Some people make their mark carving their initials into the bark of a tree.  I have a cat that leaves his mark – or puddle – every day on the bathroom floor mat.  (I have no idea why he doesn’t use the litter box literally two feet away from that mat.)  I tend to make my mark with art, but it was a little unusual while in Alaska.

My sister and her husband run a fishing lodge in the Last Frontier.  It’s a family thing.  Their son is the chef.  Their older son runs the other family lodge a little ways down the Naknek River.  They all fish, hunt, hike and love anything outdoors.  Their fishing guides didn't think I was really related to them.  How could it really be possible?  Seriously, give me a screened-in room free of mosquitos, no-see-ums and white socks, then toss in Internet access, and I’m in my own little paradise.  But, I do have skills that my sister and her family appreciate.

The kitchen at the river camp is my nephew’s domain.  He has such a passion and gift in that realm.  What he creates, and the ingredients he uses in some of his creations, are not fully appreciated by all of the fishing guides or their clients.  Some people enjoy cuisine.  Others prefer hamburgers.  Hunter makes cuisine.

He started learning at my sister’s elbow before he was even a teenager.  And, he flourished.  Now, he runs that show.  My sister helps when and where she is needed.  And, one of her tasks is writing the daily supper menu on a chalkboard so the guests know what their taste buds are in for.  I’ve seen my sister’s handwriting.  It’s usually very flowery with circles for the dots on her letters.  However, she took her time with the lettering on the menu.  She didn’t need my help at all.  But, after a few days in Alaska, she thought maybe I should be the one who wrote the daily menu.

Okay, okay, I’m an artist and we all know it.  I’ve made more than my share of posters and cards.  As an art teacher, when my students created illuminated manuscripts, we practiced calligraphy.  Almost universally, every student hated that.  Why practice calligraphy when you can print out beautiful fonts on the computer?  But, I practiced as well since I love working with letters.

It shows.

In my five weeks of menu writing in Alaska, I had more comments than I’ve ever had in my entire life about my lettering.  I guess nobody expected it in rural Alaska.  Fishing guides whose lives revolve around fish and beer (not necessarily in that order) stopped to tell me how beautiful my lettering was.  One guest photographed every menu all week long because he knew his wife would enjoy the photos.  Every week, without fail, each group of fishermen stopped to comment about my writing skills.  Some of the men touched the lettering to see if it was somehow painted with a stencil.  There were no stencils.  I used special chalk markers that I’d never seen before.  There were no lines.  But, the text was always close to centered and nearly perfect.  I told people that I practiced a lot and oozed with talent.

My older nephew said the lettering was “ridiculously good”.

My brother-in-law said that is just wasn’t possible that anyone could create lettering like that.

The chef said, “It’s just lettering!  Okay, you do it well, but it’s just lettering.”  Hmmm . . . it was his domain.  He should get most of the praise.  I made sure I praised him.

My sister just said, “My brother is an artist.”

Even on my final night in Alaska, a new group of fishermen asked who did the lettering.  I told them to really enjoy it that evening.  It was my last night so for the rest of their stay, they would have normal handwriting.  (And, by the way, my sister said that the next evening her normal handwriting was mocked - probably more by family than guests.)  Anyway, I didn’t leave my sister completely without my talents.  At the top of the menu board, I painted “Welcome to Naknek River Camp”.  They will have that to remember my stay for a long time to come.

There is one other project as well that will remind my family about me for a while.  Above the entrance to the dining hall, someone painted their business logo many years ago.  The painting didn’t hold up well in Alaskan sunshine, rain and winter.  Later someone else tried to touch up the sign.  I’m just going to limit my comments to the fact that he said he wasn’t an artist.  Of course, even an artist can’t create a masterpiece without proper materials.  When the guy painted the blue water, he didn’t have blue paint.  So, he used blue nail polish.  Under this sign is the location where most visiting fishermen pose for their group pictures of fishing in Alaska.  My sister was embarrassed by that sign's condition for a very long time.

But, I visited Alaska.

In the final few days that I was at Naknek River Camp, my brother-in-law decided that maybe it would be a good idea for me to repaint that entire sign.  There was a lot of lettering involved.  Need I say more?  And, since I had the proper supplies to do the job, the end project was completed to my satisfaction.  But, I finished it only the night before I left.  The sign wasn’t installed when I headed to the airport.  However, everyone who saw the work was very pleased.  I was pleased as well because I know when this sign is weathered, worn, frozen and faded, they know who to bring back to Alaska to repair it the right way.  And, I would love to return to King Salmon.

I am aware that there is an app called Snapchat.  I’m not exactly sure what you might do with it if you had it on your phone.  I don’t.  I haven’t downloaded it.  And, for the moment, I have no interest in ever doing so.  But, while in the Alaskan tundra, I have snapped a few photos worth chatting about.

Before I go any further, let me give you just a little background information.  My sister and her husband have a fishing lodge in Alaska.  For years, her husband has wanted to have a cookbook of the dishes that she and her son create.  As soon as I heard about that, I said, “Pick me!  I do that kind of work!  I can make a cookbook.”  And, fortunately, he listened.  That’s why I am in Alaska snap-chatting.

First and foremost, let me make it very clear, I have encountered insects in, around, on and throughout the tundra as I photographed.  I know, I’ve already written about them.  But, this has been no ordinary insect experience.  In my observations, they swarm around me and my head more than they do most people in Alaska.  One day there was a beautiful rainbow that arced completely across the tundra.  I didn’t even try to take a photograph of it.  The insects were just too awful that evening. A little earlier, I tried to photograph some food outdoors.  I wasn’t sure if I had the photo that I wanted, but I fled back inside to a bug-free safety zone hopeful that I had one.  A simply beautiful rainbow was not enough to lure me back outside with my camera.  It wasn’t worth it.

The weather has changed quickly during my brief stay in Alaska.  It was short-sleeved T-shirt weather when I first arrived in King Salmon.  I came prepared with mostly long-sleeved T-shirts for my trip.  They worked just as well.  But, summer has passed and winter is just around the corner.  There should be snow and serious freezing in early October. 

My sister said that on some crisp mornings, she enjoyed seeing frost-covered spider webs on her way to work. Now, she usually leaves to prepare breakfast at six o’clock in the morning.  At that time, I have no desire to even think about breakfast and I especially have no desire to prepare it.  (Not that they would want me in the kitchen.) But, one morning, well after my sister left for the dining hall, I rolled out of bed to seek out spider webs.  It was well before the morning sun warmed things up.  Alas, I saw no spider webs!  But, I found a beautiful discovery on the tundra anyway.  Behind my sister’s home is a relatively easily accessed area of the tundra.  It’s beautiful.  So many different kinds of vegetation grow in this small area.  Every square yard is a new discovery.  On this particular morning, everything was covered with frost!

Fishermen who come to Alaska are wise enough to come prepared for the visit.  They have warm protective hats.  I can describe my Fedora as stylish, but “warm” never comes to mind as the proper adjective.  These sportsmen come with raincoats, thermal layers of clothing and waders to protect themselves from water.  I don’t fish.  I don’t fake it.  I don’t pretend to be interested in the activity.  I have none of the expected equipment. 

But, what I lack in proper winter fishing gear, I more than make up for in motivation.  I needed – not wanted, needed – to take a photograph of chocolate moose.  (By the way, I know that any other place you spell it “mousse”, but not while in Alaska.)  And, the only way to get the right photo of this dessert was to roll around on the frost-covered tundra.  I didn’t squat, sit or kneel.  That wouldn’t work.  I had to lie down on the frost-covered vegetation to get just the right angle.  And, I did.

If you look at a map of the Pacific rim, Alaska isn’t all that far from Russia and Japan.  But, I can’t say that I ever thought about it very much.  However, during my stay in Alaska, the U.S. Gulf Coast had a hurricane or two, and on the other side of the planet, Japan had a typhoon.  And, news flash, weather in Japan influences things in Alaska – especially when there are typhoons.

I have experienced typhoons up close and personal when I lived in the Philippines.  I’ve seen the winds blowing rain left to right and tree tops as well.  Instead of snow days, school was canceled for typhoons in Manila.  The after-effects of a Japanese typhoon in Alaska were nothing compared to what I saw in the Philippines.  But, the winds and rain blew terribly for two days and I simply couldn’t imagine getting on a fishing boat in that weather.  Of course, honestly, I can’t imagine wanting to spend time on a fishing boat under blue skies and tropical sunshine either.  Anyway, it was stormy but nothing stops a fisherman.

Nothing stops a photographer either.

When there was a break in the weather, I headed out to the tundra with a blueberry cheesecake bar in hand.  I knew where I wanted to take the picture.  There was one patch of very red vegetation that I knew would look great with that dessert.  And, I was right.  But, I have to say that it was one of my more challenging photographing experiences in Alaska.  The wind blew my hat off multiple times.  The rain-drenched vegetation did exactly what you would expect it to do to my jacket and jeans.  But, I dipped a dollop of whipped cream and drizzled homemade sauce over the dessert. Then, I wallowed around in the wet tundra to get just the right photograph.  The second one I snapped was the winner.  Still, I fought the wind and weather to take about forty more photos in multiple locations.  However, my instincts were correct.  The photo I wanted to take all along was the one that worked best.

However, my most memorable trial with my camera had nothing to do with insects, frost or typhoons.  It had to do with faulty memory.  When I lived in Morocco, I learned that these moments were called “brain farts”.  I’ve always thought that was a pretty good description.

Sad to say, I farted.

Not that you would ask for specific details whenever anyone does this, but you’re going to get them anyway.  My sister called me one morning to tell me that there was a particularly beautiful sunrise over the lake.  Of course, that got me out of bed quicker than any breakfast preparations ever could.  Usually, I take photos with my camera set on automatic.  I wish I knew more about using the manual features.  I certainly should by this point in my life.  But, I rely on an artist’s eye and PhotoShop for my photographs.  However, to get a sunrise, I knew that I needed to use manual options and adjust the shutter speed.

Later in the morning, when the lighting was better and I should be awake, I ventured outside to photograph Caribou Chili on the tundra.  As I’ve described before, it really isn’t easy for me to walk on the tundra.  The surface is kind of soft and mushy.  It strains my calf muscles very quickly.  But, I’m willing to endure some pain to get the photos I need. 

I took several shots of the chili.  When I thought I had enough pictures, I came back inside to plug the camera's memory card into my laptop and check things out.  That’s when I realized I forgot to reset my camera to automatic.  The manual settings that I used for the sunrise did not work for regular daytime photography.  Yes, this is a brain fart.  I did it.  Guilty.

So, it required a second trip onto the tundra for round two of chili photography.  Again, my calves ached way sooner than they should have.  But, sad to say, round two didn’t last long at all.  I quickly discovered that I left the memory card in my laptop.  This was an even bigger brain fart.  Again I did it.  Still guilty.

I had to trudge my weary calves back into the house for the memory card and some time to recover.  The third time was the charm.  And, when you see the chili resting on Reindeer Lichen, you will agree that it was worth the effort and the pain.  If for some reason you don’t agree with me, I have to assume that you just had some kind of brain fart.

I have acquired a whole new respect for those pioneers who ventured into the Last Frontier of Alaska in the days of the gold rush.  It could not have been easy.  Luxuries that I kinda require most of the time were not available back then.  I’m talking about roads, electricity and indoor plumbing as well as internet, telephone service and television.

Roads.  I have a whole new appreciation for roads.  Alaska has a lot of tundra.  In case you’ve forgotten what that is from your elementary school days, it’s a treeless plain in the arctic and subarctic regions.  The subsoil is permanently frozen but on top of that it supports lichen, moss and assorted shrubs.  Okay, walking on that sounds interesting.  It’s exotic.  Who wouldn’t want to walk on tundra?

Me.

I don’t believe anyone who wrote the dictionary definition has ever walked in the arctic.  The definition would have been more complete about describing this surface.  It is not at all easy to walk on the tundra.   And, I’ve not walked on much of it.  From my experience, it is an unsteady surface.  Imagine walking on a bed.  You know, your feet sink into the mattress on every step.  That’s walking on the tundra.  But, it’s no bed of roses.  That spongy lichen and moss hide mud, water, sink holes and all kinds of traps ready to twist ankles, trip up hikers, and break legs. Just walking around the house is enough to make my calves burn.

Today, there are some roads in the Alaskan tundra.  However, a lot of the state is only accessible by airplane.  But, once you arrive, there are some paved and gravel roads.  Those early pioneers never had it so good.

In Ohio, I’ve developed the habit of walking for an hour almost every morning.  I planned to do the same in Alaska.  But, no, no exercise is happening here.  It has nothing to do with the tundra.  If I was going to walk, it would be on gravel roads outside of King Salmon, almost at the end of the road.  So, moss, lichen, shrubs and mud are not stopping me.  But, I have three million and two excuses why I’m not taking walks.

Excuse 1:   Bears.  On my very first day of arrival at my sister’s fishing camp, an adolescent bear walked into camp.  It was thirty steps away from the stairs.  That’s very close in my mind!  I’m told there is usually no reason to fear an adolescent bear.  Usually.  But, my mama told me not to believe everything I was told.  Some people at the river camp chased the bear away before I could get a photo of it.  (I really would have loved that photo, too.)  They had no fear of that adolescent.  However, I still have a healthy respect for it.  And, if there is one adolescent bear willing to walk into the camp, there must be many more in the vicinity.  I feel my first excuse is a valid reason not to exercise.

Excuse 2:  Wolves.  On the five-minute drive between the river camp and my sister’s home, over the years, they have spotted bears, moose, foxes, wolverines and the occasional wolf.  During my stay, they spotted one of those wolves.  Just like bear stories (read my previous blog about them) there are also wolf stories in Alaska. 

My nephew told of five kids riding on some open-air vehicle in the winter.  They were chased by a pack of wolves! Fortunately, they found a cabin and raced inside it to call for help.  Who leaves their cabin unlocked in the winter?  I guess people who live around King Salmon.  It was a good thing for these kids.  It wasn't such a great thing for the hungry pack of wolves.

At the far.other end of the.paved road, in Naknek, school was temporarily closed one winter until the community could hunt down the pack of wolves that trailed after students on their way to school.  It certainly gave the kids a reason not to be late for class in the morning!  When that little bit of necessary hunting was completed, school started up again.

And then, across the bay in Dillingham, the population decreased by one when a woman was killed by a wolf.  Yep, they have wolf stories in Alaska.  My second excuse not to exercise is equally valid in my humble opinion. Yours, too?

Excuse 3 Million: White Socks and No-see-ums.  I have always been an insect magnet.  It’s one of my gifts.  It may be why I had malaria five times in Africa.  What can I say?  Mosquitoes like me.  When I lived in Liberia, I just made it a habit to stay in at night so I didn’t attract as many of those blood suckers.

This part of Alaska has more insects than I have ever seen in any of my travels, at least three million.  And, they are particular critters.  Some people are never annoyed by them.  Some people are just natural attractions for them.  You can guess which group I fit into.  Rain or shine, day or night, there are usually twenty or more of them swarming around my face when I go outside.  They could be white socks or they could be no-see-ums.  I can't tell them apart.  The first ones remind the local population of Chicago.  They also have the White Sox and Cubs.  And, then there are the no-see-ums.  I see them and, worst of all, they see me.  Fortunately, I’ve not been bitten by them.  Yet.  I hear that their bites can be nasty.  Whichever groups swarms around my face, I have had them fly into my eyes, ears, nose and mouth.  Yuck!  Spit!

I’m told that these critters are attracted to the scents of shampoo, soap and cologne.  That may be part of the reason why they swarm around me.  I have not used cologne in Alaska.  However, I have been known to use shampoo and soap.  Maybe those bugs like me because I smell fresh and clean?  What does this theory say about my family members here that are not bothered by these critters?  What does it say about fishing guides who are outside all day long with these insects without so much as an itch or a scratch?  You know what it says. 

It also says I don’t stink. 

It is possible to get netting that goes over a hat and covers the head entirely.  There are also optional netting jackets that would offer further protection from these pests.  I’ve not broken down yet to use them, but I’m close. Sometimes, when I’m outside and want to take a photograph, I have just given up.  When I see the no-see-ums and/or white socks so up close and personal, the photo isn’t possible.  Sadly, sometimes, the perfect photo just isn't worth the price.

You may ask, “If you get the head net, then you could go on those morning walks.  Right?”  Well, that netting would eliminate three million of the excuses not to exercise.  But, there are still my first two excuses – bears and wolves. The netting would reduce my visibility.  There is no way at all I want reduced visibility when there are bears and wolves roaming around.  No, it isn’t happening.  I’ll diet and exercise when I get back to Ohio, alive.

Bears and bear stories seem to be common place events in rural Alaska.  It appears that everyone has some kind of story to share.  I saw a bear outside my sister’s dining area at her river camp on the first day I arrived.  Before I could take a picture, someone chased the adolescent away.  (Something that I never want to attempt.)  Needless to say, I decided against taking daily walks like I normally do back home.  My momma didn’t raise no fool.

I have three bear tales to share.  The first story took place when my sister and her family first moved to King Salmon in 2006.  Her three children were invited to a birthday party.  One of the guests said, “I hope the party won’t be like the one last year.”

My sister’s oldest son asked what the person meant.  It appears that the party was raided by two bears.  One bear actually came into the house.  The mother of the birthday child shot it dead in the hallway.  Then, she stomped over the dead carcass to chase after the other bear that was running away.  After that, the conversation naturally turned to skinning bears.  Isn’t that what everyone would discuss?  My nephew was fascinated and asked, “Where did you learned to skin a bear?”

Instead of the expected answer, one of the kids demanded, “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“And you’ve never skinned a bear?  You’re twelve years old and you’ve never skinned a bear?”  It was simply inconceivable to all the kids presents.  Well, to all the kids who were raised in rural Alaska, that is.

They mocked my nephew throughout the rest of the party.  That has probably never happened to him at any other time in his life.  When his parents came to pick up the kids, my nephew said, “These people are weird.  Don’t ever leave me alone again.” 

Tale two involves my sister and her bear experience.  Now, I’ve learned that the only difference between brown bears and grizzly bears is geography.  Brown bears live near rivers and eat salmon.  Grizzly bears live farther from the rivers and are hungrier.  For any person outside of Alaska, my sister faced a grizzly.  But, in King Salmon, she had a run-in with a brown bear.

The bear was not a happy camper . . . or grizzly . . . or brown bear.  He lingered around their camp most of one season.  He wasn’t happy because one of his legs was injured.  If he ran, it would have to be on three legs.  If agitated, this critter preferred to swat at things and sit.  I would, too, under the circumstances. 

On one occasion, my sister was alone at the camp.  She wasn’t worried about anything because she had two golden Labrador retrievers that watched over her.  In the past, they team-tagged bears in the camp.  One dog nipped at the bear’s left side and then the other nipped at the right as they chased the invader from camp.  On this particular occasion, as my sister rounded the corner of one cabin, the two dogs barked as soon as they spotted that bear in the camp.

You may ask, “What do you do when you come face-to-face with a grumpy bear?”  Even though every fiber of your body screams, “RUN!”  That is the last thing you should do.  You’re supposed to reach for bear spray or a gun.  My sister had both of those, but not on her.  They were inside the cabin next to her.  She backed into the cabin to arm herself.  She called her husband long enough to say, “If I disappear, it’s because I have been eaten by a bear.”  Most likely, he’d never had a call like that before.

You might feel inclined to hide in the cabin under the circumstances.  I would.  But, an angry bear can smash apart one of those cabins.  It would be best to face the bear.  Those are words I never want to hear.

What were her options?  The best one was to shoot the bear with bear spray.  Except it really wasn’t an option. The wind was blowing in her direction.  If she used the spray, it would have blinded her instead of the bear.  That was out of the question.  “The bear spray burns for what feels like forever,” my sister said. “You’d rather just have the bear eat you.”

Shooting the bear was an option, but not the best.  A wounded bear can still do a lot of damage.  So, she followed her husband’s suggestion and shot over the bear’s head.  And, what happened?  Her two trusty golden Labradors fled the scene.  The bear did not.

She backed into the cabin one more time to gather her thoughts.  Then, she decided she needed to stare down the grizzly. Okay, a brown bear, but in my mind it is still a grizzly.  Suddenly, her two golden labra-chickens were back at her side.  She stared at the bear.  He stared back at her.  She didn’t move.  He didn’t either.  Slowly, she backed away from the situation.  The labra-chickens still at her side.  She never turned her back on the bear.  Eventually, she moved far enough to be safe and the bear left camp. 

Fortunately, my personal bear experience was not at all scary.  It was closer to un-bear-ably wonderful.  My sister took me to Katmai National Park.  If you have ever seen photos of bears fishing for salmon in Alaska, it is at Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park.  And, that park is a delightful hour-long boat trip across Naknek Lake from my sister’s fishing camp.  There are no roads to the park.  It’s probably why Katmai is the least visited of all U.S. National Parks.  If you don’t take a boat to the park, you fly in on a float plane.

In preparation for the park visit, my sister packed bear spray.  I learned that when approached by a bear, survival is about 99% if you spray the bear in the face.  The critter is temporarily blinded and you are free to walk away (even though I know everyone would run).  If you try to shoot a bear, your chances of survival drop to 40 or 50%.  A wounded bear is still able to chase, slash and devour.  Now, I really didn’t expect that I would be in a situation where I might need bear spray.  But, I’d never been to Katmai before.  Bears are free to roam everywhere.  The observation platforms, all three of them, have gates to prevent bears from entering.  However, to get to those platforms, you must walk through bear territory.  We saw no bears while we strolled the park, but I was ever so thankful that my sister came prepared.

During non-Covid seasons, there is a long line to get to the platform that overlooks the bears at the falls.  Times are assigned so you can only stay for half an hour.  During the pandemic, only 16 people are allowed at the platform at a time.   Yep, social distancing takes place even in the Alaskan wilderness.  There was a bit of a human traffic jam at the platform around noon.  However, that was the only time.  My sister and I had long periods of time when we were the only two viewing the bears and salmon. 

I really got to see salmon leaping in the air, trying to go upstream over the falls.  I’m still not sure how that is possible.  A lot of them fail.  The seven bears I saw at the falls were well-fed.  Depending on the bear, there were several ways to get a salmon.  Some bears just sat in the water and waited for the fish to come their way.  The bigger the bear, the better the spot to sit.  Other bears snorkeled.  They floated in the water, with just their heads visible, as they chased after their meal.  My personal favorite method was diving.  These hunters disappeared under the water in search of salmon while their back feet waved in the air.  Whichever way they decided to hunt, every bear at Katmai National Park looked well-fed and happy.

On the return boat trip home, a cable broke.  I just put my head down and shut my eyes.  I didn’t care how long it took to get home.  But, when I finally looked up, we were back at Katmai National Park.  A float plane was sent for our return.   Yep, I was going to fly back to camp!

A float plane lands on water.  I’d never flown in one before.  I didn’t expect it to happen on this trip.  So, in spite of the delays and a breakdown, this was a treat for me!  The view was wonderful.  I’d hoped to maybe see a bear from above.  That didn’t happen, but there were so many lakes and the unspoiled wilderness stretched on as far as the eye could see.

The day was so wonderful it was bearly believable.