Good Evening Deer

The deer stroll onstage at dusk

 

 

to graze (there are two deer here)

 

 

fly

 

 

schmooze

 

 

and stare at us



Swimming Down the Waterfall

Our friends Tana & Don in the bow, their son Josh behind me and Kathryn alongside. River guide, Patrick in the stern

We live on the Gallatin, the river that runs through the movie.  So when our visiting friends Don and Tana Fowler said "let's go whitewater rafting on the river", we said "sure."  It was raining, there was some hail, and the water was 45 degrees.  It was great.

The fastest, roughest part was a flume alongside House Rock.

Where we hit a boulder sideways and I flew out of the boat. That's me, 10 yards downstream.

Another boat ran into ours while I tried to swim to shore and kept banging into rocks. It was like swimming down a waterfall, it didn't matter much how hard I swam, I went where the current went.   I slammed into a big boulder, turned over and came up a twenty yards downstream.  Breathing was beginning to be a problem.  Someone threw a rope but I missed it.  Another boat turned sideways downstream.  As I swept by they held out a paddle and I missed that too.  They held out another paddle but I was drifting away.  I thought this is my last chance. It probably was. The sky and the water were the same grey and swimming two yards upstream grab that paddle took everything I had. They hauled me in and I collapsed on the bottom of the boat until I could sit up.

Back home, I was still shaken  It hurt to walk and sitting down was painful, but I was OK.  Everybody was watching Madmen but I could not stand the flickering TV.  I sat on the back porch and watched a couple of bucks in the back pasture. . .

and the light in the sky, glad to be alive.

Good Grief, Kathryn. What have you done to our house????

Kathryn smushed our old ranch house while I was in Maine.

 

The dog said his dish used to be right here

 

 

It used to look a lot better. 

 

 

What Alaskans Won't Tell you

  

 



Alaskans will tell you that Alaska is beautiful. And it is.  Drive down almost any road and mountains rise up before you with lakes shimmering at their feet.  

What Alaskans won't tell you is that an impressive number of Alaskans are deeply religious.

 



 

Yes, many Alaskans worship Detritus, God of Junk.  Yard after yard proudly displays rusting dishwashers, delaminating campers, burial mounds of tires, cadavers that were once cars, junker pickups, fractured toilets and mushroom farms of upholstery.

And if your Alaskan neighbor has more junk in his yard than you have in yours, no problem. Go down to your local friendly neighborhood junk store and buy more junk.

The Road to Telegraph Creek

There's just one road into Telegraph Creek.  Towards the end of its 70 miles it runs high above the Stikine River.  For scale, the lodge pole pines along the edge are 50 to 70 feet high. 

Telegraph Creek has more ghosts than inhabitants.  Its rich history, of which my Uncle was a part, hides behind locked doors

The only road out is the 70 mile road you rode in on.  500 feet below, The Stikine has a Niagara roar. Think of Arizona with Seattle's rain.

Back on the highway, my rear tire was shot.