encounter with an angry bear on Thimbleberry trail near the lake. Good thing the dog was there as she alerted my husband. The bear made false charges at least twice with jaws popping and growling." Oct. 30
"Bear behind our house right now. End of Indian River. He is hiding in the brush." Oct 30
"Bear in the woods behind 1821 Sawmill creek rd. sounded like it was tearing the bark off some poor innocent tree. Fired a shot into the air. I think it headed towards Anna Dr." Oct 29
" Bear up at Thimble Berry today. Was in brush. Huffed and snapped but didn't charge." Oct. 29
" Bear just went down a hill behind my mother in law's house on Andrew Hope St. Be Bear aware people. Came out and didn't even see him just heard him. His shadow was Big!!" Oct. 28
"About a half hour ago there was a bear at the end of Cascade Creek Rd. Was scared away but keep your eyes open people." (this is near the cross trail) Oct. 27
"Bear out Granite Creek. Just knocked over trash can and ran off when a vehicle came up roan. Be cautious, she has cubs with her!!" Oct. 20
" Bear on Indian River Rd right now. Walking towards the bus stop. We were outside and it started walking up towards us." Oct. 26
"Bear on the corner of Charles and Verstovia between 6:30 and 7:30 this morning as evidenced by someones trash strewn through my yard. "Oct. 26
" Bear at Shaffers Trailer court by Sandy Beach. Be careful." Oct 24
" Just saw a bear on Herb Didrickson St. at the end of the street it was a big one. Was taking my dog outside". Oct. 24
"Big Bear on Knutson..." Oct. 25
" Bear on the end of Dodge Circle 12:15 a.m." Oct 26
The bear report goes on and on. You can check it out on Facebook on Sitka Bear Report. It makes interesting reading for out of town people, but it is like a life line to those of us who roam the streets and woods behind town .
I have to smile when I get back into civilization and hear the warnings booming over the loudspeakers, "If you see anything suspicious please call the emergency number."
Sitka Bear Report will do just fine, thank you.
Not an animal you take lightly
It seems on a non pouring rain day that one can meet half the town on our main trail named the "cross trail" . This trail winds across the face of the mountain and spans our entire town.
You can hike from the base of Harbor Mountain all the way to the salmon infested stream named Indian River.
I cannot help but compare living in Sitka to living in some city in the lower 48 states.
Each morning the early crowd of work-out people rise and greet the coming day. The women in the lower 48 states shower and put on a good layer of hair spray.
The women of Sitka also greet the morning with a wake up shower and also grab a can of spray. Herein lies the difference. The women of Sitka reach for a can of Bear Spray.
Bear spray is simply a can of high powered propellant loaded with red pepper. It is the same spray that the police and military use in crowd control or to stop charging criminals, but in a much heavier volume.
Lower 48 women may turn on the T.V. to learn about the trouble places in the city to avoid. I can hear the news anchor blurting out, "Be warned that there is a mugger in the park on the east side of the city."
The women, and men, of Sitka can turn to a different source for their reports. It is a Facebook page called, "Sitka Bear Report."
This year was a bad year for the big Brown Bears to roam our little town's streets. Low salmon numbers in the streams coupled with a very thin berry crop on the mountains lead the hungry bears to the logical food source. The town garbage cans.
A normal year may see one or two bears scamper into town to forage on left over pizza crust, but this year it seemed nightly we would find bears tipping trash cans in search of treasure.
I open the bear report page and scan for sightings. Here is a bear report read for the morning.
I will leave out the names of the posters for their privacy.
"My co-worker said someone saw a bear cross Sawmill Creek road." Nov. 7
"My dog went on high alert on Wolf Drive." Nov 8
"Bear spotted out Sawmill Creek Road around 2500 block. We literally just saw this Huuuuuge bear cross the main road right in front of my tiny Subaru. My dogs were freaking out inside the car. Oct. 31
"Bear just tipped over our trash cans and ran off towards Toivo. Area around Shuler Dr. Watch out." Nov 1.
"Bear early this morning on top of Lance Dr." Nov 1
"Yesterday at about 8 a.m. there was an encounter with an angry bear on Thimbleberry trail near the lake. Good thing the dog was there as she alerted my husband. The bear made false charges at least twice with jaws popping and growling." Oct. 30
"Bear behind our house right now. End of Indian River. He is hiding in the brush." Oct 30
"Bear in the woods behind 1821 Sawmill creek rd. sounded like it was tearing the bark off some poor innocent tree. Fired a shot into the air. I think it headed towards Anna Dr." Oct 29
" Bear up at Thimble Berry today. Was in brush. Huffed and snapped but didn't charge." Oct. 29
" Bear just went down a hill behind my mother in law's house on Andrew Hope St. Be Bear aware people. Came out and didn't even see him just heard him. His shadow was Big!!" Oct. 28
"About a half hour ago there was a bear at the end of Cascade Creek Rd. Was scared away but keep your eyes open people." (this is near the cross trail) Oct. 27
"Bear out Granite Creek. Just knocked over trash can and ran off when a vehicle came up roan. Be cautious, she has cubs with her!!" Oct. 20
" Bear on Indian River Rd right now. Walking towards the bus stop. We were outside and it started walking up towards us." Oct. 26
"Bear on the corner of Charles and Verstovia between 6:30 and 7:30 this morning as evidenced by someones trash strewn through my yard. "Oct. 26
" Bear at Shaffers Trailer court by Sandy Beach. Be careful." Oct 24
" Just saw a bear on Herb Didrickson St. at the end of the street it was a big one. Was taking my dog outside". Oct. 24
"Big Bear on Knutson..." Oct. 25
" Bear on the end of Dodge Circle 12:15 a.m." Oct 26
The bear report goes on and on. You can check it out on Facebook on Sitka Bear Report. It makes interesting reading for out of town people, but it is like a life line to those of us who roam the streets and woods behind town .
I have to smile when I get back into civilization and hear the warnings booming over the loudspeakers, "If you see anything suspicious please call the emergency number."
Sitka Bear Report will do just fine, thank you.
Not an animal you take lightly
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Sitka at its Best
Sitka Alaska resides in one of North America's rain forests. Everyone who lives in the little ocean front town is well aware of this fact.
You can tell a Sitkan visiting somewhere like Arizona by the fact that they carry a rain jacket over their arm in a dessert that hasn't had a drop of rain in years.
People who live in Sitka learn to look quickly. By that, I mean when you have the rare day when the sky is not falling in droplets, the people learn to enjoy the moment or day to its fullest.
A real Sitkan ignores the weather. If they plan a picnic and it is pouring rain, they just go ahead and fire up the barbecues and do it in the rain. Real Sitkans are not made of sugar!
Octobers are known for rain. We warn anyone new to the island to prepare for "Octoburary" as we so fondly call the monsoon month. Our average rainfall in October is just under thirteen inches.
Mother Nature pulled a fast one on the inhabitants of the island this October. She blessed us with nearly a month of pure sunshine... and some of the most incredible sunsets one could imagine.
Night after night the beaches would be crowded with camera wielding awestruck people, of which I was one.
As the sun sank into the North Pacific Ocean, the skies would light up in a blaze of glory with the ocean reflecting it back to the big volcano as if trying to outdo the clouds above.
Each evening the face book pages would light up with new photos of those so impressed with the island we reside on.
If one were so inclined, you could stay up till the wee hours of the morning and catch the Northern Light show which was also very impressive for most of the month. I, being one more inclined to dream about the light show outside, simply caught up with the Aurora borealis on face book the next morning.
Sitka is also known as a coastal town filled with eagles. There are eagles around like sparrows in the lower 48 states. We tend to see them so much that we hardly notice.
Visitors, on the other hand, stand in awe at the massive birds perched in trees in the center of town. Many times every tree in a section has an eagle perched at the very top. The sun lights up their white heads gracing the trees with a stunning view.
I have gone so far as to name the eagles by where they perch. There is a bare tree overlooking our McDonald's restaurant so I have named that eagle the "McEagle".
I was idling the boat into the harbor one afternoon when I spotted a sight even I was impressed by. There must have been a dead fish on the shore as there was a gathering of eagles like never before.
I grabbed my phone and quickly shot some pictures as I idled past, and eagles were still flying in from all directions. I wished later that I would have waited to see just how many eagles would have finally gathered there. I also wished I would have thought about my panoramic setting on the phone as I was only able to capture a fraction of the amount of eagles gathered.
I will use the rest of this post to share some of these pictures with you.
Enjoy
You can tell a Sitkan visiting somewhere like Arizona by the fact that they carry a rain jacket over their arm in a dessert that hasn't had a drop of rain in years.
People who live in Sitka learn to look quickly. By that, I mean when you have the rare day when the sky is not falling in droplets, the people learn to enjoy the moment or day to its fullest.
A real Sitkan ignores the weather. If they plan a picnic and it is pouring rain, they just go ahead and fire up the barbecues and do it in the rain. Real Sitkans are not made of sugar!
Octobers are known for rain. We warn anyone new to the island to prepare for "Octoburary" as we so fondly call the monsoon month. Our average rainfall in October is just under thirteen inches.
Mother Nature pulled a fast one on the inhabitants of the island this October. She blessed us with nearly a month of pure sunshine... and some of the most incredible sunsets one could imagine.
Night after night the beaches would be crowded with camera wielding awestruck people, of which I was one.
As the sun sank into the North Pacific Ocean, the skies would light up in a blaze of glory with the ocean reflecting it back to the big volcano as if trying to outdo the clouds above.
Each evening the face book pages would light up with new photos of those so impressed with the island we reside on.
If one were so inclined, you could stay up till the wee hours of the morning and catch the Northern Light show which was also very impressive for most of the month. I, being one more inclined to dream about the light show outside, simply caught up with the Aurora borealis on face book the next morning.
Sitka is also known as a coastal town filled with eagles. There are eagles around like sparrows in the lower 48 states. We tend to see them so much that we hardly notice.
Visitors, on the other hand, stand in awe at the massive birds perched in trees in the center of town. Many times every tree in a section has an eagle perched at the very top. The sun lights up their white heads gracing the trees with a stunning view.
I have gone so far as to name the eagles by where they perch. There is a bare tree overlooking our McDonald's restaurant so I have named that eagle the "McEagle".
I was idling the boat into the harbor one afternoon when I spotted a sight even I was impressed by. There must have been a dead fish on the shore as there was a gathering of eagles like never before.
I grabbed my phone and quickly shot some pictures as I idled past, and eagles were still flying in from all directions. I wished later that I would have waited to see just how many eagles would have finally gathered there. I also wished I would have thought about my panoramic setting on the phone as I was only able to capture a fraction of the amount of eagles gathered.
I will use the rest of this post to share some of these pictures with you.
Enjoy
Monday, November 7, 2016
Speaking Moose
The wheels of the small plane touch down on the runway and I see Matt standing near his truck grinning.
I am not feeling very light hearted at the moment as my first dive ended in a dry suit malfunction. I have been almost shaking with frustration and anger. It is hard to see money laying on the bottom of the ocean and not be able to scoop it into my bank account.
I take a steaming hot pizza off the plane and hand it to Matt. Supper is served!
We jump into the truck and head off for moose camp.
I have hunted moose one other time with not much results. I was able to see one cow moose dash across a road... and that sums up my moose encounters for my life.
Matt and I hunt hard for nearly a week with no encounters, but that is hunting. The area we are hunting is brush choked, swamp infested, timber blow down tangled mess. Only the moose and beavers are happy here. The beavers are most happy when they secretly watch moose hunters drop out of sight in some boggy muskeg hole that is a direct result of their damming up a little stream.
I don't think I've sweatted so much just trying to buck through a devils club thicket to find the nice muskeg, only to be sabotaged by the beaver.
As my hunt days were nearing the end, Matt and I hiked to the end of the earth... or so it seemed, and finally made contact with a bull moose.
Matt is pretty savvy at sounding like a cow moose begging for a boyfriend and the bull moose was wanting to encourage the relationship.
The bull moose was coming quickly towards us by the sound of his grunting and we were getting excited about finally seeing one of the giants.
The grunting bull then hung up. This is not uncommon in moose hunting. When a bull is approaching they will grunt on every other step of their front feet. "olf, olf, olf," it echoes through the heavy timber. When the bull "hangs up" the grunting seems to stop and things grow quiet.
"Grunt at him!" Matt hissed barely above a quiet whisper. "See if we can keep him coming.
I gave the bull a big "OLF" of my own and man did that fire him up.
The bull blew into an instant rage. He would "olf" with a throaty roar tapering off at the end of each grunt. My hair stood up on my neck. I have never heard an animal sound so angry. He was not impressed to think that another male moose may have moved into his territory just when he had heard Matt the female moose!
The bull was still hung up in the thick timber so I continued to grunt at him and instantly he would grunt-bellow back at me. The woods echoed his pent up fury each time he grunted.
Matt signaled that he would try to work around on the bull to see if we could get him. I kept speaking bull moose while he made his sneak.
Mr. bull moose and I carried on long conversation. I was speaking very good moose, and he seemed to agree while sharing his displeasure at me.
I grunted and no reply. I tried again, same results, for some reason my moose had gone silent.
Matt appeared all big eyed and explains what happened.
"I snuck up on the grunting moose and got to within 30 yards. I could hear him breathing fiery threats but could not see the animal. It was a clear muskeg boarding a wall of blown down logs that had the bull hung up. He could not find a way through the maze of downed logs.
I knew I was so close but still could not see hide nor hair of the beast," Matt continued.
"I stepped up on a big log to see into the distance when I couldn't believe my eyes. The moose was down in a big hole with just the tips of his big rack showing. Just as I spotted him he made eye contact with me and bolted out of the hole and into the thick timber."
We had a good chuckle at how the moose was so lucky to have been down in the hole and not where Matt could have easily observed him.
"Oh well," I told Matt, "at least I learned how to speak Moose!"
Matt calling early morning moose
I am not feeling very light hearted at the moment as my first dive ended in a dry suit malfunction. I have been almost shaking with frustration and anger. It is hard to see money laying on the bottom of the ocean and not be able to scoop it into my bank account.
I take a steaming hot pizza off the plane and hand it to Matt. Supper is served!
We jump into the truck and head off for moose camp.
I have hunted moose one other time with not much results. I was able to see one cow moose dash across a road... and that sums up my moose encounters for my life.
Matt and I hunt hard for nearly a week with no encounters, but that is hunting. The area we are hunting is brush choked, swamp infested, timber blow down tangled mess. Only the moose and beavers are happy here. The beavers are most happy when they secretly watch moose hunters drop out of sight in some boggy muskeg hole that is a direct result of their damming up a little stream.
I don't think I've sweatted so much just trying to buck through a devils club thicket to find the nice muskeg, only to be sabotaged by the beaver.
As my hunt days were nearing the end, Matt and I hiked to the end of the earth... or so it seemed, and finally made contact with a bull moose.
Matt is pretty savvy at sounding like a cow moose begging for a boyfriend and the bull moose was wanting to encourage the relationship.
The bull moose was coming quickly towards us by the sound of his grunting and we were getting excited about finally seeing one of the giants.
The grunting bull then hung up. This is not uncommon in moose hunting. When a bull is approaching they will grunt on every other step of their front feet. "olf, olf, olf," it echoes through the heavy timber. When the bull "hangs up" the grunting seems to stop and things grow quiet.
"Grunt at him!" Matt hissed barely above a quiet whisper. "See if we can keep him coming.
I gave the bull a big "OLF" of my own and man did that fire him up.
The bull blew into an instant rage. He would "olf" with a throaty roar tapering off at the end of each grunt. My hair stood up on my neck. I have never heard an animal sound so angry. He was not impressed to think that another male moose may have moved into his territory just when he had heard Matt the female moose!
The bull was still hung up in the thick timber so I continued to grunt at him and instantly he would grunt-bellow back at me. The woods echoed his pent up fury each time he grunted.
Matt signaled that he would try to work around on the bull to see if we could get him. I kept speaking bull moose while he made his sneak.
Mr. bull moose and I carried on long conversation. I was speaking very good moose, and he seemed to agree while sharing his displeasure at me.
I grunted and no reply. I tried again, same results, for some reason my moose had gone silent.
Matt appeared all big eyed and explains what happened.
"I snuck up on the grunting moose and got to within 30 yards. I could hear him breathing fiery threats but could not see the animal. It was a clear muskeg boarding a wall of blown down logs that had the bull hung up. He could not find a way through the maze of downed logs.
I knew I was so close but still could not see hide nor hair of the beast," Matt continued.
"I stepped up on a big log to see into the distance when I couldn't believe my eyes. The moose was down in a big hole with just the tips of his big rack showing. Just as I spotted him he made eye contact with me and bolted out of the hole and into the thick timber."
We had a good chuckle at how the moose was so lucky to have been down in the hole and not where Matt could have easily observed him.
"Oh well," I told Matt, "at least I learned how to speak Moose!"
Matt calling early morning moose
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Difficfult Diving
Three forty five in the morning and the alarm jolts me awake. My usual summer get up time. Most of the world is asleep, but not the fishermen in Alaska.
I text Mike to meet me at the truck, and we head to the grocery store next door for coffee and donuts. We enjoy the company of others who gather at the local morning watering hole before they head off to work. We are not in any hurry to leave as it is so dark outside.
It is drizzling rain as we make our way to the boat, my head lamp lighting the deck in bits and pieces. The coils of dive hose look like large yellow serpents ready to spring out of the shadows onto unsuspecting prey.
I back the boat and idle out of the harbor more by memory and feel than by sight. It is pitch black and we have no lights. The eerie glow of my red and green running light reflect off a couple of marker poles helping to navigate through some islands and into the main channel.
We idle through all the no wake zones and are still in darkness. I know better than to try to get the boat on plane for the danger of hitting floating logs. "Wow this darkness is hanging on a long time today due to the rain and heavy cloud cover," I comment to Mike. We are both glued to the front windows trying to see any hazard in our path.
It seems to take forever, but at last we have enough breaking daylight for me to throttle up to planning speed. I do not open the big 200 hp Yamahas up as I still need time to dodge floating debris. Dive time is only an hour away and it is still very dark.
Mike and I make our way to our selected dive area and call Scott on the radio to inform him where we have stopped. The wind forecast is for 25 knot winds and we are in an exposed shore so we will take our chance and dive until forced off.
"Good luck, be safe," Scott says in the usual signing off language of the marine radio." Be safe" is one of the most used terms in Southeast Alaska. We constantly remind each other that safety is more important than our jobs.
I am in my dive suit, all the gear stacked on my body so heavily that I can hardly stand up. Weight belt, pony bottle, fins, gloves, hood, dry suit, long johns, computer dive bags. I look like a mound of dive paraphernalia.
"Its legal time any time your ready. I've got you in 30 feet of water right now," Mike shouts over the roar of the hookah compressor.
I adjust my mask take a deep breath through my regulator, make sure my arm valve is shut, inflate the dry suit a bit and plunge into the frigid waters of Alaska in mid October.
The cold water bites my head and lips. Instant cold envelops my hands. I peer into the dark water. It Is black. I cannot see anything but blackness. I swim on the surface towards shore. I'm not too excited about heading for the bottom in inky black water.
I see bottom and give mike the okay sign with my heavily gloved fingers, he thumbs up me and I arch like a whale and head for the bottom. All sounds except the steady hiss of the regulator intake and out blow cease. I am in a watery world.
I squeeze my nose and blow to equalize the pressure as I head to the bottom. I reach twenty feet and hit my chest air intake valve to pump air into my dry suit to equalize the pressure on my body. A cold blast hits my chest.
"Wow, that air sure feels cold when it enters my suit," I think. I am nearing thirty feet and see a cucumber which I quickly pick into my open bag.
I drop a little deeper and again hit my chest valve. A burst of cold hits my chest again only this time it runs down my chest, down my arm and to my knee.
"This is not air being cold," I tell myself, "This is water.
I know I am not going to be down long with cold North Pacific Ocean water filling my dry suit. I turn from the bottom and make my way slowly to the surface.
Mike leans over the back of the boat and I shout over the machines that my dive is finished. He is very good at putting my safety first and quickly agrees that the dive is finished.
We stow the dive gear and I wring the water out of my heavy wool undergarments. The irony of the whole deal is that this is the first dive I have made on the suit since it was sent to a dive shop in the lower 48 for new intake and out let valves. Obviously, someone had not tested the suit as promised. My first dive lasted less than ten minutes and my total cucumber was one!
Oh well, I guess that is life. If I have learned only one thing living in wild Alaska, it is that safety must come first. Everything else has to come second. On the ocean you do not get second chances. Safety, safety, safety.
I can always push my dive tables when I am dry and comfortable. I will always make sure I am not a causality of hypothermia.
I idle the boat next to Scott and C.J. and yell over that our dive day has ended and we are headed to town. Scott immediately offers his new back up suit for me to wear. I turn him down, knowing that if I am in his back up and he needs it he would never ask for it back.
On the way to town I call a friend, Mat, and tell him my woes. He tells me to get on a plane and meet him for a week of moose hunting.
It doesn't take me long at home to stuff all my hunting gear in some dry bags, make a call to the little airport and head for a plane. I am done diving for a week and off on a moose hunt.
soap bubbles out of my leaking air valve
I text Mike to meet me at the truck, and we head to the grocery store next door for coffee and donuts. We enjoy the company of others who gather at the local morning watering hole before they head off to work. We are not in any hurry to leave as it is so dark outside.
It is drizzling rain as we make our way to the boat, my head lamp lighting the deck in bits and pieces. The coils of dive hose look like large yellow serpents ready to spring out of the shadows onto unsuspecting prey.
I back the boat and idle out of the harbor more by memory and feel than by sight. It is pitch black and we have no lights. The eerie glow of my red and green running light reflect off a couple of marker poles helping to navigate through some islands and into the main channel.
We idle through all the no wake zones and are still in darkness. I know better than to try to get the boat on plane for the danger of hitting floating logs. "Wow this darkness is hanging on a long time today due to the rain and heavy cloud cover," I comment to Mike. We are both glued to the front windows trying to see any hazard in our path.
It seems to take forever, but at last we have enough breaking daylight for me to throttle up to planning speed. I do not open the big 200 hp Yamahas up as I still need time to dodge floating debris. Dive time is only an hour away and it is still very dark.
Mike and I make our way to our selected dive area and call Scott on the radio to inform him where we have stopped. The wind forecast is for 25 knot winds and we are in an exposed shore so we will take our chance and dive until forced off.
"Good luck, be safe," Scott says in the usual signing off language of the marine radio." Be safe" is one of the most used terms in Southeast Alaska. We constantly remind each other that safety is more important than our jobs.
I am in my dive suit, all the gear stacked on my body so heavily that I can hardly stand up. Weight belt, pony bottle, fins, gloves, hood, dry suit, long johns, computer dive bags. I look like a mound of dive paraphernalia.
"Its legal time any time your ready. I've got you in 30 feet of water right now," Mike shouts over the roar of the hookah compressor.
I adjust my mask take a deep breath through my regulator, make sure my arm valve is shut, inflate the dry suit a bit and plunge into the frigid waters of Alaska in mid October.
The cold water bites my head and lips. Instant cold envelops my hands. I peer into the dark water. It Is black. I cannot see anything but blackness. I swim on the surface towards shore. I'm not too excited about heading for the bottom in inky black water.
I see bottom and give mike the okay sign with my heavily gloved fingers, he thumbs up me and I arch like a whale and head for the bottom. All sounds except the steady hiss of the regulator intake and out blow cease. I am in a watery world.
I squeeze my nose and blow to equalize the pressure as I head to the bottom. I reach twenty feet and hit my chest air intake valve to pump air into my dry suit to equalize the pressure on my body. A cold blast hits my chest.
"Wow, that air sure feels cold when it enters my suit," I think. I am nearing thirty feet and see a cucumber which I quickly pick into my open bag.
I drop a little deeper and again hit my chest valve. A burst of cold hits my chest again only this time it runs down my chest, down my arm and to my knee.
"This is not air being cold," I tell myself, "This is water.
I know I am not going to be down long with cold North Pacific Ocean water filling my dry suit. I turn from the bottom and make my way slowly to the surface.
Mike leans over the back of the boat and I shout over the machines that my dive is finished. He is very good at putting my safety first and quickly agrees that the dive is finished.
We stow the dive gear and I wring the water out of my heavy wool undergarments. The irony of the whole deal is that this is the first dive I have made on the suit since it was sent to a dive shop in the lower 48 for new intake and out let valves. Obviously, someone had not tested the suit as promised. My first dive lasted less than ten minutes and my total cucumber was one!
Oh well, I guess that is life. If I have learned only one thing living in wild Alaska, it is that safety must come first. Everything else has to come second. On the ocean you do not get second chances. Safety, safety, safety.
I can always push my dive tables when I am dry and comfortable. I will always make sure I am not a causality of hypothermia.
I idle the boat next to Scott and C.J. and yell over that our dive day has ended and we are headed to town. Scott immediately offers his new back up suit for me to wear. I turn him down, knowing that if I am in his back up and he needs it he would never ask for it back.
On the way to town I call a friend, Mat, and tell him my woes. He tells me to get on a plane and meet him for a week of moose hunting.
It doesn't take me long at home to stuff all my hunting gear in some dry bags, make a call to the little airport and head for a plane. I am done diving for a week and off on a moose hunt.
soap bubbles out of my leaking air valve
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)