Rather big canine prints out where we walk theWeewolfe...
Showing posts with label why alaska. Show all posts
Showing posts with label why alaska. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
An Unbearable Night on the Town
Bear makes surprise visit to Alaskan Bar Monday
Looks like he was maybe aiming to order a fuzzy navel.
Also, if there'd been both a deer and a bear, they could've had beer! ;)
Looks like he was maybe aiming to order a fuzzy navel.
Also, if there'd been both a deer and a bear, they could've had beer! ;)
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Stepping Into The Last Frontier
It happened nineteen years ago, today. sometime around 7:50 pm AST.
It was something that I'd been long dreaming about; since even before I'd even paid my first visit as a nine-year-old in August of 1980. There was something about the exotic wildness of our last frontier that called and beckoned to a kid who was constantly re-reading and enamored of the Wintapi Estate from Jim Kjelgaard's Big Red series of books.
The desire grew ever stronger with each of the previous three summers that I'd worked up here.
I was finally finished with college and this particular adventure started the night before, back in Boston, about 10 pm. Those were the days when loved ones could still escort travelers down to the gates and, as my plane taxied away from its gate at Logan, I could see my mom anxiously following its path through every possible window until we finally made a turn out away from the terminal to taxi onto the runway.
Losing sight of my parents, my dad's words that "only those who don't fit in with the rest of the Lower 48 move to Alaska" continued to echo in my head; as did my response of, "and your point is, Dad?"
I got my first ever glimpse of Las Vegas about 3 am as I changed planes to head up to Seattle.
6:30 am and I had to take everything and pay to have it stored at Sea-Tac due to the long layover. One of my cousins, who was living in Seattle at the time, was a real life saver and met me at the airport with bagels and orange juice on her way into work. We talked for about a half-hour and she gave me a bus map and some ideas for how to get around the downtown area.
I took the bus into Seattle proper and spent several hours there for my first of many visits to Pike's Place, trying hard not to fall asleep at the waterfront as I ate a lunch composed of all sorts of goodies from the different vendors.
During the flight from Seattle to Juneau, I sat next to a gentleman from Connecticut who was coming to Alaska for his first time. His sweet dog curled-up at his feet (she was considered a service dog and could ride in the passenger compartment), he was coming to Southeast to teach search and rescue. I kept my chuckle to myself as I watched him white knuckle during the landing for the stopover in Sitka when he realized just how small these runways can be.
And, so, on July 16, 1994, I stepped off of an Alaska Airlines Boeing 727 (they still flew them back then) at the Juneau airport in order to step into my life in Alaska.
It was something that I'd been long dreaming about; since even before I'd even paid my first visit as a nine-year-old in August of 1980. There was something about the exotic wildness of our last frontier that called and beckoned to a kid who was constantly re-reading and enamored of the Wintapi Estate from Jim Kjelgaard's Big Red series of books.
The desire grew ever stronger with each of the previous three summers that I'd worked up here.
I was finally finished with college and this particular adventure started the night before, back in Boston, about 10 pm. Those were the days when loved ones could still escort travelers down to the gates and, as my plane taxied away from its gate at Logan, I could see my mom anxiously following its path through every possible window until we finally made a turn out away from the terminal to taxi onto the runway.
Losing sight of my parents, my dad's words that "only those who don't fit in with the rest of the Lower 48 move to Alaska" continued to echo in my head; as did my response of, "and your point is, Dad?"
I got my first ever glimpse of Las Vegas about 3 am as I changed planes to head up to Seattle.
6:30 am and I had to take everything and pay to have it stored at Sea-Tac due to the long layover. One of my cousins, who was living in Seattle at the time, was a real life saver and met me at the airport with bagels and orange juice on her way into work. We talked for about a half-hour and she gave me a bus map and some ideas for how to get around the downtown area.
I took the bus into Seattle proper and spent several hours there for my first of many visits to Pike's Place, trying hard not to fall asleep at the waterfront as I ate a lunch composed of all sorts of goodies from the different vendors.
During the flight from Seattle to Juneau, I sat next to a gentleman from Connecticut who was coming to Alaska for his first time. His sweet dog curled-up at his feet (she was considered a service dog and could ride in the passenger compartment), he was coming to Southeast to teach search and rescue. I kept my chuckle to myself as I watched him white knuckle during the landing for the stopover in Sitka when he realized just how small these runways can be.
And, so, on July 16, 1994, I stepped off of an Alaska Airlines Boeing 727 (they still flew them back then) at the Juneau airport in order to step into my life in Alaska.
Friday, May 10, 2013
I Can Bearly Stand the Excitement
Some folks have asked me, "Why Alaska?"
Well. I'll tell ya: I rather like that I can step out my door and meet some critter that could definitely be badder and meaner than me and all around tear me a new one if it so chose. This often baffles folks who knew me as a kid back in Massachusetts and know just how terrified I used to be of bears. As a preschooler, there'd been a place up off Route 3—somewhere between Hanover and Braintree, if I remember correctly—that had rearing mounts of a black bear, grizzly, and polar bear that my folks could barely get me to step foot into.
Well, that's changed. It was in process before I'd ever come up here and living here for just about 19 years has given me far more appreciation than fear of bears. It's not unheard of to go stepping out our front door in the evening to come face to face with one of the local blackies, as they pad down our sidewalk. It's happened numerous times.
We were sanding the front door late into one summer evening (Tulip had the inside while I was working on the outside), when I noticed what I thought was one of the neighborhood dogs come up beside me at the front step. Problem was, it wasn't a dog. Okay, I'll confess that there was practically a Tulip imprint in the inside wall as I pushed through the door a little quicker than I'm usually proud to admit.
We've also got a local blackie that likes to crawl along under the decks of our condo association as a sheltered trail. We used to find his tracks doing such in the early season snows before he'd head off to hibernate. These days I can rely on the Weewolfe to let me know when he's passing by. It'll usually consist of her sitting out on the deck, suddenly pressing her nose to the decking, and abruptly pressing herself to the glass of the door.
Nope, the Weewolfe, for all her bluster, doesn't like bears one bit. Out in the woods, if she hackles-up and starts barking, it's usually a pretty good indication that there's a deer nearby (big, bad guard dog protects us from Bambi). If she suddenly tucks her tail, without so much as a whimper, and abruptly turns around to go back the way we came, frantically looking over her shoulder as if to say, "well, move it lard-ass!" the whole time, it's usually a good indication that something ursine is or has recently been nearby.
I've had my own deck adventures, if such they could be called. As you've probably seen by some of my photos in other posts, I have an awesome view off my deck. With a set of wireless headphones, I can sit out on the deck, watch for mountain goats across the channel, smoke a stogie, drink a beer, and follow something on TV through the glass door all at the same time. I was out doing that late one afternoon and was leaning with my back to the railing and looking back through the window at whatever Tulip had on the DVD player at the time. Corner of my eye, I see there's another dog I've not met before and he's sniffing at my shoe through the railing balusters.
Wait a minute... That's not a dog!
It was probably this guy from the shots you've been seeing throughout the post, whom I was able to photograph from the deck a few days later.
Well. I'll tell ya: I rather like that I can step out my door and meet some critter that could definitely be badder and meaner than me and all around tear me a new one if it so chose. This often baffles folks who knew me as a kid back in Massachusetts and know just how terrified I used to be of bears. As a preschooler, there'd been a place up off Route 3—somewhere between Hanover and Braintree, if I remember correctly—that had rearing mounts of a black bear, grizzly, and polar bear that my folks could barely get me to step foot into.
Well, that's changed. It was in process before I'd ever come up here and living here for just about 19 years has given me far more appreciation than fear of bears. It's not unheard of to go stepping out our front door in the evening to come face to face with one of the local blackies, as they pad down our sidewalk. It's happened numerous times.
We were sanding the front door late into one summer evening (Tulip had the inside while I was working on the outside), when I noticed what I thought was one of the neighborhood dogs come up beside me at the front step. Problem was, it wasn't a dog. Okay, I'll confess that there was practically a Tulip imprint in the inside wall as I pushed through the door a little quicker than I'm usually proud to admit.
We've also got a local blackie that likes to crawl along under the decks of our condo association as a sheltered trail. We used to find his tracks doing such in the early season snows before he'd head off to hibernate. These days I can rely on the Weewolfe to let me know when he's passing by. It'll usually consist of her sitting out on the deck, suddenly pressing her nose to the decking, and abruptly pressing herself to the glass of the door.
Nope, the Weewolfe, for all her bluster, doesn't like bears one bit. Out in the woods, if she hackles-up and starts barking, it's usually a pretty good indication that there's a deer nearby (big, bad guard dog protects us from Bambi). If she suddenly tucks her tail, without so much as a whimper, and abruptly turns around to go back the way we came, frantically looking over her shoulder as if to say, "well, move it lard-ass!" the whole time, it's usually a good indication that something ursine is or has recently been nearby.
I've had my own deck adventures, if such they could be called. As you've probably seen by some of my photos in other posts, I have an awesome view off my deck. With a set of wireless headphones, I can sit out on the deck, watch for mountain goats across the channel, smoke a stogie, drink a beer, and follow something on TV through the glass door all at the same time. I was out doing that late one afternoon and was leaning with my back to the railing and looking back through the window at whatever Tulip had on the DVD player at the time. Corner of my eye, I see there's another dog I've not met before and he's sniffing at my shoe through the railing balusters.
Wait a minute... That's not a dog!
It was probably this guy from the shots you've been seeing throughout the post, whom I was able to photograph from the deck a few days later.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Orcas in the Channel
Got home from work a couple of weeks back and was looking off the deck. Saw an odd set of wakes that I knew wasn't from a boat or water turned-up by rafts of Surf Scoters migrating through...
The photos aren't that great; however, you can make out the wakes just above the roof of the neighboring condos:
Instincts were right (and was damned glad I snagged the camera!) that it was a small pod of orcas, most likely residents, passing through:
As usual, they were passing through too fast to really get a good close-up. The one time I'd ever really got up close and personal, I didn't have a camera with me; having been returning from a saltwater rearing site in a work skiff. If you really want to appreciate one of these animals, try having one of the 20-plus foot long critter slapping its tail on the water just a short distance from your 18-foot skiff!
Nothing like a good afternoon of Alaskan entertainment.
The photos aren't that great; however, you can make out the wakes just above the roof of the neighboring condos:
Instincts were right (and was damned glad I snagged the camera!) that it was a small pod of orcas, most likely residents, passing through:
As usual, they were passing through too fast to really get a good close-up. The one time I'd ever really got up close and personal, I didn't have a camera with me; having been returning from a saltwater rearing site in a work skiff. If you really want to appreciate one of these animals, try having one of the 20-plus foot long critter slapping its tail on the water just a short distance from your 18-foot skiff!
Nothing like a good afternoon of Alaskan entertainment.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Why Alaska: Yes, Alaska Girls Really Do Kick Ass
It's been a favorite saying for quite some time, up here. Turns out, it really is true!
Oh, yeah!
Woman punches bear to save her dog
It started out as a typical evening for 22-year-old Brooke Collins. She let her dogs out as usual but this time, she said there was a black bear outside who took hold of her dachshund Fudge. She said she feared for her pet’s life and, in an instant, ran over and punched the bear right in the face to make it let go.
Oh, yeah!
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