Happy Little Clouds and Duck Farts:
My Alaska
By, Andrew J. Smith
The only thing that
worried me about my six-mile hike was that halfway through it I came across
this sign:
CAUTION:
Grizzly Bear Sighting
5/19/13
It was May 20th.
Ever since I was a
little kid, it had been a dream in life to go to Alaska and see a Grizzly in
the wild. This was the closest I’d ever been to that dream. This was everything
I had wanted when I used to sit and watch Marty Stouffer’s Wild America with my mom as a child. I used to think,
“Wow! That would be amazing!”
Now, in the moment I
yearned for, for a lifetime, I could only think one thing:
“Shit.”
_________________________________________________________________________________
The birds were chirping and squawking like an avian
orchestra warming up for a recital. There were seals and salmon splashing all
around us in the bay like children in a sprinkler on a hot summer morning, yet
probably not as friendly to each other. Squirrels, chipmunks, and countless
other unseen creatures scurried among the underbrush of the surrounding
old-growth forest looking for any meal they could get their paws on. The sun
was beating down on us as if trying to show off on this mid-May day.
It was spring in Alaska, and this part of the Earth was
finally shaking off its winter sweater.
After some research over the last few days, I saw that our
ship docked at an industrial park that was about six miles away from the heart
of Sitka. I had the entire day off, something unheard of to most cruise ship
employees, and I had decided to skip on the bus shuttles to the city center and
instead walk the entire way in an effort to both exercise and take in the real
Alaska.
Too many people would not even
entertain this idea of a six-mile walk. It would take too long, they might
sweat, they could get lost; it would be uncomfortable. But I was in the mood to
explore...
The sign was
handwritten, but looked surprisingly official. I had just taken a detour off
the established single lane highway because I wanted a more “natural’
experience. I saw this path that lead through about 1/4 mile of thick forest to
the seashore. I decided this was the route to take. Not more than 5 steps in, I
see the sign:
CAUTION:
Grizzly Bear Sighting
5/19/13
I check my watch
again, to make sure of the date. Yup. 5/20/13. Perfect.
Don’t get me wrong. I
still wanted to see a Grizzly in the wild. I guess I just hoped it would be in
a distant field and I would be in a truck or lodge looking fondly. Not meandering
through an unfamiliar path in the woods. They post these signs because you
don’t want to be surprised by a bear or vice versa. That’s when bad things
happen.
You couldn’t see more
than a few feet ahead of you as the path weaved and slithered through the
forest. The type of deep, thick forest where sunlight shoots through the canopy
and hits you in the face like a surprise spider web. Each corner I turned, with
my brand new Leatherman open and in hand, I was ready to fight to the death.
Squirrels now sounded like Grizzly bears bounding down the path. Acorns falling
from the trees sounded like Grizzles sneak attacking from above. My own heart
surprised me with each heavy beat.
I have skydived
before, and this was almost as much of an adrenaline rush.
The path opened up and
I could see the beautiful sea in front of me, glistening and softly lapping
along the shore. “It’s safe, Andrew,” she whispered to me. “Come here, out in
the open and frolic in me. Dip your toes in. Play with the salmon. You’re
safe.”
I didn’t trust her for
a second. I knew she was working with the bears, and as soon as I confidently
walked towards her, I’d be eaten by one the size of a house. She’s a tricky
one, Ms. Sea. She’s tempted many a man to his death, and now she was in cahoots
with a roving grizzly. Still, she was so beautiful, and calm, and...and...
Suddenly, I was
sitting on a log taking my boots off. I stood up and squished the tiny pebbles
through my toes and took a step into the water. It was cool, almost cold, but
inviting. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and let the sun stake claim on
my face. This was heaven...
“SMASH! CRACK! BOOM!”
Something behind me came crashing out of the forest.
I choked on my breath,
shot around so fast my sunglasses flew twenty feet off my face, and scrambled
to retrieve and open my Leatherman from my pocket. I was still fumbling when I
felt the impact.
Two paws hit my chest
like a truck. I reeled back, splashing and stumbling three feet into the sea.
Water and sand splattered into my eyes and for a moment, I was blinded. Then I
felt the paws again, this time pushing against my legs. I spun to my left and
avoided a harder strike and began to run towards the shore.
“Oh My God! Are you
Ok?” Someone was yelling from the shore.
I tried to yell, “No
I’m not ok! I’ve fallen into a trap set by the sea and a blood thirsty Grizzly.
I’m dying,” but all that escaped my mouth was a shriek usually reserved for
little girls who encounter their first big, scary spider.
“I’m so sorry. He’s a jumper.”
Um, what?
I rub my eyes enough
to remove part of the sand and most of the stinging seawater and manage a
squint. It is only now I first view my attacker.
There, chewing a
stick, was the goofiest looking Golden Retriever I have ever seen.
“Woof!” he barked, as
if to rub in his sneakily friendly attack.
I began laughing,
mostly because it was a better option to crying, and assured the Retriever’s
owner that I was just fine and that I love playing with dogs. I do, but not
when they are assumed Grizzlies.
I collect my sandy
sunglasses and Leatherman (so much help that did!), and make my way back
towards the path. I figured I had my dress rehearsal for an attack, and if you
know anything about show business, a bad final dress usually means a great
show! I was certainly hoping that also crossed over to real life animal
defense.
As I was about to
reenter the trail and forever leave my goofy assailant behind me, I heard his
owner throw the stick and yell, “Go get it, Bear!”
I giggled at the fact that I had actually survived a “bear” attack, and
moved into the forest with an unearned confidence.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Sitka is a city in Alaska located on Baranof Island and the
southern part of Chichagof Island. It has a population of almost 9,000, though
that number seems generous. It spent some time under Russian rule, and the
architecture, especially the main church in the center of town, proves that.
The houses I pass along the way run the gamut of financial
levels. There are mansions with bridges over the streams running through their
yards, with satellite dishes the size of cars, then there are shacks the size
of cars that appear to have streams running through their houses. Somehow, each
is beautiful in its own way.
As I walk, I wonder if I could do it. I had always been
obsessed with Alaska: the fauna, the landscape, the lifestyle. I loved the
outdoors and spent most of my summers growing up camping. The idea of “living”
at a campsite was so romantic. As I grew older, I lost my naivety and began to
consider the seclusion, the economic depression, and of course, the winter.
There is a reason Alaska has a high suicide rate and deals
so deeply with alcoholism. During the winter months, when there may only be a
few hours of daylight and the temperatures drop below fathomable conditions,
just getting by and keeping one’s sanity can be a chore. Granted, here on the
coast where Sitka is located, the winters are much milder, but these factors
would all need to be heavily considered when deciding on starting a life in
this unforgiving, untamed piece of the globe.
Ideally, I decide, I’d love to have a home, preferably with
a stream outside of it, where I’d
spend my summers hiking, fishing, and generally enjoying the beauty that is an
Alaskan summer. Then in late September, I’d fly down to Puntarenas, Costa Rica
and sell popsicles and Imperials on the beach to tourists all winter long.
That, I conclude, would be a
perfect combination...
I’m still smiling from
ear to ear at the thought of my survival from “bear.”
The path I’m following
has become less daunting, mainly because I’ve encountered even more people.
Though I may go a stretch without seeing anyone, I can hear buses full of
tourists passing and as I catch glimpses of the seashore, I spy families
picnicking and playing in the surf. This is actually an ideal hike. Although
the idea of civilization is omnipresent, it’s not always in my direct view. The
security of help being close by makes me feel at ease, though it is disguised
by timeless, untainted forest. It’s a wonderful feeling.
There are parts of
this trail that intersect with the road and I notice something each time I
return to the openness of the street. There is always a bald eagle roosting
overhead. This time on a tree, that time on a telephone pole, even once on the
roof of a house. I assume it is not the same one, but a part of me wants to
believe there is a bird of prey following, no, guiding me along this day. A day
in which I decided to be by myself and explore, not only where I am, but who I
am. There’s something to be said for spending time alone in the wilderness, and
though this stretch of six miles is anything but rugged wilderness, it has a
feeling of it.
Each time I spot this
beautiful, majestic raptor, I take a moment to study it, as if there is a
hidden message if I can just discover it. Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t,
but every time I spend a minute or two observing the eagle, I feel a bit
lighter in my heart. I feel safer, I feel more content, and although it may
sound corny, closer to who I am, closer to nature.
As I continue towards
town, I’m only about a mile or so away now, I find myself smiling for no real
reason. Yes I’m happy, and yes it’s a nice day out, but I have a perma-grin I
just can’t shake...and it feels good!
The signs I’m nearing
town are glaring. I am walking on a bridge staring down at a perfect babbling
brook when I look up and see something that has killed more people in a year
than all the grizzlies in the history of mankind:
A McDonald’s.
The eye sore stares at me with its bloodthirsty arches beaming, and I
shudder. In an afternoon surrounded by nature and all things pure, stumbling
upon this structure takes my breath away. I move pass it as quickly as I can,
and try to suppress the reluctantly powerful craving for a supersized carton of
hot, golden fries.
Today is not my first day in Sitka. With my job, I’ve have
been lucky enough to have docked here a half-dozen times. I know the city
fairly well. Know the local watering holes even better. But today is the first
time I decided to try the hike.
Most days here, I only am afforded a few hours of time to
enjoy the city. With the whole day off, the walk seemed the perfect reward.
As I lose myself in my thoughts and surroundings strolling
down the one road that travels the length of Sitka, numerous buses carrying our
guests towards the city pass me. Six miles is a bit of a walk even for a young,
athletic man to do in an afternoon, let alone many of the older guests. Also,
most of them have tours they are meeting in the city and therefore are hampered
with a strict timetable. They cannot afford the leisure I am with arrival to
the town.
On the ship, I am quite well known. In my position as
Entertainment Staff, I am essentially the face of the cruise company. Rarely
does something happen on the ship that doesn’t involve my participation.
Therefore, when people see me outside of the confines of the ship, it’s very
much like a child seeing their Kindergarten teacher at the grocery store; they
can’t fathom I actually exist outside of my job.
It’s kind of funny, sometimes annoying, but mostly
endearing. Especially when I get certain questions:
“They let you off the ship?” No, I’ve just escaped. Please
don’t tell anyone.
“Do you sleep on the ship?” No we actually have a helicopter
that flies us home every night and back each morning.
“Wow. They let you eat too?” This happens too much at local
restaurants and what not. My usual reply is something like; “Well they have to
or else would wouldn’t have the strength to row the boat tonight.” The puzzled
looks that return always brighten my day a bit.
Today, however, is a first for me. I am walking along the
street when a bus pulls up and stops next to me for a moment. The bus is full
of guests from my ship. A few look out and notice me and begin hitting the
windows to get my attention. I look up and acknowledge them. This only
encourages them, and they begin alerting the entire bus that I am outside,
which in turn creates what could only be described as utter chaos as every
guests begins waving and banging and shifting seats to look at me.
I don’t know how to react to this. I feel as if I should do
a trick or something, so I do a little wave, click my heels twice, smile hugely
and give a slight bow. Now everyone on the bus is applauding me. The bus pulls
away and I am left feeling used, abused, and all of a sudden, having a deep
hatred for zoos.
No wonder grizzlies kill, maim, and eat people. I make a
silent vow to never tap on the glass again, and walk on.
I feel like I need a shower...
Right before you hit
the metropolis that is Sitka’s city center, you pass Swan Lake. It’s a small
lake aptly named, as it is full of swans and other waterfowl. The green lilies
paint the dark royal blue of the water, and the white flowers on the lilies add
highlights that resemble baby’s breath in a bouquet of roses. I am sure there
are many happy, retired couples that spend their days staring off into the lake
from the comforts of their front porch rocking chairs, and boy am I jealous.
Note to self, when I
purchase my summer home, get a rocking chair so I can stare at my stream
running outside my house...
Passing the lake, you
round a bend and come up on the high school, home of the Sitka Wolves and Lady
Wolves. Located just off the main thoroughfare, nestled next to the lake and
directly in front of a towering, year-round snow-capped mountain, the school
seems to blend into its natural surroundings. The sport fields are your
introduction to the property and I always picture myself in the outfield,
getting smashed in the face by a pop-up fly because I was mesmerized by the
looming mountain peaks.
Moving away from the
gorgeous campus, you pass through a small, residential area. The houses are all
close together, there are picket fences, small dogs, children’s toys litter the
lawn; it’s all very un-Alaskan. More like a quaint mid-western town. Down a few
blocks, you reach the harbor. Now this, is Alaska!
Fishing boats are
docked rows deep with crab pots and ropes as thick as your leg stacked high.
Some boats have deckhands hosing down, others have men unloading the catch of
the day, while most this afternoon seem to have a moment of respite before
returning to the sea in the morning. All resemble as episode of Deadliest
Catch.
Passing through this
initial harbor, you arrive at a small dock where some cruise ships tender into.
Tendering is when a cruise ship is too large to dock in the town, so they
anchor off the shore and lower the lifeboats down, where guests will board them
and tender towards the shore.
This harbor is on the
edge of town. There is an elevated highway over it and a handful of smaller
ships docked here. The water is calm and crystal clear. Small islands dot the
inlet and across the way, a tree-covered mountain with soft clouds hugging its
peak stands guard. When I first discovered this serenely picturesque sanctuary,
I kept looking behind me, expecting to find a massive paintbrush coming towards
me and a giant, God-like Bob Ross staring down from the happy little clouds. I
think that is actually my perfect description of Heaven.
Still bothered by the spontaneous zoological experiment, I
decide to take out my cell phone and chat with my best friend. Being on a ship
and not having phone service very frequently, I have a hard time staying in
touch with the “real” world. In all honesty, that’s actually a perk. I am not
tethered to a phone like so many people are nowadays. I sometimes go for months
at a time without even turning on my cellphone. It’s a nice feeling to be
independent from technology, yet I tend to let friendships go unattended too long. It’s important to remind people that they matter and to know you’re
thinking of them every once in a while. I figure while I have some time to
myself, in an American port, I’d call my buddy and talk about all the interesting
things I’m seeing.
He answers after a ring or two and I can tell by his voice
my call was pleasantly unexpected. We catch up a bit, describing a day in our
lives to each other, and they couldn’t be more opposite. He is working in
television in New York City, I’m floating on a ship circumnavigating the globe
and singing songs at night. We have completely different lives, but our
histories together allow us to remain close.
We've always loved camping together as teenagers and young
adults, so he thoroughly enjoys hearing of my current exploration. I can hear
his jealousy through the phone, but his smile is even louder. After twenty
minutes or so, we agree we need to return to Alaska together and spend sometime
hiking, climbing trees and laughing like we used to. Before I hang up, I tell
him I’m moving off the road to venture down a path I’ve just spotted that leads
towards the beach. He tells me to be careful and have fun, and I return with,
“You have to pick, one or the other.” He laughs, we hang up and I feel great
with even that momentary reconnection.
I start down the little path and see a small sign a short
way up...
As I turn away from
the harbor and head onto the main street, I feel as if I’m walking on happy
little clouds. Today has been a true treat. I decide to stop by one of my
favorite imbibing establishments and relax with a pint or two of the local
firewater.
The Pioneer Bar and
Liquor Store looks exactly as it sounds: Part Disneyland, part Homeless
shelter, all heart.
My nose hints to who
the patrons of the bar will be, and when I walk in I am unsurprised to see a
bar full of fisherman post-catch. I happily pull up a stool right in the middle
of them all. I recognize the bartender, an older woman named Shirley who has no
doubt spent most of her life behind this very bar, and give her a slight smile.
She remembers me, and pours me a glass of a local beer brewed with spruce
needles. It has a robust flavor and taste a bit like Christmas. Originally
brewed to help fight off scurvy, since spruce needles contain enormous amounts
of Vitamin C, now it's less medicinal but much more popular.
I’ve been to this bar two
or three times before and it has a sort of CHEERS personality to it, for the locals at least. It is a bit removed from
the main street, located down an alley and attached to a neighboring harbor, so
many tourists don’t stumble upon P Bar (as the locals refer to it) very often.
And the regulars are happy about that.
Alaska is interesting
in its relationship with tourism. Though many cities rely on tourists to bring
in most of their annual income, many locals barely tolerate them. They clog the
roads, complain about prices, and photograph everyday activities as if at a
zoo. To be fair, there were other bars in Sitka that welcomed, even embraced
out of town guests. Unfortunately, for the two couples from Florida wearing the
I Love Sitka t-shirts, P Bar was not
one of them.
I should explain
though, by definition, I of course was a tourist in Sitka. However, being a
tourist is state of mind. There’s a difference between being a visitor and
being a tourist. Most people love to interact with visitors, but when a tourist
interrupts their day, forget it. It’s all about respect. Give it, and get it.
I was listening to a
room full of Fish Tall Tales about tall fish tails and reveling in the moment.
What a blessed life I lead to be able to witness these small moments of
wonderment. I get to experience what everyday life is around the globe: the
differences, the similarities, and above all else, the beauty of the mundane.
I’m losing myself in
gratitude when a man a few stools down from me reaches over the bar and rings a
big brass bell that is attached to the ceiling.
“DING, DING, DING,
DING!!!” The sound is alarming, but the man is all smiles.
Shirley waits a moment
for the man to stop, then shouts, “Alright everyone. This rounds on Kevin!”
The whole bar erupts
in cheers and I can’t contain myself either. Kevin has just made twenty new
best friends.
All the bars
throughout Alaska have a ship’s bell somewhere in the bar. When a fisherman has
a particularly great catch, he will often walk in and ring that bell, which
then means he buys every person in the bar a drink. It’s a wonderful tradition
that I have fallen in love with. The camaraderie and sharing concept is just
terrific to experience. But God forbid if a tourists ever rings it by
accident...
Shirley slides a shot glass in front of me,
and there’s only one drink I can think of to order on a local Alaskan’s bill...
Time for a Duck Fart.
A layered shot
featuring Crown Royal, Kahlua, and topped with Bailey’s, a Duck Fart is
Alaska’s state shot. Many people have been given credit with creating it, and
I’m sure a few of them would like to give that credit back. Experiencing a Duck
Fart, as you can imagine, will change your day.
Despite the less than
appetizing name, the shot is quite tasty. The Kahlua and Bailey’s mask the
Crown Royal and they go down very easy. That in itself is the problem for many
people. Folks sometimes forget the age-old saying: “too many duck farts can really
ruin an evening.” Especially if that evening is noon at the P Bar.
I throw back the shot;
it really does taste so good, and thank Shirley. I take the last few sips of my
beer and pay the tab. It’s time for me to move on down the road.
The combination of bell-ringing
celebrations, spruce beer, and duck farts has made me euphoric. I’m meandering
towards the city center, deciding where to go next. There’s Ernie’s lounge, a
dive bar with a wonderfully friendly bartender who moonlights as a Heavy Metal
Drummer. There’s the Bayview Restaurant and Pub, an upscale establishment with
awesome food, free Wi-Fi, shuffleboard and pool. Or there’s always a walk
through Sitka’s National Park where you can wade through schools of salmon in
the sea and follow the Totem pole trail.
I am unable to choose
what to add to this day. I’ve hiked six miles, caught up with a best friend,
felt like a caged animal to a bus full of guests, followed an eagle, hung out
with fishermen, drank duck farts, and been attacked by Bear. This has been a
truly Alaskan day.
I decide to head back
out of town a bit and find myself seated on a bench overlooking Swan Lake. It
may not be my bench, and I may not be a local, and I’m certainly not retired,
but right now, I feel at home, a word that has grown in definition these last
few years. I've realized the physical aspect of home is fleeting. The world is my
home. Alaska is my home. And today, after everything that happened, everywhere I went,
and everyone I met, this is my Alaska.
