Alaskan Pilgrimage: Stranded, Stressed, and Splitting Ways (Days 14-17)

Day 14 was our worst day hitchhiking. We had planned to go further South on the Richardson and split ways at Paxson. I was planning on heading back to Anchorage, while Austin needed to go back to Talkeetna. It wasn’t so simple though. I knew that the Richardson-Glenn Allen route was less populous than the Parks Highway, but that wasn’t even our problem. There were a fair amount of people driving by, given that it was the tail end of tourist season and the start of moose hunting season, but no one would pick us up. We waited about 2 -3 hours near our first campsite and couldn’t get a thing. I decided I was going to walk and Austin hesitantly joined me ( I get antsy sitting still). So we walked a few miles down the road to a pull out where people can view the Alyeska oil pipeline. A number of people stopped to view it, but didn’t give us a ride.

Some mountains around Delta Junction

The Alyeska Pipeline

After another couple of hours, we walked again. I was definitely discouraged at this point, but Austin was especially  fuming. His bad state of mind was threatening to rain on my parade. While I love him and enjoyed traveling with him, I was ready to part ways. I wanted to slap him in that moment. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy and I enjoyed traveling with him, but I was ready to part ways at this point. I considered if I could walk to Glenallen — I figured I could make it to Paxson in 2-3 days (40 miles) and then I could make it the rest of the way to Glenallen (100 or so from Paxson) IF I could resupply in Paxson (I couldn’t have). FINALLY someone stopped. I have never gone a whole day without getting a ride before this. He told us that he was heading South to Valdez the next day and he would pick us up if we were still there. So now we had some hope. We camped down by the road and got up early the next morning to make sure we didn’t miss our ride.

After several hours of waiting that cold, rainy morning, we both were still demoralized. A guy going North stopped by and told us that he would be heading South to Valdez in 3 days and then offered to take us back to Delta and/or Fairbanks. I was tempted to go to Fairbanks and take the train to Anchorage, but I still had time before my flight left. We both agreed, however, that it was bettered to be stranded near a grocery store than in the middle of nowhere, so we went back to Delta Junction. After getting some food, we went to the library to look into jobs. I couldn’t find the Boeing job that paid 44k/year– I found several of the same job title with other companies that paid well, but not THAT well. Austin was looking into a construction job while I was doing that. I decided to try my hand at hitching again, but Austin wasn’t ready to leave the library, so we parted ways.

I had good luck hitchhiking right out of Delta; within a half-hour I had a ride all the way to Glenallen (180 miles or so). A commercial fisherman/contractor picked me up; he was also headed to Valdez. He was a really cool guy and I enjoyed his company. In Glenallen, I got a fat brownie at the gas station because I tend to be a junk food junkie while I’m on the road. I also went to a Thai Food truck and got some curry that was delicious and free. Free because after making it she realized I wanted to pay in debit and none of the nearby ATMs were working (it’s a miracle!). I actually felt kind of bad, but free curry is delicious nonetheless. I walked through the small town of Glenallen and then down the road before I could find a decent place to camp. I was relieved to get off my feet and out of the rain. I was also relieved that the weather down there was markedly warmer than the weather around Fairbanks and Denali.

The next day I got up and began walking. I stopped at a liquor store to get some Snicker’s bars for breakfast and offer the old cashier prayer. I hit the road and walked a few more miles but got picked up by a middle aged Athabascan couple. They were nice people and I also learned that they were believers, so it was nice to worship with them. They were heading all the way to Anchorage, so I contemplated whether or not I should go there, or stick around the Glenn Highway to explore. I decided on the latter when I had them drop me off near King Mountain recreation are by Chickaloon. This was deceptive, however, because King Mountain was on the other side of the Matanuska river with no bridges to it. I talked to the locals and everyone said it was uncrossable.

King Mountain

So here I am in Chickaloon, AK (podunk town with nothing but a combo post office/general) store. At the store I met a cyclist from France who had been biking around Canada and Alaska for a few months. We spoke of our travels and briefly on spirituality. He told me that he stayed on Mt. Eureka. Now, I had considered stopping at Eureka, but passed it up when I realized it was just a roadhouse. However, if you’ve read a couple of my older posts, you know that Eureka is something that God has spoken to me with, so I considered following it again. I ate some food, offered some people prayer and began hitching again. I was torn however, whether to go to Anchorage or Eureka– so I went to a spot where I could hitch either direction. The first car that picked me up was headed to Eureka, so I decided on that.

The old dude driving the old jeep was smoke a joint and offered me some, but I passed. He then offered me a cold beer, which was delicious on that hot day. He lived down towards Valdez and was coming back from the doctor in Anchorage. He and his wife typically winter in Hawaii (which many Alaskans do). When we parted ways I prayed for his health ailments. I went inside the lodge at Eureka and started asking about the mountain. The waitress was reluctant to help me, but a couple other locals talked to me. No one had heard of it, but the cyclist told me of it and I had seen it on a map previously (but I couldn’t remember where). I left the lodge and just started walking down the highway towards Anchorage, stopping to pick up a hub cap that would work as a makeshift gold pan. I think I had some delusions of striking it rich, perhaps because of the connotations of the word Eureka. Eureka, formerly was where I discovered something gold, and it was a greater revelation of the character of God. I wasn’t thinking so spiritually at the time though; I was getting my first taste of gold fever.

As I walked down the road I noticed some mountains behind some hills to the North. I decided I would make for them, even though it was starting to get late. There was no trail, but I just walked. I feared that it might be private land, but there were no signs. The walking was a bit mucky, but not as bad as Stampede trail or anything. It was also super brushy; I had to swim through all kinds of bushes. Fortunately, a lot of those bushes were blueberry bushes, so I ate a billion of those. The bushes were killing me though, I was getting increasingly frustrated. I also saw a small house in the distance so I concluded that I was on private land, which lead to more frustration. It was too late to turn back, so I would just camp there that night. I made it as far as I could go, almost to the hill top, and set up camp. I ate a lot of food then went to bag.

Late season blueberries (not nearly as good as huckleberries in MT but still tasty)

I considered pushing onward towards the mountains the next day, but I figured if there was a brush field over that hilltop all the way to the mountains, it wouldn’t be worth it, so I headed back towards the highway. It was a very foggy morning, so I couldn’t see the way back very well. I knew if I headed due South I would hit the highway though. I took out my compass and headed South. I was struggling to stay positive and cheerful through the muck and brush, but I was really over this hike.  Once I got into the thick of the trees, brush, fog, and swampy stuff, I got a bit distressed. Yes, my compass still read South and I knew I wouldn’t take the exact route back, but it seemed more unfamiliar than it should and I felt lost. I held onto that compass reading though and pressed on, eventually running into the road. It reminds me of holding onto the map of the Bible and the  compass of the Holy Spirit when life doesn’t seem to go the way you expect it to. Perception is short sighted though when you’re in the midst of a fog and life can be foggy, which is why we need a reference point beyond ourselves. That’s why it’s important to have faith rather than look to immediate circumstances.

Anyways, I went back to the roadhouse and ate a massive cinnamon roll and drank some coffee. I hitched there a bit with no luck, so I continued walking down the highway. I came to a sign near where I had hiked that said “Mt Eureka” but it looked like it had been hit by a truck and it was pointing nowhere of significance. I found the “house” I had seen the other day; it turns out that it was a hunting camp. I asked him about the mountain and he knew nothing of it. He did tell me of some trails that led to old mines and such. I planned on going to one of those, but I didn’t have enough food to make an extended hike and there were no stores around. I thought of bartering with people for food, but there weren’t many people around either. Feeling disgusted with my lame misadventure and the lack of rides, I trudged towards Anchorage. I finally got picked up a few miles down the road by a woman named Nine. She took me 25 or so miles down the road to Caribou Creek, a recreation area that is public access for gold panning. She even left me a box of ginger snaps which I promptly devoured.

I did a bit of panning that first night and then got camp set up and a fire going. I was feeling better about being out of Eureka and being in a beautiful place. The creek, which was more of a river, was 15 minutes down a hillside trail. I camped up top because I’ve heard bears like to hang out by rivers. Ironically, I camped by a berry patch. I will describe more about gold panning and the area in the next chapter because I’m starting to run long, so stay tuned!

Alaskan Pilgrimage: The Quest for the Magic Bus (Days 5-9)

The next morning we broke fast and camp and then headed back into Healy for some extra food (glad we did that). After scoring a sharpie and some cardboard at the Chevron, we made a sign for the Stampede Trail  and got picked at about noon. They dropped us off where the Stampede Trail turns into a gravel road (it starts as cement, then gravel, then dirt, then a sketchy jeep trail that weaves in and out of creek bed). The guys who gave us a ride tried to dissuade us from going there. They told us of a bunch of rescue missions that happened there. We told them that we might try to cross at the gauging station, which supposedly has a cable across the river. I also told them that I wasn’t going to cross it if it was too sketchy. The wished us luck and we parted ways.

Mountains South of the Stampede Trail

After walking down the dirt road a bit, two guys in a jeep with a company logo pulled over and offered us a ride. They said they would take us several miles down the 18 mile trail and drop us just a couple miles shy of the Savage River, our first crossing. We took them up on their offer and were soon baja-ing through puddles, streams, mud, and around corners while listening to obnoxious rap music. It was pretty fun though, besides hitting my head on the ceiling. Midway through the ride, one of the tires popped and we pulled over to change it. Before long we were back on the road, or rather jolting all over it. The guides told us one of their friends had crossed the Teklanika while filming himself, like it was no big deal.  After our deluxe ride in, we began walking down the mucky trail. It wasn’t long before we realized the vanity of trying to keep our feet and boots dry, so we stopped trying to avoid the puddles and mud and just sloughed through it. The trail frequently does a disappearing act as it intersects beaver ponds and streams, but with the maps and some advice from our free tour guides, we stayed on track. We passed a couple of Asian guys who said that they had made it to the bus. It took an hour or two to get to the Savage, which was just above the knee. Despite the relative shallowness of the river, my heart rate rose as I crossed it. I sensed the power the water carried and worried that the Tek would be much worse. At first, Austin thought that it was the Teklanika, I wasn’t too convinced though. We pressed on and found that it indeed was not.

When we reached the Tek, it did look pretty intimidating, probably 20-30 yards across or more when it was braided (don’t quote me on that, I’m bad at judging distances). We saw a guy on the other side when we got there and Austin found out that he had crossed where he was standing. Austin was all hot to cross right away, whereas I had mentally decided to camp on the nearside this night, survey the river, and cross the next day. I was nervous as I watched him cross, though he was doing okay. However, when he got about 5 or 8 feet from the shore, the river bested him and he started tumbling down, trying to regain control. The guy on the other side ran down the shore with him encouraging him and he eventually stumbled to shore without too much harm. Now it was my turn…

View of the Teklanika from my camp

My fear was not that I couldn’t reach the other side, but that I couldn’t reach the other side with my pack. I feared that if I had my pack on, I risked drowning if the river overpowered me (which it would since it did Austin, who is taller and heavier than me), but if I made it to the other side without my pack, what good would that be? I stripped down to my boxers and boots and began to hesitantly cross, heart and mind racing. When I got up to my mid-thighs and sensed the power of the river, I balked. I would not do it then. I went back and stood on the near shore with legs numb from the silty, glacial water. I told them I would camp on this side that night. Feeling defeated,I went back to set up camp on a hill overlooking the river. I decided that the next day I would search for the gauging station. I spent the remainder of the night finding abandoned items on the river shore, starting a fire, reading, and cooking. I did find a geocache too. I wondered if I would make it the next day — I told myself that unless I found the station, it probably wasn’t worth the risk.

Camp day one

I awoke fairly early the next morning and tried to call out to Austin’s camp and get his attention with firecrackers to let him know I was going to make for the gauging station. Frustrated that I couldn’t get ahold of him, I went back to my camp. Then, to my surprise, he stumbled dripping wet into my camp. He told me that he had found an easier place to cross and that we would tandem cross it together. I was still hesitant, being more willing to dangle over the torrent by a cable than walk in it. Nonetheless, I followed him. The area he showed me had maybe a twenty yard crossing to an island then a 5 yard crossing from that island to the other shore. He told me that the deepest channel was about 5-10 feet from the near shore and that after braving that deep channel, it was a piece of cake. The plan was that he would stand behind me with his hands on my back to brace me and we would cross together. I held a raft paddle I found to use as a third leg too. I tentatively stepped in at the water was at about my shin. I quickly ditched the paddle, as it was no help. As we side stepped across, the water quickly deepened. At one point Austin was bracing me so hard that he almost was pushing me over, I had to yell at him over the roar of the river to cut it out! As the water level approach my belly button, I started to feel the loss of control. I felt my feet being lifted, putting me on my tiptoes. At this point I was very close to backing out, having Austin there and his promise that it would get shallower was the only thing that kept me going.

“Run, just go with it,” Austin shouted.

We broke ranks and ran diagonally with the current as we lost control. Austin fell over, and I lifted him up. Before long, we were thigh deep and then knee deep in the middle of the river–piece of cake at that point. I walked onto the island triumphantly. We saw our friend from across the river cross this place too, he didn’t even stumble. Next order of business was to cross the short channel to the other side — piece of cake I thought. We still tandem crossed it, but I ate it and ended up having to crawl the last few feet to the shore, soaked and shivering. We got across and after celebrating, started a fire to dry out and cook some food. As we were cooking, some Denali park rangers saw us from the other side on their four wheelers. They came to check the depth of the water and we told them our plans. I was relieved that the rangers knew we were out there.

Once we dried out, we began the rest of the trek to the bus. It was no big deal from then on. Don’t get me wrong, it was still tiring, wet, and sloppy, but it wasn’t stressful. After a couple hours, we were both getting tired of walking and I was ravenous. I was expecting the bus to be on a big hilltop or something, but we just rounded a corner and there it was. We surveyed the bus and claimed our beds. The bus was full of writing from other pilgrims from around the States and world. There was also a plaque to Chris in there. It seems that the bus also acts as a gear exchange for those in need. There was an emergency stash of food that we left alone. We took a couple redundant items and left some of our own items. We also took some scrap parts from the bus (which is controversial because some people have taken major parts like the steering wheel and side panels, but we didn’t take anything major, just a couple scraps of metal that no one would notice, I lost mine anyways). The bus was also pretty vandalized, the windows were broken out and the sides were full of bullet holes. I went and gathered some wood for the fire master to make a fire (he is much better than I am at it). We cooked up some mac and cheese with some beef sticks and gorged ourselves — lucky for me Austin doesn’t eat as much as I do, so I was fat and happy. We then drank a toast to Chris and reflected on the journey and Chris’s life.

 

Inside the Bus

 

 

 

 

 

 

RIP Chris

 

The next day we awoke and already had a disagreement on when to leave. Austin, being more lax than I, wanted to leave later in the day. I wanted to beat the rain. Luckily for me, the park rangers showed up on their four wheelers and told us that we indeed needed to get across today before the rain. They also told us that the gauging station was not anchored down, so it would not be an option. We still left later than I would’ve liked, but we got out of there okay. I was lagging a bit on the journey and a bit hungry as we were a little low on food and had to ration it. I was already psyching myself out, “can I cross when I’m still a little hungry?” The constant, but light rain intimidated me too, “How high is the river going to be?” Austin was booking it because he was really cold, he didn’t have rain pants so his legs were perpetually cold (rain gear is a must in Alaska). We got to the river in this nervous state and it was made worse by the increased rain and our confusion about our location. I falsely attributed to peaks that I saw to two peaks on the map and confused both of us. However, Austin pointed out my tent that I had left downstream, so we got a relative idea of where we were. Once again, he was all hot to cross, right where we were but I was for the tried and true crossing. I was worried that he was partly hypothermic in his insistence to cross right away. I had thoughts of drowning, getting stranded, or losing my pack and huddling together under an emergency blanket. Needless to say, I was pretty freaked out. We eventually agreed to find the place we had already crossed though. Before we crossed, I had to yell and shout to psych myself up.

Austin came up with a better tandem strategy too. We could interlock arms, my hand on his shoulder, his on mine, and use that too stabilize ourselves. We would also walk upstream a bit from where we crossed and angle downstream to cut the resistance. We crossed the first channel without much difficulty. Encouraged by this, we took a deep breath and began the bigger crossing. I stomped every step down with determination and spoke things to myself like “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” and “You got it baby, we got this” it actually helped a lot. We made it across without so much as stumbling. When we reached the other side we were both ecstatic. It felt amazing to be on the other side of that river.

We set up camp, not even considering starting a fire in the downpour. We put on what little dry clothes we had and put the wet stuff outside the tent. We took great pains to keep the inside of my little Eureka tent dry, and it did stay relatively dry. I was worried about the temperature but we made it work. I wasn’t worried in vain though, for when we woke up it was to light snowfall, it didn’t stick though.  We both went and looked at the river, and just overnight it became a surging, chocolate brown torrent much angrier than it was previously–we would not have made it across, no chance. Despite the fact that we were in relatively good shape, it was very demoralizing putting on our stiff, frosty boots. As soon as I put them on, I wondered if I would make it out of here without frostbite. In any case, I was more than ready to get out of here. We packed up and hit the trail. Little did we know we had another surprise waiting for us though.

A little distance down the trail we ran into the park rangers at their camp, complete with wall tent and a nice stack of lumber. We asked them how the Savage river was. “Savage,” they responded, “flooded to it’s banks, be ready to hunker down for 2 or 3 more days.” Really? The Savage had never even come into the equation for me. Now were were stuck here again for perhaps another rainy 3 nights (though it wasn’t raining at this point) and we were low on food. We went down the trail to set up camp, dry out, and Austin worked on a fire. Luckily there was some wood left over at the previously occupied camp, though it was wet. Austin worked on that as I went to go reclaim an old cut up air mattress we left at our camp to use as a tarp. I also tried to bum some food off the rangers, but they said that they were on tight rations too. Austin and I had joked how they were probably roasting a big chunk of moose flesh over their fire and feasting, while we were eating a mixture of dried grits and dried mashed potatoes. During this time I was also trying to stalk and stone grouse along the road, but my aim with rocks is horrible. I tried to shoot some bear spray at them too, but I only succeeded at walking into a cloud of it (though not too much). Shortly after I got back Austin got the fire going (after infinite effort and frustration) and we pretty much just sat around drinking coffee and such.

The next day I tracked down the troopers to get the conditions and I learned that the river was already passable. I was very relieved to not be stranded two more days. We packed up and began the mucky trek back. The Savage was no big deal to cross but all the earlier streams and beaver ponds we crossed on the way in were now also swollen. They were crossable, just a pain to cross. The trail was also now much easier to lose. Thankfully we were able to mostly stay on it. After a long trek back, we stopped at a lodge and gorged ourselves on some real food. We trekked the remaining miles into Healy and gorged more at the gas station. We were so gimped up that the gas station lady asked Austin if he had been drinking.  After that we camped right down the road.

It’s funny, in all our individual faults and bad ideas we balanced each other out and made a pretty good team. Though Austin annoyed me at times, I know I wouldn’t have gotten to the bus without him, and am very grateful for him. I’m sure I annoyed him too with my impatience and cautiousness. I now know that it is best to have a partner to hike with, though I still do it alone sometimes. I probably shouldn’t but sometimes I have to. I certainly won’t hike places like that alone though.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to pick them up. Also if two lie down together they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?” Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

Alaskan Adventure: Hippies, Xtra-Tuffs, and Strobe Lights (Salmonstock 2014)

One day as I was doing some dishes at work I thought to myself “Man, I sure would love to dance barefoot to some psytrance with some hippies in a moonlit meadow or perhaps a dusty clearing” A few days later I remembered about Salmonstock and realized that there was a good chance of that happening (minus the psytrance unfortunately). Salmonstock music festival is an Alaskan version of Woodstock that focuses on raising awareness about environmental issues in Alaska.I had known about Salmonstock for a couple of months at that point, but I had sort of pushed to the back of my mind. I was thinking of going, yet I didn’t really want to spend the money and eat up my 3 day birthday weekend that I was going to go backpacking on. However, it felt right and I even had a ride down there (to Ninilchik, about 30 minutes from Homer) with coworkers, so I went.

photo credit salmonstock.org

I knew ahead of time it would be an interesting experience for me. On one hand I would fit in because I very much appreciate many aspects of hippie culture. On the other hand, I knew that there would be copious amounts of booze, weed, and other psychoactive substances. I also knew my friends would be into that too.  That doesn’t scare me or make me judgmental, but I’m not into that scene. Furthermore, given these circumstances, I knew this would be a great place to spread the love of Jesus, which I was excited about but also admittedly a bit apprehensive because I wasn’t sure what it would be like. Uncertainty, though, is one of the defining marks of adventure.

We took off Friday evening and arrived in Ninilchik at 1 am or so. It took us a bit to find a campsite because it was dark and there were already like a billion tents and cars everywhere, but we eventually got it done. We were greeted by a heavily bearded and heavily intoxicated man who was apparently in a local band that wasn’t playing. He kept complaining about how the promoters pay out of state bands lots but rip off local bands. I said something like, “I love you bro, give me a hug.” and he gave me a hug, and continued giving me that hug for the next 30 minutes as he rambled on about his band, War and Peace, and other random things. I didn’t really mind though; I guess I was distracting him from bothering people who would mind. After we were finished chatting with strangers and I sent the dude on his way we all packed into a big tent for a night uncomfortable sleep (for me anyways). It was mad cramped and one of my friends snores like a grizzly bear.

The next morning I woke up before everyone else (as I tend to do in these situations) and got up to wander about, not in the best spirits. I knew that I was not going to spend this next night like this, so I surveyed the place for a campsite where I could set up my own tent. After wandering around a bit, getting some coffee from the local gas station, and unsuccessfully trying to set up in the woods behind the camping area I found a spot. Before I found my spot and was in the backwoods, I realized just how bad the allergens were in that area, I was dying (which is why I couldn’t camp there). On the bright side, I did find an amanita muscaria or Fly Agaric mushroom, which is like the holy grail of mushrooms for me. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t value it for its hallucinogenic properties, but I think it’s so cool and enchanted looking (red with white specks). Though I would be lying if the thought of taking a big bite out of it didn’t cross my mind; despite the fact that I haven’t taken any mind-altering substances for about 5 years, I’m not beyond being tempted. Anyways, after setting up camp I went back to regroup with my friends and we went to the store and got some benadryl for the brutal hay fever.

We headed to the actual festival grounds, across the highway from the campsite, and waited for it to open up. I thought about volunteering to get in for free, but there were no slots, which was good because I would’ve been stuck working instead of doing my thing. The first thing I noticed was the countless food carts in there. I started at the Boombai Thai cart that is actually based in Seward. Interestingly enough I ran into Solomon, the guy who picked me up on my way to Homer. I felt like I was supposed to meet him again, so I thanked him for his kind heart of generosity and told him that Jesus loves him. I didn’t talk to him too much though because he was busy working. I then went and sat on the grass to eat my pad thai and listen to “The Shoot Dangs”. They were alright, not entirely my thing because I’m an electro junkie, but I enjoyed them enough. I even danced a bit with a couple of my coworkers, but I don’t know how to dance much (with the exception to some rave genres) so it was short lived.  Somewhere around that time I went and got a tamale that was mediocre.

I went and wandered around a bit and met a woman from Anchorage who jacked up her leg windsurfing. I talked to her for a bit and prayed for her leg. When I asked her how it felt, she said “happy”. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but it sounds good. I then made a detour to the gas station and got a Nos and talked to a young guy. I saw this guy earlier and he really caught my attention, not for any particular reason, just an inward vibe that I was supposed to talk to him. He was a 16 year old living in Homer who was from Texas. He seemed heavily into drugs, using and selling. He wasn’t a tweaker or anything, but he was pretty swallowed up in drug culture. I told him about some of my drug use, spiritual experiences that felt like drugs but were meaningful and healthy, and tried to inform about the problems drugs cause. He didn’t seem too interested but he was willing to listen and discuss the issue anyways. We parted ways and I, being the Bilbo Baggins adventurer that I am, went had my 3rd lunch, which was a delicious falafel.

Feeling fat and bloated, I laid down on the grass and listened to a band called Deadhorse Highway who were from Portland — they were alright. I just sat there in the sunlight and people watched. There were a lot of cute hippie girls with hairy armpits spinning hula hoops and such. The first time I saw a woman with hairy armpits (about a year earlier) I was a little taken aback, but it doesn’t really bother me anymore. I eventually went and danced with one of those hippie girls, basically holding hands and jumping and swinging around (I guess that’s how you dance to that kind of music). I told her she was awesome and she gave me a big hug; I later found out she was in The Super Saturated Sugar Strings. I was reluctant at first to dance because I thought “Man, this isn’t my scene, I don’t listen to this kind of music”, but I eventually put my genre snobbery behind, got over myself, and decided to participate. Yeah, it’s not really my scene, but it was fun anyways. Other people were dancing hilariously too. Some older people were just going hard. At first I thought “wow you look so ridiculous” but then I was thinking “Yeah, I do half of the time too, it doesn’t even matter, we’re all having fun, do your thing.”That’s what I love about these types of places: you can be ridiculous and the majority of people don’t care — they may laugh or whatever but it’s all in good fun, people aren’t too judgmental. I hope I stay like that when I’m old. It reminds me of a time a few years back when I saw a 40+ guy at an Infected Mushroom concert in Phoenix just going to town with his glowsticks — he probably was in a cubicle 2 hours earlier, I love that guy!

I took a break from the music and wandered around to talk and pray with people. Part of me wanted to and part of me was not into it, but the Lord was telling me to keep at it. I struck up a few conversations that petered out pretty fast, prayed for some people with injuries, and then went and bought a big bag of saltwater taffy and gave it away to strangers. After a while I just was stressed and couldn’t handle the crowd and noise anymore so I wandered off to my tent and then to get some food. After I calmed down and got into better spirits I went back to the grounds and watched The Super Saturated Sugar Strings –at about 8 or so. I regrouped with my friends and wandered around with them a bit. They were fairly drunk at this point, but I was feeling pretty stoned on the Lord so it was okay . In fact, one of my friends and I were just sort of acting goofy together and high fiving strangers and stuff; it was sort of an interesting situation haha. One hippie-ish guy gave me a hug for my birthday — one of the best hugs I’ve ever gotten (I got a lot of good hugs that day in general).

While we were high fiving people and stuff this one guy walked by and was talking about mushrooms or something and I put my hand on his shoulder and said “Jesus thinks you’re amazing bro”. A bit later, he asked, “So what brings up Jesus?” I’m not quite sure what I said, something like “He’s awesome man, it’s all about Him.” He said how he went to a Christian program at one time . He said something like “I’m a sinner, but the Lord knows my heart.” I said something like, “I mess up too bro, but it’s not an excuse to make a habit of it.” “I know it’s no excuse but nothing ever changes.” Oh, that stung my heart on his behalf. Man, I wanted to help that guy out, but he changed the subject quickly and walked off before too long.

After a little more wandering with my friends, I wandered off by myself to watch the headliner, Ozomatli, and some fire dancers. I offered this other dude a spiritual high and explained it to him about the presence of God and the Holy Spirit while we were waiting for the band to play. He said he wasn’t ready for that and his friend looked at me like I was some sort of freak lol. The band finally played and they were alright, not really my style, but talented, lively, and creative all the same. What I was really waiting for was the rave that was rumored to go down that night. After Ozomotli I made my way to where the rave was taking place and jammed there for a little bit. It started out decent, playing mostly house music, but after an hour or so it devolved to top 40 type crap. It was funny seeing people at a rave wearing Xtra -Tuffs though, knee-high, brown and tan neoprene boots that are common in Alaska; I can’t really talk though because I was wearing jorts and hunting boots.

All partied out, I went back to camp and cooked some of my halibut filets over a campfire and hung out with my friends and some other people. All said and done, I crashed at about 3 am or so. The next day I hitchhiked home and did pretty well on rides. I met some cool people and had some good talks too. All in all, it was a pretty good birthday weekend.

Alaskan Adventure: Ice Climbing on Exit Glacier

Alaska is probably one of the few places where one can go ice climbing during the summer. This is because there are countless glaciers in Alaska; the one that I got to climb on was Exit Glacier, just outside of Seward. I had never ice climbed before but I love rock climbing (the little bit of it that I have done) so I figured I would give ice climbing a try. Lucky for me, I was able to tag along with Exit Glacier Guides for free because of my company connections. After a two mile hike up to the glacier, we put on our crampons and began our excursion dirty, white and blue mass. It was a bit tricky learning how to walk in the crampons but I got the hang of it before too long. We came to a wall of about twenty feet high and took turns ascending the wall.

Our next goal was to climb down into some crevasses; I was excited about that. It was pretty intimidating to lean backwards down an icy abyss while the guide lowered me. All of my instincts shouted at me “Why are you backing down into an icy grave?” Yet the rope was there and I was safe. I descended two crevasses and that was enough for me; kicking and hammering an ice wall and pulling myself up was quite a workout.

Don’t look down, a beautiful, icy death awaits you 😉

Little glacial stream

While it’s pretty cool being down in a crevasse and scrambling around a glacier, I like rock climbing much better. Ice climbing feels like you are driving nails or something. Rock climbing, on the other hand, is fluid and intuitive in its movements. I like being able to use my whole body as a tool; nothing between me and the rock (excepting ropes). Nonetheless, I’m glad I tried it and I’d probably do it again someday.

Reindeer Sausage and Theology: Hitchhiking the Kenai (part 2.2)

As promised, here is part two of my trip to Homer. I woke up early and hit the road immediately — I guess I didn’t feel too attached to the Homer spit or the shower room at this point. It took about 1-2 hours to get off the spit and into town. I stopped at a nice local place called Sour Dough express, which was originally a mobile food bus based on the Homer spit back in the 70s. I really liked the place; I mean, it was a simple diner, nothing too crazy but the food was all organic and it had some local colour to it. After some sourdough pancakes, I bought an overpriced mug for my family and a smoked salmon pastry for the road.

Homer is not the best place to hitchhike out of. The main problem is that there is no shoulder for cars to pull off at first, so one must climb the hill out of town. Ok, it’s not that big of a deal, but I was feeling lazy at the time and I had already walked 5 or so miles. Even when I got to the top of the hill where there was a shoulder, I couldn’t get a ride. I kept walking and eventually got picked up by a guy who lived in Anchor Point, a small community 15 miles or so from Homer. He had some sort of disability and I prayed for him. It turns out he was a believer, but it seemed that he was having some struggles, so hopefully I encouraged him.

I didn’t have to wait too long before I got a ride with a guy who was a county commissioner or something. He was a commercial fisherman in Homer and was originally from Oregon. I asked him if commercial fishing is really as dramatic and dangerous as they make it out to be on TV. Not surprisingly, he said no. It can be dangerous and there can be conflict, but the TV shows generate it and only show the dangerous spots. I asked him what he thought about God and he said that he was an atheist; he felt that God was a superstition. We had some of the typical banter on that subject (how old is the earth, miracles, etc) and I shared some of my personal experiences. He went into a story about his son with a heart problem who was waiting for a transplant. I thought to myself that he was going to tell me his son died and ask why God would allow that or whether or not he went to Heaven or some other difficult question. What followed rather surprised me though.

He told me that his son was put on anesthesia on Good Friday and breathed his first conscious and independent breath (ie free of machines) on Easter. While he didn’t give God credit for this as much as the doctors, he found it interesting how it paralleled the account of the crucifixion and resurrection. A bit later he noted how he should learn about what the Orthodox church believes, since there is a community in Homer. This gave me an opportunity to elaborate in a way that tied in very well the story of his son. The Orthodox paradigm for salvation is about healing, about God healing and restoring sin sick humanity; while Protestant and Catholic views usually have more to do with legal (ie God justifying sinners who deserve his punishment). The healing, restoring, and reconciling paradigm resonates much more with me than the idea that God is a harsh and seemingly sadistic judge. Anyways, I tied it in with the story of his son by saying that Jesus mystically became one with humanity and then died to in order to cleanse the sin from humanity; in essence, to give us a heart transplant. I don’t exactly remember how I put it, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t exactly understand the nature of crucifixion and resurrection anyway. Unlike Western ideas of salvation, the Orthodox don’t view salvation as a cut-and-dried, formulaic legal contract as much as a mystery. Yes, there are truths about it that are affirmed, but when it comes down to it, we fail to grasp the total significance of all that Christ accomplished. The patient of a heart transplant does not understand all the technical and medical principles that went into his operation, neither does the redeemed sinner know exactly how he was cleansed, healed, and restored to God by the crucifixion and resurrection. Anyways, we talked some more about hitchhiking and travel and then in Soldotna he bought me a reindeer sausage from a roadside vendor; it was really good.

I stood out by Fred Meyers on the edge of Soldotna, the same place as last time, and got a ride pretty quickly. The guy had to honk a couple times because I was spacing out — oops. This guy was from Montana, like me; well he was originally from Chicago, but now lives in Montana. He was a cool and friendly guy who was up in Alaska training car salesmen how to do financial paperwork or something like that. We chatted a bit and somehow ended up getting on the subject of weed. He told me how he used to smoke it. I told him that ecstasy used to be my drug of choice but then I encountered the love of God and experienced true ecstasy. He asked me if I was a Christian, to which I replied yes and asked him about his beliefs. He was also a believer. So we talked about spiritual things a bit, which is always nice and then parted ways at the Y.

At the Y I got picked up shortly by a guy named Mark who is a traveling RN. He was a very inspiring guy to me; enthusiasm, positivity, excellence, and happiness radiated from him without him coming across as cheesy obnoxious like some people with those qualities come across. His enthusiasm came across as he talked passionately about photography, travel, and his work as a Nurse. As a traveling nurse he gets to visit many places, but he said that “working with people is a challenge and a labor of love”. It was evident that he doesn’t view hardships as things to whine about but to be embraced as challenges that show love and bring growth. We talked quite a bit about Alaska and photography. He has pretty much won me over to the idea of getting a small point and shoot camera that is shock and waterproof. Compact, simple, and rugged — exactly what I need. He was headed to Seward to snag Sockeyes, I almost wanted to ask him if I could tag along, but I didn’t want to be obnoxious. At the end of our ride I asked if I could pray a blessing over him and he said “I always pray!” So we prayed together and we parted ways. I feel very grateful to meet that guy; he still inspires me.

So ends my hitchhiking on the Kenai Peninsula.

Alaskan Adventure: Introduction/Island Life

I spent this summer (2014) primarily near Seward, AK on the Kenai Peninsula. I say near Seward, AK because I was actually about 12 miles South on Fox Island, an island in Resurrection Bay. I worked at a tour boat Day Lodge for Kenai Fjords tours as a kitchen steward, which is pretty much a fancy way of saying dishwasher (well, I did serve King crab and do some other prep work). I lived on the Island 5 days a week and lived in Seward 2 days a week. While on the island I had free food and housing and in Seward free housing. Another perk of this job was that Kenai Fjords Tours has partnerships with other tour companies that allow the employees to utilize guide and touring services for free or at a greatly discounted rate, so needless to say this was a great way to see Alaska.

The island is fairly small, maybe two miles long and 1 mile wide, but it is quite steep. The lodge is located between the pebble peach and a small lagoon with a creek flowing into it. Down the beach there is an overnight lodge, Kenai Fjords Wilderness Lodge (or the Wildy as we called it). Behind the Wildy there is the only trail (which is a word that can be interpreted loosely in Alaska) on the island. The trail goes behind the lagoon, up the creek, to a ridge separating two of the peaks, and up to the peak on the right. The first stretch of the trail has steps going up and down to big rocks and tree trunks. The middle part is sort of swampy and is haunted by an aggressive Goss Hawk that likes to swoop down on unwary hikers and take their hats and/or scratch them (yes, that actually happened to a couple of my coworkers). The last stretch of the trail, from the ridge to the peak, is very steep and sort of unstable, but there are ropes tied to trees to help one up the trail. The trail really isn’t as bad as it sounds: the bird can be fended off with a large stick and the trail completed in an hour traveling at a leisurely speed (my record was 37 minutes, but I was dying at the end). The view at the top is easily worth it as well. One can see a 360 degree view of the surrounding islands, channels, mountains, and part of the Harding Ice Field to the West (I had some good shots but I misplaced my film). I resolved to hike that trail every day at one point, but it didn’t happen. I did climb it fairly frequently though. It was well-nigh impossible to climb in the rain: every rock and root becomes a water slide on the part of the trail. It rains pretty frequently in the area too; it is considered a temperate rain forest. When it rains on the island several waterfall appear down the steep slopes.

Not the island, but similar

 

 

Not the island, but interesting geology in the area, couple hour boat ride.

 

The other peaks and ridges can only be reached by bushwhacking (in other words crawling up 60 degree angle slopes on hands and knees, getting shanked by Devil’s Club, stepping in moss covered holes, and swimming through chest high brush [going down hill is worse]). I did some bushwhacking on the island early in the season and got burnt out on it pretty fast. I did reach one of the other high points on the island though. There was no view, however, because of the high brush. Then there was the other time when I almost died, not really but it was pretty sketchy (I will write about that one in a later post).

Devil’s Club

Sea kayaking was another recreational opportunity open to me. Sunny Cove Sea Kayaking also operates off the island and is partnered with Kenai Fjords Tours: their guides hung out in our bunk house and ate our food and in return they helped us clean and took us kayaking for free. Kayaking is a good way to see nature, get exercise, and spend some time in thought, prayer, or meditation. Considering that, I would think I would be really into, but I really didn’t care too much for it; it was okay and I would do it again, but I certainly don’t see myself dropping $1,000+ for a kayak any time soon. I also spent quite a bit of time fishing, a little bit in the lagoon and a little bit off the dock and shore. The lagoon has small Dolly Vardens and the ocean has Pacific Cod and Rock Fish. There are halibut as well (appropriate since the location of the lodge is called Halibut Cove) but it’s not that easy to catch one off the shore with a compact fishing pole. Most of the fish I caught here were small but provided me with some meals and fun. My fishing poles and reels, however, frequently malfunctioned, cutting my fishing short. One time I snapped my pole in half trying to get it unsnagged from the ocean floor; ironically the day before I reeled up half a fishing pole from the ocean covered with barnacles and junk.

As far as wildlife goes there are river otters, porcupines, seals, and whales around Fox Island. There are also a variety of sea birds that frequent the area as well as Steller Jays. This is where I first learned how good porcupines are at climbing trees! The sea mammals are a little rarer than porcupines and Steller Jays though. Sometimes you can sea a humpback surfacing in the distance. Twice this summer Orcas came into the cove and rubbed their bellies on the gravel bottom near the shore, by far one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. The seals mostly like to stalk people on Kayak outings.

Orcas playing in the cove of the island

Living with people was another interesting experience. It was sort of like a 3 month hostel stay/summer camp. I met lots of really cool people and good friends, however, it wasn’t the easiest thing to live with a dozen people. We definitely got on each others nerves for not cleaning up a mess, hogging the TV, and other petty things. So yes, there was a little bit of drama, but it really wasn’t too bad. I was usually out of the loop (thankfully) as far as drama was concerned. It was challenging for me to be one of the few Christians there too because there were some differences in lifestyle. Despite disagreements, irritations, and misunderstandings most of us became pretty good friends. The love for nature and  adventure,  the shared experience of being overran by tourists daily, and listening to the same park ranger presentations every day gave us a camaraderie. I think we were all a little guarded at first but before long we were having food fights, hiking together, and singing strange Russian songs on island karaoke nights.

There are a couple of other reasons this island experience was special to me personally. Funny to say, but the fact that I was a dishwasher was meaningful to me. One of my favorite spiritual books, The Practice of the Presence of God, was written by a 17th century monk named Brother Lawrence (aka Nicholas Herman) who was a cook/dishwasher in his monastery. In the midst of his menial work he found such bliss in practicing the presence of God which could be considered silent internal prayer, meditation, and/or contemplation. It is even rumored that people would travel from afar to watch him do his kitchen labor in his state of spiritual inebriation. I felt like this job was an opportunity to practice the spiritual discipline of internal prayer while doing work that is not glamorous. I say discipline because some days when I was elbow deep in a prime rib pan with a fistful of steel wool I would lose perspective of the transcendent joy that is mine and inside me through God. Other times I would scrub enthusiastically and joyfully, oblivious to the mess and stench of the dish pit, only conscious of the love of God.  The other reason this experience was meaningful to me is because another saint I respect, another Herman in fact, lived on an island in Alaska. Father Herman of Alaska was a Russian Orthodox monk who lived on a small island off the coast of Kodiak and was given to asceticism and inner prayer. He was one the view missionaries during the colonization of the “new world” to advocate for the rights of the Native people and stand up against the corrupt politicians who sought to oppress them. In fact, Father Herman was one of the first sign posts to point me to Alaska, I first learned about him hitchhiking about a year earlier. I will recount that experience in the coming articles.

 

St. Herman of Alaska