N 60°30'41"
W 149°49'51"
I have been to the mountain top, and there is no greater feeling than to stand on top of a large stair step that is that much closer to heaven.
The climb to the top of Slaughter Mountain that is only accessible to those who already know where it. Our knowledge of this illusive trail came to us last week when we got a tip from a rather attractive girl tending bar at the Kenai Princess Lodge in Cooper Landing. She told of a spectacular view of a makeshift trail just a view miles down the road. A week later we set out to conquer the mountain.
Yesterday we awoke later than expected to begin at what is arguably the trail head of Slaughter Trail just after 11am. The first 100 meters of the trail was modest. It took us across a beautiful small stream that hadpossibly the coldest and msot crisp water I have ever drank fresh from a stream (mostly cause almost all water in the water 48 must be boiled to purify it which is not always the case up there). The trail continued on quickly climbing in elevation. The most trail up to the first ridge was distinch enough to distinguish it from the rest of the surrounding forest. But the Slaughter Trail is not an offical trail of the Chugach National Forest. It has no trail head. It has no markers or slashes indicating whether or not you are, in fact, on the trail. There are several side trails branching off with no signs. It has no clear ending point, and no measurement of trail length. This is the Slaughter Trail.
After that first 100 meters is over and you are past the beautiful stream that looks like something out of a calendar sold for $15, the honeymoon is over. Now you enter the mix between lush forest of Jack Pine and Paper Birch with various mountain wild flowers in (or almost in) full bloom and exposed sheet rock in a vertical staircase climbing towards the heavens. The trail was so treacherous and steap that continually on the exposed sheet rock climbs we would knock down loose rock that tumble down the mountain in a fashion of a hollywood movie to add dramatic effect to vertical danger of the situation.
While climbing our little stairway to heaven, we were acompanied by an elderly gentleman named Pete with his dog named Roofus. Pete carried only an apple and his 44 magnum, and he look like a large tanned piece of leather. He must have been at least 60, but we kept passing each other all the way up to the summit. Pete was in fantastic shape; he made us feel grossly out of shape.
At 3,100 feet, you feel on top of the world. As you approach summit of Slaughter Mountain, you feel a gust of wind that could almost sweep you off of your feet. You feet are screaming for rest, and you take pleasure in sitting beside the pile of rocks with markers and trinkets of those before you in this same spot. It was utterly amazing experience.
N 60°29'02"
W 149°59'31"
About 36 hours ago, I was nothing short of convinced that this whole Salmon run/fly fishing frenzy wasn't for me (that and it cost $150 for a season fishing license). Everyday at work people gasp at the thought of being here on the Russian River and not fishing especially while the salmon are running the gauntlet upstream to spawn before one of natures great mass suicides.
Fly fishing is nothing like any other type of fishing. In the land of no natural lakes, Georgia, you typically get used to simple bait and bobber, sit/wait fishing usually with beer. Here there is still beer, it is just more expensive. But the whole concept of fishing is just mind boggling. You suit up for the worst (mostly in terms of moisture) with waders and polarized sun-glasses being the most important parts other than the obvious rod and reel. But you wade into the river looking for fish (usually in a continuous fish interstate highway or the less popular schools or waves of fish), and you position your along side the fish. You don't want to be too close otherwise the fish will scatter like roaches under fresh light. But you cast a couple of yards up stream of the fish who swim with there months open, and you wait for that bright colored fly to dift downstream until it getsjust past the one you want then give the line a little jerk. If you are good, you will pop that fly into the fishes mouth and hold on for a fight. If you are alittle rusty, you will "snag" the fish on the belly, fin or tail. Those you have to throw back. But the weirdest concept for me before I started fishing was that the fish do not bite your fly. You play this kind of twisted nature carnival game (the ones where you pay a dollar for 3 rings and you have to get those rings around the top of a glass soda pop bottle to win the large stuffed tiger, and $20 later, your pride is broken and you are tiger-less). The whole idea of paying for such an experience sounded bitter-sweet at best, but I wanted those damn tigers.
So two nights ago I was laying in bed preparing to sleep in for my day off, and I came to the realization that it may be a very long time before I return if at all. After much debate, I decided to go semi "all-out" and bought a week long fishing license first thing the next morning. This was just before 9am. I got back to camp and geared up immediately with a couple of guys who work here (Ryan, Wisconsin and Joey, Mississippi). We headed down to the river at 9:30am. The limit of salmon caught per person per day is 6 fish. By 11:30am, all three of us each caught our limit of 6. We acquired a sturdy piece of dry driftwood, haphazardly secured the fish to it and began the rather long trek to camp, proudly displaying our limp trophy carcasses.
Once arriving to camp, our bosses informed us that we neglected to clean the fish in the river. Rookie mistake... and possibly your last if bear stumbles onto an easy meal. So we caught a ride down to the river, gutted/cleaned the fish, returned to camp where I learned how to fillet a fish. Yesterday was swell.
N 60°29'04"
W 149°58'25"
Yesterday was the first depressing day in Alaska thus far. The temperature descended as the cloud cover consumed the peninsula bringing cooler air and moisture which culminated in a very cold and wet Monday. But today makes the misery of the yesterday all worth it.
Assuming the weather would be nothing short of bleak and dreary, I awoke very late to a surprisingly beautiful day. The air was clear and crisp like after a spring rain but in summer and in the mountains. But the real selling point of this day was the fresh powder of the nearby mountain tops. The halo of snow on the high rock points make a sharp contrast with the deep blue hue of the atmosphere and the newly defined snow line of the Kenai Mountains.
Sadly I didn't bring my camera with me to the Princess Lodge, but I'm putting up pictures anyways.
N 60°29'04"
W 149°58'25"
I have been here now two weeks already which I find truly fanscinating. Time has quite literally flown by at break neck speed. And the funny thing about all of this is that that was the slow, boring part. Now things are getting interesting. Now the salmon have arrived.
Fishing season officially opened this past Thursday, the 11th. In the late evening of the 10th just before midnight, we had a nice little free-for-all on our hands brewing outside the gates of the campground. Impatient native Alaskans and foreigners alike geared up for the kick off to a hopefully a bountiful season of salmon fishing on the Russian River. People from all over the world coming to tiny slice of Alaska rugged terrain (to put in perspective, a tiny slice on the Alaska scale is enormous anywhere else, particularly in the lower 48).
The real everyday perk of this job is the hand-outs. When you are on-duty at the Contact Station, you get all kinds of gifts from visitors. Candy/ chocolate (mostly Europeans do this one), beer, food... just about anything. It really helps you get through the 8 hour shift. Work has actually turned into real work in the last couple of days. It's not the end of the world especially these days. The weather has been a little crummy, but when weather is good. It is really good.
Grizzly count has been pretty low so far, but now that the salmon are here, the bears are soon to follow.
N 60°29'04"
W 149°58'25"
Time to discuss my new backyard for the next 7 weeks or so. The Russian River Campground is wedged between the Russian River and the Kenai River (pronounced Key-nie). Most of the campsites are located on a shallow mountain top or along the ridge nestled between towering mountains that threaten to all but engulf the small campsite below. On the approach to the campsites near the back of the campground property, a narrow, bumpy road windes along the Kenai River. About half way up the road, there is a tiny island barely in the river with large birch trees growing. At the top of one of those trees is a large Bald Eagle nest where, of course, a rather large symbol of America resides.
A handle full of glimspes of bear sightings so far, mostly black bear. A couple of moose that I have seen personally, along with dozens of large rabitts that are so big that I feel as if they should be classified as Kangaroos. Anyways the salmon should be here soon and then comes the Grizzlys.
N 60°29′03″
W 149°59′05″So far this adventure has been more of a vacation than actual work. Monday was hiring day, which largely consisted of filling out paperwork for $10/hour.
Yesterday we spent time walking around the campground to get more familiar with our new settings and trained to use a dinosaur cash register. Today actually required manual labor, but the term is used very loosely. We walked through four sets of campsites, disposing of rocks around the fire-pits and the accumulated ash... We almost broke a sweat. Tomorrow is going to be the most difficult day so far. We have to attend MANDATORY bear training where we they feed us (food such as Elk), and there is a keg... all free of cost. AND we are still getting paid $10/hour. I love Alaska!
