Melissa, McGonnegal and a muddy trail through an Alaska lifetime

Heading in, so nice and clean.

The myth of Phoenix rising came to mind while driving toward the East Pole past the area that burned in the Sockeye fire a couple of weeks ago. Blackened skeletons of spruce that was flaming a week earlier stood along the highway margins on both sides for miles. Occasionally in clearings where houses formerly stood, the bright yellowish wood of new construction contrasted with the dismal black background, a fabled bird emerging from the ashes of  devastating conflagration. Somewhere back in the woods there are still flames and smoke as the fire is considered only 99 percent extinguished.

Coming out with the goods? Eh, not so clean.

Elsewhere moving north past the spruce forest into a more desiduous environment, the foliage seemed much more dense than in previous years, a seeming impenetrable labyrinth in various shades of green. The fact that the East Pole is well within the northern boreal desiduous forest is comforting, much more difficult to catch fire and holds its moisture better than coniferous forests.

The same held true the deeper I went into the forest on the trail to the Pole. Fully leafed-out branches intruded over the trail where I hadn't ever seen them before. The effect was one of driving through a green tunnel with only spots of light overhead. A bear could have been five feet off the trail and I might not have seen it. As a matter of fact, later on, I am pretty sure there was one.

It had been fairly dry for most of the summer with just some sprinkles in the previous week and I expected less mud and water on the trail. Silly me. It was just as bad as ever and made even worse by someone who had gone in on a tracked vehicle and dug ruts deeper than my four-wheeler could handle. On top of that they were too far apart for my machine and at times I found myself riding the machine at a 30 degree angle, the wheels on one side down in the rut and on the other side up on visible ground running down the center of the trail. Between that sort of thing and some deep, long puddles, I managed to take quite a load of water and mud to the cabin. One little mistake almost cost me a cooler full of food. On these trails you really should put duct tape to seal around the edge where the top closes onto the cooler body. If I hadn't packaged my food well I would have eaten some mud for a couple of days. And that cooler brought up a lesson that should have been learned many years ago.

The only excuse I have is that most of my time at the cabin has been in winter. Summer trips have been limited to two or three days, maybe a week. As a result, for those short trips, not needing much food, I always carry a small cooler. The thing is ice in the cooler melts pretty fast and by the second day there's usually only water left. Staring at the muddy mess in the tiny cooler I had an ah-ha moment. What do I always run out of? Food? Never. What else? Ice? Yes! So the main thing you need to bring is lots of ice, right? Duh. From now on the bigger cooler comes with me loaded as deeply with ice, perhaps even in blocks that melt slower given their smaller surface area compared with cubes. That was a lesson it only took about 30 years to learn.

Bear tracks and deep muddy ruts.

I had only two main chores in mind for the trip. One was to put some sealer on the outside deck which was showing signs of age. Because I got there in fairly good shape and the sun was shining I attacked that right away and coated half the deck in less than an hour. That was the half I didn't need to walk on and I planned to do the other half just before I left in a couple of days. Once again, silly me. It rained the night before I was leaving, soaking the deck and making it impossible for me to coat the remainder. So, now I have another chore next time I go. At least the water beaded nicely on the side I had done.

The other chore was more important. It was the list I made when I thought I might have to rescue some stuff from that fire. That rescue effort added to some other thoughts I have been having lately. I have already made some concessions to age and I am certainly not giving up yet, but I am getting closer to an age where I won't be able to go there any more and I think about what I should move out of the cabin. That list is in the back of my head to go with the written one for the fire rescue.

The need to move stuff became more intense recently. I haven't told many people this, but about a month ago I had a stroke. That's a pretty strong word for what happened. I suffered no permanent damage from it. I stood up out of bed one night and my whole left arm went sort of limp and I could not control my hand very well. I know the test using the first three letters in the word "stroke." S = smile. T = talk. R = reach. If you can't do any one of those you need to do something. I could smile and talk and reach but not very well and I for sure couldn't control my hand – not even well enough to button the pants I put on before I headed for the hospital.

I spent about six hours in the emergency room, getting test after test. They finally concluded that I had what is called a transient ischemic attack or mini stroke. Something, a bit of plaque or small blood clot, breaks loose, gets to the brain and messes something up, like left arm coordination for a time until the substance dissolves. It's also called a mini-stroke, and although there's no permanent damage it's considered a serious warning. So, I get another bottle to add to the row of daily medicines, I take cholesterol intake much more seriously and I exercise more frequently and more strenuously. Tomorrow I see a doctor about whether or not the carotid artery on the right side of my neck needs scraping, like he did to the left one a year and a half ago.

"Melissa and McGonnegal." The premise is Melissa is
a ballerina who decides to teach the moose, who usually
 just stands around, some ballet steps.

So there you have it. All this going on in the back of my mind while I sort thorough the detritus of a lifetime attempting to discern what's important and what isn't. It's odd the things that jump out at you. First two on the list were my print of Bill Berry's "Melissa and McGonnegal." I posted a rather poor picture of it with this, because I didn't want his heirs thinking I want to somehow violate their copyright. Second was the 16-pound monster maul without which I would not enjoy splitting firewood nearly as much, and which I don't think can be replaced.

From there it was pick and choose in no particular order. Probably 50 little yellow boxes of photographic slides that might hold a gem I missed going through them the first time; photo albums; loose photographs, some in frames including one of the Great Aunt Tillie I like to refer to now and then; along with two framed pictures of the crews I sailed with on big ocean voyages; toys my kids enjoyed now on their way to my new grandson; a ton of ammunition that for reasons sort of unclear I had amassed out there (in truth I have always thought of it as a place to go after the apocalypse and I would need things like ammo to survive); a set of expensive wine glasses given as a housewarming gift at one time; little memory-tickling doo dads that somehow caught my eye; a Hudson's Bay point blanket I have carried with me forever which my mother bought in 1936; copies of my books and periodicals I have been published in; one huge box marked simply "memories" that I will have to go through at some time to see what's there; and a couple of things I would rather people not find after I die.

I packed everything carefully and wrapped it all in plastic to protect it from trail mud and that was that. I went outside on the deck in the light drizzle and drank a Genesee beer, the choice from my youth, and lost myself in reveries. From here I am not sure what happens. I think about moving back there while I am still able, but honestly am hesitant to give up the comforts of life on the grid, particularly Internet and television, not to mention stores and even the odd chance of companionship. On balance, I feel much more comfortable there, for one reason it is mine and secondly I feel much more confident about myself and life there than anywhere else in the world. I am also calmer, more relaxed for not having to deal with the usual mayhem and insanity in news reports and generally faster paced life among people. Meanwhile I go there and probably will keep looking for things I want to save. I have gotten the indication that neither of my kids wants the place when I am gone, so sometimes the thought drifts to moving out completely and selling the place to take the money and follow the Rolling Stones on tour or something.

Bear tracks small enough to be a black.

Chances are I will keep going there when I can, appreciating the life, until I can't anymore and I then will have to make new choices. In the meantime it is always comforting to know I have a place I can go even if I don't get there often enough like Jimmy Buffett's "One Particular Harbor." Truth is maybe times are rough and I've got too much stuff physically, mentally, emotionally and it all needs a good clearing out, which would be much better done in the deep woods.

On the way out the next day with the load of important stuff, the trail seemed better despite the rain and I had a much easier time of it than going in. Of course I was moving slower and more carefully because there were several fragile items in the trailer. Along the way I came upon some bear tracks heading in the opposite direction. From the looks of them I had probably scared him off the trail and he was in that thick forest not too far away from me. Nevertheless I took some pictures before I moved on. Judging by the tracks I guessed the bear had trudged about four miles along that muddy trail until he heard me coming and hightailed it out of the way.  

That sort of almost meeting put a punctuation mark on the trip for me, and concluded the pleasantness of the whole experience very well. Then, feeling pretty good and with plenty of time to get home in time to watch the American women win the World Cup soccer tournament, I called friends who live along the road nearby and whom I feel guilty about every time I go out and don't stop for a visit. I went to their house and spent a couple of hours for no other reason than to renew the friendship. On the road home, Beck's "Morning Phase" album provided the perfect mellow background music for the day.

 

A little farther and further along that trail: Later in 2015 I realized nothing was preventing me from spending my winters at the cabin. As result I packed up and went out in early December and stayed through March. I then spent the next six winters at the East Pole. Accounts of those adventures can be found on this blog simply by searching the words "East Pole."

A follow-up: I spent the next seven winters at the East Pole.

The Sockeye wildfire
Beck: Turn Away

Some comments 

Judith Richards

 Great post, Tim.

Maybe add to your list of labels "Sockeye fire"?

Thank you! We'll chat soon! Again, great post! I really enjoyed it.

 

 

Mark Fuersteneau I really enjoyed reading this, Tim. It left me feeling warm and reflective. As we get older and our mortality lurks in the corners of our minds it isn't so much the "stuff" as it is the memories they bring and the meaningful things in life are those treasured memories, friends, family and, for me, my relationship with our Creator. Thanks for the little journey into reflectivity this morning.

 

 

‪Sharon Wright‪ Nice insights; we're not so remote with our 2nd hideaway but are thinking about listing for sale though we both have such impactful memories of our lives there. Hard choices with getting older, but they aren't really "bad" choices. New chapters to come...