The Burlytown Gazette

I was going through my pictures from my 10 day trip in AK last night with hesitation.  One of the key components of what makes it such a special place is the scope of the terrain, the audacious rise of 5000 foot peaks out of sea-level, the brilliant glacial green hue of lakes.  I am not a photog by any stretch and in looking at the photos I would almost rather infect prose into hearts about being there, rather than throw up some one dimensional moments in time.

Maybe this will be fodder to inspire you to go out and find Alaska for yourself.  We all have raison d’etre and the more time I spend there, the more I feel at home.  Even on July 4th weekend we drove past dozens of trailheads and campgrounds and most were empty.  You could pull off and be gone with the wilderness, not see another soul for days, weeks, whatever your pleasure.  As I get older I appreciate vast solitude more and more.  Or rather, some of my favorite moments with the people I love are the quiet ones enjoying the majesty of nature and it’s grand formations: soft verdant valley dips and craggy alpine ridges, the flow of a steely grey river and the wash of wind through a grove of tightly growing cottonwoods.

The trip also had less romantic moments.  On day 3 I woke up and read in the paper that a 15 year old girl riding in an all-night bike race in a city park on the fringe of Chugatch State Park was mauled by a grizzly.  She is alive, but her recovery will be long.  Experts say the bear was feeding near Campbell creek and although the young rider had multiple bear bells and 2 lights, between the gusty winds that night and the noise from the creek, the bear may have been inadvertently scared and attacked because of it.  This is the first recorded in-city bear attack in Anchorage history and a reminder that we are interlopers and vigilance of our surroundings is key to survival.  ironically the race had been changed from it’s previous venue, Kincaid Park due to construction.  Humans got pushed farther outside their inner-city zone and nature lashed out.  Biologists said if they had been consulted about the venue before the race started they would have pointed out the park was an active grizzly feeding zone and over 20 different bear DNA samples had been collected there in 2 years.

Fear is an ever-present in our lives.  The modern man’s conundrum of our lives within the societal hierarchy, our fear and trembling, disconnection, sarchasm, irony, need to succeed, they mean nothing one we step off the trail and into the wilderness.  We are not invincible, there is still a host of dangers, but with careful guard and confident step, the rewards are mighty and every time I step foot in the Alaskan wilderness,  I feel alive and happy to experience the mountains and their gifts.

This is taken from a trail in the Potter Creek area of Anchorage looking out over the Turnagain Arm at the Kenai Peninsula and the Chugatch Mountains

Lots of wildflowerage in the alpine areas

On top of Flat Top, our first peak of the day, Bill is looking out towards O’Malley Peak.  There was way more snow than this time last year due to the fact it has been cold and grey-bird since winter.  You can see Bill is wearing gloves and that is because it was probably about 45-48 degrees on top there.  Down below it was in the low 60’s for most of the trip.

This is the awesome ridge line trail we scrambled on heading up towards Peak 2 seen in the distance.  Everything looks really close and attainable until you start going there and then that is were perspective turns from pretty temptress to wicked witch with stank-ass breath.  It was worth every step.

Power Line Pass to the right, and the step up towards Wallowa Lake to the left.  You can’t see the lake because it is covered in snow.

Good chance we’ll live here someday, it feels right.

This dude probably gets pulled over 8 times a day.

2:00 a.m.  good night!!

He sunk his hands into the dusty dirt up to his wrists, lackadaisically wiggling his digits, and pulled them out, the heavy lines and creases somewhat filled. It reassured him when the fill from his plot possessed his hands, blurring the lines from his annual effort to harvest in an area otherwise profitable for solar energy and thin, tan weeds. He lived with this condition, to live out a life out by nowhere and no one, uncomplicated from the dynamic of where he had otherwise found too many choices to choose from. What didn’t grow, didn’t bother him, it was all moot in the big picture.

He thought on the first time he found the mountain parcel. It was August and his brother had taken him out there to get away from the tremors he was experiencing. They were not real, he told his brother, but his hands felt shaky when he thought about going back to his life away from the mountain retreat. It was when he placed his hands on the old growth for the first time that he sensed something lied deeper in the tree. He exhaled quitely, stood there for a resting second, telling the story of his tremors, his fear, silently.

It eased him through his flesh and spine, lucidly spilling out of his hands. It was the first time he felt this spirit in him, rushing as if a dam had finally given way. Looking around he felt a new connection, a connection he had been longing for. For years he forced this, turned brass into fools gold, trying to sell it internally as the real thing. He knew what sparkled did not always shine. For the first time he felt a shine. He walked the property line and everywhere in between that evening, he weaved his hands in the ivy and rinsed them in the spring.

Once committed to living there, he washed his hands daily in the spring, raising them up above and out from his face and watch the amber sun pass through, lighting up his palms, and spreading through his fingers. He appreciated the lines that had been worn there on his hands. There were marks from where he had absentmindedly picked up the sickle by the blade one afternoon and his blood steadily dripped into the soil. It was not pain, he remembered fondly. He bled furiously and he rejoiced in the experience watching his blood infuse in the earth that had become a shelter without roof for him. He had several lines and marks on his hands from his efforts on that piece of shelter. No more from shaking, rather, from deliberately hard living. So when he pressed his hands into the dirt and watched the dirt fill his skin, he thought of how he was home-coming, having already been there, and he rested with that.

~The Mayor

There are so many things that make me happy in this picture.  Hill looking radiant!

In the past 2 weeks I’ve seen this raccoon in the back garden twice now, both times very late at night. One time he was walking on top of the back fence, which I found very impressive since this raccoon is a heifer trapped in a striped fur body. He’s the biggest raccoon I’ve ever seen in real life or on film, tv, or the internet. I actually just spent some serious time researching pictures and video of raccoons on the internet because I think we’ve found the Sasquatch, Giant Squid and 250 year old, 500 pound catfish of raccoons.

The night he was climbing on my back fence was funny because I had just come home and I went to the back porch to water the plants. When I got back there I locked eyes with him and he went into frozen mode. He had nowhere to go and I’m sure he was using all of his fatty raccoon energy just to balance up there. I don’t think raccoons are particularly known for being nimble and there’s no way this huge bundle of fun is making any cat-like moves. Someone has got to be feeding him dinner scraps and then sending him out into the night. That or I should call National Geographic and let them know about this modern marvel.

The raccoon has caused a touch of strife in the house as I think they’re actually cool little (not in this case, doggies) animals. E thinks otherwise and would rather get her face painted with a 3 day old piece of cod rather than face the raccoon, even from the safety of the back porch. Until I can get my own picture of him as evidence, watch this raccoon fight and imagine if these 2 raccoons could morph into each other, and then add a third and you would be at about half the size of the burglar-eyed food bandit that traipses through my garden every now and then.

Are you as terrified of this man as I am? Does he reach into the weird Matthew Barney parts of your brain and then jiggle his finger into the mucous and fatty lobes of where you make sense of the world? But that shirt, wowza, this guy looks like he just came off a Carnival cruise ship that’s destination was the Bermuda Triangle, 18 years later, no food, no drinks, just sheer “otherness.”

If this guy asked me for a quarter on the street one day I’d punch him and then run away to the nearest Bed Bath and Beyond and hide myslef in the world’s biggest pile of pillows and blankets and all things down until I mellowed out. Then I’d eat a bowl of soup.

The reality is this guy is a professional model that participated in a Yohji Yamamoto fashion show in the Forbidden City in Beijing. China is hurting these days, doggies! People are getting lessons on how to be civil and not spit everywhere they go. They are leading the pack in human rights violations and now they’ve hosted a fashion show with a model that looks like a pale anorexic Frankenstein with a Beatles wig on, to boot. You go, China.

Every once in a while, the folks over at SNL just kill it.

Brits that have an affinity for both gun and rhyme battling now have a union made in heaven at their disposal. The hoodie pictured below may appear to be a run of the mill staple for your wardrobe, but these are more dynamic times we live in and nothing can be taken for granted, like say, some $700 Lanvin high tops that make me want to barf. The hoodie can allegedly stop a bullet from a 9mm Magnum handgun and protects the entire upper body.

The company that manufactures the hoodie, Bladerunner, maintains that their previous knife-resistant model was ordered by all walks people, even a priest! I’m not sure if this speaks more to the fact that Brits are crooked toothed tweakers or just dumb, but apparently the owner of the company, Barry Samms has his finger on the pulse of our increasingly hostile and paranoid culture. Their currency may be strong, but their heads are twsited.

How long before there are videos on YouTube of some 13 year old chavvies in knock off Burberry sweats and these things blasting themselves with a 9 mill from 10 paces?

This past weekend was spent going deep behind Kirkwood to score some delicious spring conditions.  The skinning was ideal, the snow we skied ranged from dense sugary winter snow, to perfect corn and by the end of the day, skinning out on the resort at 5:30 (!!!) it was especially nice to not have to wear head lamps on our exit.  Daylight savings time thank you!  onto the pics….

We knew it would be a special day when we saw this guy and his zebra tights first thing in the morning.

Dave and I getting skins ready for the long trek out

our destination, the main objective was to ski the obvious chute looker’s left of the summit

However, as we made our way across the ridge we realized the open face looker’s right of the summit was chock full of dense winter snow and a sustained steep pitch into a wide open snow field.  We were tempted, and rewarded.

Me loving the big carve in great winter snow under the California sun.

Kelly on the boot pack back up looker’s right of the chute

Mouth of the chute, nice moment in the sun

This was Kelly’s project so she got first tracks in the fresh chute, nice turn.

Dave ripping up a nice wall ride on the inside

A nice line and a great day in the mountains with friends.

Sometimes you don’t even realize it’s happening. One second you’re thinking about what to have for lunch, next thing you know you’re questioning why you never made out with Kate Scales during Field Day back in 7th grade, but she was soooooos clumsy, if you really had 2 left feet, would it really be a disadvantage or could you possibly be the next Ronaldinho? the world would love you and they’d make special shoes for you and perhaps everyone would start changing the way their feet were shaped and directed. Man, Paul Galvin walked like such a spaz, but he did buy me that Italian sub one time for fixing his brakes after he wrecked so hard at that library jump we built, that thing was awesome, I think I did my first shifty off that thing, it was probably two inches but it felt like 6 or 7 feet, I should get back into riding bmx, get all retro and wear a headband, start a company called BMXXX, hahahahhaa, man I could totally crack myself up all day if I lived on a desert island, but the coconut would get old really quick……