Yoo Hoo, Clyde

 Hey, Clyde.   

The only place it snowed on your birthday was on the mountain tops, but the snow level came down the lowest  for this season.

Belated  birthday greetings.   

Been busy these days getting ready for safari.....and I raided my closets and pantry to round up donations for the Yukon/Kuskokwim Delta villagers affected by the death throes of the typhoon.    Took a car load to Soldotna yesterday and dropped it off.

Many agencies are collecting donations.   Villagers are being eveacuated and brought to poipulation hubs like Bethel and Anchorage., many iwth only the clothes on their backs.   The lucky ones were able to pack a single bag each.

Many lost not only their homes but also  the subsistance foods they gathered for the winrter.

We have it lucky, don't we?   Wish you were oon Facebook.

Hugs and love,

Oscar

My Dance Card is Full for the Next Month

 

Botswana 2025 Hide and Seek Safari:

It appears I will be stowing my hand carry, closing my tray table, and fastening my seat belt quite a few times.

Just a round trip once.

Edmonton to Johannesburg

In country:

Johanneburg to Kąsane, Bostwana

        Pangolin Chobe hotel

        Kasane to Tuli Lodge

Tuli to Maun

        Thamalakane River Lodge

Maun to Johannesburg

        Johannesburg to Mashatu Lodge

Back to Johannesburg, Edmonton, Seattle, and Anchorage in mid-November.

And return.

Hallowe'en Memories

 

Many, many decades ago, my parents sold the log home that they’d built in Woodland Park on the outskirts of Anchorage, and went looking for an unfinished house to buy.

They decided on one in East Anchorage, quite far out from the city at that time, and on a street with no streetlights.  It was built by a married couple, who lived in the basement apartment while they continued working on the two upper stories.   The house had a lot of potential.

There was just one problem:  any kid in the neighborhood could tell you that the house was “haunted.”   

The original couple died in a murder-suicide.   How we found out is another story.

My folks and two younger sisters moved into the basement.

Anyway, the unfinished first floor featured two huge, almost floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the front door.  That Halloween, my mother rigged up a ghost in the kitchen-to-be window, with strings attached that made the ghost’s arms rise and fall when someone manipulated them.

So there my mother sat in the darkened kitchen, pulling on the strings when she saw trick-or-treaters coming up the walkway.

I don’t know if any kids made it as far as the door to get their treats, but my mother had a lot of fun.

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Mornings and Litter: You are Always on My Mind

Every morning when I wake up, I lie in bed with my eyes closed and think.   I try to figure out what day of the week it is.   That’s something retirement will do to you—that remembering the day of the week isn’t as important as it used to be.

Unless, of course, I have an appointment that IS important.   Then there’s no problem recalling because I will have been awake most of the night, unable to get to sleep.  Or waking every hour to look at the time and dreading that maddening alarm clock noise to come.   The noise so annoying that it sticks in my head so that I hear it ringing when it really isn’t.

Anyway, once the day of the week problem is solved (or not), next comes trying to make sense of whatever whacky dream I'd just had.  That can be fruitless or rewarding or frustrating,

Then I plan my activities for the day.  Invariable, when there isn’t snow on the ground, picking up litter is at the top of the list. 

Autumn at Jerome Lake

 Lately, my intentions have been good, and sometimes I even make it out there.   But somehow, I lose interest after the first couple of miles and decide I really don’t want to be doing that.

What we are doing these days, after walking the entire distance, is what we call Stop and Go.  We drive slowly until we spot litter, stop, pick it up, and drive on.   It is a time suck, gas suck, and energy suck.

The most photographed cabins on the Kenai Peninsula.   Lower Summit Lake.

In between the rainy days, I had a dump truck load of firewood to work on.  My initial intent was to cover it with tarps and let it age until next year.  

First, though, I had to clear brush from the spot where the logs were to be dumped.

This is the peninsula's organix dump.   Only the trailer load is mine.

 But I couldn’t resist.   Unable to get my newish Stihl chainsaw started, I bought two EGO battery-powered saws.   Why two?  Because the saws were on sale and it was cheaper to buy two than to get one with an extra chain and extra battery.

The two enormous 5.0 Ah batteries.  They didn't last long enough.   I might start a Go Fund Me to buy the larger, 7.6 Ah battery,  which costs almost as much as two more saws.

All with my battery-powered saw.

Then, of course, I couldn’t get my gas-fired wood splitter started.   I simply don’t have the arm strength to pull the recoil starter cord with authority.   My friend Linda decided to help me and brought her electric splitter out, and we got a lot done.

Even in the rain.   Under the protection of the carport.

WHeelbarrow load, by wheelbarrow load.

Next, she brought her friend Damon, and with his chainsaw and ability to start my splitter, we finished up the project.   Three cords of firewood, mostly birch with some spruce, are stacked in my carport and covered.   That chore is done.

Damon, sharpening his chain.

The last load of firewood is protected by a tarp and is in the carport.

And the debris has since been cleaned up.

Back to me being sick of litter.,  

I recognize the litter-tired symptoms because they have happened every year for 19 years.   I’m just tired of picking up after people who litter the 44 miles of highway that I tend through the Chugach National Forest.   Body tired.   Soul tired.   Five months’ worth tired.

This year has been one of the worst for litter.  Mary, my friend who has been helping for several years, has picked up around 300 bags.   I am over 400 bags.   But, Mary, younger and stronger, can fill her bags much fuller than I can anymore.  So, call it roughly 700 bags.

Any other summer, other than the first year I went out and filled 801 bags, so this year is exceptionally bad.   A couple of times, I walked the 44 miles twice and never came close to 700 bags.

Then there’s the stuff that doesn’t fit into the bags—dip nets, tires, boards, cooler and tote lids, and so on.

This year was a pretty bad year for tires.  It seemed like we could never catch up with the rubber scraps that were spread along the road.

Not all the litter we clean up is intentionally thrown from vehicles.   Semis hauling freight account for a lot of it, especially wrapped freight.  Pieces of plastic wrap are blown everywhere; labels land all over the place.   Think about that the next time you see a semi hauling freight with plastic wrap flapping in the wind.

Some litter we find is just plain lost—blown out of the open beds of pickups or boats.  Life vest, clothing of all sorts, cell phones, boat and fishing licenses.   A full propane bottle, for Pete’s sake.   Pilot bread boxes and cans of Spam.  Tents or tent flies.  Camping gear.   Sleeves for those folding camp chairs.   Tools from crowbars to wrenches and sockets, and screwdrivers.

Whatever this is, I found it.   Posted it on Facebook with no results.

We find stolen stuff, too.   I found two rifles that were collectibles.   Stolen mail.   Mary found a new computer, monitor, and printer that she reported to the troopers.   They hadn’t been reported stolen, so they are now hers.

Money—bills and coins, though in small amounts.

Nails, screws, bolts, nuts.   Construction staples.  And tie-down straps from bungee cords right through freight straps.

I’m tired of it.   I might or might not get out there today.  My intentions are good, but I’ve delayed this long, so I suspect I won’t.

Next spring will start my 20^th year.  I’ll be itching for the snow to leave so I can begin.   I hope.  Right now, I’m tired of it.  What I should do is take a drive to see how bad it is.   That might inspire me.

 

Tern Lake.

Autumn at Jerome Lake.

The Endorphins of the Cycle of Goodness

 True story about my week: "To feel good, do good."

I went to Cooper Landing to take my trash to the borough transfer site. A woman saw me trying unsuccessfully to open the roll-off container's doors and came over to help.

I proceeded on to the borough organics dump site to offload a trailer load of cottonwood, spruce, and alder saplings, then drove around the site looking for firewood to scrounge. A woman saw me and came to help with one stubborn piece. Her husband said he had lots of standing beetle-killed spruce that I was welcome to.

I was in the Lowe's parking lot, pushing a cart with two large EGO battery-operated chainsaw boxes. They weren't heavy, just awkward. A man said, "Can I help you with those ?"

Bemused, I almost answered that I can do it, but instead said (with a big grin), "You know what? I'm going to make your day! Yes, you may!" He got a big laugh out of that!

"To feel good, do good." See how I made all those people happy?  

And now, if the rain holds off, I'm going to pick up litter and give my shoulders a break.

Second Chances

I missed this shot during the afternoon.  When I saw the Lower Summit Lake swans near shore, I took only my camera with its 200-500mm lens.   

It was too much, and I was left with only thoughts of what could have been.

A couple of hours later, when I was on my way home in light rain, I again saw the swans near shore.  I pulled into a nearby pullout and hastened to the spot where I thought the perfect framing is.

And I got these shots.   Good enough, but I can only imagine what they would be like on a sunny day.

 

JUST SAY NO !!!!

On the other hand, the golden hour at Tern Lake was exquisite last evening.   I found this Ring-necked juvenile enjoying its bath.

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The golden hour is that time just after sunrise and just before sunset when the light is infused with red and golden hues.  It's the favorite time of day for photographers.

And another juvenile, a Red-necked grebe.

From these ducklings, I learned two things.   One is that the ring-necked are nesting at Tern Lake, which I love.   And two, that a pair of grebes somewhere on the lake had a successful hatch.  You can still see its "prison stripes" that the young grebes have as camo.

The pair that nest near the highway, and that I watch, had two nest failures this year for unknown reasons.