Just wanted to say a quick Happy Birthday to my Mom (last Friday). I really meant to write this when it was actually on her birthday...and then I was tempted to cheat and just change the post date to make it look like I was on time...but I'm trying this new honesty-in-everything life strategy. I hear it's important.
In any case, Mom, I know you only get on this blog because it's the easiest way to navigate to Jonathan and Leah's blog where you can see pictures of your favorite grand baby, but just in case you stop to read this I LOVE YOU and want you to know that you are (and always have been) a huge example to me. I want to grow up and be the woman you are, minus the constant chatting on your cell phone. But without that cell phone ringing at the most inopportune times you wouldn't be who you are. Even though I acted horrified I was secretly proud that I had the loudest cheering mother in the stands at all my basketball games, and was even happy to show off your sweet dance moves at all the high school dances you chaperoned.
I know you hate Alaska but after living so far away from you guys for two years it's been a blast to have you right down the road. Hope you get acclimatized to the cold weather soon and quit wearing sweatshirts in 70 degree weather. This is the best it's going to get.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Think You Have it Bad?
The other night Jake and I, along with my father decided to take an all night 'suicide' fishing trip down to the Russian River for the Red Salmon run. Why an all night fishing trip, you ask? Because there are too many damn tourists on the Russian in daylight that claim to be serious experienced anglers but who in actuality just spent way too much money at Cabela's to complete their "Alaskan Outdoors man Outfit" and drive me to the point of insanity that many a time I've had to talk myself out of whipping my pole just so as to catch the guy's ear next to me for his failed attempts to squeeze me out of the fishing hole by standing thisclose when there's a whole 100 yards of empty shoreline.
How's that for a vent?
In any case, we prefer to fish at night to avoid the appropriately named 'combat fishing'.
Now that I've justified that point, I'll move on with my story. It was about midnight and we were geared up ready for the mile hike along the trail of the river that brings us to our favorite fishing hot spot. As we were descending down the stairway to the trail I was thinking aloud how I enjoy running across the occasional brown bear, but only if they are across the river and not paying any attention to many numbered anglers around them (or at the very least paying attention to me...as previously mentioned they are free to lick their chops at John Smith visiting from Florida who's standing too close to the guy next to him and snagging his line every cast).
After a couple minutes of expressing my fears of one day of rounding a corner and finding a bear in my path, I concluded that it would be one of the scariest encounters I've ever had and left it there for the boys to ponder.
No sooner had we cleared our first corner did I stop dead in my tracks, as there was a brown bear standing twenty yards up the trail. I pointed this little obstacle out to Dad and Jake, and we stood there for a minute deciding how to proceed. Within a couple seconds of us noticing the brown bear (for the rest of the story to avoid the over use of the words "brown bear" I've named him Snoopy), his head turned our direction and he proceeded to start moseying his bear paws down the trail towards us. This was enough for me to fish my bear mace out of my holster, and all three of us start searching off the trail to make sure we weren't going to run into a blazing mad mama bear pissed that we were yelling at Snoopy to get out of our way.
As Snoopy continued in our direction, we were trying to look out for a bigger sow, arm ourselves with mace (and in Jake's case his 44 Mag...I know, I have a hardcore honey...) and back off the trail without losing eye contact with Snoopy. It's funny, living in Alaska you always get all sorts of advice from random places on how to avoid bears and how to react to any encounters with them. It also adds to the complicaty of things because different kinds of bears deserve different reactions i.e. black bears vs. brown bears. What I managed to remember with brown bears is that you're not supposed to run away, but at the same time it's advised that you 'stand your ground' while making your way back off the trail and out of sight. Hearing that when you're not actually in the situation makes perfect sense. But tell me, when you're standing in front of a friggin' brown bear that is obviously not intimidated by your cries and whoops to go away, HOW IN THE HELL ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BACK OFF SLOWLY WHILE STANDING YOUR GROUND??? The short answer? You can't. And trying so only confuses and scares you even more.
After coming to this conclusion I finally just turned and walked slowing behind my Dad, while Jake was keeping his eye on the bear behind me. As I was in the middle of my 'please God don't let a small brown bear eat my face off' prayer, I caught something in the corner of my eye, and once I turned my head I realized Snoopy had picked up speed and was now running right at us. I let out a hair-raising scream and then started yelling, and as Jake aimed his pistol and I fidgeted with my mace (all the while yelling at the top of my lungs) Snoopy finally stopped. Standing no more than 10 ft. in front of us, suddenly realizing we were armed with weapons that would at the very least send him whaling back into the woods, he turned and started walking away from us, still on the trail.
All three of us let out a huge sigh of relief as we nervously giggled at how close Snoopy had gotten to us. In the meantime of us standing there in disbelief that we had gotten chased by a brown bear, four more anglers met us on the trail trying to pass us by and continue towards the river. We warned them about our encounter and after talking to them for a minute we decided safety in numbers was our policy for the evening.
Aside from following Snoopy back down the trail for another 100 yards or so (giving him a lot of room), and the once instance in which my incredibly near-sighted father mistook Snoopy for a man in waders, the rest of the trip was uneventful.
Moral of the story? No matter how prepared you think you might be for a situation to arise, when it finally does you will come to the realization that no amount of preparation compensates for the fact a five hundred pound bear is standing in your trail. Hopefully you have the luck I did and get to retain all of your limbs.
How's that for a vent?
In any case, we prefer to fish at night to avoid the appropriately named 'combat fishing'.
Now that I've justified that point, I'll move on with my story. It was about midnight and we were geared up ready for the mile hike along the trail of the river that brings us to our favorite fishing hot spot. As we were descending down the stairway to the trail I was thinking aloud how I enjoy running across the occasional brown bear, but only if they are across the river and not paying any attention to many numbered anglers around them (or at the very least paying attention to me...as previously mentioned they are free to lick their chops at John Smith visiting from Florida who's standing too close to the guy next to him and snagging his line every cast).
After a couple minutes of expressing my fears of one day of rounding a corner and finding a bear in my path, I concluded that it would be one of the scariest encounters I've ever had and left it there for the boys to ponder.
No sooner had we cleared our first corner did I stop dead in my tracks, as there was a brown bear standing twenty yards up the trail. I pointed this little obstacle out to Dad and Jake, and we stood there for a minute deciding how to proceed. Within a couple seconds of us noticing the brown bear (for the rest of the story to avoid the over use of the words "brown bear" I've named him Snoopy), his head turned our direction and he proceeded to start moseying his bear paws down the trail towards us. This was enough for me to fish my bear mace out of my holster, and all three of us start searching off the trail to make sure we weren't going to run into a blazing mad mama bear pissed that we were yelling at Snoopy to get out of our way.
As Snoopy continued in our direction, we were trying to look out for a bigger sow, arm ourselves with mace (and in Jake's case his 44 Mag...I know, I have a hardcore honey...) and back off the trail without losing eye contact with Snoopy. It's funny, living in Alaska you always get all sorts of advice from random places on how to avoid bears and how to react to any encounters with them. It also adds to the complicaty of things because different kinds of bears deserve different reactions i.e. black bears vs. brown bears. What I managed to remember with brown bears is that you're not supposed to run away, but at the same time it's advised that you 'stand your ground' while making your way back off the trail and out of sight. Hearing that when you're not actually in the situation makes perfect sense. But tell me, when you're standing in front of a friggin' brown bear that is obviously not intimidated by your cries and whoops to go away, HOW IN THE HELL ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BACK OFF SLOWLY WHILE STANDING YOUR GROUND??? The short answer? You can't. And trying so only confuses and scares you even more.
After coming to this conclusion I finally just turned and walked slowing behind my Dad, while Jake was keeping his eye on the bear behind me. As I was in the middle of my 'please God don't let a small brown bear eat my face off' prayer, I caught something in the corner of my eye, and once I turned my head I realized Snoopy had picked up speed and was now running right at us. I let out a hair-raising scream and then started yelling, and as Jake aimed his pistol and I fidgeted with my mace (all the while yelling at the top of my lungs) Snoopy finally stopped. Standing no more than 10 ft. in front of us, suddenly realizing we were armed with weapons that would at the very least send him whaling back into the woods, he turned and started walking away from us, still on the trail.
All three of us let out a huge sigh of relief as we nervously giggled at how close Snoopy had gotten to us. In the meantime of us standing there in disbelief that we had gotten chased by a brown bear, four more anglers met us on the trail trying to pass us by and continue towards the river. We warned them about our encounter and after talking to them for a minute we decided safety in numbers was our policy for the evening.
Aside from following Snoopy back down the trail for another 100 yards or so (giving him a lot of room), and the once instance in which my incredibly near-sighted father mistook Snoopy for a man in waders, the rest of the trip was uneventful.
Moral of the story? No matter how prepared you think you might be for a situation to arise, when it finally does you will come to the realization that no amount of preparation compensates for the fact a five hundred pound bear is standing in your trail. Hopefully you have the luck I did and get to retain all of your limbs.
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