Mud Bay Road

We enjoyed a warmer than usual summer in Stone House, but as the days grew shorter, and the fireweed reached its peak (Alaskans can tell how far along summer is by watching the fireweed), the concern of an encroaching winter propelled me to look for another situation. The owner of Stone House tried persuading me that insulation was on its way, but I had a hard time believing it. Because part of my job consisted of writing ads for Radio Market Place, I was first to hear about an apartment for rent on Mud Bay Road. When I called the number, I found that the apartment was the bottom floor of one of the tri-level houses along the beach, where the Chilkat meets the sea. I'd seen these houses while out with Horton, and I always thought they looked like vacation homes (perhaps because they had steep chalet-style roofs and balconies on each story). The price was right and the location was more than alright, so I went for it.

I was kind of sad to be moving out of Stone House. I had felt like a real Alaskan there, "roughing it" while still having the convenience of indoor plumbing. I'd be giving up personal space to be living beneath several other couples. I think it was the cherry trees which convinced me I was doing the right thing. After seeing the new place had a side door which opened to private patch of lawn with a babbling stream and cherry trees, I knew I'd be happy there.

Mud Bay Road is the road which runs down the Chilkat side of the peninsula, past the two miles of beach and Pyramid Island, past the trailhead of Mt. Riley (the highest mountain on the peninsula), past Letnikov Cove (with its bright red cannery), past many properties belonging to old hippies, past Chilkat State Park (where one can view the Rainbow and Davidson Glaciers across the water), and ending at Mud Bay, on the Chilkoot side of the peninsula. It's a lovely stretch of road with a reputation of housing hippies, both the young and poor type living in one-room patchouli-infused cabins or yurts, and older-type type hippies with ideals, talents, and education. It's to be noted that Haines' unique flavor, if you will, comes from these hippie-types who keep big business and cruise ships at bay while keeping cultural and conservation interests strong. Though there's also a conservative side to Haines, with the camo-wearing, gun-toting, crowd, I became most familiar with the Mud Bay crowd. This was mostly because of working at the radio station, and also Mountain Market, the closest thing to a hipster hangout in Haines. 

Now I've never been one to try to categorize myself. I suppose that comes from my weird background of peers pressuring me to be something I wasn't, like trying to force a round peg into a square hole (but that's a story for another time). Since I had never been allowed to openly form my own identity, I kind of fell upon the idea that I was my own person, belonging neither here nor there. Haines was the first time I could say, "These are my people." The more I got to know these individuals, the more in awe of them I became, particularly the older ones who had done some serious living. Many were scientists, such as marine biologists or geologists, who had done work stints in exotic locations like Antarctica. Their wealth of knowledge and experience were staggering and yet they walked among us—the salt of the earth.

Across from my new abode lived Heather Lende, an author who ended up on the New York Times Bestseller's List. Sometimes I'd run into her on the beach, where our dogs would play with each other. Here's someone with enough money to live anywhere, but she writes and blogs about Haines, appreciative every day of living in the world's most perfect location. There's something to be said of that.

Snowpocalypse

It was an easy drive to work, leaving from one side of the peninsula, up Cemetery Hill to the Fort area, then down the hill to the Chilkat Center on the other side of the peninsula. Every day I did this drive, I couldn't believe how friggin lucky I was to be living in such a place, how much beauty resided in a seven-minute drive. It must seem like I'm laying it on thick, but I don't know how else to convey the paradise that Haines is. It is simply the most beautiful place on earth.

Anyway, the drive did have its problems, especially when the snow began to fall. That December, Haines received a record amount of snow. During one week, about a foot of snow fell each day. I knew I was in trouble when I was leaving work one afternoon and I couldn't move my car. The parking lot hadn't been plowed and the snow was almost higher than the tires. Thankfully a theater troop was rehearsing at the Chilkat Center and pushed my car out. I thought I would be alright while out on the main road, but I found that it hadn't been plowed either. It was about 5:00 and the plows had given up for the day. Seen as how only three plows operate in the whole borough, when they're done, they're done. It was every man, woman, child, and dog for themselves out there.

I was cocky enough to think I could get up Killer Hill (yes, that's its name). Killer Hill runs behind the Fort, leading to Mud Bay Road. If I could make it up that, I could trust gravity to take me down Cemetery Hill towards home. Building up momentum, I tried to tackle that hill in the dark. I give myself major props for trying, but I don't know what I was thinking, attempting that hill with bald tires. I was doing good, considering, until I neared the top. My tires started spinning and I was desperately trying to steer clear of the ditch. I had to admit defeat and reverse the entire way down into town where I parked at the liquor store. I went into the store, not for booze, but for a flashlight, for I was sure I'd have to hoof it home on foot. A customer in there took pity on me and gave me a lift. As he drove me in his big truck, I saw how high the snow was on Mud Bay Road. There was no way Buck would have made it the entire way, so I suppose I was fortunate to have parked my car safely in town.

The next morning I had to hike into town to get my car and pick up the disabled DJ who did the Saturday morning show. The roads had been plowed by that time, but the snow had turned to rain and ice was forming on the roads. After picking up DJ Bill, I tried to make it up Soap Suds Alley. My tires were no match for the ice. I made several attempts, only to find out that the parking lot of the Chilkat Center hadn't been plowed. By this time I was in a pretty bad mood, so I parked the car nearby and had to help Bill across an ice-encrusted road to the back door of the Chilkat Center. I had to hurl myself through the hip-deep snow to get to the front door so I could go around and let Bill in. How we made it on time for the show that morning was nothing short of miraculous. After the show, I tried to move the car, but Buck wasn't having it—the ice was too slick. Chris came to help me, hiking into town. He was going to meet me anyway for the parade later that day. We had volunteered to be part of the Snow Dragon. Together we tried to move the car, but Buck was there to stay, at least until the ice melted.

We spent the day in town. First we had several drinks at the Fogcutter, and then we made it down to the Visitor Center where Santa was giving out cookies and big jolly hugs. We found out that the parade was called off due to treacherous conditions. I was both disappointed and relieved. As much as I wanted to be part of the Snow Dragon, I wanted to go home and be done with this day. Thankfully the rain and eaten away at the ice, and we were able to move the car at last.

Soon after that, I bought studded tires for Buck, and proceeded to drive like a muthafucker through the snow.

Events and Other Goings-On

I volunteered to be a stagehand for a Chekhov-inspired play at the Chilkat Center. This was my attempt to be part of theater-life, something I'd never experienced before. It meant dressing in black and rushing onto stage between scenes to grab or put items in place. It also meant having to listen to every word of one of the boringest plays ever conceived, four nights in a row. I say boring, but it was interesting as well, particularly the spirited ten-page monologue given by one of the actors. On the last night, I had to hurry from the radio station (thankfully in the same building), flushed from the rush of finishing our fundraising auction. I had scored two trips to Skagway and a gorgeous pair of mammoth ivory earrings. I was quite buzzed physically as well, as booze accompanies any event at KHNS. Somehow I made it through the play without messing up or knocking anything over. Then I made my way upstairs once again to do my radio show.

Because there was still booze laying around the office, and because I felt I needed something to help me through this marathon-long day, I filled up a red Solo cup with the good stuff and settled into my show. I had planned a Donny Darko themed show. Inspired by this movie, which had grabbed me right from the start with Jake Gyllenhaal wakening on a mountainside, I played tunes that reflected the mood of the film: The Church, Echo and the Bunnymen, that kind of stuff. The SamJam DJ who was still hanging around in the studio informed me that the Northern Lights were out. I didn't think it would be possible to see them from the studio with all the lights in the Fort, but by my second glass of wine, and my second set of music, I could see them morphing in the sky over Chilkoot Inlet. By this time, everyone in the Chilkat Center had left, even the crew from the play, so I turned all the lights in the studio off, with only the Christmas lights left on, and cranked the music. I think the real pinnacle of the show came during Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight." Sipping my wine, I leaned out the window and listened to the eerie buildup of the song while watching the light show over the water. It was a perfect combo of music, visuals, and drunkenness. My best show ever.

That winter KHNS put on the Second Annual Masquerade Ball. As usual, they went all out with decorations. The auditorium was turned into a winter wonderland with layers of handmade fabric icicles and giant painted masks. A visual wonder, it really created an atmosphere. Chris and I dressed in matching his and her costumes that can only be described as "Southern Belle and Gentlemen Spirits" with plain white masks that were creepier than anything. As usual, the good residents of Haines went all out with their costumes as well. It was a night to be enjoyed by all, even if another snowstorm had kept a good number of the population away.

The next morning was the Polar Bear Plunge. We had planned to partake in this New Year's tradition, but the snow was piled up in our driveway. I honestly don't know if Chris chickened out, or if he really believed we were snowed in (I was impartial, seen as how I had done the plunge the year before), but we decided to strip down to our underwear and jump into the giant pile of snow built up on the side of the drive. Chris went first as I recorded the event. At the end, I threw a glass of ice water on him while he blubbered like a baby. Then it was my turn, but instead of jumping into the snow, I climbed to the top of the pile and then rolled down, with Horton jumping all over the place, excited and confused at what we were trying to do. It wasn't quite the same as jumping into the freezing cold ocean, but at least we got some good videos.

The snow that winter was crazy. It built up on roof and then slid off in big chunks that would end up in our front yard. When this happened, it would scare the crap out of us, like the roof was collapsing. I also remember waking to several earthquakes that winter; nothing major, but big enough to shake the bed and startle the animals. One earthquake (one I didn't feel) occurred about 90 miles south, just outside of Juneau, cutting off internet service to all of Haines. That created a ton of problems in both my jobs, making me realize just how dependent we are on the internet.

The snow that fell in December was gone by the end of January. And then it rained, rained, rained.

The Hiking Group

Sometime that winter I joined the Hiking Group in Haines. Hiking events were sponsored by the Sheldon Museum and guided by historians and geologists. It was a good opportunity for Horton to play with other dogs while I gained knowledge about the area. For instance, I learned that the land is rebounding from the Ice Age, something called isostatic rebound. We went in search of an old Native village named Yendeisk'akye and walked an old miners' trail in snowshoes. We hiked in the snow, we hiked in the rain, we hiked in the snain—the elements couldn't stop this group that was mostly made up of older folks. Did I tell you that I love the people of Haines?

By far, my favorite hike was the one out to Pyramid Island. Now this island, named for the pyramid-shaped hill which dominates it, is one I'd look directly at each morning when taking Horton for his walk on the beach. There was something mystical about this island, especially when engulfed in mist. During low tide, it was easy to imagine walking to it across the mudflats, but there was an art to doing this crossing, and it had to be timed just right. That April, when the outgoing waters of the Chilkat were at their lowest, and the tide which met the Chilkat was at its lowest, was the best time to walk to Pyramid Island. It became a community event, with about fifty people showing up. I had some banged-up boots with holes that I put duct tape over. I had heard that there were still channels of water we had to cross, so I tried preparing, but nothing could properly prepare me for the depth and the chill of this water. Even thought the island was located directly across from where I lived, I had to start with the group about two miles down the beach. This was because of the channels and how to avoid the deepest portions. I like how there was safety in numbers, and how the dogs all played together on our way out there. The water though, it shocked me how cold it was. The duct tape soon came loose and water was freely pouring into my boots. My toes soon turned to popsicles. I worried about them, but at the same time I was wrapped up in the excitement of visiting Pyramid Island. Once on the island, we climbed to the top of the top of pyramid, and got a whole new visual of the area. It was kind of surreal, knowing I was standing on that piece of land I gazed upon every day. We couldn't linger long though, for the tide would be coming in, so we crossed back over. Only this time I took a shortcut. My toes were frozen already, so I didn't think I could do any worse in the channels closer to home. So I separated from the group and aimed for home. Dumb idea. I ran into some pretty deep channels that were flowing with fast water. "This is how people die," I thought to myself as I waded across a channel, looking at how far away the group was. I stumbled upon the beach outside the Lende residence and aimed my frozen limbs home.

One time the group met past the Canadian border, near the Chilkat Pass. We hiked up a treeless mountain to a lake. Lichen squished under our feet with plants and flowers I had never seen before. It was a landscape out of a dream. Even the colors were surreal, swirling like layers in sand art bottles. On the way back down, Chris and I tried to find an old mining road which would lead us back to the highway. We found the road, but unfortunately followed it in the wrong direction, bringing us to a quarry. We had to pick our way down a steep mountainside, but we made it safely back to the car, stopping at the Mile 33 Roadway on the way back to Haines for some well-deserved pie.

Of course I hiked on my own as well. Mt. Riley was just down the road from us. It was on this trail that Horton and I met the moose. I don't know we had avoided the big beasts of the forest in all the times we were out, but on this one particular hike, the moose took us by surprise. This was a big one, with a Bullwinkle rack of antlers. Horton began a barking frenzy and I shouted for him to come, getting his leash out of my pocket. The moose ran off and Horton went after him, but thankfully came back after I had screamed my head off. Disaster was somehow averted. I had been warned about moose by the hiking group. Moose were somehow scarier than bears.

We never ran into any bears. This was incredible, especially after seeing how much scat was around. When the scat was recent, I'd be scared enough to turn around on a trail. I took a lot of chances, I suppose, hiking on trails without letting anyone know where I was (Chris being in Juneau, I didn't bother him with my whereabouts). I relied on Horton to raise awareness of bears, keeping them at bay at the same time. It must have worked. The first bear I ever saw in the wild was on a car ride up to the Yukon.

As if moose and bears weren't enough to watch out for, there were porcupines in those woods. To be honest, this is the creature I fear the most, as they are everywhere and for some reason like hanging out on trails. Though Horton has darted into the woods many times (with me screaming for him to come back), I can usually hear squirrels chattering up in a tree. If he chases squirrels—fine. I never want to see him go after a porcupine though. One time he picked up a quill in his paw while running around and Chris and I had to pull it out with pliers. Not fun. Some of those videos of dogs with quills through the face are horrific. And there were no vets in Haines, another thing to worry about if anything were to happen.

Still, nothing deterred us from hiking. There is simply no better joy than going for a hike with a dog. I was thinking this today, hiking the Lena Point Trail just outside our house. Watching Horton bounding along a trail, his tail wagging with pleasure, and the pure joy of being outside, breathing fresh air, listening to one's own breath in the wilderness—this is being alive.