A Brief Intermission: Behemoth's Plight

 This time of year is known in tourism as the shoulder season, as is late autumn.   They are the before and after of tourist season.

Behemoth, my Ford F-150 pickup, might be excused his confusion, as he is being asked to shoulder (how'd ya like that pun, huh?) both firewood season and litter clean-up.   The implements of both are in his truck bed, ready for implementation at any time.

Except today.  New snow on the ground and light rain have dispelled any thought of going out to pick up beer bottles and diapers.

My 20th year of cleaning up litter along 44 miles of the Seward Highway, including all the pullouts, began yesterday, Saturday.   I spent three hours just cleaning up the pullout at Tern Lake.

That's where I always begin, because the snow melts the fastest there.

Three bags and the implements.

Another view. 

All done.    There's a lot more pullout behind the camera, too.

Three hours to fill three bags!   But, that included raking up all the cigarette butts, toilet paper, and dog/human droppings.   That takes a lot of time.

The 2025 Botswana Journals are nearing their end.   Just a few more chapters at most.

Most of my time from now until snowfall in the fall will be devoted to litter.    Endless litter: unpaid job security.

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.

Rotting Broccoli Leads to Playing Hooky.

 The broccoli was stinking up the garage, so it was time for it to go bye-bye.

We don't have garbage service here.   We have to haul our own to a transfer station with big roll-on/roll-off containers.

And the broccoli was in a kitchen garbage bag, and the bag was in a plastic trash container in my garage to keep the bears from getting in it.   I don't know if bears like broccoli or if the stench of spoiled broccoli would attract them, but nevertheless, it was time to haul my garbage.  

Those big containers are an 18-mile round-trip drive from me in one direction, or 25 in the other.   I decided to combine the trash haul with picking up litter at a site near Cooper Landing.    So, I loaded up the trash in Behemoth — that's what I call my F-150 pickup, which is too big for me — grabbed my camera with the big lens and some Gatorade, and away we went.

The very poisonous baneberry.

Red Baneberry

Trash dumped, I thought I'd tidy up all the pullouts on the way home.   I did one and realized I was tired of picking up after litterers, but went to a site near Mile 40.   I cleaned up two big pullouts and part of the highway before I discovered I was really, really tired of it.

Sight-seeing.   That's what I'd do.   A day off from litter and some nice scenery.  However, to reach my destination, I had to go by Wildman's in Cooper Landing, which is a many-purpose store that gets a lot of customers.   Espresso drinks, sandwiches, general groceries and merchandise, liquor store, and ice cream, both regular and soft-serve.

Ice cream it was in a home-made waffle cone that was so tender I wound up eating Bordeaux cherry ice cream from a wad of paper towels.

Bordeaux cherry in a waffle cone.   Mjust be almost a pint of ice cream in a single scoop.

I finished the ice cream by the time I reached an 18-mile scenic loop called Skilak Lake Road.

Once I reached mile one, I pulled over to the left side and slowly drove along with my window open and holding my phone out so Merlin ID could pick up the sounds of any birds.  This is a gravel road with a slow speed limit and people are used to sight-seers stopping anywhere.

It heard only a robin, so that was a bust.   But the fireweed blooms were outrageous.   This country was savaged by a lightning-caused wildfire in 2019 and the fireweed explosion the next summer was beyond compare.   It's still doing nicely.

At an overlook near the top of the hill, I stopped and was approached by a tourist from Pennsylvania.   He nodded at the safety vest I was still wearing and asked if I worked here.

No, I told him, I was picking up litter.   Then he said he and his companions were just talking about how clean the roads were on the Kenai Peninsula.

"I only cover 40 miles, " I said.  

"Then there must be a lot of others like you out there!"

Music to my heart!

On I went, driving toward the west entrance/exit.   Didn't see much, other than a common loon that disappeared before I could get the camera ready, a couple ducks that were too far away to ID, and a few LBBs (Little Brown Bird) flyovers.

Where did that loon go?

No bears.

It occurred to me as I neared the end of the drive that I hadn't seen any litter.  Then, a few things started to appear--a crushed soda bottle, a plastic cup, a piece of paper.

I pulled into the welcome sign at the entrance and walked back to get them.  Holy smokes!  There was a lot of litter around the signs.   As I began to get it, there were six mosquitoes on the back of my hand!

Some other time, mosquitoes!

Out on the highway and heading home, I saw a cow moose with her little calf.   Made the whole excursion worthwhile.

Curious baby

Mom's portrait.

Alder-Bashing for Litter

“Did you plan that rest?” asked Mary Mcdonald when she saw me sitting down in a thicket of alder branches.

“Not exactly,” I responded.   Apparently, she hadn’t seen the other three times the alders tripped me and put me to the ground.

Alders are wicked.  Huge branches grow outward and upward in a circle from a central root and they intertwine with their close neighboring alders. They are devilishly designed to foil the most agile human trying to climb through them in search of yet another beer can or diaper.   

Just a small part of the mess.

When Mary volunteered to help me clean up litter along the Seward Highway several years ago, I immediately declared myself aged out of alder bashing and assigned her the pullouts where alders grew.   She’s 20 years younger.

We give these pullouts a thorough cleaning every spring, all the way to the bottom of their slopes.   After the alders leaf out, we don’t go into them because we wouldn’t be able to see any bears attracted to the garbage.

Yesterday, after Mary cleaned up litter in the Mile 40 area of the Seward Highway, she joined me at Mile 50.5 pullout to clean up a gigantic litter mess.   It’s the first time we worked together, as we usually take different areas.

Mary took the alders growing on the downslope.   That slope goes down 50 to 60 feet.   I cleaned up the paved parking area and the horizontal areas beyond the guard rail.  

Then, I ventured down the slope, and, because one beer can leads to another beer can, I soon found myself in the damned alders where I took the unplanned rests on the ground.  These are not falls, but a slow sinking to the ground when footing failed and branches don’t hold me as I’d hoped.

The verticle trees are cottonwoods, and the crazy tangled branches are alders.

More than six woman-hours were put into the effort and when done, we had filled nine litter bags.   The main part of the litter was a number of burst-open garbage bags that once contained numerous diapers, wipes, and tampons.  Some of the empty bags were hanging from the alder trees.   And the diapers were heavy after being exposed to wet weather.

I have no idea why this pile of road sand is here.   It had litter mixed in it, and the center is still frozen.

Mary found four pizza boxes and I found another.   There was the usual assortment of beverage cans and bottles, assorted wrappers and papers.   I even found a cat bed.  

All cleaned up.

Mary had the biggest find:   a brand-new computer still in its original, unopened packing, along with a surge protector, a printer (I think), and other tech items.   She hauled them uphill out of the maddening alders.  Later, she called the state troopers and reported finding them.  We probably will never know the story behind them.

 

 

 

The Adventures of a Vertically-Challenged Person Trying to Get into a Full-sized Pickup

The last couple weeks have been challenging, to say the least.

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Thursday, I drove to Anchorage for some routine medical stuff and went to Costco to grocery shop. When I pulled up to a stop light, I noticed the oil pressure on my 2001 Dodge Dakota crew cab pickup was low so I checked the oil as soon as I parked at Costco.

There was only a drop of oil on the stick!!! This, along with a strong smell of burning oil, also happened in August. I had the oil changed since then and put 1200 miles on the truck. I drove immediately to the Dodge dealer.

There was no chance to have the truck checked that day. They did, however offer to have the service department top off the oil.

As soon as the mechanic removed the oil cap, I noticed a lot of yellow gummy stuff on it. "Coolant," he said and went to talk to his supervisor. "Park it, " was the recommendation.

They also said I could Not leave the truck there. So there I was. Stranded. They said I'm lucky the truck didn't quit on me altogether. That's scary. A hundred miles from home and temps dropping close to zero. No, getting stranded on the highway in the mountains at night was not what I needed.

My mid-sized Dodge Dakota, more than a truck should be loved.

I was stuck. Mid-afternoon and its was getting dark. I had groceries that needed to be removed. I was advised to talk with a salesman, of course.

No way to get around to other car lots to find a vehicle because they had no loaners. By the time I arranged for a rental, all the car lots would be closing.

I had frozen my credit years ago as an identity theft precaution and had no checks with me, only credit cards.

Long story short: I bought a 2011 Ford F150 4x4 crew cab pickup with matching canopy from them. It is spotless inside and out and a nice sterling gray clear coat metallic color. The canopy, should I have to buy one, would be about $5000 painted to match. It has Blizzak tires, like my Dodge.

Ir drives like a dream. Well, considering the dreams I had last night, maybe that isn't such a good analogy.

Why do I need a pickup? We have no garbage service where I live and have to haul my own, 17 miles RT to one site, and about 26 to another. I also use it for gathering firewood, brush removal and disposal, and to clean up litter along 40 miles of highway in the summer. Plus, with 4-wheel drive, I find a truck much safer in the winter.

During the winter, I put lots of split firewood in the bed and park it in the garage for convenient access to dry wood for heating my house.

Gulp.

Not money I needed to spend, and it just contributed to my anxieties.

I transferred all the items in the Dodge into bags in the 8 degree cold and my hands have been chapped and tender ever since.  

I loved my Dodge mid-sized truck more than a truck should be loved. Currently, I am in the process of donating it to Make a Wish. The repair might be as simple as a PCV valve, and then again, it might be far more serious and expensive. The charity says it takes vehicles that are not running.

Then came the next problem. How to get into this large truck!!!

At first, I tried grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and pulling myself into the cab. That fiasco was not for public observance and falling to the ground in the process is inherently possible.. I am hampered by restricted use of my left shoulder and no handholds built into the truck.

How, I wondered, was I ever going to manage this?

Ah, hah. I have a small plastic step at home that would be perfect. I took it with me on my trip to the post office after buying the truck.

It worked perfectly! Much easier to get into the driver's seat. Then, disaster! How to retrieve the step from the ground that looked to be a half mile down. Could I tie a cord to it to lift the step?

This was getting ridiculous.

Next solution: The driver's seat is power-operated. I can raise it high enough to see over the steering wheel and dashboard, and , thus, by lowering the seat to its lowest extremity, getting in is possible by grabbing the steering wheel and dragging myself up. Not easy, but possible. I would not want to have to do this often, though.

So, I wondered, how long until power-operated seat breaks?

Possible solutions: Have running boards installed. I'm starting to look into that.

If I don't find a solution, litter clean up next summer will be severely and negatively.affected.