Yankees? Never heard of them...

One successful weekend does not make an entire season. But this weekend in Deering was wildly successful, nonetheless. After a few issues with weight limits vs. the fuel capacity a Navajo twin prop plane, we finally got of the ground and out of Kivalina. Deering is about an hour and 10 minute flight and is one of the southern most villages in the Borough. It's actually below the Arctic Circle but like Kivalina, it's right on the Chukchi Sea...the winds were relentless.

We were greeted at the airport in Deering by their principal, shown to our rooms, given some keys and then turned to a little free time. Of course, what did my players want to do? - Answer - "go to Store."

Main Street Deering - should be called THE street. It's the only one.

The Native Store in Deering was a 3 aisle ramshackle place filled to the brim with all the essential chips, pop, toiletries and pasta. The clerk was friendly and although the building was nothing special, I think that's just what you do when you go to a new village... you "go to store."

After that we had to track down some relatives of one of our players and deliver a package. Just walking down the street it was apparent that there are plenty of cross village kinship ties. People waved feverishly, some stopped for hugs and photos. It was really a neat scene.

But the business was volleyball and we took the court at 5:00 for a game against our hosts - the Deering Northern Lights. Set number one was forgettable. My players giggled like they were at a slumber party and hearing naughty words for the first time. I knew that we were a better skilled team than we were showing but I chalked it up to first game nerves and just having a general good old time. We turned it around and won the next 3 sets to take the game and immediately move on to a more challenging opponent, the Kiana Lynx.

When this team took the court, they looked the part. Long and Lean - perhaps a little younger than us but sharp uniforms to accentuate their overall athletic appearance. Before I knew it, we were down 20-11 in the first set. I took a time out to re-group. And that we did...the team fought back valiantly and won that first set 30-28. It totally deflated the egos of the Lynx and we went on to win in 3 straight sets. Ending Friday night 2-0. (Some special accomplishment considering the team from Kivalina only won 3 games last year.)

The fellowship that followed the evening games was great to watch. Players from all 3 teams mingled, talked, passed balls, made up games, smile, laughed and just enjoyed each others company. I sat back and visited with Walkabout Charlie and heard all about his teaching experience in Deering and about his Fantasy Baseball League....he's a great guy to talk to. I could listen to him for hours...mostly because he can talk that long.

A bearable night on the floor in the classroom and we were up and at it bright and early. A breakfast of grapes, yogurt, sausage and an omelet was served and we jumped back on the court for a 9 o'clock game against Kiana. They were looking to rebound from a tough loss to us the night before. We didn't oblige. We won 3-1 and played each other fairly competitively through the match. I can honestly say though that the Qavviks won the tough points and showed some grit. I liked that. I was a bit worried that we wouldn't take Deering very seriously and that we would play down a level...I warned the team and they responded, dispatching Deering in short order.

Week #1 = 4 big wins!

And that left me with a little time on my hands...we packed our bags and cleaned the classrooms where we stayed. I sent Rose (our female Chaperone) with the kids back to "the Store" (Where else?) - and I got to take a quick trip up to the bluff to visit the Musk Ox herd. It was awesome.
They are some big beasts and to see them at close to a hundred yards without a fence holding them in or me out...without a rifle to protect myself  - that was a real treat.

Deering Musk Ox 10/10/15

Maayuk braided my hair in the morning prior to game 3 - the deal was that if we won all 4 games on the weekend, i would travel back to Kivalina with the braids still in. I upheld my end of the bargain and it was totally worth it.

Mrs. Kirby would have been proud...
Of the volleyball.
The braids? - yeah, not so much.

Maybe the beard will be long enough to braid before too long?

Draconid Schmackonid....

I read somewhere that there was supposed to be a Meteor Shower tonight. The remains of some distant comet they called the Draconid...supposedly more visible at nightfall then in the morning. I mentioned it to Bjacyk and we decided to walk out to the Rocks at about 9:10 - figured it was night enough...
No meteor shower...but man...
The Sunset was indescribable... "indescribable" is a vocab word in Lesson 7 this week for Reading...and seriously folks, I don't know what to say.
Usually the weather here in KVLs can be brutal - high winds can really put a damper on your spirits but when the wind is calm and the Chukchi Sea settles down...with the waves lapping at the shore...and the mountains, oceans and sky all meeting to create this view that I hope to never forget.
Ol' Rud said I should buy an expensive camera...
I'm too colorblind to tell you the mixes of oranges, yellows and dying blues...
Somethings are better left burned in your memory - like tonight's false Meteor Shower and surprise sunset.
That's all.

Well, maybe I'll run out again real quick here before bedtime and check the sky one more time.

Lefty Righty Low…

 Corporal Kirby Come on Out – We Wanna Hear your Motivated Shout….

Take it on the Left Foot – The Mighty Mighty Left Foot….

Take It…

I got it…

Low, Right,  - Ya Left Right LayOoo…

Low, Right, -  Ya Left Right LayOoo…

Low Right – Ya Lefty Righty Lowwww…

Low Right – Ya Lefty Righty Lowwww…

Aint no Use in Looking Down…

Aint no Use in Looking Down…

There Aint No DISCHARGE on the Ground….

There Aint No DISCHARGE on the Ground….

Back in my beer swilling, boot stomping, high and tight wearing, highly motivated, highly dedicated, Marine Corps days – I used to be the Hard Charger that got called out during morning P.T. to lead a platoon in cadence. The salty NCO’s and the Terminal Lance Colonels alike all seemed to show an honest appreciation for my white, Anglo-Saxon gift of both rhythm and rhyme. I used to throw in some Black Sabbath or Tom Petty lyrics on occasion but usually stuck to the tried and true tunes that referenced the Devil Dogs love for fast women, big guns, and war.

One of the old stand by chants prefaced this little essay. I can hear it plain as day even now. A platoon of half hung-over, barely awake, natural born killers reminding us to pick our heads up and hold them high – show the world who’s passing them by.

Aint no Use in Looking Down…

You know, I think of this often. Since coming to the Rock I’ve given up a lot of things. I no longer regularly drink Pop. Hell, that’s putting it lightly. I’ve only downed 3 twenty-ounce bottles in the past 2 months. There were times in the not so distant past that I would drink more than that in a day. I’ve given up driving – unless you count the few times that I’ve commandeered the school’s ATV to either haul trash to the dump or paparazzi to the airport. I’ve given up television – except for our Sunday Morning & Evening Football gatherings at the Melkerson’s.

I’ve given up my Cell Phone – well, that’s not totally true. I do use it. Once. Every day…it sits on my desk at school and I use the TIMER on it for Rocket Math. 2 Minutes for each pair of partners to whip through their Multiplication Facts for the day… I don’t think I get Roaming Fees for that. I’ve given up drinking Milk regularly. I love a nice cold glass of Milk…but in the Arctic, the cold part is easy. The "fresh" part is the hang up.  The list is long and I won’t bore you anymore with an itemized list of my so-called sacrifice.

But I do want to tell you about a new hobby that parallels this “Less is More”/Healthy Living lifestyle that I’m trying up here.

I walk.

I usually do my best to get out and take a walk at least once a day. I’ve been pretty good about it too. When we’ve hit stretches of poor weather and I’m stuck inside, I immediately feel the affects of complacency. The cold hasn’t bothered me. I’m from Minnesota and we dress accordingly, even if it seems a little early to my biological settings that I was used to. I bundle up and hoof it out.

I may have mentioned before that I usually like to keep a swift pace. It serves a two-fold purpose. One – it keeps my heart rate up and qualifies my stroll as “exercise”. And Two – the ankle biters can swing by for a hug and a quick “Whatchu Doin’?” but very few can keep the pace and they usually melt back in to the village.

A few weeks ago I was doing some self searching on my walk as I sometimes do and I noticed that I was guilty of stepping it out but only looking no more than three feet in front of me. My shoulders were leaning forward and my arms were swinging rhythmically which was good – the bad thing was that I was staring at the ground.

There Aint No DISCHARGE on the Ground….

The Old Marine Corps cadence hit me upside the head like a ton of bricks.

STOP LOOKING AT THE DECK!

PICK YOUR HEAD UP!

HOLD YOUR HEAD UP HIGH!

BACK STRAIGHT – CHEST OUT - SHOULDERS UP!

Insert the voice of my conscience here...

“Dude, you’re in ALSASKA!! – Pick your Head Up and Look Around You.”

“That’s the Friggin Chukchi Sea in the Flippin’ ARCTIC OCEAN!”

“Those Mountains over there…with the snow capped peaks…

yeah, dumb sh*t, YOU should be looking at them!!!”

And so I changed. I still clip along at a steady beat. But now I make a concerted effort to lift my head up and look at the things going on around me that I have never seen before. It’s crazy how much a simple thing like posture can improve your outlook on things. With age I've come to realize the psychological mind melding of the Marine Corps is purposeful on so many levels.

Kivalina could be an easy place to fall apart. It really could. But my wife keeps me in check. She can detect the slightest wavering of my conviction in a simple sentence tucked away in an email…and she’s good about calling me on it.

And I need that…

This has been a lot to take in.

I miss home.

I miss my wife.

I miss my kids and I miss my dogs…

But I may never walk this way again…

and so in the meantime, I’m gonna Hold My Head Up High – the view is so much nicer that way.

Did I mention?

I've lost 14 pounds and as of tonight, Xmas Flight Reservations have been booked!

 – that’s a breath of fresh air too!

Thanking the Academy

There is a trophy in Hollywood closely resembling the Icarus tattoo that I have on my left arm that is given out to masters of the acting craft. The clichéd response from every award winning actor or actress that has ever accepted such award is…

“First off, I’d like to thank THE ACADEMY.”

They usually move on to thank spouses, family, friends, co-workers and eventually God himself.

I haven’t received any awards recently but I do think it’s about time that I thank some of the fine folks that have been on my mind lately.

I’d like to publically thank my wife – Michele. There may be some that question her sanity for actually pushing me towards this career and life changing decision. I too have wondered if she was serious at times….and here I am – In Alaska! Of course we made the decision together back in June/July but since then, she has been my savior, psychologist, supply clerk and sounding board – all from close to 3,000 miles away. Michele calmly “listens” to me voice my concerns of teaching and living in a new district. She listens and re-directs my focus with a gentle touch, like only a wife can. The Post Office personnel should by now recognize my wife and her Flate Rate boxes headed for the Arctic. If ever anyone needed a consultant on Amazon Prime, I recommend seeking Michele’s advice.  Her love language is solidly in the “Acts of Service” and “Gift Giving” chapters and for that – and for her – I am forever grateful.

My kids – forgive me Lord for being so selfish to steal away on some crazed Alaskan Adventure at the expense of living an ordinary day to day life with my kids. They deserve the utmost love, attention and thanks for just being as awesome as they are. Through modern technology I can talk to them when our schedules match and either of us is in need of an update or a pick me up. SKYPE will never replace a hug or a pat on the back but it’s our new normal. They’re becoming experts at sharing the happenings of their lives in an engaging conversation. Even if the picture is sometimes a little grainy, I could listen to them talk for hours. Emma shared her perfect progress reports last Saturday. Logan has learned to give me play-by-play descriptions of his BIG tackle of the week. They are good kids and working so hard at helping Mom. Their sacrifice is not going unnoticed.

I’d like to thank my other family and very close friends. Your regular contact reminds me that I have surrounded myself with good people up to this point. People that want to be in my life even when my life is above the Arctic Circle. A care package here and a hand written letter there meant a lot in the mid ‘90’s when I was in the Marine Corps. It means just as much, if not more, now. Although I’m a big boy and fending for myself, Uncle Sam isn’t setting me up with 3 squares a day. My physical needs are being met but a treat in the mail satisfies my emotional needs, perhaps even more.

Since leaving the Lower 48, I have heard positive feedback from former teachers of mine. In an odd twist that perhaps those former teachers can appreciate, I hear regularly from former students of mine. Now young adults, I hope they realize that each time they reach out to me with a kind word or quick update, I beam with pride. Thank you. There are fellas that I served in the Marines with…guys that would bite off their right arm if I asked them to. Although it’s getting closer to twenty years since I’ve seen many of these dudes, a number of them keep checking in on me – making sure that I know that they are there to help if ever I needed anything. Semper Fi – men.

The Fire Chief wrote me a good old-fashioned Postcard. I didn’t know they still made them. His daughter messaged me on Facebook from the Deep South. The gal I student taught with, retired colleagues and friends, hockey coaches and youth football coaches, fishing and hunting buddies, friends young and old… the World is a smaller place these days. Social Media can be a curse but the positivity and love that I’ve felt from you all has filled my tank when times have been tough. Thank you.

The Readership of this Family Soliloquy – thank you. As I watch the numbers tick by on the counter just below the Archives, I daydream that my musings are bringing a smile to your day. I can’t always promise a witty story or beautiful picture. I know that sometimes you might be disappointed to find no update since you last checked in. Please keep coming back. Leave a comment when you’re so inclined. Comments help me feel alive – connected – tuned in. But you don’t have to leave a trace – just carry a piece of this adventure with you. Hug your little ones. Smile at strangers. Pick up the next piece of litter you see. Do good in the world because contrary to what some may think… I’m not “Living the Dream”.

You are!

And thank you God.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Mawage......

(Oh come on, you have to love a good reference to Princess Bride.......)

Things are going well down here below the arctic circle.

We get up, we go to work/school, we come home and leave for a sports practice or run errands or have a night at home.

Nothing out of the ordinary so far.

Except---there's someone missing.

It's an odd feeling I tell you and I'm sure many of you may be able to relate to it.

Sometimes, I'll just be doing the ordinary-daily-life things and BAM...this thought hits me outta no where.

Kirby is in Alaska.

Like, washing my hands and I look up in the mirror and BAM! There it is....Kirby is in Alaska.

Or driving the kids to school and after I drop them off, I stop at a stop sign and BAM! There it is...Kirby is in Alaska.

(Picture courtesy of Logan-can you tell how deep in thought I am?)

It's not a sad thought by any means. It's almost as if I have to remind myself where I am and how I got to this point and where the heck is my husband?!?!?!?!

Most times it makes me chuckle.  Like--what the heck just  happened to our routine. Talk about a curve ball.

Sometimes it makes me think about those couples that have been married for 40-50-60 years and then one passes away.  What is THAT like for the spouse still living? How do you spend that amount of time with someone and then suddenly they are gone....No wonder people pass away soon after their spouse dies.

Every night I look at Kirby's side of the closet and his clothes hanging there and they are still in the same order that he left them.  They are still his clothes. Sometime he'll come back and wear them again. Same with his shoes on the floor and his socks and boxers in our drawers.

Sometimes it feels like life is on pause but I know it's not because the seasons are changing and the weeks are progressing forward.

Sometimes I think our dogs love me more now that he's gone. I FINALLY get to be the Alpha.  (Just kidding Kirby-you will always be their Alpha)

All in all, there are no regrets. I enjoy the funny thought when it comes to me and I chuckle that I have to remind myself that Kirby isn't on some 3 day fishing trip.

I'm still proud of him. I'm excited to hear a
bout his new adventures--struggles and non-struggles. This experience will make him a stronger person, myself a stronger person and teach our kids that it's okay to step outside the box and go exploring.

Kirby is in Alaska.....

Snap back to reality.

On Monday I went upriver for the first time. I rode in a flat-bottomed jet boat called a Phantom… I mean, come on, how cool is that? I fished with a Dude, goes by the call sign “Warlock” – out of a boat called the Phantom. I caught a Kivalina Trout but that’s only what it’s known by from the locals. Technically it’s a Dolly Varden and I caught one – and rode in a Phantom Jet Boat with a guy named Warlock! Monday was good.

Saturday was better.

Yesterday, the Reverend took Jon and me upstream. The Reverend isn’t a cool nickname like “Warlock” it’s an occupation. For work Rev. Enoch Adams is the Episcopal Minister at one of the two village churches. For enjoyment, the Reverend is an outdoorsman and subsistence hunter birthed right from the tundra. Before being ordained, Enoch was actually a teacher at the school here in Kivalina. He attended the University of Virginia and came home every Christmas and in the summer. Now raising his own family as a man of the cloth, Enoch provides for them from the land.

I truly had an incredible day. I saw 800-1000 head of Caribou. It seemed everywhere we stopped the boat and climbed a small ridge to glass for caribou we found some. Off in the distance, caribou. On the next hill side, caribou. Around the 4^th bend in the river, Caribou. To the north by the wind tower, caribou. Groups ranging in size from 4 or 5 to hundreds. This wasn’t the time or place for a spot and stalk hunt. We were looking for animals within reasonable distance of the river or animals that might be moving towards the river. That proved to be the challenge.

Ptarmigan scurried around in the brush. Salmon were leaping out of the water as if their skin was on fire because of the water that they were swimming in. Only the air, not the water, could put the fire out. I caught my first Arctic Grayling and then caught a few more. Jon caught his first Dolly Varden and matched it with his first Grayling as well. Later in the evening, I caught a male late run Chum Salmon that weighed close to twenty pounds and while at the end of my line, he jumped like his skin was on fire.

As the evening wore to a close, we spent a couple of hours trying to wait out a herd of approximately 150-200 caribou as they grazed in a place called Tignaq. In Inupiaq, Tignaq means Big Bend – aptly named after the widest reaching bend in the Wulik River. When we first saw them, they were behind one of the hills in an area called “Two Hills”. I forget the Inupiaq word and couldn’t spell it correctly in the first place. Forgive me. We decided to give them a little space and headed a short way downstream to fish. Less than 10 minutes later, Enoch said we had to hurry back because he could see that the herd had moved.

They had cut the distance between them and the river in half. Now a large herd of caribou was about 400 yards away and inching their way towards us. Within minutes of us landing and scurrying up the north bank, a cow and a yearling came prancing in to about 75 yards, spotted Enoch and walked off. This appeared to be the Advance Party and in hindsight, if we could have avoided their detection, I might have a different story to tell. Anyway, with the Advanced Party making their way slowly north and rejoining the larger herd, Enoch, Jon and I belly crawled through some soggy Tundra and got to the edge of some three foot willows. From there we glassed the herd for almost an hour in hopes of a chance to harvest a few. While looking over the group and paying attention to their slightest movements, I noticed a grand daddy of a bull that easily stood out, even amongst the bigger bulls of his herd. This dude had palmated antlers that resembled a moose. His body was distinguishable with the naked eye and I wish I had had a chance. The shot never materialized and eventually the herd dashed off to a distance that they felt more comfortable at. I will never forgot that first sight of a herd of 200 large animals retreating to safer grounds…

With that my tank was refilled. I saw big game. I saw small game. I saw the beauty of the mountains from a different perspective. I had great conversation with Jon and Enoch and truly enjoyed my nine hours in the bush…

But tomorrow there’s work to do.

Ya see, there’s a weird feeling I get when sharing here in the Blogoshpere and on Social Media/Facebook… I want to keep people in the loop of what’s happening with me above the Arctic. I want them to enjoy the beauty of this vast place. I know that some are living vicariously through my travels and others just want to know I’m alive and well… my family needs photographic evidence.. and some just want to see how the beard is coming in…and so I share.

But what I haven’t shared with too many is that this place is tough.

Teaching here is not a walk in the park like it had become for me in Small Town Minnesota.

There are some serious challenges that no manual or workshop could ever prepare you for.

Because Bush Schools typically struggle to meet the high demands of Standardized Testing, we are under the watchful eye of our District and the State and therefor are responsible for an unfair amount of paperwork and an irrational review process.

My students are generally a grade level or two behind their Lower 48 peers.

The village dynamic is difficult to explain but equally challenging. I sometimes feel like I am in a third world country.

There is not running water in the homes of the children I serve.

There is drug and alcohol abuse in gravely disproportionate amounts.

Priorities for the villagers are sometimes different from what I’ve come to know.

And so on a Sunday night after experiencing a week of one of the most unique hunting and fishing opportunities of my life, I can’t help but feel like I’m “Paying the Piper.”

Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of good things that can and will come out of my teaching experience at McQueen School. I have built many solid relationships already. I am only trying to be open and honest enough with you fine folks that are following my mindless wanderings here on the Kirby Krew…

It’s not all Rainbows and Unicorns.

There is a bitter reality about this place.

But I accept that.

July 2015 - Chamisso Island.
At that point - no idea what Kivalina would have for me.

I go to Store.

The broken English that is spoken here in the village is a cross between phonemic minimalism and street slang, splattered with a hint of tribal dialect that takes some getting used to. Adults, children, the gainfully employed and the unemployed alike all speak this sporadic, yet somehow functional form of communication. Since our handlers at C3 started their endoctrinization of us and introduced us to the culture of the Inupiat People, we’ve been told to encourage complete sentences.  Two months in to the school year, I now know why.

They are a soft-spoken group. They use a lot of facial expressions to communicate. Raising of the eyebrows means “yes” and a scrunching of the nose means “no”. – you know, because to verbalize that is quite a commitment.  I joke.

Ask any kid what the highlight of his or her day is and the number one answer on the Rock inevitably is, “I go to Store.”

Short and to the point. Effective and honest.

The Native Store here is a thing of beauty. After their old one burned to the ground last December, it was replaced with a state of the art convenience store. It is a thing of beauty in this otherwise desolate village…and consequently, it is the center of their universe. (And a provider of Pop and Cheetos)

If you need to know anything - Go to Store.

If you need to find someone – Go to Store.

If you are just interested in the pulse of Kivalina – Go to Store.

And last weekend, Jon and I went separately to Store.

My trip was to secure my first purchase of a caffeinated beverage since getting here and swearing off soda. I have since dropped 11 pounds and decided to reward myself monthly.

Jon was out to make small talk and pick up a few groceries. What he left with was worth so much more.

One of the clerks at the store is named Rhonda and much like a bartender in the Lower 48, Rhonda knows a little about everything going on in town. And if you ever wanted someone on your side, Rhonda is your gal. Rhonda asked Jon if he had enjoyed any fishing or hunting lately. To which Jon replied that he hadn’t but was certainly willing to buy gas and interested in going at any point. Rhonda seemed surprised that neither Jon nor I had been invited and assured us that she would put the word out and make something happen.

…Fast forward to Monday at about 4:50 p.m….

The doors to the gym opened and Jon interrupted my volleyball practice by waving me over. He was dressed much like he was on our Saturday walk to the North Channel – a camouflaged coat, stocking cap, and a fishing pole sticking out of his backpack.  When I got there, I asked him if he was going for another walk. ”Even better” he replied.

“How soon can you be done with practice and ready to go fishing? Rhonda found someone to take us!”

We wrapped up volleyball maybe a few minutes earlier than planned and I ran back to Senior Housing and began to pack, dress and scarf down some chow for the slightest chance that what he had just told me might be true. I was going up river and on a real fishing trip in Alaska!!!

Jolene’s jet boat is a legend around here. It’s a flat bottom, Phantom with a 200 horse inboard Jet engine…. it is loud and AWESOME! The story goes that the first year she bought it, a couple of local schoolboys shot out the windshields with a BB Gun. I’m not sure I’ve seen a BBGun that could inflict the damage that her windows had but it certainly gave the vessel some character. Her friend Brenda was the unofficial tour guide and an excellent camp cook. Her SPAM and Dijon Mustard sandwiches were delightful. Warlock rounded out the trifecta that toted Jon and me about 3 miles off of the island of Kivalina and in to a dream like state.

Willard is his given name. Actually his father’s name too but people around here call him Warlock. He’s got your stereotypical Jack O' Lantern Eskimo smile but other than that he seems pretty harmless. With a call sign like Warlock, I’m not really interested in ever testing him out.

The winding Wulik River is shallow and constantly turning back on itself. I listened to the engine roar and although you couldn’t really see over the banks of the river, I enjoyed the sights. Jolene drove flawlessly and looked to Warlock from time to time for some navigational reassurance.

After a while of motoring upstream, we came to a bend where 3 other fishermen where dragging their seining nets across the river. Jolene immediately pulled to the far shore and shut down the Phantom. We politefully stood by and watched, unfortunately not long enough to see if their nets harvested any bounty.  And with a smile and a wave we were off again scrapping the rocky bottom effortlessly at each riffle.

Before long, Jolene looked back at Warlock and he pointed us to a sand bar on a shallow bend in the river. We got out and while Brenda worked her Ulu magic on the SPAM, we cast our lures in to the icy waters. No real luck there – although Jon did purposely snag a dying salmon just to say he caught something. I told him that one didn’t count and after about twenty minutes of fishing. Jolene and Warlock decided we should double back and find some deeper water. Their hunch paid off.

Brenda was the first to hook in to a trout. She was about a hundred yards downstream from me but I could see the splashing and tell from a distance that she had a sizable catch on her hands as she walked backwards up the bank and dragged the fish ashore. The tension was too much and her swivel actually straightened and sent the lure and the fish safely back in to the river. Brenda marked out a line in the sand and rocks and pointed me in the right direction.  Minutes later I was hooked up with my first Kivalina Trout.

It hit just like a Lake Trout in the BWCA. It swam just like a Lake Trout too! Its crazy spinning circles and the power of the river had me begging Jon for some help. He set his rod down and waded in to the water as I tried to play the fish within reach. The power on the other end of my line surged through the tip of my fishing pole and right in to my heart. I wish I could have seen the smile on my own face because at that point, I was revived. I was in a happy place.

And just like that, the hook came out and the fish took his leave of us. I didn’t cuss. I didn’t even skip a beat. I was happily in the presence of fish in the farthest northern reaches of Alaska. There was nothing to be sad or mad about and I let another cast fly.

I know that it wasn’t on the very next cast. And I doubt that it was the second one either but shortly after I caught and prematurely released my first trout, I hooked in to another one. This one was again easily identifiable as another trout. The silver streaks slashing in violent semi-circles gave it away real quickly that I had fooled another trout in to taking the bait but this one wasn’t able to put up as much of a fight as his bigger buddy. I called Jon off – deciding that I’d land this one myself.

Wrong…he spit the hook too.

Very next cast – I hooked in to a “Biggun”. The drag on my reel had a very different zing to it this time. I could see that this fish was going to take me for a ride. It ended up being a 10-minute or more ride and I’m not sure I ever gained an inch on him. When it finally came unhooked, I looked at Jon and laughed. I was tired, excited and satisfied and I hadn’t even beached a fish yet. Later when Jon landed his Chum Salmon, we deduced that must have what I hooked in to when I went for my long ride because his was much the same fight that he eventually won.

This fishing story of woe has a happy ending. I did eventually hook and land a beauty of a Dolly Varden. The locals all call them trout and they look and fight just like a Laker but the biologists and Brent insist that they are actually a member of the Char family and thus more appropriately called a Dolly Varden. I’m cool with that. It sounds way more exotic anyway.

3 hours out in a boat and on the shores of the Wulik River - The wind in my hair and the water rushing over my boots… a SPAM sandwich and a sunset.  My emotional tank was refilled on Monday evening and it all happened because….

Jon go to Store.

Jon's biggest fish to date. A female Chum Salmon - tossed it back
in to decay like the hundreds of other late run salmon.  

My Dolly Varden was enough to feed me, Jon and my chosen Elder -
Wild Bill Bajczyk.