El Dorado Gold Mine

When we got to Fairbanks, Michael suggested going to the El Dorado Gold Mining site, where not only do you get to tour the old mine and see how mining was done years ago, but you get to pan for gold, too! The consensus was, it was worth a try, so why not? I called and made reservations for their 9:30 tour, I nagged Ian enough to leave by 9:00 in case there was trouble on the road, which there was. We’ve learned the hard way that road work is done in the summer up here, since winter isn’t the best time to be laying asphalt. Although, we did learn at the El Dorado Mine that the mining is done in the winter so the earth is hard (frozen is more like it) rather than in the summer when the ground is soft and muddy, ideal for cave-ins. The miners bring up the dirt and rock to be sifted in the winter and make piles and piles of it. Then during the summer, they sift through the dirt to find their gold nuggets. But, I digress.

Anyway, after getting around the orange cones and traffic back-ups due to the road construction, we got to the mine site just in time to get our tickets for the short train ride. Everyone boarded an open-air train typical of amusement park rides. Up front was a man dressed in black, sporting black sunglasses and a guitar, sitting on a stool. He welcomed everyone on board, asked where we all hailed from (the lady sitting behind us came from Helena, Alabama, just down the road from Yvonne’s house), then proceeded to tell us how in previous years he played the steel guitar for such hunks as Don Ho, Johnny Cash, etc. I wanted to, but didn’t, find the chance to ask him how Don Ho was in person, as when I met Ian in Hawaii back in 1971 for his R&R from Viet Nam, we attended one of Don Ho’s shows. While he was talking to the audience during a break in his singing, he asked for a show of hands from GIs there on R&R. Ian and I were sitting in the second row, so he pointed to me, asked if I was that GI’s wife, and when I said yes, he said I deserved to come up on stage and get a kiss from him! So, I did. Well, it was a thrill for me, but a bone of contention for Ian all these years. Basic jealousy, really. Yeah, like I was going to run off with Don Ho to his Honolulu paradise because he just happened to peck me on the cheek. (I related this story to Sheilagh later in the car, and she suggested that maybe Ian was jealous because Don Ho didn’t ask HIM to come up to get a kiss! Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that!)

Anyway, once the train was boarded, Earl (that’s the music guy’s name) proceeded to give us the rules of the ride (keep hands inside, etc.), and serenaded us with “North to Alaska” and imitations of Johnny Cash. He said that when he played for Johnny Cash, Johnny didn’t talk much, but did tell him to always thank his audience for their support, so he did just that. As the train meandered around different sites of the mine, actors dressed as early minors explained their part of the process of mining gold, both back in the early 1900s and now. It was very well done, very professional, and I marveled that their sound system never hissed or caused the speakers’ voices to waver in and out. We eventually made our way to the store (ahhhh, Sheilagh and I were in Heaven now), to find all sorts of souvenirs made with gold flakes or more expensive memorabilia made with gold nuggets, but best of all were the warm, fragrant, FREE, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisin cookies, macadamia nut, and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies set out for everyone. Set up next to the cookies, and also free, was coffee, tea and hot chocolate. What a marketing ploy, and man, did it work! Our wallets were ready to work overtime.

After getting our fill of cookies and coffee and having a good look around the gift shop, making note of things we wanted to check out later, we made our way to the gold panning area. The husband & wife team of owners of the property demonstrated how they commercially pan for gold using a ditch digger and big shoots of water to wash through what they dug up, then how astro turf and shaking grates sift the dirt out, leaving the valuable gold. After getting our small poke, or bag, of dirt guaranteed to contain some gold flakes and our panning pan, we joined the others on long benches stretching down both sides of a long channel of water. We poured our dirt in our pans and proceeded to shake, rattle and roll. We had to ask for help from the high-school aged attendants walking around, keeping their eyes on all of us, making sure we were both happy and not picking out a gold nugget and hiding it under our tongues (yes, that’s what they said!). Anyway, they showed us how to swirl the water around, gently pouring the dirt out with the water, dipping the pan in the water once more, swirling it around and pouring once again, over and over, ‘til all that was left were a few flakes of yellow gold. Ian and I combined our flakes and put them into a little black plastic tube that came along with the poke, then stood in line to have our find weighed. We ended up with $23 worth of gold, so I got in another line to have dangly earrings made with the flakes displayed in them. I’m not sure who got the better end of the deal, them or me, but I’m real happy with my earrings. Of course, then to alleviate my guilt at spending so much on myself, I had to find something for Ian in the gift shop. He soon became the proud owner of a nice, egg-shaped paper weight that has gold flakes flaking around inside. Mike liked it so much, he got one also, but a different shape. Sheilagh didn’t want earrings, but she was wearing a heart-shaped locket given to her by her parents, so she had her gold flakes put in the locket, behind the glass. It looks really pretty when she opens it, and has a nice story to go along with it now.

One lady in our group of about 100 “miners” actually found a nugget in her pan, worth about $52. The cynic in me wants to say it was “planted” there by the owners to keep the enthusiasm up. I’d guess they make sure someone in every group gets a nugget, but of couse, not one worth way too much. The lady who found it was feted both at the panning area, then once again on the train, so no one could have missed what had happened. Either way, we had a good time and are happy with our minute, flaky finds. It was a good idea of Mike’s, and we were all glad we went along with it. Before returning to the truck, we got our fill of free cookies and coffee, so even if we didn’t get the $52 nugget, we ate as much in free cookies! Ha – there’s more than one way to skim that gold!

First Half the trip to Deadhorse

Yes, I know these are out of order, and will be for a while 'til I get caught up! We did too much and saw too much to keep it all straight! Anyway......

The night before arriving in Deadhorse/Purdhoe Bay was spent in Wiseman, half way between Fairbanks and Deadhorse. It was only about 250 miles from Fairbanks, but took us about 8 hours to drive it. Thank goodness we’d been told the road was terrible, so decided to break up the trip into two days, finishing up the other 250 miles to Deadhorse the next day. Actually, the road wasn’t as bad as we expected. We left the Montana in Fairbanks, as we’d been told the Dalton Highway was all dirt, ridden with huge pot holes, very narrow with either no or very narrow shoulders, and to expect heavy on-coming traffic of large trucks hauling supplies to and from the oil wells in Purdue Bay at Deadhorse. In actuality, there were the pot holes the size of an old Dodge to dodge and freeze heaves, where the road rises and drops abruptly due to the freeze and thaw of the dirt below, which gave us the feeling we were riding on a roller coaster, and on more than one occasion made me want to heave. In some spots the road was a straight stretch ahead of us for as far as we could see, then other times it wound around beautiful mountains and tundra covered with red, yellow, brown, and green foliage and trees. We stopped at one spot to observe in the distance a large rock, named “Finger Rock,” shaped like a finger and pointing directly to Fairbanks. Apparently, for years it’s been a guide for bush pilots making their way to Fairbanks. Paralleling the only road north was the Trans Alaska Pipeline System. It was so interesting keeping an eye on it, as it wound itself around us, sometimes disappearing underground, just to pop up on the other side of the road, then disappear into a mountain and reappear in a series of zig-zags. The 48-inches in diameter metal pipe extends for 800 miles in all, 420 miles elevated above ground and 380 miles buried in bedrock. It was easy, yet fascinating, to realize there were 2.1 million barrels of oil flowing though the pipeline every day. On the way, we also passed several pump stations, some powered by natural gas, and others use liquid fuel. What amazed us most was the close proximity of the pipeline to the road, with no visible means of security. It seems it would be very easy for a terrorist to blow it up.

We also stopped at a large sign designating the Arctic Circle. Didn’t see the line in the sand, but took our pictures to prove we’d been there. Then, some smart alec from a tour bus informed us that the Arctic Circle really isn’t there, as it moves all the time. Now, what was his purpose in telling us that? Sometimes, we should just be left alone to our imagination and naivety.

When we saw the sign for a town coming up, Sheilagh and I realized it was time for a coffee and gift shop break, so had Ian stop at the one building in Camp Yukon. Inside the square shaped, flat roofed, very plain building was a 4-table restaurant of sorts, one room with t-shirts, sweatshirts and base ball caps, restrooms, and the “motel.” The motel consisted of one long hallway with rooms on either side of it, the first two being the public restrooms. Sheilagh and I had to check it out and laughed to see the stalls several inches up from the floor, just like in a train of years gone by. Took pictures of each other stepping up into the stalls.

When we finally saw the sign for Wiseman, 3 miles to the left, we were more than ready to see what these Arctic Getaway Cabins were all about. I made the reservations months ago. My choices consisted of this or the motel in Coldfoot, so in order not to get bored, we have reservations in Coldfoot on the way back down. Coldfoot is 9 miles south of Wiseman. We didn’t know what to expect as we traveled down the dirt road, with the Koyukuk River flowing beside us. We passed a homestead of questionable status, so got a little concerned. Finally, the road opened to several cabins, a row of sled dogs tethered to their doghouses, a tent (which Sheilagh and I checked out later, to find nothing in it but a chair), a green house which was packed full of plants which we did not recognize and wondered if legally questionable plants were being grown there, a rack for drying animal hides, and a couple hides hung over a swing set. They had long black shiny fur attached, but Sheilagh and I didn’t recognize what kind of animal used to wear it. It’s not too often we see animals without their innards. It kind of made us wonder what kind of meat would be fried up for our breakfast, too!


We found an older log home which proved to be the owner’s house, as well as where breakfast is served - the owners had left a note tacked to the door telling us to make ourselves at home in the Kuyukuk Cabin, and they’d be back in a little while. When we found our cabin, we were so pleased! It was the stereotypical Alaskan log cabin with a flower box under one window, a wooden bench on the rugged deck. Inside the front door we found two twin beds covered with blankets on which were weaved the words, “Welcome to the Wilderness.” A black pot-bellied, wood burning stove sat in the middle of the room, and just beyond the beds was a good sized pine table with built-in benches, and a small kitchen on the other side of that. It was so exciting! Up the winding log stairs we found two small bedrooms, each with a double bed covered with warm comforters. Each bedroom had a small alcove with a window, covered with heavy fabric curtains to keep out the midnight sun. Our cabin for the night was so cozy, all it needed was 10 feet of snow outside to make it “real” Alaska. Ian eventually noticed and later discussed with Bernie, husband of Uta, the German owners and long-time Alaskan residents from Germany, the fact that they live completely “off the grid.” Their electricity is supplied by solar panels and a generator. Propane heats the water which is pumped from their own well, and oil is used for heating. They just recently got phone service in the area, although it’s a shared line, or a party line, as we had when we were small kids. They get mail delivery once a week, or they can go to the post office in Coldfoot three times a week when it is open. (Sheilagh and I later went to the post office, to find a sign on the door demanding all guns and knives be left outside. I guess TSA found its way even to the wilds of Alaska!)

Naturally, we had no TV in the our little cabin in the woods, so after a dinner of sandwiches, fruit and potato chips, we dug out the Mexican Train dominoes game, wine for the ladies, Port for Mike, and beer for Ian. We had a great time, making up “house” rules, arguing over correct or incorrect rules, and keeping score to ensure Sheilagh won by a huge margin. The guys thought they won, and they certainly may have legally, but who said it all has to be legal in a game between friends??

Sheilagh and I took a walk along the river, examining the many rocks of its bed. Some were quite sparkly, and we wondered why. Some had beautiful layers of various colors, some were pure white or black. In no time we both had our hands full of rocks to keep, but by the time we got back to the cabin, they had been hygraded to just a couple for my collection. After all, there were more important souvenirs for Sheilagh to take back to Scotland than rocks!

We eventually went to our beds and had a surprisingly good night’s sleep. The cabin must have been well insulated, as none of us thought it was too chilly the next morning, ‘til we went outside. But, we quickly forgot the cold air when Uta fixed a wonderful pancake & eggs breakfast for us (no beaver or wolf meat), as well as for the group of Chinese tourists making their way back down from Prudhoe Bay. They had had a good trip, but didn’t get to get in the Arctic for the same reason we didn’t. They must have had Grant for their tour guide. We spoke with the Chinese group translator, then with Uta and Bernie about how they ended up in Alaska, in the wilds. Bernie, as a teen, exchanged summers with his dad’s friend’s son here in Alaska, then eventually made his way here to stay. Uta came along later, and now they have two children whom they home-school.


Fueled with lots of hot coffee and contented, full stomachs, we loaded up the truck with our snacks for the road and suitcases, said our good-byes to Uta and Bernie, took one last look around our cute little Kuyukuk cabin, and hit the road once again. We were on our last leg to the Arctic Ocean.

Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse/Polar Bear Club

I was all geared up to jump in the Arctic Ocean this morning just so I could say I did it, and to get my “Polar Bear Club” membership certificate. Don’t ask me why like everybody else has. I don’t know, it just seemed like one of those “bucket list” things that if I didn’t do it when the opportunity presented itself, I’d kick myself forever. Sheilagh & Mike brought their bathing suits all the way from Scotland so they could share in this momentous occasion, and Ian had assured me he wanted to jump in the frigid water, too. Well, last night I started losing members of the Polar Bear Club Wannabes. First, Sheilagh said she wasn’t too sure if she really wanted to do it because she doesn’t like the cold. She lives in Scotland, for Pete’s sake! Anyone who knows me knows I hate to be cold as much as anyone, but hey, how often to we get to jump in the Arctic Ocean?? Then, Mike was laughing about it, asking if we really were going to do it. Of course, I reassured him. I wouldn’t let him miss this opportunity if my life depended on it. Well, maybe if my life depended upon it, but it didn’t. Then, this morning, guess who wakes up with a “sinus cold” and thinks maybe he shouldn’t go in the cold water? Yeah, Ian. “Maybe I’ll just put my feet in,” he said feigning to be very miserable. He probably really was miserable, but I just couldn’t seem to muster up much sympathy. My support system had dwindled away. Tough luck, I thought, I’ll do it by myself and forever be the one who faced the nearly impossible and did it. It would be my triumphant moment. Anyone who wanted to could give me a fake Olympic medal for my accomplishment. OK, I had my mind up. I’d do it! After all, the sun was shining, there was no fog, so all the forces were with me. We’d made it all the way up to a place that can’t make up its mind to be called Deadhorse or Prudhoe Bay. When it was a town, it was known as Deadhorse. Once we put an oil field up there, we changed its name to Prudhoe Bay. Why do we always have to change names of places we take over? There must have been a perfectly good reason it was called Deadhorse from the very beginning of time. Plus, it’s perfect for jokes or misunderstandings. Such as when Sheilagh told her dad via international phone service that she was going to Deadhorse, he asked where was she going to see the dead horse. Prudhoe Bay? Nothing to construe with that name. But, I digress.

After I knocked on Sheilagh & Mike’s door for breakfast, she informed me as we were walking to the cafeteria that she had her bathing suit on under her clothes and she would go in the water if I did. I told her she didn’t have to. I knew she’d still be my friend. I’d forgive her this shortcoming. I wouldn’t take it personal. But no, she had told her mother on the phone this morning that if I went in the frigid water, she would too, even though her mother was concerned about her health, her heart, her body thermostat. Ahhh, that’s what friends are for. They’ll do anything for you!

We had breakfast in the cafeteria used by the employees of the various companies working on the pipeline. It was a very well stocked buffet, and as always, there was a small room full of snacks, soft drinks, coffee & tea which is open 24/7 to service the shift workers. We had been told to help ourselves to that stash any time, so it was nice to get our Diet Cokes, a banana, or whatever whenever without paying again. After filling on pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fresh cut-up pineapple, cantelope, and watermelon, we headed to the “Tour Room,” to meet Grant, our tour guide. He is a native Alaskan from a village near Nome, in northwest Alaska, with no roads leading to it. He works, like everyone here, two weeks on, two weeks off. He is employed as one of the two security guards (policemen) at Prudhoe Bay. Since no alcohol or drugs are allowed here, there isn’t much call for a police force, so Grant also takes the tourists on their Arctic tours. He put a DVD in the machine, turned on the TV, turned out the lights, and we (there were two other couples on the tour, one from Missouri, and I don’t know where the other couple was from) watched a 10 minute film on how the pipeline was built and how it is kept running by the various companies here. He then lifted his clipboard, flipped over the top sheet and held up a picture of a polar bear in the water, surrounded by yellow blow-up boundary markers. Grant proceeded to say this picture was taken yesterday in the area that we would have taken our plunge, and as a consequence, no one would be allowed in the water today. “Nooooooooo,” I cried, looking at Sheilagh, then Ian and Mike, none of whom were noticeably upset with this news. In fact, no one said anything but me. Was I the only brave soul in the lot??? Had they not noticed the picture was wrinkled, causing me to believe Grant’s story was a sham. The picture was probably an old one, but used when he just didn’t want to be bothered with people jumping in the cold water, then complaining how cold they are. (Later during the tour, Grant mentioned that the lowest paid person at Prudhoe Bay gets $55,000 per year, so for whatever he gets paid, I really think he should have humored us and let us get ourselves freezing wet if that’s what we wanted to do!)

After Grant gave his little spiel which I really wasn’t listening to any more, as I was quite upset with him at this point, we went back to our rooms to take off our bathing suits, and then met him at the van in front of the hotel. He drove us around the site, which resembled a huge construction site. It wasn’t what I was expecting an oil field to look like. I thought it would be covered with oil wells like you see in Texas, then lots of the steel casing of the pipeline laying everywhere, guiding that precious oil to the start of its trip south. Rather, each of the larger companies there (Halliburton being one) has its own small shop for repairing its own vehicles and its own portable, slapped together buildings on blocks for their employees to live in. There were three hotels, two for employees of the smaller companies to live in, and one for employees and tourists. There are no restaurants at Prudhoe Bay, but each of the three hotels takes turns cooking for the day. Luckily, the one we stayed at (The Caribou Inn) provided the buffet dinner last night and buffet breakfast this mornin). Each hotel has a small gift shop selling t-shirts, sweatshirts, baseball caps, coffee mugs, etc., advertising itself. A fairly large medical facility stood by itself, again made from the steel sided modular forms. Grant pointed out large rectangular shapes painted blue, saying those were the casings around each oil well, protecting them from the weather. He said that all the drilling is done during the winter when the ground is hard, rather than in summer when the ground is soft and soggy. Even though it’s harder work, it’s safer as the frozen ground won’t cave in. Grant said on a good day in winter, it’s about -40 degrees; on a bad day it’s around -80 degrees. In the only general store on site, Sheilagh and I examined the Arctic clothing and boots for sale. The boots alone must weigh 20 pounds! The jackets, pants, coveralls were a good quarter to half inch thick, with fur around the hoods. There were all sorts of winter underwear and very thick, wool socks. I’ll tell ya, I did not find any of that inviting! Grant took us by the storage area for their gigantic vehicles used to make the ice roads in the winter. They look like large tractors with about 16 huge, thick wheels which are only inflated to 4 to 6 pounds. The vehicles spray water outward as they slowly make their way over the frozen tundra or lakes. After this is repeated back and forth over the same area several times, wala, you have an ice road!

Grant told us that oil takes only a day to get from Prudhoe Bay all the way down to Valdez, at the opposite end of Alaska, that it comes out of the ground at about 180 degrees, except in winter when it comes out around 240 degrees, they keep the oil flowing 24/7 so the pipeline doesn’t corrode inside, the terrain of the land was the deciding factor of whether the pipeline was laid out in a straight line, or zigzag. (Ian thinks Grant is wrong on that, thinking that they used the zigzag formation when they wanted to slow down the flow a bit.)(Actually, they both were wrong, as we found out later on an information board that the zig-zag is in place for future expansion or shrinkage if and when needed.

Twice we were graced by the presence of an Arctic fox running along side the road. It was quite small, about the size of a large cat, with reddish hair and a white tip on its tail. Grant said by winter the fox’s hair will have turned all white. The fox reminded me of Heather, our first Sheltie, as people used to say she looked like a fox. She wasn’t a top-of-the-line quality Sheltie, but she passed for a pretty good fox.

We finally made our way to the water, which Grant said to the right was Beufort Bay and straight out was the Arctic Ocean. I wanted to correct his pronunciation of Beaufort, as he said it like Bo (long o) -fort, whereas Carolyn, my friend in Wilmington, NC, pronounces it Beu (like in Beautiful) -fort. I really had to bit my tongue, as it would not have been polite to correct him, but I still had not forgiven him for tricking us with his old picture of a white bear in a body of water. (It was probably a picture he cut out of a magazine on the best zoos of the world.) Anyway, a right proud southerner would know how to pronounce Beaufort before a native Alaskan, don’t you think? I do.

Grant gave us 15 minutes to go touch the water with our fingers (he even said we couldn’t take our shoes off!! Something about being able to run faster back to the van if we saw the bear. Yeah, right.) So, Sheilagh, Mike, Ian, and I took several pictures of us all touching the water, smiling in wonderment that we actually were this far north. I must admit that it still was exciting, knowing we were doing something few people get to do in a lifetime, and even Grant couldn’t take that away from us! I picked up a few pieces of driftwood to keep – I just waited for Grant to say something to me, like it’s against the law, those three pieces of driftwood support the entire ecological system in the Arctic and if removed, Al Gore will be proven right. I considered asking Grant if it’s OK to take the driftwood, but then remembered that old line passed down from some old sage long ago, “It’s better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.” So, my grandkids will have a piece of the Arctic, hopefully to serve as encouragement to some day make their way to Alaska. Maybe by then, Grant will have retired and gone back to his village and the security guard on duty will be of the mind that if you can’t see ‘em (polar bears), join ‘em!

Well, we made it as far north as we could, so after Grant returned us to the hotel, we made sure we got our Member of the Polar Bear Dippers Club (as opposed to the Polar Bear Club, which we really should have been able to get into), packed up our unused bathing suits and other stuff, settled up with the office, loaded up the truck, and headed south, retracing our steps of yesterday. Tonight we are in Coldfoot, half way between Deadhorse (where Prudhoe Bay is) and Fairbanks. In the morning we’ll make it the rest of the way back to Fairbanks and get ready to head to Denali on Saturday. We have reservations for a tour on Sunday. Hopefully, we’ll have a cooperative guide who will allow us to experience Denali, not stifle our experience. During out trip today, we four marveled at the fact that we all have been to the four far corners of the United States. Next summer we hope to go as far north as we can in Scotland – hopefully Grant won’t be around, keeping us from rounding up the sheep.

Soldotna & Kenai

Yesterday while I did my last day at work on the Ranch, Ian traveled to Anchorage to pick up Sheilagh & Michael Duncan at the airport. They had flown in from Scotland to do some traveling with us in Alaska, which we will begin Tuesday. Sheilagh and I go way back – we met as pen-pals when we were 16, and first met in person when we were 18. Over the years we maintained a very special friendship, our families fusing when Ian and I became god-parents to their oldest child. Sheilagh’s parents and my parents even became great friends, visiting each other from time to time. Anyway, once they became empty-nesters, as we had, we started taking the opportunity to travel with each other whenever we got the chance. This year, seeing Alaska, was an ideal opportunity to continue the new tradition.

Since they arrived late yesterday, we decided that today we would stay close to home and not wear them out. So, after Sheilagh and I attended the last church service at the Diamond M Ranch for the year, we all went to Soldotna, the town about 5-6 miles from the ranch. After exploring Fred Meyer’s (Alaskan style K-Mart) and getting a few things, such as a new throw rug for our entry-way (when I was frantically cleaning the 5th wheel yesterday on my lunch break, I knocked over a large bottle of olive oil. The oil spread nice and evenly over several feet in all directions, soaking into the throw rug at the doorway. Well, I figured the best way to get the oil out of the rug was to wash it in hot water, which is what I did. Didn’t think about the rubber backing, which didn’t disintegrate like I would have thought if I’d been thinking, but rather, rolled up on all four sides. I don’t know why the hot water would cause it to roll up, and it was as if starch had been put in the water, as I couldn’t get the rolls out. I did trip over the rug several times, though, so decided it had outlived its life span and would need replacing.) Mike bought a pair of Dockers trousers, which he always does when in the States, as he loves the pants, but cannot get them in Scotland. We got a few food items, then sat and had some mochas at the Starbucks in the store.

Re-energized on caffeine, we headed to the settlers museum, where they have several original cabins built and used by the original settlers of this area. The 89 year old woman named Kathy, who gave us a lot of history, came here all by herself in the early ‘60s when there wasn’t much here. She told us how the few people who were here traveled to Seward to see the doctor, the dentist traveled with his dental equipment and floor-stand drill on a boat, stopping when he saw a white flag on a stick, the sign that his services were needed in that area. She said that when Alaska was opened for homesteading just after WWII, you could claim land after being on it for 7 months, and military veterans were not only given first chance at a piece of property, but their wait was usually chiseled to about 5 months. Homesteading ended in Alaska in 1986 – much later than I’d have imagined. The cabins, including the one-room school house, and the two fishing boats, looked like things from the 1800s, yet they were built in the ‘50s and ‘60’s. It’s amazing to think that while we were living in normal houses with plumbing and electricity, people up here were just forging the first lines of modern civilization. Here on the Kenai Peninsula, there were no indigenous peoples, it was just all wooded land. So, these hearty homesteaders began what now are world-renown tourist destinations for fishing enthusiasts.

From the homesteaders’ cabins, we drove to Old Town in Kenai, about 4 miles on the other side of the Ranch. Ian first drove us to Beluga Point, high on a cliff overlooking the Cook Inlet. It was a beautiful sight with the sun bouncing off the water, the snow peaked mountains peaking above the clouds that clung to the shoreline. I had picked up a walking tour guide from the Visitor’s Center, so we quickly found our starting point, the Russian Orthodox Church. I’ve been there several times with other visitors, but it’s never been open. Today, however, we were lucky. Not only was it open, but the priest or bishop, or whatever he’s called (Sheilagh would remember, but she’s asleep) who has been assigned to that church since the ‘60s was on hand to answer questions. Because the inside décor resembled a Catholic church, I asked him what the difference is between the Catholic Church and the Orthodox. He said there are only two differences – the fact that Orthodox does not believe in the Immaculate Conception and they do not believe in the infallibility of the Pope. After we left, I wished I’d thought to ask him how they believe Christ was conceived and if they recognize the Pope as head of their church even though they think he could make mistakes.

We wandered around a bit, seeing homes built by settlers no more than 100 years ago, already on the National Register of Historical buildings. Most are still being used as privately owned homes, but one is now a cute, little coffee shop called Veronica’s. We did stop there and get iced coffees and Cokes. One building was the original post office for Kenai, but now is someone’s home. Some of the buildings are situated right on the cliff overlooking the Cook Inlet, and the rest are within a few blocks. In the lower 48, it would be very prime property,and would have the condos and hotels blocking the wonderful, free views. But here, even the new houses are pretty utilitarian, the American Legion sits a couple blocks from the cliff, and nothing looks like the resort area it would down south of here. It's kind of nice, though, knowing the normal, every day people can afford to live near the water. Granted they can't swim in it, but at least they have the million dollar view without spending a million dollars for it.

Anyway, by the time we got home, the day had turned into a lovely, sunny evening, so we ate dinner at the picnic table outside. This morning I had put a roast in the slow cooker, and we picked fresh lettuce from the ranch’s garden (even that tasted so much better than store-bought). It was a nice meal to come home to.

In the morning we’ll head to Homer. The weather report says it will be another beautiful, sunny day, so that should make for a good day trip. I sure hope we see some moose and maybe even a bear on the way down, for Sheilagh & Mike’s sake. Oh, when we were at the settler’s houses in Soldotna, the guide told us that a camper had been mauled just up the trail the previous night. Then, on the 10:00 news this evening, they said that bear maulings have increased this year. We do need to get something to make a lot of noise in case we come upon a bear, rather, if he comes upon us. Actually, the chances of that happening are just about nil since you have to be out walking in the first place. We just don’t do those things! As Sheilagh related a comment made by one of her students, “If God meant for us to walk, He wouldn’t have let us invent cars.”

Sunday Blessings

Once the summer season got rolling here at the ranch, Ronna & Blair came up with the idea to have an informal church service in the office on Sunday mornings to accomodate Christians who are here only temporarily and have no home church in the area. I liked the idea right off the bat, but never realized what a blessing it would become. About the same time, the other campground host couple and Ian and I were coming up with our work schedules of 3 days on, 4 days off. No one really had any preferences, so Ian and I volunteered for Saturday, Sunday and Monday. That way, I could attend the church service since I'd be in the office anyway.

The following Saturday, flyers were delivered to all the campers, cabins and suites, announcing the church service at 9:30 the next day. I got to the office about 9:15, and was introduced to Conrad, the preacher, and his wife Margene, as well as Justin and Bethany, who would provide the music. Justin plays the guidar and sings while Bethany sings. She is from a singing family known around this area for their contribution to gospel music. Justin appeared to be in his very early 20s, wore shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops, shaved his head bald, and wore the greatest smile you've ever seen. Later in the service he said that he is in training to go on a mission to China next year. He is learning to preach, be a music director, and everything else he'll need to spread the Gospel over there. Bethany was also dressed extremely casual, and was equally friendly. Conrad, around 5'8, with thining gray hair and a trimmed gray beard, also possessed a great smile and friendly, comfortable personality. His wife was a bit on the quiet side, but equally soft and kind.

Justin asked me to be in charge of keeping the hymn's songs going on the screen by pressing the "forward" button on the computer as the songs got to the end of each phrase. I learned my job quickly and was happy to contribute in this simple, but necessary way. It was so much nicer than having to deal with a hymnal, finding the right page and keeping our noses in the books. Looking up at the screen allowed time to also look outside and consider the words we were singing.

As the guests of the ranch arrived, they took a seat either on the over-stuffed couch always in the middle of the office, or on fold-up chairs Blair had placed around the room. As each Sunday service grew, more chairs were added, until one Sunday a couple weeks ago every chair that could possibly be squeezed into the office was taken.

On the first Sunday Conrad asked each of us to introduce ourselves, say where we're from, and what brought us to the Diamond M Ranch. It was intersting to hear each other's stories, but the most intersting was Conrad's himself. He was raised in a preaching family and gravitated to that life himself. He and his wife have been for years involved with evangelizing, and recently became part of the Arctic Barnabus organization. They provide help for preachers who live in remote villages of Alaska, preaching to the Native Alaskans. Preachers are only human and being so isolated wears on them just like it would on anyone. That's where Arctic Barnabus comes in. They provide relief, counseling, assistance, guidance, and anything else needed by preachers called to live out in the middle of no where, in an unfamiliar culture.

Conrad and his wife Margene had prayed as to what direction their lives were to take, and the next thing they knew, they were in Alaska. They were thrilled, not only because they felt it was a true calling to be here, but all their children and grandchildren had made their way up here over the past years, so their family would be together again. In Alaska, of all places. (I can understand why they would be so happy even so far away, as if both my kids and all my grandkids were together in one place, you know I'd be there, too, no matter where it was.)

The services always began with 2 or 3 songs, lead by Justin and Bethany. Sometimes they were joined by Ian, a young man who played a large drum that sat on the floor between his legs and reached up to his waist. (Of course, as soon as I was introduced to him, hearing his name, I had to ask him about it. His father's side of the family came from Scotland, but he doesn't know what part, and he's never been there.) From my position by the desk and within reach of the computer, I had a view of the Kenai River Flats through the large glass windows of the office. Beyond the Flats, bits of the Kenai River were visible, the city of Kenai beyond, the snow capped mountains in the background, pointing to the sometimes blue sky above. (Even on overcast days, even on rainy days, the view was God-given beautiful.) Always, either the Bald Eagles or sea gulls would put on a show outside, relaxingly gliding through the air, sometimes chasing each other, quietly or screechingly. A couple times I got caught so up in the natural beauty that I was late in hitting the "forward" button and the songs were delayed a few seconds. Justin really got "into" the music, swaying with his guitar, sometimes taking a hop or two, tapping his feet, shuffling with the tune. It allowed us all a freedom to feel the music and the message in it, and I noticed nearly everyone, my self included, swaying with the music.

Each Sunday Conrad preached on a different aspect of God's personality, using the Bible as a refrence point. It was always interesting, but I must admit I found myself far too often looking out the window and enjoying the reflection of God's personality instead of listening as intently as I should have. There is such a natural beauty here, in a surreal way. Even on the "warm" days, with the sun shining bright, the green of the river flats reflecting off the sparking river, the mountains on the horizon with the snow covering the top halves just seem out of place. If someone had painted the picture, I'm sure anyone would have critized the snowy mountains surrounding a summer day. But, here in reality, you just can't help but be drawn to it, wondering in awe at the majesty of it all. I remember asking Ronna a while back if she ever finds herself taking the view from her home for granted. She thought a moment, and said no, she still to this day likes to spend time on their viewing deck, just admiring God's hand at work, and finds nothing more relaxing than the peace and quiet it offers.

After Conrad's message, Justin led us in a couple more songs, and Conrad closed the service with a prayer. The campers, guests, and emploees, after a few words with each other, left to start their day fishing, sight-seeing, or relaxing. I'd go to the desk, look at the reservations for the day, and start my work day. It was a nice way to start a Sunday.

Tomorrow will be the last service in the office. The campground's population is a quarter of what it was in July, due to the fishing cycles. Conrad and Margene are commited to more traveling to "the bush" where they are needed by other preachers. Ian and I will be leaving the ranch on Tuesday to continue our Alaskan adventure elsewhere. I'll miss everything and all the people at the ranch. It's been a lot of different, amazing experiences. One of the things I'll miss most, though, are the Sunday morning church services in the office. They were a true blessing and seemed perfectly fitting in this setting of natural wonderment.

Spirit Rocks

Last night I worked 1 1/2 hours and created the world's best blog entry. Just like the biggest fish that got away, so did my blog. As I was to hit the "Post" button, I hit something else which immediately deleted the entire entry! I tried desparately to get it back, but nothing worked. The very worst part of this calamity is that it's not the first time this has happened. I've not been able to figure out what I hit that makes whatever I'm working on get deleted, but it always seems to make my best work disappear. You'll just have to take my word for it that it was a great piece of writing, because as hard as I will try to recreate my entry, re-dos are never as good as the original! But, I'll give it a try so you can at least get the gist of what I was writing about.

A few weeks ago, no, quite a few actually, maybe 7-8 weeks, although it really doesn't make any difference, a woman from the campground came in the office to show me two rocks she and her husband got at Discovery Park, part of the Capt. Cook Recreational Park, on the Cook Inlet, which we can see from the ranch on a clear day. In other words, not very often. Of course, the Cook Inlet is named after Capt. Cook who explored this area (by the way, I just found out in reading an article this morning that Capt. Bligh of the HMS Bounty fame joined Capt. Cook in looking for the Northwest Passage here. I wonder who had more time in rank. Must have been Capt. Cook since everything around here was named after him, and this is the first I've heard of Bligh being anywhere in the district.)

Anyway, the woman (I don't recall her name, so I'll just refer to her as Rock Woman) said they were walking along the beach at Discovery Park and came across a couple who come up here every summer for the sole purpose of digging up Spirit Rocks to give out to anyone who happens along their little spot on the beach. It's their calling in life, so to speak. I wonder how it pays. According to them, these rocks are called Spirit Rocks by the Native Alaskans and can be found in only one other place on earth - on the west coast of Michigan (the Native Michiganians call them Motor Rocks). When we lived in Michigan we often heard of the Potensky rocks and I wonder if they were what these are, although Ian says no, the Potensky rocks are minerals. I never heard of any other famous Michigan rocks other than the Rock Heads of Flint, so I'm not so sure Ian is right. Nevertheless, the Native Alaskans (we can't call them Eskimos any more, because the lower 48 states have finally realized that not all Alaskans are Eskimos) put a lot of faith in these rocks and consider them representing different facets of their lives.

Both of the rocks Rock Woman showed me were about 5-6 inches across, bulbuously (is that a word?) rounded on one side, and flat on the other. On the flat side of one rock was a smoothly gouged out groove about a half inch deep, starting in the middle of the rock and circling itself a couple times 'til it met with the outside of the rock. It gave the appearance of a cinnamon roll fresh out of the oven, waiting for its frosting and shake of cinnamon. It was quite fascinating, wondering how in the world the rock was given this design. The other rock, as Rock Woman held it, had the same furrows, but in the shape of an angel. Her (yes, ofcourse it's a "her") head, wings and triangular shaped gown were distintive enough to have no doubt what it was supposed to be. "However," Rock Woman said, "if you turn it upside down like this, the Natives say it's a woman giving birth. This rock would have been very valuable to them to ensure fertility." When Rock Woman turned the rock over, I had to stare at it a moment to see the abstract woman giving birth, but there it was. (Made me wonder how many Native Alaskan women threw the rock back in the water when her husband so proudly presented it to her!)

These rocks touched me (not like when my big brother used to throw rocks at me when we got off the school bus), I was quite fascinated by them and vowed to find some myself, or find the people who do all the work and then give them away. The next morning I told Ronna about them, and yes, she'd heard of them, but wasn't too impressed by the story. Later in the day as I was taking Mac otuside to do his business, a rock on the ground by our front door caught my eye. Could it be?? My hand scooped it up quickly and sure enough, one side was like a mound, the other side was flat with one complete, perfectly round circle gouged out about half way between the middle and the edge of the rock. The furrow wasn't as deep as the ones in Rock Woman's Spirit Rocks, so mine must have been taken from the water before the currents had time to finish their job. The story Rock Woman got from the beach people (by the way, the beach is not a Florida style beach where you'd lay out a beach towel if it ever got warm enough, but is made up of mud and stones.) was that over many, many years, hundreds, maybe thousands, the tide going in and out a couple times a day, day in and day out, gently carved out a niche in the bottom side of the rock with the grains of sand, dirt, etc., which eventually forms the designs, just as rivers and streams are carved out of rock over milleniums. Water flowing over the top gently wears the stone down to form the perfect mounds.

Over several weeks, I kept telling Ian we needed to go to Discovery Park to get some rocks. We did try once, actually, with little Ian and Mallory (the housekeeper at the ranch, who, by the way, is also from Florida), but turned back before we got there, not realizing how far the place was. A few days ago I reminded Ian that I still wanted to get out there and get myself a Spirit Rock, but we were swiftly running out of time. So, yesterday on the spur of the moment, about 3:10, we decided it was then or never. We rushed off with my jacket, but forgot my beautiful rain boots, the camera, Ian's jacket, a bag for the Spirit Rocks, and most importantly, snacks. About 45 minutes later we found a parking area not far from the beach, grabbed my jacket, read the sign on the tree stating a bear with her cub had been spotted in the area, so take caution, and decided to unlock the truck in case we had to outrun the bear to the truck and didn't want to waste precious time looking for the keys. When the walking path opened to the beach, it was quite an eerily beautiful sight. The tide was out, so all we could see was the mud flats that seemed to go on forever. It was the color of darkened cement, speckled with pockets of shiny water. Large boulders dotted the landscape. They had to be at least 10 feet high and 20 feet long/wide, yet once the tide would come in, I wondered if they would be visible at all, or just peek out of the water, causing them to look very small. Like an iceburg effect. On the horizon were clouds hiding the mountains I knew were there. Above the white clouds, the sky darkened and threatened rain. We've come to expect the rain here and have come to realize we won't melt after all, so we weren't too concerned about the weather.

We started digging up any rounded rock to check the other side, which became a chore because just about all of the rocks were rounded from above. We pretty much confined our digging to ones less than 8 inches or so across. Ian was moving faster than I was, as he wasn't turning over as many as I was. I think his interest waned after just a few rock turns, but I found myself engrossed in the effort and imagined finally turning one over to find the most fascinating carved picture ever. I'd shout "Found one!" Ian would come running, smiling, arms open, so happy for me, and determined to find the next one just for me. (Sorry, I was getting a bit dillusional there.) In reality, though, I just kept turning rocks to find flat bottoms. Some were still pretty, though, very green or speckled white and black like a small bird's egg. One looked like a million tiny pebbles had been forged together into the shape of a small ball. I had to let those go, though, and continue my quest for a Spirit Rock. (The spirit was rocking me!) At one point I looked up to see how far ahead Ian had gotten, just to find him leaning against a boulder, staring out to sea, probably wondering how much longer I was going to be. Or, maybe he, being a typical male, thought he'd have more success if he just stood still and the rock would bounce itself right up in front of him, saying "Here I am - look no further!" It was OK, though. I found it relaxing looking for my Spirit Rock and Ian found his way to relax.

Soon, a right proper hiking family came down the beach from the same direction we had come from. All four had the requisite hiking boots, sun hats, hiking clothes, canteens and binoculors hanging from their necks, and ofcourse the all-necessary hiking stick, and most importantly, great big smiles on their faces. I'm sure they were in their element. I asked them if this was the right place to find the Spirit Rock, and Dad, in his right proper accent from the eastern U.S. seaboard, said they had been told that this area had already been picked over and that you have to hike about 10 miles down the beach to find any these days. They were headed that way just now - would I like to come? Nearly choking with held-back laughter, I told him thanks, but I'd never make it a mile, let alone 10! After they said their "cheerios" and were jauntily on their way, I found Ian and told him the disappointing news. Somehow, he didn't seem as dissapointed as I felt. I had been keeping an eye on the tide and it did seem like it was starting to come in, so it did make me a little nervous, anyway. The mud beach was wet all the way up to the cliff, so it seemed like the tide would come all the way up, penning us in if we remained there too long. I wondered about the hiking family and if they were aware of it. Anyway, we decided to call it a wash and head back to the truck. I guess I'll never get my Native Alaskan Spirit Rock, but I do have my half-baked sample from the front yard. It'll have to be my treasure, and when I show it to friends and famly in the lower 48, they'll never know what they're missing by not having seen the real thing. The next time I'm in Michigan, though, I'll definitely check out those Potensky rocks!