oh my god! was it a month ago already? crikey!

last week, it snowed here. yep, snow. termination dust, as they call it here in Alaska. (refers to the end of the seasonal work schedule when the first snows signal the end of seasonal field or construction work) this means we're hurtling into winter and there's no lookin' back. i love the first snows, mind you, but i always feel slightly ambivalent about the change of season. i love the newness, but i'm also wistful for what we're leaving behind. unless it sucked - then it can go and i hope nature's door hits it on the arse on the way out. but last fall hardly sucked. in fact, we had a beautiful fall, full of crisp, clear days, good times, and beautiful berries.

early September was case in point. Labor week-end found me, Cob and Nuch, and three of our friends (cara, steve, and Mia) at Tangle Lakes canoeing out of reach of society and in search of cranberries. there's a reason for this quest, but i'm not allowed to talk about just yet. all will become clear later. but for now, let me just tell you about this trip.

though it rained a bit as we set off, we really can't complain about the weather given that it was Tangle Lakes country (remember that bike trip from hell on the Denali Hwy? same Tangle Lakes Country). we raced across the first two lakes, survived a short portage into the 3rd lake, and then struggled through a second longer portage (up a hill, across a caribou trail, through tundra, and down a hil through thick blueberry bushes) to the 4th lake, where we eventually camped.

this was a beautiful spot and one where Cob and i have stayed before. it's a crooked little finger of land that hooks out into the lake nicely cleared by decades and probably centuries of caribou traveling its length to reach the water. with plenty of space for multiple campsites and a kitchen site, it also has enough wood around that a dedicated soul might be able to have a campfire every night.

what i love about this area, though, is that is is ripe with cranberries. so we set out to this little corner of the world, with canoes full of food, gear, berry buckets, and laughter, to collect our stash.

one of the best features of our campsite was the trail leading up the hill behind our tents. the trail led up over the hill to higher ground, where one could survey this big sky country in all its glory - oh, and also find more berries. last year, Cob, Nuch, and i trekked up the hill to discover another lake behind us FULL of swans. they must have been gathering there before heading south. there are moments when you just need to sit down and watch the world for a moment as it unfolds one of its mysteries before you. we sat on our little hill, watching what must have been 100 swans swimming around in pairs, honking, and talking over the long journey ahead of them. this year, our 'swan lake' was empty save a few pairs (we were earlier this year), but a few more did gather in the lake we camped on and buzzed our campsite every now and again.

while we were there to pick cranberries, Cara and Steve took some time to fish, Maria napped, i knit, and Cob read us stories. Nuchie squeezed as much love out of each of us that he could.

finally it was time to leave. we had our berries, packed up our canoes and headed out.

i have a rule of thumb about marriage. two people should not be allowed to marry until they can negotiate at least a Class I if not Class II river together in the same canoe. canoeing a river takes communication - there's no way around it. marriage takes communication - there's no way around it. it's a good rule, i think. while we lake paddled and portaged our way to our campsite, we decided to loop around and float down the Tangle River back to our starting point. this meant negotiating the treacherous Class 1/2 of the Tangle River - rife with ankle deep water, scary fist size boulders scattered throughout the river's path, and a current that one could pretty easily out run. ok, so this wasn't the river to test a relationship, but Maria and Steve are about to get married and this is the river we had. plus, though they are both accomplished kayakers, this was their first time ever in a canoe together, so we were working with what we had! they stayed behind us at first as we expertly showed them how to negotiate the river's tricky parts (usually Cob getting out and dragging us over this sand bar or that), until we took a break for lunch.

during lunch, Cara showed me how to fly-fish (i sucked, though she was gracious enough to tell me i did a good job) and had to remind me to keep paying attention after i started hooting and pumping my arm in the air when i hooked my first fish. Steve found two caribou horns in the brushes that he salvaged for cabin door handles and such. we though that looked good on our very own Cara-bou!

after lunch, we jumped back in our canoe to finish making this river our own, and Steve and Maria took off first, bravely facing down the treacherous path ahead. in canoe #2, we all raised

our eyebrows at each other, but we set off behind them. we soon lost sight of them until the river dumped us out into a lake where Maria and Steve were happily chatting waiting for us. ok, so it wasn't a Class II river, and there weren't too many scary sweepers, but i think they passed. and i'll remember this adventure on Nov. 10, as i watch them exchange vows, that they KNOW what they're talking about.

cranberry wednesday

yesterday, i called my friend Brandy to see if she wanted to take a walk at Birch Hill and maybe pick a few cranberries. this is cranberry season, and for those who know me, little else matters while these little red gems are still available for the picking. Brandy met me up at Birch Hill, Fairbanks' x-country skiing center, a set of trails which in the summer make for great walking and in the fall, low-bush cranberry picking.

Brandy was game, as she usually is. Brandy is the woman for whom the battle cry, "I am woman, hear me ROAR" was made. A fisheries biologist by trade, Brandy moves seamlessly from hardcore, down and dirty, roll-up-your-sleeves-and-git-her-done fieldwork setting up fish weirs across Alaska's Yukon tributaries to a little-black-dress-evening out on the town, where good make-up and highlights really matter. Brandy just got back from a sheep hunting trip (yes, she got one) and we spent our lunch break talking about diamond engagement rings. oh, and picking cranberries.

meanwhile, Nuchie contemplated the universe - er..., i mean stood guard to make sure nobody else moved in our cranberry action.

afterwards, we went for a little walk to enjoy the fall colours. In Fairbanks, it's important to take time to do this since it only lasts about a week. here in the sub-arctic, the leaves turn colour in like, ONE day, then begin their descent to the ground, usually helped along by a windy day or two.

this trail is so wide to acommodate skate skiiers who ski diagonally across the trail and classic skiiers, for whom parallel tracks will be set to one side once there's snow. skiiers in Fairbanks share these amazing and meticulously groomed trails from late October through April.

the turning-yellow aspen and birch leaves made for soft and beautiful walking. it's a dilemma for us every fall: these beautiful falling leaves mean the coming of winter and snow and skiing and fun, but they do cover up the cranberries.

in memory

it started like this:

Mistopheles (or pheles, or baby pheles, or baby girl) and her sister, Stumpy, were my 24th birthday present. as kittens in the same litter, they got their illustrious start as love children at the California humane society where an employee who was not paying attention allowed a "visit" between two new unfixed admittees. with a start like that, you knew it was gonna be a good life.

they lived in California, then Chicago, before moving to Alaska (not including a brief stint in Seattle), where they were introduced to the great outdoors and all it had to offer, including grass (wow!), bees, butterflies, and other bugs (so cool!), and voles (you have NO idea!).

Though they were litter-mates, they have always been different - that was clear to everyone who met them. Stumpy has half a tail, is a little ornery, a little crazy, a little....um, heavy, and a lot loveable. Pheles was thin and svelt with a long beautiful tail, a sweet and delicate nature, and also a lot loveable.

Pheles, in her quiet nature, taught Nuchie his real place as low dog on the totem pole. Stumpy just hissed at him. he learned through both methods and all three figured out how to live together.

Pheles at 5 years and Nuch at 4 months. this is the 'stink eye' in case you can't tell. it's an effective tool in a cat's bag of tricks.

a more recent example: that's little Pheles crashed out on Nuch's big bed (with his toys!), while he looks on...

the old saying goes that if dogs and cats can get along, it's because cats compete for space and dogs compete for attention. it must be true, since Pheles occupied a HUGE space in my heart, making it grow to be able to confine the enormity of her love.

Baby pheles suffered a serious illness when she was little and in her lengthy drugged state, took refuge under the bed sheets. she never lost that endearing habit for the rest of her life, and was steadfast in her belief that if she couldn't see you, you couldn't see her. she spent a lot of time with her head tucked under a sheet, or rug, or if those weren't available, pressed into a corner so that she couldn't see you. i never knew if she really thought her body sticking out was invisible, or if she just believed that humans were too stupid to figure it out.

Pheles was dignified if ever a cat was. if she was forced to suffer some indignity, like being picked up for example, she refused to look at you. again, if she didn't look at you, you didn't exist. it was just that simple. but if she wanted love, she would march right in front of you and collapse in your path - it was pretty close to irresistable. lately she discovered that the back of the couch was also a good place from which to demand love.

after a mercifully short battle with cancer, baby girl died on Tuesday. but she left behind some lessons i live by:

sometimes, if the world is uncooperative, it's ok to hide under things.

despite the risks, sitting in the sun is an important thing to do.

planting things and watching them grow is also an important thing to do.

and most importantly, always, always, always, no matter how hard, always try to be with someone who is sad or scared if they'll let you, even if all you can do is sit quietly next to them. (and, if you're a cat, rub up against them every once and a while.) over the past 13 years of my life, i've shed a few tears and Pheles was there for all of them.

a friend reminded me today that how hard it is at the end just tells you how good it was while they were alive. i'm grateful that we had a chance to hang out for as long as we did, and that right at the end, i could sit with you quietly and offer you my shirt sleeve to hide your face in.

goodbye my baby girl, and thanks for being my friend for so long.

my "surfing" trip

ok, still catching up...this time, my trip to LA for the 4th of July.

warning: for those faint of heart for baby pictures, you may need to sit down. serious cuteness coming up.

so, LA holds a special place in my heart for many reasons, not the least of which is a handful of amazing friends. amazing friends, i might add, who are now beginning to reproduce. before said reproduction, i travelled down to LA with some regularity to surf and hang out with them. however, as time passes (and reproduction happens), i find that i'm still traveling down to LA to surf, but i'm not doing so much surfing. now mind you, i'm not complaining - it's hard to drag oneself out of bed for a dawn patrol, pulling on that clammy cold wetsuit, and get psyched about that frigid, grey beach break that is Manhattan Beach, when you can hang out with this instead:


this is BGB - baby girl bowen. this was her pre-birth name - her parents have now bestowed on her the most beautiful of names, Suriya, but to me, she's BGB.





couldn't you just eat her up with a spoon? 2 months old, and bound for amazing things, no doubt.

her older brother is no less a wonder. this is william, or s-dub, short for sweet william. feeding his younger sister at just over two years - who knew? you can't tell from the picture, but this kid has the eyelashes of a camel. chicks will totally dig them.




















i travelled out to Redlands to visit more friends and to find, you know, respite from the beach in the 110 F heat of the inland areas. plus, there was this:

this is Mara. proud new owner of the little green sweater i was knitting in earlier blogs, and brother to a bubbly, smiley, and incredibly tow-headed Teo, who is unfortunately not pictured here. Mara and Teo both are of course brilliant in every way...











back to LA, and back to beach (still not too much surfing) and a little...skateboarding. close to surfing at least. while Sal (mom) and i pushed the interminably cute BGB in a stroller, this is how s-dub and Bowen (dad) got to the restaurant:







now this is just painfully cute.

the good husband

ok folks, after a long absence (which you'll learn about over the next week or so), i'm back! and blogging it seems. so, on to the important stuff.

this has to be every man's worst nightmare: you drop your wife off for a visit with her friends, do a little grocery shopping, swing by again to pick her up, and this is what you find:















4 women, all knitting, all with their feet stuck in tubs of warm water smelling vaguely of lavender, and all with some odd, greenish paste drying in cracked lines on their faces. good lord! what have you walked into to?? what kind of trap is this?? and most importantly, is the door still open behind you for a quick exit???

this is the situation my husband found himself in, poor sap. he might have even uttered, 'good lord...', or maybe it was, 'what the...?', but it definitely wasn't 'wow - cool! can i get in on that?'

but that's exactly what he did, my most accommodating, open-minded, and just generally all-around good husband. he sat still while we painted his face, though he did squinch up his face as if the soft and silky facial brush was 60 grit sandpaper...




this is me mimicking his face...









this is his second try....















ahhhh....much better.

he passed on the foot soak, but picked up the knitting i brought.
















two words: honorary ovaries.

my favorite hike

i'm taking my life's perogative to tell a story out of order. i have many things to report, but none seem as compelling to me this afternoon as this one does. Last Sunday, Cob and i hiked the Granite Tors trail, a 15 mile loop that climbs 2500' up to a set of tors before descending again. on our drive out, Cob happily chirped that we were going on "brownie's favorite hike!" i looked at him sideways and exclaimed that this was not my favorite hike - Pinnell was my favorite hike (a 27 mile point to point over alpine tundra - are you getting the idea that i might like the long haul?). i mean, i really like Granite Tors, but my favorite hike? i don't think so.

firmly chided, Cob didn't mention it again.

we got to the trail head, checked our day packs: 2 litres of water each, lunch, extra warm clothes, rain gear (you know, as insurance for no rain - if you don't bring it, it will for sure rain), bug dope (you know, 'cause it won't rain since we brought our rain gear), sunscreen, matches, etc., and set out.

a hiker can travel in either direction up to the tors as the trail is a loop, but i like the left side, so up we went. we moved through the spruce near the river, climbing up into the birch forest that burned a few years back. this is a picture of it from the other side - all those downed trees never actually burned, they just fell over after their root systems burned out from a hot ground fire that swept through the area. fire is a strange thing and it does strange things. you can see where it swooshed up the hillside in great waves.

the burned out forest (full of fireweed, that beautiful pink-purple flower that colonizes burn areas and so gets its name) is stark and simultaneously monochromatic in its charred face that also makes the color - blue sky, purple flowers, green leaves - seem all the more brilliant. i remember this forest before it burned. the canopy sun-dappled the trail and complicated little eco-systems supported a variety of fauna that will have to wait on the flora to catch up. i've done this hike 6 or 7 times since i've lived here in AK; this is my second hike through the burn. my memory of green is still pretty strong.

we finally make it to the Tors and stop for lunch and a little medical attention for my rapidly developing blisters. Nuch takes up residence on one of the Tors and contemplates the universe - he's a deep guy. Cob checks out some kind of lichen or mineral staining on one of the Tors. Cob tells me that the Tors are granite outcroppings formed when magma formed into a large mass called a pluton under the earth's crust which heaved up during a process called ice wedging (i'm working on memory here, folks, and this physical science stuff is a stretch for me). as the earth's crust eroded away, water seeped into the pluton, froze, and expanded, calving off these great slabs of granite that pierced the ground. or something like that.

the way down was a little tricky - we lost the trail for about a mile, but found it again no thanks to the superior smelling skills of the pup. as we picked our way through fallen trees and over granite rock beds back to the real trail, a thousand memories of previous hikes along this trail seemed as real as the trail itself (and my blister).

it's interesting how a place, even one that has changed as much as this place has, can still populate one's brain with a collection of memories drawn from different experiences, different people, different things that happened in this place. like when i hiked it with Jim and we were totally dehydrated, or when Phyllis, Cob, and I gathered burnt out pieces of birch for Jesse's carvings and it now sits in their foyer, or when i lay in a field of fireweed in front of one of the tors, or when we fished out every ziploc bag and empty container from our eaten lunch 'cause we found an amazing blueberry spot. all of these things happened at particular moments in my life, which had changed a little over the years. i remember when i hiked it with a friend whom i rarely see anymore. and when i hiked it with Jim before he left us. and when Nuch and i made a solo summit just to watch the sky by ourselves. when i first hiked it with Cob. when it burned.

the Granite Tors trail has become a space in which my life has unfolded - and been marked by the passage of time. for the first time, i actually wondered where and who i would be when i passed by this way again. how it would look to me then, who i would hike it with, what we would talk about, what memory i would take away from it to remember later. and then i remembered what Cob said...he was right, Granite Tors was my favorite hike. it was like an old friend who always wants a visit from me and likes to catch up on what's happened since he last saw me. and always, always has a few surprises himself.

the only thing that stays the same is the blisters.

catching up...

ok, so i'm way behind, which is apparently what happens when you travel too much.

after St. Mary's, i had a day and a half in Fairbanks before heading back out to the Yukon - to the village of Grayling this time. Grayling is an interesting little village in that it was moved to its current location on the Yukon from the Innoko, a tributary of the Yukon directly to the east. On the Innoko, the village was called Holikachuk. the village was experiencing significant flooding, and so folks picked up and moved due west in the 1950s. This move made sense since many of the summer fishcamps used by Holikachuk residents were on the Yukon and they traveled there every summer. however, many Grayling residents continue to use the Innoko country for many of their other subsistence uses, inlcuding mosse hunting and harvesting whitefish and migratory birds.

Grayling is up river from St. Mary's and our visit continued to track with the upriver progress of the salmon. this was cool since it afforded me my very first opportunity to driftnet. drifting is a style of fishing when you set a net from a moving boat - basically one that is drifting downriver and the net drifts with you, snagging fish along the way. each drift takes about a half-hour to an hour, depending on the strength of the run. drifting is hard work - our first attempt yielded us this HUGE lochness monster-like tree root wad, which was a lot heavier than a salmon, or even several. not so much fun to catch wood.

that's Chase, my drifting teacher. He's 11 and has been working with his uncle since he was 5. Chase was a good teacher - look at our fish!

our catch was brought back to Chase's aunties, who then enlisted our help in making salmon strips. strips are hung to air dry for a day or two before being moved into a smokehouse where they will be smoked for a few weeks and then frozen for winter use.

this is a another family's smokehouse. those are backbones hanging on the outside which will be dried slightly and either used for dog food or boiled to remove the meat for jarring.

we were doing the same work in Grayling that we were doing in St. Mary's - documenting local knowledge of the salmon runs. believe or not, that's NOT me mapping historic fish camps with Henry Deacon, the traditional chief of the village. that's Catherine - we've worked together for the last several years and are regularly mistaken for each other - even when she was pregnant!!