Bud and I hiked to the top of Bodenburg Butte which is another great hiking spot right near Palmer where Steph lives.  By comparison this one has a considerably higher degree of difficulty than the hike we took at Thunderbird Falls.  In the middle of the hike the Forest Service has  installed intermittent flights of stairs because it’s so steep.  On my brother’s Fitbit  App it said we went up, in that section, the equivalent of 74 stories.  But in spite of workout, the view from the top is something else.  As I’m fond of saying, it was worth the trip.

In the photo to the right is the view to the northeast.  That’s the Knik Glacier way off in the distance and it’s the Knik River you see in these photos.

 

Being right up near a glacier on the water, even a relatively small one, is one of the coolest things I’ve experienced.  No pun intended.  It’s another one of those things I’ve seen that the still camera just can’t do justice to, partly because you can’t hear it or feel it’s effect on the immediate environment.  As the boat glides ever closer, at some point it slips into an envelope of noticeably colder air.  And you are chilled by the thermal upheaval of wind that it creates around itself.  The sounds it makes are spooky in a way, even when it’s not calving.

Our arrival to the harbor was greeted by the presence of the MS Westerman that had come into Seward early in the morning.  And this harbor master was having breakfast on top of one of the markers as we were leaving.    

For as busy as it is, even this late in the season, Seward is not a very big place.  This is a view of almost the whole town from the water.  Again, note how low the tree line is on mountains in a maritime climate.  I also learned that the effects of permafrost this far north contributes to this.

Seward is located at the waters end of Resurrection Bay and the land rises sharply from the shoreline everywhere you look.  It also descends sharply below the water line.  There were times when the captain would note that below us it was about 900 feet deep and only yards away forty feet.       

Our captain, by the way, was originally from South Africa, went through a long litany of places he had lived, and vessels he had guided in his life, too numerous for me to possibly remember.  The important part was that he eventually sailed into Alaskan waters, fell in love with the place, and that’s where he stayed.      

This would typically be the first view you would get of any glacier in this area.  The one we got up close and personal with was the Holgate Glacier.  I don’t have others for comparison, but as I said, it’s pretty amazing.  One might get lucky and catch a photo of a huge chunk breaking off, but in my view at some point you have to stop looking through the camera and just enjoy the experience.         

This is also true of the wildlife you see.  On this trip we saw eagles, puffins, sea otters, sea lions, big jelly fish, orcas, dall sheep, and some sperm whales.  They were a long way off, but we could tell they were there because they were blowing sea water and snot out their “noses”.  These are only a few of the many pictures I took hoping to catch lightning in a bottle, but as I say, you can’t forget to just enjoy.

 

 

 

 

                                                             

 

 

 

Toward the end of our cruise we sailed up close to Fox Island.  These old mine shafts go hundreds of feet back from the shoreline and Seward was still a long ways off.  To think about what it took to get the gold out and back to where you could cash it in, is crazy to think about.                                                                                                                                          

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that this boat tour was worth every penny.  If you get the opportunity here, or anywhere similar, I’d certainly recommend it.

I am well and hope you all are too. 🙂

 

On the weekend we made a little overnight trip down to Seward.  We had reservations on Sunday morning for a six hour boat tour of the fjords and glaciers, and we arrived on Saturday early enough for a great lunch by the water and a little walkabout.         

Seward is a beautiful little spot on God’s earth.  Everything is pricey up here, but it’s well worth the trip.  As was our boat tour, which for my money was worth every penny.  More on that later.                   

 

 

 

But first a picture up on Hatcher Pass.  The road over Hatcher Pass connects the highways that go north up toward Denali and Fairbanks.  In spite of the lateness of the season, and the fact that the road is all dirt, there was still a lot of traffic on it.

I took this photo as a comparison in my own head.  Hatcher Pass tops out at only about 4,000 ft. of elevation.  The mountains I’ve traveled in my life are all forested up to about 10,000 feet and become mostly barren above that.  These mountains lack forest at a much lower elevation because we’re in the tundra.  Different climate, different geography.  Ok, fine, wake back up.  It was interesting to me.

Thunderbird Falls is a great little treasure for my niece when she has guests.  It’s pretty close to where she lives and it’s a hike most anyone can handle.  Speaking of niece’s, here are my traveling companions on this trip.

This is my sister Joan, my brother-in-law Bud, and their daughter Stephanie.  That’s Bud on the right. 😉

 

 

The hiking trail up to the falls stays high above the river until the very end.  Then there’s a spur trail that drops down to the river level just below the falls.  This warning sign along the trail has a cute little graphic depicting a guy falling to his death.  A nice touch.

The banks are very steep and damp with mist near the base of the falls.  If you want to risk getting wet, you can get closer than this.  I chose the common sense image.

Anyone know if this mushroom is edible.  We all decided that mushrooms with color generally are not.  And we weren’t hungry anyway.

 

Who knew?

One of the good things about travel is you learn stuff.  I had to come to Alaska to learn that they don’t call this hill Mt. McKinley anymore.  Instead it is now known simply by the native identification of Denali.

I also learned, as many do who come here, that one gets to view the mountain only about twenty five percent of the time on average.  Three out of every four days this mountain is shrouded in clouds.

This photo, admittedly not the greatest, is testament that we were lucky enough to drive up here to Denali Park and actually see the mountain.  And I’m very serious about feeling lucky.  To the naked eye it is still a very majestic hill, even when you can only see the top third.

Telkeetna’s claim to fame is that it is perched right on the eastern boundary of Denali National Park.  It’s at the end of a fourteen mile highway spur.  The only transportation choices beyond are float planes, ATVs, river rafts, and a train that goes up into the park.

There’s also this taxi but it’s strictly local.  It’s also the only thing I could find in Telkeetna that was remotely photo worthy.

Telkeetna’s sign says, Population 800, which I suspect goes to about 80 when winter sets in.  During the tourist season, given it’s size,  there are a surprising number of choices for eating and other treats. And as luck would have it, Denali Brewery.  The parking lot for tour busses is about as big as the whole town itself.  And as you might expect, there are more than a handful of souvenir shops.  Surprise, surprise, they all sell the same stuff.

My only previous experience with Alaska was a stop in the airport on the way to Viet Nam, so I am enjoying everything I see.  Still no moose sightings yet in spite of the fact that there warning signs everywhere, even right “in town”.  Out on the highways there are signs that say Moose Crossing Next Five Miles.  Then about three miles further there’s another one.  They should just have signs that say, People, don’t be stupid.  Keep your eyes open for moose.

I didn’t really tell many people I would be making this trip and blogging, so I don’t know how many of you might be “out there”.  But I am well and hope you all are too.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, so it’s been awhile. Sue me. 🙂

I’m on a trip to Alaska with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece.  My niece, Steph, is with us, but is actually returning to Palmer, Alaska where she lives and teaches.

I don’t sleep on planes, (it’s not for lack of trying), so when granted a window seat I often pass the time contemplating all manner of stuff wondering around in my head, as well as what I see below.  Here are a few pics from my little window on the world below.  

My contemplative time on this aerial journey was spent wandering back and forth between two musings, one being a consistent favorite of mine.  In my travels I have spent hours and hours thinking about and imagining what it was like for early natives, pilgrims, settlers, and mountain men who lived and journeyed into vast areas of wilderness.  Flying over northern British Columbia and the Northwest Territories one can literally fly for hours and not see evidence below of humans.  I know there are at least roads down there somewhere, but I don’t see them.  Even today, crossing this wilderness would not be for the faint of heart.  When I think about what it was like one to two hundred years ago and before, it rocks my imagination.  But I am so completely drawn into it.  At the risk of sounding trite, I’ve often thought I was born about 100 years to late. There is a lot to revere about the mettle of the people who came before us.

So what’s the other one you wonder.  Funny you should ask.

I just started a book titled “Breathing Under Water”, written by Richard Rohr, who I’ve read before.  It was recommended by my great friend Tim, who had it recommended by another friend of ours, and so it goes.  After reading just the Introduction, spending a couple of hours meditating on it, and then reading it again, I feel comfortable passing this recommendation on to anyone out there reading my humble ramblings.

At the great risk of too much simplification, it seeks to equate the teachings of Jesus with the teachings of the Twelve Step Program. Sin and addiction, salvation and recovery, just to name a few.  I had to go back and make some notes, something that’s not typical for me, so I could keep track of the many things that spoke to me in just the Intro.  Even if you don’t think of yourself as a very spiritual person, or don’t directly identify with either of these two things, this is a very thought provoking book.

Writing this book became a written organization of a series of talks Rohr had been giving over the years.  And the talks were all inspired by, and rooted in, a poem by Carol Bieleck, r.s.c.j., that I’ll leave you with for now. (Sorry, I don’t know what those letters stand for).

I built my house by the sea.                                                                                             Not on the sands, mind you;                                                                                           Not on the shifting sand.                                                                                                   And I built it of rock. A strong house by the sea.                                                  And we got well acquainted,                                                                                        the sea and I.                                                                                                                            Good neighbors.                                                                                                                Not that we spoke much.                                                                                               We met in silences.  Respectful, keeping our distance, but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.                                                                                                                    

And then one day, – and I still don’t know how it happened – the sea came. Without warning.                                                                                                      

Without welcome, even.                                                                                                 Not sudden and swift,                                                                                                      but a shifting across the sand like wine,                                                                     less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.                                           Slow, but coming.                                                                                                            Slow, but flowing like an open wound.                                                                    And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning,                                            and I thought of death.                                                                                                   And while I thought the sea crept higher,                                                                 till it reached my door.                                                                                                    And I knew then, there was neither flight nor death,                                            nor drowning.                                                                                                                   That when the sea comes calling                                                                               you stop being neighbors                                                                                              Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors                                            And you give your house for a coral castle,                                                              And then you learn to breathe underwater.