New Bohemians | The Life Adventures and Creative Works of Bob and Claire Rogers

Midnight Sun Blues

The best place to see wildlife in Alaska in on the multi-use trails around the city, particularly the coastal trail west of Earthquake Park. This moose was being harassed by some shutterbugs, and gave me a dirty look as he lumbered past. Claire let me know he was getting too close and I should move. She used the same, “Boooobbb!” she uses when I get too close to a cliff edge while taking pictures. She knows she’ll be left with dealing with the aftermath if my lack of caution leads to a bad end.

Barry and Joyce, friends of friends in Tucson, took us on a hike up Flat Top, the most hiked mountain in Alaska. We had spectacular views and good weather, meaning it didn’t rain on us, but as usual so far, no sun. The trail in some ways reminded me of the Precipice Trail in Acadia National Park, but a little higher with no steps to ease the climb. Both have spectacular ocean and mountain views. On a clear day you can see Denali, but this summer clear days seem rare.

There is something about the light here this past week: soft and heavy and long nearly through the night; long and soft and ineffectual. I find it vaguely depressing, sometimes not so vaguely. An hour of blessed sunshine makes it worse, knowing it will go away and take the mountains and the spectral highlights, the sparkle, with it. The sun, slow to come, always going away, soon. I know I shouldn’t feel this way about the North. I feel guilty about, which doesn’t help any. All the beauty; moose, bears, lakes, mountains, and still snow patches and sometimes glaciers. But the light is just not there, just not right, yet.

There were days during the months we spent in Iceland, worse days, sleet and snow and biting wind, seemingly endless wind, forever wind. But. There wer days of impossibly blue skies and sparkling seas, and brightly painted houses and tall church spires against the blue. It was hopeful light.

The locals swing between apology, “It was beautiful two weeks ago.” to resigned, “if it’s not raining, it’s a good day.” I’m not buying it, yet. I’ve become addicted to sunshine, or at least light with power, light with hope.

I’m writing this in the little village of Hope, and there are patches of sun between rain showers. Hope. Nice name for a town in Alaska.

Alaska Summer Camp, Deadman Lake.

Not long after entering Alaska from Yukon Territory, Claire found a small lake with free camping through the Escapees listings. It was a short drive down a narrow dirt road, just small enough to keep out the big RVs. We were fairly early in the day and got the best lakeside site. We saw quite a few birds, Claire heard a loon, and I saw a pair of tundra swans patrolling the shore. The mosquitoes weren’t too bad, and during a short walk, we met a German couple who have been coming to the north country for 20 years, and had camped here before. We can see why they would want to revisit this beautiful lake. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen campers, and all were quiet.

It is amazing that this campground is free. This is the kind of camping experience worth paying for; it’s the $45 a night commercial parks where you are crammed in with noisy neighbors, just for a couple of dollars worth of electricity, that make no sense to us. Finding spots like Deadman Lake takes a little research, ie looking through the Escapees Day End list, but it is well worth it.

Fountain of Need; Anchorage Encounter

The Fountain of Need

by Claire Rogers

Sometimes instinct tells you to do something; this time, I acted on my inner voice a little too late.

On a rainy July 3^rd in Anchorage, we drove to the library to try to get some work done. We found it was closed for the Independence Day weekend, but we parked anyway to make use of the Wi-Fi network. As we sat in our motorhome, connecting to the outside world, we watched as waves of hopeful people approached the entrance, only to leave in disappointment. At lunch time, we took a break and watched the beautiful Mrs. Jack M. [Kay] Linton Memorial Ice Fountain with its seven plumes dancing like quill pens hovering over an ink well.

I marveled out loud to Bob how lucky we were to have the luxury of eating when we wanted, more out of out of loyalty to a clock than in response to hunger.

We moped through the gray afternoon, napping to the shush of the fountain and studying maps to prepare for some sunny day. Throughout the day, a lone figure moved around the park, sometimes contemplating the fountain from a lonely perch on a park bench. As others came and went, this boy stayed. I imagined that he’d planned to study in the library and was stuck waiting for a ride home once a parent got off work. He looked to be a teenager, but he wasn’t talking on a cell phone or listening to music, he was just sitting.

We stayed in the parking lot through a nice dinner of fresh halibut and mustard greens that we’d picked up at the farmer’s market this morning.

All the other park visitors were now gone and only the boy remained, now hunched at an empty picnic table. Still, he stared straight into the fountain. It was well past what would have been the closing hour for the library and no one had come to pick him up.

Too late, I wondered aloud if he’d had anything to eat. Too long, I hesitated: What could I give him? Too much, I worried: What if he was deranged?

As I haltingly put together snacks I would like, I stumbled over options as Bob kept watch of the boy. When the boy moved out of sight behind the motorhome, I hurried out the door with a small bag of cherries, blueberries, raisins and granola bars, still fretting that I hadn’t come up with a suitable source of protein.

Panicked that I’d missed him, I rushed around the motorhome. When I did see him, I realized with a pang that I’d hesitated one minute too long. The boy had just successfully fished a Styrofoam tray of unfinished food from the garbage can. I called out to him and my prepared script left me. He waited patiently as I stumbled around trying to ask if he’d eaten. To avoid looking at the greasy tray of salvaged refried beans and rice, I looked up into his face and saw crusty eyes and a boyish softness. He seemed relieved when I spoke to him; his body relaxed and he even smiled as I handed him the meager bag. Bob followed with a cold can of soda.

He thanked us, we wished him well and he turned and walked away.

Epilogue: The plaque at the memorial fountain reads: “In dedication to a volunteer extraordinaire, whose spirit inspired so many in our community to live by her motto: ‘Find a need and fill it.’”

St. Elias Mountains Yukon Territory Canada

A decent weather day offered some great views of the St. Elias Mountains in the Yukon Territory, a few miles north of Haines Junction. The pullouts all had no overnight parking signs, so we had to look for side roads to explore. After one false start, we found this abandoned sub-division with spectacular views. It is strange to see sub-divisions so far in the countryside, right next to the largest contiguous wilderness protected area in the world, half in the Yukon and half in Alaska. Somebody had big dreams, but it’s just too remote.

We expected bears or moose, but only had birds and wildflowers for company. The daylight is almost continuous now, and the light, when there is a break in the rainclouds, just fades and warms slowly toward 11pm, and it is light all night. I enjoy waking up and looking at the light at 2am or so, just as morning color begins to wash the sky.

These remote boondocks are so quiet. We’re always ready to move quickly if necessary, but have never had the need. It takes some experience to hide a motorhome in the bush, but we’re getting pretty good at it!

Alaska next.