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For Christmas, Taylor got me a really great, old, school-district-reject piano. It's beautiful and out of tune, and we love it. Porcelin Elephant loves it too, but Porcelin Pig thinks it's way too loud:
I'm reading a really great book called the 'Book of Beasts,' an English translation of a Latin bestiary from the 12th century. It's an encyclopedia of all the animals they knew about (and some they made up), and the physical and moral qualities of each one. Women, whores especially, seemed to occupy a lot of the author's thoughts- "Wolves are known for their rapacity, and for this reason we call prostitutes wolves, because they devastate the possessions of their lovers."
This is one of my favorite creatures, the Bonnacon. When it's being chased by hunters, it emits a fart three acres wide that sets trees afire and makes every living creature collapse:
When going into the woods to cut a Christmas tree, you have to be ready to do some real heavy duty lifting, and if you are at all out of shape or not ready for the action, those trees will dominate you. They don't care. They'll do it with no remorse at all. I've seen it happen. Taylor and I knew what we were up against, so we boldly strode into the Dark Forest with our guns a-blazin' and we showed those dagnabbiter trees just who was boss:
It has been exactly One Month since the last post, a month in which Taylor's health has almost healed, we drove Alaska to Oregon, rented a home in Bend for the winter, and celebrated aforementioned new-home-acquirement with a Thanksgiving bashola.
The drive home included 2,000 miles of packed snow and ice with pretty blizzards along the way. We also saw five snowy owls one day, and a wolf chasing an injured deer along the highway the next. We saw another bloodied up car fresh from a bad wreck, and thought about how many dead people truckers must see. But the best part, by far, was the night we spent in the exclusive (to crazies) Shannon Motel, deep in northern British Columbia, where our neighbor-for-the-night stood outside in the courtyard screaming like a dying gorilla that he loved his girlfriend and couldn't understand why she didn't love him (I thought I knew why...). Two hours later, his mom came and picked him up. The walls at the Shannon Motel were very thin.
Taylor has been proving that he can bring home the bacon, or in this case, chuckers. He and our Old Friend Sam went on a grand chucker huntaroo, and we feasted on their little breasts and legs the next night.
Taylor has also been getting back into shape by doing push-ups with Moma. They should make a workout tape called "Using Your Puppy as a Home Gym."
One day at work on the mountain last winter, after I finished making a man's latte, I handed it to him and wished him good luck out on the slopes. This was a most unlucky thing for me to say, because he turned to me, and in a Dear Wayward Daughter voice proceeded to explain to me for ONE WHOLE HOUR about how there is no such thing as luck because God exists. Now, I am a (fairly) devout Christian, but I do believe in the existence of Lady Luck; she's like one of God's sidekicks (along with Mother Nature, Father Christmas, and Uncle Sam).
I jest. I am a jester. But why not believe in luck and God? Where is the disconnect? For me, superstition is another way to worship, and therefore knocking on wood three times is prayer. I jest.
All this is to say, our luck has been decidedly bad lately. Taylor got poisoned pretty severely by carbon monoxide at the remote lodge we were caretaking, which resulted in two emergency evacuations from the lodge (one in a helicopter, no less), and us having to Regretfully Resign from the posts of caretakers (he's still sick, and might be for a long while).
Now, you might be wondering, what does it take to get to ride in a helicopter in the middle of the night? I'll tell you! You have to almost die! And while this story is more like a saga and far to long to explain, the long and the short of it is we are heading back to our dear state of Oregon for the winter.
Taylor and I are People Who Plan, and this was obviously not in our plans. We are depressed, but not defeated. And in the spirit of feeling like winners, not losers, we are determined to Make Light of the situation- so enjoy:
When we came in to the emergency room by helicopter, we convinced the paramedics and the pilots to let us bring Moma along for the ride, and then she hung out in the ER with us for hours while Taylor got worked over by the doctors. She slept, and spied on the nurses:
Because we thought Taylor was having a heart attack (for reals here, no jesting at all), he got to sport this fancy heart monitor for a whole day. He gets to do all the fun things:
So, while we are disappointed, we are not dead, which was a real possibility out there. That was good luck and Godly intervention combined, and we are thankful.
We are surrounded here by steep hills and mountains, which makes getting firewood more challenging. Felling a tree on flat ground is hard enough, but doing it on a fifty degree slope can make a calm man (like Taylor) pretty worked up. He chainsaws the tree so it falls downhill, and cuts it into chunks that I then throw down to the bottom to our waiting boat. I really enjoy this part. Here's Taylor demonstrating (on a slightly flatter slope) a good log toss. Excellent form, Taylor:
Moma discovered porcupines today. She also discovered that you can't bite them, and she ended up with at lest 60 quills inside her mouth and around her nose. Getting quills out of a dog's mouth is akin to sticking your hand in a meat grinder because the fight she put up was tremendous. We got most of them out during a four hour tousle, but there was still ten quills lodged deep inside her mouth.
That is why, in this picture, you will see her inside a sack (to immobilize her legs) and tied down to the table with the lone rope (and later an extension cord). Tying her down was not enough; I had to lay on her, on the table, while Taylor held her head down and her jaw open with a looped belt.
And before you judge us for animal cruelty, saying 'Well, she looks pretty calm and helpless in this picture,' please remember that she is only calm here because for a whole hour before I took this shot she was screaming and thrashing. That much effort would make a monster look like a lamb.
This was one of the most hellish afternoons we can remember having in ages. But, at the same time, seeing her in an REI sleeping bag sack tied to our kitchen table with an extension cord was pretty funny:
She is a-ok now, sleeping like a baby. We are exhausted as well, but happy that our little puppy is healthy again.
Certain things we have in abundance out here, like bears, beavers, and shrews. Other things we have a shortage of, like candy bars, hot tubs, and restaurants. But this is OK with us.
Our indoor voles and shrews is having a population renaissance of sorts, and we are the stodgy old people trying to squash their happiness. Well, not literally squash, more like crush, because we use traps. Just in case we run out of food we are freezing them so we can make little rodent kabobs:
There are at least three huge beaver lodges in this lake, and as someone who has only ever seen beaver dams, never a regal and majestic lodge, I am as impressed as a person can be:
As this lodge is a bear viewing lodge, there are many a bear around. This bear strolls through camp about twice a day, rolls in the mud, and bolts at the first hint of a human. So we stand inside and paparazzi the heck out of it:
Also, we had our first couple of days of snow, Moma discovered the tastiness of a good dead salmon, and Taylor and I are on a Scrabble playing marathon.
We are happily settled into our winter home. We got here four days ago, and worked hard with our boss to finish closing up the property. He left yesterday, and so of course the first thing we did was take the boat and go fishing; when I say 'we' what I really mean is 'Taylor convinced me to go with him.' But it turned out fun because he caught four salmon in as many casts. Moma also enjoyed herself, because fishing combines her two favorite activities- staring at animals and being in a boat:
It is really great being all by ourselves out here. Exploring an area is so much better when there aren't any other people around; it's more like how things should be, if that makes any sense at all:
Taylor is content to be with just his wifey and his puppy (and I know what you are wanting to say to us, 'Have you seen "The Shining?"' And I know what I would answer outloud, with an ingratiating laugh, 'Oh no, and I'm not going to!' And I know what I would be thinking in my head, 'Please, people, come on- solitude does not make a person a psycho, so grow an imagination and grow up.' I'm not angry, just bewildered that people associate wanting to be alone with being mentally deranged).
The weather has been particularly fine these last few days, perfect for some crazy wild guitar strumming:
Finally, this morning's sunrise. Between where we are now and those mountains 75 miles away (you can see them in this photo if you look closely) is where we spend our summer months. It's kindof great to know that we almost see where we spend the other half of our year:
I have always had weak teeth. And it doesn't help that my two favorite food groups are bread and candy. So I am having a lovely root canal done tomorrow, and then getting a SILVER TOOTH on Monday, and then we're flying out to our winter gig on Wednesday! I am a little excited about getting to sport a SILVER TOOTH for the winter, even though the only people who are going to see it are Taylor and the occasional pilot. Eventually, I am going to expand the metal in my mouth to look like this Cool Dude:
We shut down the lodge today, and the saddest part was leaving all the flowers in full bloom. Actually, the very saddest part was having to tear them out and chuck them on the compost pile. But dolling myself up with them before all the carnage made it a little better. And at least the compost pile is pretty:
Taylor and I are going to be caretaking a lodge this winter, and we flew out there for a couple of days last week to give it a looksie. So great! was the decision made by us, and I got so excited I had to dance a little jig (in private). Here's the view from the lake:
We're going to be out there for 8 months, in lovely solitude. Our main job will be reporting the weather to the National Weather Service 12 times a day (because we're at the base of a mountain pass and the pilots need to know what the deal is), a job for which I am getting certified as an Official Weather Reporter (or somesuch title). We also have to shovel all the roofs, and keep a landing strip plowed on the lake once it freezes. I know many of you are thinking that we've really gone nutters now, but this is something that we've wanted to do for a long time, and if you haven't figured it out by now- Taylor and I are both hermits at heart.
There's loads of bears out there too, like this little fella, who can't catch a fish if his life depended on it (which it does, incidentally):
The lodge we're at is on Big River Lake, but there are loads of little lakes around it, some connected by a channel and some by a short hike. We kayaked to Weasel Lake on some off time while we were out there, and saw not only these loons, but brown and black bears, beavers, and a seal! A seal in the lake that followed us around and around, like a dog.
A plane is going to fly out there once a month or once every couple of months to resupply us, and also bring us any mail you tenderhearts might have sent us. Here's our address for September 25th- May 15th:
Taylor and Adalie Beckley
c/o Within the Wild
2463 Cottonwood Street
Anchorage, AK 99508
We're going to have internet access as well, so I can still post pictures of THE GREATEST WINTER EVER! (I am dancing another little jig at the moment)
About a month ago my parents came up for a long overdue visit, and Taylor and I decided that what they really really needed was a camping trip way out in the middle of nowhere. So we rented a yurt on this really great bay outside of Homer, and hiked and sea kayaked and ate a lot for three days.
Getting ready to go sea kayaking takes a bit of dressing up, like putting on these attractive skirts:
Three years ago, when Taylor and I were brand new newlyweds, we went sea kayaking in a double kayak, and it nearly did us in. Two stubborn minds do not go well together in one boat. But apparently we have grown into being the greatest married couple ever, because we are pretty awesome kayakers. Just look at our perfectly synchronized form. We should be in the Olympics:
We went for a hike over this mountain behind us to a fish hatchery on the other side. First we had to navigate our way through a Jurassic-sized forest of Devil's Club, that nasty plant with millions of microscopic thorns:
Then we crossed a ladder over a little ravine. Taylor's advice to the rest of us was to just go as fast as you could over it, and then he practically ran over the (very unstable) ladder. I tried to do that too and almost fell 10 feet down to the bottom. Sometimes Taylor forgets that he is more coordinated than the rest of the world:
On the boat ride on the way back to the mainland the captain offered to take our picture, whereupon we wisely asked who would then be driving the boat. He replied that "The darn thing drives itself nowadays," and it did, because he turned around backwards and took a bunch of pictures while the boat chugged ahead at a pretty good rate. Also, notice how well Taylor and I match. It's like we've skipped being a young married couple and have gone straight to the matching jogging suit phase of life. I kind of like it:
Yesterday our guests went king fishing and they brought home the bacon. Or the salmon. Either or.
Two of our guests knew how to make sushi, sashimi, etc., and so a Raw Fish Feast was had last night.
This little gem is topped with king salmon eggs pulled from the very belly of the fish we were mowing down on:
This is the coldest and wettest July since 1928, according to the local newspaper. Four years ago I would have been depressed and moody, but this year I am just moody- a month of pure rain is just plain silly. So here is a picture of our lovely greenhouse on the one sunny afternoon we have had lately. I am going to gaze at this picture and gaze at it some more and then go and gaze at it again:
I came into this post with a bucketful of excuse on why there have been no posts as of late, but when I started writing this I thought, hey wait a minute, how do I even know that there are any Loyal Readers of this blog, and I have no interest in explaining myself to The Internet, so the only reason I will supply is that July is the busiest month of the entire year in The Lives of the Beckleys, and I have been spending what free time I have playing with my dog and reading a book of Flannery O'Conner's letters. And writing run-on sentences. But now, with a few minutes time on my hands, check this out (please say that last phrase in a fake Russian accent).
One of the dinners we make is a Kabob Dinner Deluxe, and here is half the pile of food I cut up for it You will also notice in this picture the small size of our kitchen- what you are seeing is 1/2 the total space in there:
Taylor and some other Construction Fools went out to Bear Camp to build some more tent platforms, and spotted this bear from a close distance. Then his camera died, which is why there aren't any photos proving his boat trip out to an island 3 miles off shore in the middle of the night with a drunk captain and a sinking boat, or how he had to jump start the camp's truck using his body as the conductor, which threw 250 volts of electricity through his body over 20 times, and made it so his hand was involuntarily clenched tight for several hours, or how the truck didn't have a tow hitch and so he traded off holding the hitch of a trailer full of drums of water as they drove down a beach, him sitting in the back of Said Cursed Truck while Said Cursed Trailer bounced around on the rocks and almost pulled him off. So, because none of that was documented, here is a very Calm and Pretty picture of a bear, taken right before that bear tried to break into the kitchen and eat the goodies being cooked in it:
Here's a long one!
My lack of writing on this blog is all due to the fact that we have had a full house of guests every night the last three weeks- and I don't mind admitting that entertaining so many people is exhausting. But before we this string of people, I got to guide a group of ladies on a Kenai Fjords National Park tour, and then out to our company's Adventure Camp- a sea kayaking camp located on the edge of this great little cove.
Driving twelve ladies all together requires a pretty big vehicle, and so I was lucky enough to drive this enormous thing of beauty. It can be said that Taylor was more than nervous about me driving so many people so far (he was taking into consideration my high school vote as Worst Driver), but I performed admirably, all things considering- the bus did start puffing black smoke, and the steering wheel was all loosey goosey.:
Then we all hopped on a catamaran to see the glaciers and animals of the park. I was really hoping this piece of the glacier would calve when we were there, but no such luck:
I like AC so much, here are two different views of the place:
Kate, the manager of AC, is one of our best friends here. She's one of the most inventive people we know, and one of the only people I could see easily surviving in the wilderness. Here she is chopping up kindling with her knife, because the hatchet had broken:
When Kate and I took the ladies out sea kayaking, I played the role of sweeper in the back, making sure no one floated out to sea. I was paddling along, and all of a sudden I hear all this snorting and snuffling right behind my boat. I turned around and there was this really, really big sea lion! He, or she, dinked around my boat for a while, but moved away quite a bit by the time I retrieved my camera from the depths of my kayak:
And, finally, here's a picture of me, taken by me, with Resurrection Bay in the background:
I'm reading a really great book called the 'Book of Beasts,' an English translation of a Latin bestiary from the 12th century. It's an encyclopedia of all the animals they knew about (and some they made up), and the physical and moral qualities of each one. Women, whores especially, seemed to occupy a lot of the author's thoughts- "Wolves are known for their rapacity, and for this reason we call prostitutes wolves, because they devastate the possessions of their lovers."
