The Good, the Bad, and the Really Ugly

 I should have written the title of this post in reverse, but I didn't.   So, I'll present the item in reverse, starting with the really ugly.

REALLY UGLY:

Of all the things that concern me while I'm picking up litter along the Seward Highway--bears, moose, inattentive drivers, bad guys--the one thing that that worries me is some jerk dumping fish carcasses.   The smell of these rotting carcasses can attract bears that will fight over them, or worse, surprise me when I'm in the vicinity.

Yesterday I spotted another dump, of cod, I think.   Big fish.   Dumped in a spot where I park to clean up this section of highway.

They stank!  Coughing, gagging, almost barfing stink.   I didn't clean up the fish but I did pick up the white plastic garbage bag.   To my ever-lasting dismay!   Soon I had to tie off and leave a half-full litter bag because the bag stank.   And I could smell it the rest of the day.

THE BAD:

I sat down to enjoy a cup of tea and opened Messenger.   There was an ominous message from Mary, my neighbor who helps clean ump litter along the highway:  "I'll try to get back from Anchorage in time to help you with the disaster at Mile 60."

"Disaster" is Mary-speak for a lot of litter.

Mile 60?   But I'd just cleaned that mile the day before.   What could have happened?

Someone lost part of a load is what happened.   When I got there, a lady from Seward had already gathered the debris into separate piles and needed bags for the smaller stuff.  We worked together until she had to leave.

I finished picking up the smaller stuff--mostly household garbage--then rearranged the piles to make them more attractive to DOT to haul away.   The majority was large plastic bags with handles for lifting with heavy equipment.   Also, cardboard, pieces of a broken pallet, tarps, several bags of household garbage, two pillows, a quilt, and a fishing pole.

Scattered along the curve.

One of three piles.

The three piles.

THE GOOD:

Whenever a vehicle stops by me, I become super aware and cautious, as I did when a truck with camper stopped right where I was yesterday.   The driver motioned me to the passenger window.

I expect things like "where's the nearest gas station, am I on the right road,"   

The driver said, "Hi, I'm Pat from Homer and I've seen you out here working tirelessly for years.   I just want to express my thanks."   And he extended his hand, not to shake mine but to give me this:

This will go to gas as I'm using a tank a week.