Canning Smoked Salmon

Normally, Ian and I work Saturday, Sunday and Monday, but because we have Sheilagh and Mike, our Scottish friends, coming next Saturday, I wanted to make up a day in advance, so worked this past Tuesday. For the first day in quite a while, we weren't terribly busy, so Ronna eventually asked me to help her with canning her smoked salmon. She, her husband Blair, and their oldest son, Josiah, had gone dip-netting the day before and caught a couple. Both Ronna and Blair just needed some time away, so they got their canoe and took it to the Kenai River. The plan was for Ronna to row the boat while Blair and Josiah operated their nets, retrieved the fish from them and threw the fish in the boat. That would save the time and effort of taking them to the shore each time they caught one. So, they got the canoe into the water with Ronna at the helm, the guys took position, one on either side of the boat. Each held onto a long, 7-foot pole with the large round green dipping net on the opposite end. They waded alongside the canoe out to the middle of the river, then turned to face the current coming in from the Cook Inlet at the mouth of the Kenai. At first everything went according to plan and it wasn't long before Blair felt the tug on his net, and pulled it in hand-over-hand on the pole. He hauled the net over the boat and dumped the struggling salmon onto the boat, then slipped the net back into the water. As they kept moving, Ronna saw that the current was getting stonger, the water was getting deepr, and the guys were having more difficulty in controlling their nets, as well as themselves. She mentioned to them that maybe they should turn around and go the other way, but they didn't see any problem and continued on their merry way. Ronna felt it getting harder and harder to row the canoe and soon she wasn't keeping up with the guys. She was starting to fear that her husband and first-born son might get in a current that they could not fight and end up in the Cook Inlet. She yelled to Blair that he might want to think about going in. He just shook his head from side to side and gave the thumbs-up gesture. Ronna was having a harder and harder time rowing against the current, her heart was pounding, and she truly felt afraid for her family. She said she yelled and yelled at them, but they were either ignoring her or just not hearing her. Eventually, she decided to row to the shore as whe was making no head-way. Of course, shortly after she reached the shore, Blair and Josiah were looking for her to dump their second fish, but didn't realize where she had gone. So, all three of them were in panic mode, the guys looking for their wife and mother, Ronna watching what she thought was her husband and son struggle to keep upright in the current, now up to their arm pits, and thinking the panic on their faces was because they were losing control. It was pretty scary for her at that point, with all kinds of thoughts going through her head. Luckily, Blair finally spied Ronna on the side of the river and he and Josiah were able to drudge themselves to her, losing their fish along the way. Of course, they wanted to go back out once they all realized they were OK, but Ronna had had enough. She said no way, they were packing up and going back home! She was a nervous wreck and probably wished she had a 4-pack of wine coolers at her house. So, their dip-netting for the day was over, and they only had one fish to show for their efforts.



They cold smoked the fish that evening and by the next day it was ready to be canned, along with a huge amount of bellies that had been given to them. It's surprising how much fish is wasted here. Some of the fishermen and women who have used the fish cleaning station at the ranch cut their fish carefully, saving as much as possible for future consumption. But, there are others who are clumsy about the way they cut or fillet, or don't particularly care for the belly part of the fish, just intending to throw away all what they call waste. Enter the Martins, who throw away absolutely nothing. A large portion of their winter canning involves parts of the fish that no one else wanted. (While Don was here, he was given a bag of bellies that he and Ian smoked, and they thoroughly enjoyed them.)



Unfortunately, as much as I love fresh fish, my stomach can't handle smoked meat. It makes me want to puke and leaves a burning sensation in my gut for a long time. I never had that problem with the smell, though, but then, I'd never smelled it in such concentration as I did in Ronna's kitchen while I helped her. She has a to-die-for kitchen with a huge island with marble top and a large 8-burner stove top on the island. When I entered my dream kitchen in her house, I saw a sea of glass Kerr jars covering the island and a huge industrial-size pressure cooker on her stove top. Ronna was standing in front of the largest mixing bowl I've ever seen, filled to the brim with fillets of salmon, and a cutting board on which she was removing the skin from the fillets. She told me to fill the jars with the fillets, leaving about 1/2 inch of space on the top, and mashing it down to take up most of the space. The smoked meat fragrance entered my nostrils and went straight to my throat, then the pit of my stomach, where it stayed. For the next couple of hours, Ronna cut, I filled jars, and tried to control the nausea. I kept thinking of ways to tell her I'd love to help her, but the stench is making me sick! I know now proud she is to be "putting up" for her family's winter food, though, and didn't want to hurt her feelings. (Plus, I was "on the clock" so to speak, and if she needed me more in the kitchen than in the office, then that's where I belonged, I kept telling myself.) Other than feeling icky, I was enjoying the time, doing something other than business with her, carrying on a normal woman-to-woman chat about our families and lives, and learning about something I've never done before. I've always been afraid to can, just knowing I'd poison my family, but she's been doing it for years and her family is doing just fine. Once I had all the jars filled, she had me put a half teaspoon of salt on top of the meat, then screw the lids on, firmly but not too tightly. She put 21 large Kerr cans in the bottom of the pressure cooker, then another dozen medium sized ones on top of them. There were a few left over, so she said I may as well go take my lunch hour while she got the pressure cooker going, and oh, by the way, take a jar home with you!

Oh, it was so good to get out in the frest air. I was still feeling quezzy, though, when I opened the door to our 5th wheel and caught the whiff of something foul. I immediately checked the garbage can in the kitchen, but the smell was not coming from there. I started to go into the living room when I spied the piles of runny, icky diarrehea that Mac obviously left behind when he couldn't wait for me to get home. Now, that smell and sight on top of my already icky stomach chased me out of the house, taking just enough time to call Mac out with me. He continued to leave a few more piles on the dirt. I've told Ian at least a million times since we've had Mac not to give him bones because they always make him sick. And every time Ian can't resist it and thinks he's doing Mac a favor and gives him a bone, he gets sick. So, guess what Ian had given him the previous night? It was the same old litany: Me: "Don't give him that bone - you know it'll make him sick!" Ian: "Ah, this one won't. It's little and he's only going to eat the meat off it anyway." Me: "Now why did you do that? You know he's going to get sick now!" (said as I grab the bone out of Mac's mouth and throw it away, not knowing Ian gave him another bone while I decided to stay inside and clean up the kitchen). Ian: "No, he won't. He'll be fine. You'll see." Yeah, right. So, where is Ian while I'm wanting to throw up and knowing I have to somehow clean up the mess in the living room? Of course, he's out fishing. Won't be back for hours. I can't leave the mess, but thank goodness Mac did it on the large throw rug, not on the wall-to-wall. Well, I tried. I really did. But, just couldn't do it. So, the rug got folded up, carried to the dumpster, and that was the end of the rug and the mess. Poor ol' Mac had a few more rounds of the runs outside and when I saw Ian later in the day and told him that once again Mac got sick from the bones, I got his stock answer: "That's stange. It was just a small one!"

So, we've had 2 1/2 days of decent weather. The sun has been shining, the sky has been blue with billowing white clouds, and there hasn't been a drop of rain. When the weather report turned to our favor, the weatherman reported that we had had 17 straight days of some form of rain. It actually got up to 72 degrees today, and I wore sandles and only one layer of shirts!

Today was Ian's 63rd birthday. I'd been thinking it was his 62nd all day, then he reminded me that if that were so, he's been collecting social security for a year illegally. Ronna and Blair wanted to have a party for him with the other campground hosts and the housekeeper, but he declined. He's never liked to have parties in his honor - the kids and I, with help from our friends in Ft. Walton Beach, had to have a very surprise party for his 50th, and that's the last time I tried that. So, he and I had a quiet dinner of our own with Alaskan King Crab. I cooked it according to the directions, but after several bites we agreed that although it was pretty good, it wasn't worth the cost. We still have some in the freezer, so will have the rest of it at a later date. Maybe I can find a recipe that will make it taste like what we've heard it tastes like.

The other day when I was working in the office, one of the campers by the name of Martha Vaughn, came in with a couple books to leave in the exchange library. I noticed she wrote something in both of them and wondered why. I asked her if they were good books, and she said, "Oh, yes, very good!" Later, as I was straightening up the piles of magazines and tourist guides in that area, I remembered her books and decided to see what they were. The first one was titled "Grandma's Trunk, A Family Story," by Martha Rowe Vaughn! I gasped when I realized she was the author. I grabbed the other book she left behind, titled "Crossings," and she was the author of that one also! I saw that on the title page of both books she had written "Happy Trails!" and signed her name. Oh, how I wished I had known she was the author. I'd love to have picked her brain about the publishing route she took. I immediately found her cell phone number on our records and called her, just to find she was already on the road, heading for her next destination. I talked to her a couple minutes before we lost the connection, but I found she self-published the book and has found it very difficult to do the marketing and selling by herself. Both my books have been put on the back burner, as I couldn't decide whether to pursue a real publishing house or self publish, plus the fact that I hate to edit and change anything I've already written. I'm so afraid I'll take out something of importance, so consequently, neither book is ready for the publishing stage yet anyway. But, it's still interesting to get opinions from people who have been there, done that.

Well, it's late, so I'd better get ready for bed, don my eye covers to make it dark enough to sleep. Oh, by the way, this evening Ronna brought to Ian for his birthday, a card, a bottle of some special beer, and 4 jars of smoked salmon.

Dip Net Fishing

Dip net season has begun! A while back the stores started selling huge fishing nets on very long poles - I figured they were used to bring the king salmon into the boat once you got the line close enough. They were being sold in any and every kind of store, just as is any fishing paraphernalia in this part of Alaska. Then I started hearing about how the numbers of fishermen would swell beyond imagination once the dip net season opened, and how there would be no complaints from the dip netters about the lack of fish this year. The RV park here at the ranch started taking reservations from dip netters by the dozens. I finally could not remain ignorant any longer, ignored the male side of my brain, and asked the question - what is dip netting????

For starters, dip net fishing is open only to Alaskan residents. They don't have to be native Alaskans, but do have to live here full time for at least 8 months out of each year. Once the dip netting season begins, they can hang up their poles and head out to the rivers with their dip nets, which are exactly what their name implies - a large net used for catching fish - without the assistance of a pole, by dipping the large net into the water until a fish happens to swim into it.

This evening Ian and I were coming back from Kenai, crossed the Kenai River and decided to stop and watch the dip netters for a while. It was quite interesting, actually. Men, wearing waders, stood in the water only a few feet from shore, hanging onto the telescopic pole that had been extended to what seemed to be up to about 20feet. Every couple of feet or so on the pole were handles to help the fishermen have control of the pole. On the end of the pole that was in the water was the net, some as small as 3 feet across, some as large as 10-15 feet across. The purpose is to catch the fish as they swim into the net. No bait, no lures, no fishing pole. Once the fishermen feel the fish in the net, they turn it over and pull it to the shore. They can fish this way from 6 am to 10 pm, and only in designated areas of the Kenai and Kasilof Rivers. (I'm sure there are more places they can dip net fish, but the woman I spoke with this evening only mentioned those two.) The limit for dip net fishing varies from area to area in Alaska, but in this area the limit is 65. That's a lot fo fish for one day! There have been articles in the local newspaper asking net dippers not to catch more fish than what they will actually eat in the next year, as the purpose of allowing them to fish in this fashion is for subsistence only. Every year, though, they have people catching way too much which can't be eaten. Then every spring there are people trying to sell it to dog pounds, canneries, etc., all of which is illegal.

For as hard a time as Ian and Don have been having in catching just one fish the old fashioned way, it doesn't seem quite fair to have the dip netters catching so many with so little effort or skill. But then, this is Alaska. They certainly have their own way of doing things here.

Between the dip netters and the regular tourist fishermen, the fish cleaning station on the ranch is being used nearly 24/7 now, and thank goodness the ranch supplies 3 freezers for their guests to store their fish in until they leave. The up-right is an instant (nearly) freezer which can be used for 6 hours, then the fish must be moved to one of the two chest freezers. You'd be surprised at the number of people sending fish home via the U.S. Postal system or UPS. By the time they buy a fishing license, the fishing equipment, sometimes charter fees, then pay to have the meat processed and packaged for mailing, it's pretty expensive meat they're sending home. They could get it much cheaper out of Costco, but it just goes to show you - the experience is priceless.

We're getting quite a few military personnel at the ranch these days. One of my first jobs after we arrived was to send packets of rack cards advertising the Diamond M Ranch to the various military installations in Alaska. The owners and I are real pleased with the response. The military are still getting 10% discount here, even in July when no other discounts are given. If Ronna or Blair, the owners, are in the office when any military arrive, they always thank the soldiers for what they do for our country. It's very nice to hear that. By the way, the discount is given to retired military as well as active duty, which is highly unusual.

We've had military from Kodiak as well as from North Pole, as well as Fairbanks and Anchorage. Right now they come to the Kenai Peninsula for the same reason everyone else does - fishing. That's the name of the game right now. Oh, we had two French-Candadian couples here a few days for fishing, and sightseeing. They were funny in that even though they spoke English with heavy French accents and are from Quebec, they have never been to France, have no intention of going to France, do not like the French people, won't buy French wine (they love wine from Oregon) and kept referring to America as "home." When I was talking with them, they were sitting at one of the picnic tables while drinking a bottle of wine with the Biltmore Estate label. They had been there recently, bought a few of the bottles of wine, and drink it when they are out of Oregon wine! When Ian's nephew was here, his wife Jean and I found a winery in Homer that we both liked really well. They had a kiwi fruit wine that I thoroughly enjoyed, and hope I get the chance get some more before leaving the Peninsula. Speaking of which.....I wonder if I have any in the cabinet....nope, we drank the last of it with our young friends, Chad and Katie, who visited a couple nights ago. They were the young couple who came to our aid on the AlCan Hwy when our hitch broke. They disconnected their own 5th wheel, towed ours to the next rest stop, then had to reconnect theirs. They were on their way to Fairbanks where Katie was to work her practical hours in a clinic to finish up her doctorate degree in physical therapy. She flew back to Michigan last week for graduation, and now they are doing a bit of sightseeing before hitting the road back to MI. So, they spent a couple nights here, Ian took them clamming and Eagle viewing in Nininchik, the guys went fishing a couple times, and little Ian spent time playing with their new little puppy brown lab, Dawson, named for Dawson Creek. They're a nice young couple with a great future, and we sure hope we keep in touch.

Ian and I are working Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays, so tomorrow is another day at the office for me. I think Ian is transplanting small trees for the owners. I'm sure we'll see lots of dip netters and pole fishermen tomorrow, coming and going, filleting their catch at the fish station.

Fly-in Fishing Trip - and Bears!

Who in the world would turn down a FREE chance to fly in a float plane to a fertile salmon fishing area, and watch the bears and Bald Eagles at their best? Larry, that's who! Don't ask me why he didn't want to go, as I never figured it out, but thank goodness he did, as his loss was my gain. Larry is the male part of the other campground host couple, and it was their turn to try the fly-in fishing trip in exchange for recommending the Adventure Air tours to our guests at the ranch. Janet, his wife, first offered the trip to Ian and me, but we had little Ian to be concerned about and there wasn't a third seat available. So, it was decided that Janet and I would have a ladies' day out fishing! Neither of us had ever fished, so at first we thought we'd just watch the others, but our minds changed just about as quickly as the salmon were biting.

We had only an hour to get our snacks ready (can't go anywhere without snacks, you know), stop somewhere to get our fishing license, and get to the house where the business is run out of on a small lake not far from the ranch. We stopped at the Shell Gas Station down the road to get our fishing licenses, and had to laugh as it just seemed like such a macho thing to do. In my house, Ian does the catching, I do the eating, which in my opinion has always been a good trade-off. Up here you can get your fishing license just about anywhere - gas stations, Safeway grocery store, the hardward stores, Fred Meyers (Alaskan version of K-Mart), 7-11 type stores, you name it.

Anyway, we found the correct road, about 20 minutes from the ranch, then the house - a very nice, large log home with the business being run out of the walk-out basement which faced the lake. Several of the houses lining the lake had little airplanes docked at their yards, just like anyone in the lower 48 on a lake would have a boat. Our plane, an Otter, DHC-3 made by De Havilland of Canada, beautiful aircraft, very utile to say the least, P&W radial engine, Pratt and Whitney,(plane info provided by Mike the Mechanic, a.k.a, my older brother), was docked and waiting for us - it looked pretty small, but that only made the whole venture into an adventure. We met our fishing guide, Dave, and our pilot, Gary, as well as the three men joining us on the trip. Two of them, Mike and Mitch, were buddies from Michigan, and knew of Holly, where we used to live. One of them, Mike, was well over 6 feet tall and well built, not the best form for a small plane! Our third plane-mate was George, an old Air Force retiree, who was very talkative and quite funny until later when he downed a couple beers. Suddenly, four-letter words were floating out of his mouth, and his stories weren't so funny any more. But, I digress. Janet and I got in our little plane first and fell into the sling seat in back. The three men sat in front of us, very scrunched together, across three seats, each of which were only about 14 inches across. Ahead of them sat the pilot and fishing guide. To say Mike was scrunched in is an understatement. He had a good view of his feet the whole flight out.

You cannot imagine the thrill of seeing the water disappear beneath us as the plane picked up speed, then height. It was such a smooth and quick take off. Janet and I had huge windows to look out, so we had a great view of the lake disappear, then the Kenai River appear as well as Kalifornsky Beach Rd, on which the ranch is located. We headed west as lakes, houses, roads, and forested areas appeared, then slowly slid behind us. We flew by Kenai Airport and saw the lot where people in this area park/store their planes while here. The pilot told us that Alaska has more licensed pilots than any other state. He thinks also, but was not positive, that Alaska has more private plane owners than any other state, also. Here, they're called "bush planes and bush pilots" and are so plentiful because there are so few roads going anywhere other than connecting the larger towns. Most of Alaska is accessable only by air or sea.

Anyway, within minutes we were over the Cook Inlet, beautiful, yet due to the mist that morning, not near as bright and colorful as the day the two Ians and I took our short-lived flight. We did see some oil decks, though, which looked quite small from the air. I didn't realize they had them in this part of Alaska. Then, once again, we were over land, this time the Cook Inlet Flats. It looked like mud from the air, with puddles, streams and a couple rivers filled with water the color of milk. Gary said the color came from the silt in the water. The flats made way to what looked like jungle from where we were, 200-300 feet up. Then a large lake with a water fall off to the side. The pilot circled the lake, announcing this is where we would land. I found myself looking at the coast, wondering where the land was that he'd land on, then remembered we'd be landing on the water! It was a smooth as glass landing, so much easier than landing on land. No pressure on the ears, no gut wrenching as the floats slid onto the water's surface. "Wow, is this cool or what??" was muttered over and over by us all.

Waiting for us was a small aluninum boat, so the men unrolled their legs and necks in order to get out of the plane, Janet and I heaved out of the sling to step directly on the float, then the boat. After our bags of snacks, the fishing poles, and a large ice chest were loaded on the boat, we took off for a 10-minute ride across the mirror-like water. We passed the water fall that we had seen from above and learned that there are no salmon trying to get up it, as it is glacier run-off and is way too cold for them. The lake seemed to be longer than it was wide, so we had good views of the shore which seemed to drop off right into the water, with no beach to it. Probably was high tide. Eventually we approached Wolverine Creek where several other boats had already dropped anchor and had their poles in the water. Our guide, Dave, found our spot, dropped our anchor, sorted out the fishing poles which the men promptly started to cast. (Janet and I, knowing nothing about what we were expected to do, did nothing.) Ha, ha, though - Dave told the men to hold up, he had some 'splaining to do before they started fishing! He told us the rules of the water, the fact that if we felt we had something on our line we were to shout "Fish On!" and the rest of us had to reel in lines until the fish was in the boat. If, by chance, the fish got off the line before making it to the boat, the one holding the pole was to shout "Fish Off," and the rest of us could stop reeling in. Well, by this time Janet and I were looking at each other with the same thoughts going through our heads - "Huh? What's he talking about? We don't even know how to get the line in the water, let alone get a fish on it!" At one point Dave said we'd be using fly rods, which I took to mean we'd be fly-fishing. "Oh, I've always wanted to learn to fly fish!" I said, all excited now. "Yeah, me too!" Janet said. Dave looked at us like the couple of dim-wits we were and said no, we weren't fly-fishing, but using fly rods. (Heck, doesn't it make sense that if you're using fly rods you'd be fly fishing?) Anyway, we never did find out why they're called fly rods, as we were too embarrased to ask, but they had reels on them, which I don't think fly-fishing rods have.

Anyway, the men threw their lines out and started catching salmon almost immediately. Meanwhile, Janet and I struggled to get the hang of Dave's instructions. He showed us how to move the little lever on the reel into one position, then reach the pole behind our shoulders, then flick the rod in front, allowing the line to fly out into the air, hopefully ahead of us. (Dave previously had passed out sunglasses that we had to wear to prevent hooks ending up in our eyes from novices such as Janet and me.) Anyway, as soon as the hook hit the water, we were to flick the little lever back in the other direction to keep the line from extending any further. Yeah, right. Much easier said than done. Eventually, we got the hang of it - that is, until we thought we did and didn't pay enough attention, forgot to flick the lever back to stop the line from going out, and ended up with a tangled mess. Dave was always there to untangle our lines and patiently tell us to throw the line out again. Soon, Janet finally got her line in the water, and after a couple tries, I did, too. At one point, Dave was 'splainin' to me why my line wasn't going out as far as everyone else's, when a movement behind him caught my eye. I couldn't help but turn my attention to the shore, ignoring Dave, shouted "Bear!" and pointed to the shore. Of course, then everyone's attention was on the black bear wandering from the side of the mountain down to the creek. We watched as he waded into the running water, wandered around a bit while sticking his furry face into the water, swatting with a huge, black paw, then finally bringing his face up with a nice sized salmon laying horizontally in his mouth. He non-chalantly carried it back to shore, lumbered a ways up the mountain, then found a place to settle down with his lunch. He glanced up occasionally while he munched, probably thanking the heavens for his easily caught sushi.

The men were catching salmon one after another. Dave even warned them that three was their limit, so they may want to put the smaller ones back. Also, if they snagged any, it was illegal to keep them. They had to be put back in while still alive. Janet finally got one on her line, and shouted the requisit "Fish On!" I was so excited for her, but it was funny we didn't hear a peep out of the men. I'm sure they were hoping she and I wouldn't catch any, then they could catch our limit for themselves. That's not what we had in mind, though. She reeled in a good sized one, I took several pictures of her holding it before Dave put in in the bag marked "women." Each of the men had a seperate bag for their fish - I don't know why Dave put ours together, as it later worked against me. He probably figured we wouldn't catch our limit, either, but oh, was he sorely mistaken!

Suddenly, more bears were appearing. It obviously was lunch time. A brown bear with three cubs (yes, triplets!) wandered into the water. The cubs were cautious about dipping their paws in the cold stream, and their mom made several trips back and forth, showing them it was OK. About the time all three finally worked up the courage to enter the water, Mama bear let out a loud, blood-curdling roar. "What in the world?" I commented, as she rushed them, pushing them out of the water and up into the bushes. Dave said she either saw or heard something that she's teaching her babies to fear. Sure enough, within moments a large black bear emerged from the other side of the stream and made his way into the water, looking for his meal. I had thought the brown bears were more fierce than the black bears, so that surprised me, but Dave said when the brown bears have cubs with them, they will retreat, knowing the black bear could easily grab one while she is dealing with the others. Cannibalism survives in the wild!

Finally, I felt a pull on my line! No, could it be? Since I didn't know how it was supposed to feel, I didn't yell "Fish On," but just said "I think I have something, but I'm not sure." Dave said to start reeling it in slowly, and within moments I could see my fish. Wow, I did it! When I got him up to the boat, Mitch had his net ready, caught him in it, and whacked him in the head with a club he had made himself out of some willow. That stopped the fish's fight, and I felt bad for him just long enough to apologize, but got over it quick enough to have Janet take my picture holding him. I felt energized and realized I could really do this after all.

Every now and then, swarms of salmon swam past the boat and we all tried to get our lines in the middle of them. They didn't seem to take the bait, though, I guess they thought they were on their way somewhere important. Closer to shore, clusters of salmon flapped the water, causing it too look like a feeding frenzy. It was interesting that most of them were not orange, but more of a gray color. According to Dave, they get more orange the closer they are to spawning, and eventual death. Both brown and black bears continued to enter the stream, catch a salmon and retreat with it in their mouths. Some ate the fish as soon as they found a dry spot on shore, while others disappeared into the bushes with them, only to return to catch another fish and disappear with it. We wondered if maybe they were taking the fish to their den where they might have cubs waiting to be fed.

While Janet, the men and I were involved with catching our limit of salmon, and the bears were involved with getting their limit also, Bald Eagles and sea gulls overhead put on quite a show of their own. The gulls were usually chasing the Eagles, who were after their nests. Sometimes the Eagles were just hanging out, soaring, enjoying the air on a lazy afternoon (in actuality, they were probably looking for an unprotected gull's nest). One of the brown bears wandered around the shore to within feet of one of the other fishing boats - their guide had to move the boat, as the bear, if he so decided, could easily have made a dash for the boat. Lots of good eatin' there!

Janet caught another fish, one that had a gash on its side. Dave said a bear probably had pawed at it before it got away. She chose to keep the fish and proceeded to catch yet another one. I was starting to feel rejected by the salmon again since it had been a while since I caught my one and only, yet all the men and Janet were at their limits. Janet proceeded to catch a fourth fish, and shortly after Dave put it in our bag, I finally landed my second. After Janet took pictures of me and my prize, Dave said I could keep fishing but would have to throw back any I caught since between Janet and I, we had our limit of six now. I still don't know why he let her keep four when he knew I wasn't at my limit yet, but also figured, what's the point of fishing if I can't keep it? There's no sense in hurting the poor fish for no reason, so I put my pole down and from that point on sat back and enjoyed the continuous show put on by Mother nature.

Finally, Dave announced it was time to put up the poles and head back to where the plane would pick us up. Everyone was feeling good, everyone agreed it was one of the great days of our lives, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. What an opportunity we had to witness God's creation at its best.

The boat sped through the lake while we spotted more bears meandering along the shoreline and up on animal-made mountain trails. The Bald Eagles followed us in hopes of us taking pity on them and offering some salmon, which we did not do. Soon we spied our Otter, DHC-3 made by De Havilland of Canada, beautiful aircraft, very utile to say the least, P&W radial engine, Pratt and Whitney, sitting next to the shore, awaiting its crew and passengers. Janet and I had agreed to let Mike and George sit in the sling seat in back, so they got in first, then we huddled in the small horizontal seat with Mitch. Once we were settled and strapped in, Janet and I realized how hard it was to see out of the windows, as our heads were higher than they were. The sling seat in back really was the best seat in the house. Anyway, as we flew over the flats once again, Gary the pilot, pointed out groups of bears down below. Six black, several browns, two brown bears that ran down the river when they saw us overhead. Further on, more pockets of bears in the flats - we hadn't seen them there on the way in, but it was now about 6:30 pm, so they must have been looking for dinner.

We retraced our steps over the town of Kenai, the Kenai River, the airport, then finally circled the lake where we would land. As we got closer, though, Gary saw that someone was water-skiing (in a wet suit), so he buzzed the guy in warning, circled the lake, then was able to land after the ski boat and skiier went to the side of the lake. Another flawless landing, and before we knew it we were back where we started from. What a day. I've since tried to sum up the whole day, as it was such a surreal experience. What I've written here cannot come near to relating the true experience. What keeps coming to mind is that it felt like I was in a snow globe, completely surrounded by nature going about it's business as usual, not realizing I was there, watching it all, melding into it. The bears, the Eagles, the salmon, it was all like a movie. Once again, I've seen Alaska and Mother Nature at it best. Oh, and I didn't even tell you what the snow capped mountains looked like from up there! Don't get me started!

Happy 4th of July!!!

Happy 4th of July, everyone! I woke up to the sound of rain, thinking oh, no, it's got to stop raining for the parade! The town of Kenai has a parade every year on the 4th of July, and includes anyone in the Peninsula who wants to participate. The Diamond M Ranch enters every year and has won 1st place with their float several times, so our hopes were high for this year. They had asked Ian to play the part of Uncle Sam since he has that nice white beard, and to stand next to a BBQ grill, holding BBQ utinsils. The rest of us, after decorating the float, would sit on top and wave to everyone lined up along the curb. Little Ian decided to wear his military garb - fatique pants, green t-shirt, Grandpa's U.S. Air Force baseball cap, and his blue jacket with a large patch on the back, commemorating fallen soldiers.

Janie and Laura, a couple women from the campground, rode in our truck while we followed Carroll and the rest of the group in his truck, towing the float behind. Once we got to Kenai, we parked the truck and Carroll pulled the float to our spot in the parade. I was really surprised to see how many other entrants were to be in the parade - at least 60! There were about 15 of us from the ranch quickly attaching red, white and blue bunting, flags, ribbons, bows, and signs on the float, which was actually a goose-necked trailer. (Carroll and Joanne, the patriarch and matriarch of the ranch had referred to this goose-necked trailer several times, but I didn't realize what a goose-necked trailer was until I saw it. I really don't know how they come up with these names - why not a snaked trailer, or an s-shaped trailer, or a bent-arm trailer, or an upside-down bent leg trailer?) Anyway, next to us the Shriners blew up a blow-up Shriner on the back of a truck, and one real Shriner mounted an ATV (no little motorcycles for these Shriners). A dozen young girls from the local dance studio practiced their routine on the grass, a man about my age (39) polished his Dorian sportscar which was his entry, a group of 4 middle-aged men practiced their lawn-chair routine, which was pretty cute, and in the distance I could hear a band playing my all time favorite, Proud Mary. The float I hope won first place was a replica of a bald eagle, probably made of paper mache, standing about 12 to 15 feet high, surrounded by American flags, and a recording of Lee Greenwood's "I'm Proud to be an American" playing in the back ground. It was very impressive to say the least.

Once the parade started moving, Laura and I volunteered to walk along the float, which was a requirement of each entrant. Of course, we went very slowly, waving to the spectators and wishing them all a happy 4th of July. I was really surprised to see how many people turned out to watch the parade when the weather was so iffy. (Did I tell you it stopped raining just as we started decorating our float?) We were so fortunate, as the weather held until the end of the parade, then the rain started up again. Some of the floats ahead of us threw candy for the kids on the curb, but no one from our group thought of that, so all they got from us were smiles and waves. One of the ranch guests on our float said that he was surprised to see all the patriotic floats, as in upper state NY where he lives, you only see Mickey Mouse, Cinderella stuff, etc. in their parades. Actually, we've been happily surprised to see how patriotic Alaskans are since we've been here. They are very supportive of our troops, give military discounts in most places, and not only for active duty. It's very nice to see.

At one point in the parade, I noticed an old man standing on the curb with who I imagine was his wife. They appeared to be my about my parents' ages, and the man was in a Navy uniform from WWII. I thought, how wonderful that he wore his old uniform on the 4th of July! I yelled up to little Ian on the float and told him to look at the man in his Navy uniform from WWII. As he turned around to look, I slowed my pace to let the float get ahead of me so I could see the old man more clearly. By the time I could see him again, he was standing at attention, his right hand in solute. I wondered what he was soluting, so followed his line of sight. I was completely stunned to see little Ian standing at attention and soluting the man in return. I imagine Ian had soluted him first, as I've seen do that to soldiers on military installations when they walked past him. That was usually done in fun, but the look on Ian's face and the look on the old soldier's face showed deep respect for the uniform, all it stands for, all that soldier did for our country, and what this young man, some day possibly a soldier, will do for our country. It showed the true meaning of the 4th of July in the United States of America. This is some fabulous country, worth fighting and dying for. I wish I had had my camera at the ready, to snap that moment in history of these two generations, probably 70 years between them, making eye contact with love for their country, respect for the older generation's contributions to it, and deep regard for the uniform he was still wearing. It burned an imprint on my mind, and I hope I never lose it. Such pride of my grandson and an unknown soldier.

Well, the Diamond M Ranch didn't win any prizes this year, but it was fun. The winners were announced later in the afternoon, but we didn't wait around for it. Since there is no Saturday newspaper, we'll have to wait for Sunday's paper to find out who won - I sure hope it was the Bald Eagle!

This evening I had to go to Fred Meyer (Alaskan version of K-Mart) to get salad fixin's for tomorrow night's clam chowder night in the RV park, so little Ian wanted to go to. The last of his spending money was burning a hole in his pocket. He actually wanted to buy a book, though, called Captain Underpants. He's been reading several of the series since he's been with us and wanted to get another one - they're quite funny, actually, although I do hope he never copies the antics of the characters. Not publicly, anyway. Unfortunately, Fred Meyer didn't have any Captain Underpants books, so he wanted to look at the Lego sets. He really loves putting them together and has worked on several since he's been with us. Well, they were on sale - buy two and get one free. Ian looked and looked, but really didn't see any he wanted or didn't already have until I said, "Hey, look at this! It's on sale from $38 to $17." As soon as Ian saw what it was, he got so excited and hugged the box to his chest. Said he'd always wanted it. It was kind of large, so I said it might be hard to get it back home - he said he can mail it. I figured we'll worry about that later, so let him put it in the cart, and we made our way to the check out line. Well, luck would have it that the Lego box rang up at $89 plus tax - over $92! I told the lady it was $38, but on sale for $17, so of course she had to have it checked out. We waited while the line behind us got longer and Ian tried to convince the cashier that his Grandma was right. The lady said maybe someone put the box in the wrong spot - Ian said no, it was in the right spot. Word came back that $89 was the correct price. Someone did put it back in the wrong spot. Well, you can imagine how disappointed Ian was. He handled it quite well, though, and I went through the grandmotherly litany of how we all have disappointments like that from time to time. Oh, yeah, I didn't realize that our disappointments weren't like his, though, that he really, really, really wanted that Lego kit and someone really, really stupid put it in the wrong place on the shelf. I was sympathizing with him when suddenly he stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide, and he said, "I know what to do, Grandma! We can buy two of the cheap Lego sets and get the $89 one for free!!" Oh, if things were only so simple.