Low tide excitement

Good times at the North Douglas boat ramp yesterday.  It was the lowest tide of the year – nearly -5 ft – and we were going to the cabin to fix the “easy out” clothesline set up that is an anchored pulley on one end and another pulley on the beach with a line through it where you can pull up to the beach and tie the painter to the line and pull it out to the anchor.   The parking lot was packed and overflow truck/trailers were parked up on the road.  Not unusual for Memorial Day weekend and 60 degree dry weather.  What was unusual was there wasn’t a soul in sight fishing because king salmon season is closed due to poor return.  Where were all those boats.  Sara and I launched the boat and about 100 yrds from the ramp everything quit.  Outboard, electronics – everything.  Thought there was a main fuse that blew.  I thought the positive cable was loose but tightened it and that didn’t fix anything.  With the tide so low, it was already below the end of the ramp at the dock, so I thought I’d just drive down the beach and put the boat on the trailer from the beach.   It didn’t take long to bury the truck to the axles on the beach.  This was at about 8 am, and low tide was at 9.  I called every towing company in town and couldn’t raise one of them.    Next I made a 911 call to Jeff and Kurt. They got Erik and showed up with Ben’s Suburban.  Kurt took me home to get our Yukon and some heavy houser line.  Kurt also called Frankie the Eraser, who showed up with his 3/4 ton pickup.   We took the boat off the trailer and tied it off the dock, then unhooked the trailer from the truck.  Try as we might, the truck wouldn’t budge with the other vehicles pulling.  The vehicles just spun trying to pull me out.   Sara noted that the trailer was worth more than the truck (so true), so we pulled the trailer up the beach with a line to a truck.  9 am came and went and things started getting serious.   Finally the tow company called back. Said they’d be there in 15 or 20 min. 945 came and went.  No tow truck.  A crowd was building up on the road. My best friends were taking lots of photos and sending them out.    We’d tried everything I could think of and thought this might be the end of the old truck.  Just as the water was under the back bumper, the tow truck showed up.  Pulled me out in 5 minutes with his winch.  I tipped the young driver and his girlfriend $200 for good karma and coming out on a weekend holiday just in the nick of time.   When we got home I figured out the boat problem in about 5 minutes.  The ground wasn’t tight enough on the battery.  Sometimes I sort of dream about living out in the bush again on my/our own.  But how would I get by without a constant, it seems, little help from my friends. Today, I mostly watched Jeff and Erik put new shingles on Jeff’s garage.  I helped where I could.  I learned a lot.  Another day of free tuition.   

Deer Man

Lt Lance from the Salvation Army emailed yesterday.  He and his wife Dana are transferring to Fairbanks soon. Did I want to take over being the one the authorities called if a deer is hit by a car so it gets taken care of right away and the meat gets to the food bank?  Sure I say. First thing this morning, it’s Lance.  Deer down on N. Douglas.  Can you help?  On my way, I say.  I drive home, put on my coveralls, and head to the location.  I pass the 7000 block and don’t see it.  I call Lance for the house number again and turn around.  There it is.  Blood still fresh mixing with the water in the ditch.  I pull the young buck up, grab front legs in one hand and back legs in the other, and swing him into the truck. Lance meets me at the house.  We carry the buck up into the woods behind the house, remove the innards, drain the body cavity, then carry it to the garage and hang it up on the lines that are through a pulley from the ceiling just for this purpose.  We decide to hang it by the head since the rear leg was where he was hit and might not hold if we hang it from the hind legs.   I rip from under the hide up to the chin and immediately notice the hair flying.  Lance comments about shedding and I realize – the deer are shedding this time of year and I’ve never skinned a deer at this time.  Try as we might, there’s hair everywhere until we can get it turned under as we work our way from the neck to the hind quarters.  The two of us skin the deer and I start to cut off the quarters, then the tenderloins, then the back strap.  I then cut through the neck and put the ribs and neck on the table.  I take the cordless reciprocating saw and cut off one rack of ribs, then the other, and then the neck roast.   Lance takes each piece and rinses it with the hose, and I notice the hair seems to rinse off alot easier than it does in the fall.   Lance fills clean buckets with the meat.  That’s all the processing we need to do.  He has elders salivating, he said, for the deer and all he has to do is deliver it as it.   That’s my kind of butchering. I take off my overalls and notice a spot of blood snuck on my shirt.  I put some water and soap on it, and put on a new shirt.  I’m back to work shortly after 10.  It’s a good day already.

Fiddleheading with Samuel

People committed to going fiddlehead picking. Then as usual, one by one, they drop out. But not Samuel. He’s in. I pick him up at 530 and we head to Eaglecrest. This is his 3rd annual trip. It’s a beautiful day. Clouds are moving in and gonna rain tomorrow. But today, partly sunny still and 60 degrees. Perfect weather. We head across the muskeg to the creek. Samuel is talking a mile a minute. Asking all kinds of questions about where we’re going, how long till we get there, will we find the waterbottle he lost last year. I turn around and point to the peak of a mountain that’s behind where we parked the car. I tell them that’s what we aim for when we come back so we come right to the car.  We hike down to the creek. We walk upstream till I see the tree across the creek I crossed last week. A hand hold here and there so not trying to balance beam the whole way across. I cross. He struggles to get up the side of the root wad to the tree trunk, then makes it, and crosses without trepidation. Samuel knew there’s be devils club galore but forgot his gloves. I’m all about experiential learning. He complains about the devils club, as I press on with my gloves, moving it aside and heading up hill. I clear most of the devils club and wait to be sure Samuel sees me. Then I continue. Soon, we’re up in the alder patch on the hillside. The fiddleheads have grown 8 inches high in places, but in the shady spots, they are still just coming up through the dead grass. I show Samuel what to pick. He continues talking while I pick. I fill one nut jar. Then a second. Samuel is still talking. Soon, he’s off to a patch of snow up the hillside.  Then he announces he has to go “number 2”. On Samuel’s first trip 3 years ago, he didn’t know how to take a leak in the woods. Now he’s veteran of all bodily functions in the out of doors. He asks if I have any toilet paper. I say no. I usually use a piece of devils club to wipe. I can’t see him, but am guessing he’s using snow or moss or whatever is handy. In no time, I’ve got my nine jars filled and ask Samuel where is his jug. He says it’s up here. I climb up to get it and he comes down to meet me with it. I tell him I’ll finish picking the last jar. I get in front of him far enough that he can’t see and dump the few fiddleheads he’d picked in case he picked any post “number 2”.  I start filling it and he asks where are the one’s he picked and I lie and say I added them to my other jars of fiddleheads and he accepts that and I continue to pick.   Soon, all 10 jars are filled and we head back. I find a better path to the creek with not so many devils club and Samuel is happy for that. We cross the same tree, and then back up the hill. I ask him where we’re supposed to be heading and he says the mountain peak.  Good boy, I think. Soon we’re in the open heading across the muskeg. We talk about the scout trip and I ask if he apologized to his friend Oliver about a rough housing incident and he said he did. I hope he gets it. We drive back talking about whatever. He plays with the GPS map in the electric car. I show him how we gain miles to go as we descend the mountain.  I drop him off and then head home. I’m dying to try a new way to clean fiddleheads my boss told me she saw on Facebook. Put them in a game bag and put in the dryer. Sounds about right. I get home, and Sara finds me a pillow case to use. I pour in 5 of the jars and put an overhand knot in the top and into the dryer.  Worked like a freakin’ dream.

9 mi hike

Sam’s WEEBLOS scoutmaster sent out an email plea. He’d inadvertently scheduled the big end of season overnight hike the same evening as his son’s school play. Could someone take the kids out and in and he’d be in later? When I didn’t see anyone respond – shoot, I’m guessing all the parents had already made plans with Junior out of the house for the evening – then a second email indicating they’d have to cancel if no adult could help – I said okay. Fat boy was in.

A 4.5 mile hike in to the Peterson Lake cabin, where I’d never been. The scoutmaster gave me instructions for gear to bring and logistics. I got my pack together and met the scouts the next evening for the drive out to the trail head. My friend Ron was always telling stories of scouting. How it didn’t really matter if the scout had the right boots or clothes. When they all got together, it was about being with your buds on an outing. Kids are tough. Especially when not with their parents.

We got to the trail head and got started about 4:30. The boys had all manner of packs. Samuel had basically a bookbag with a sleeping bag hanging off it. That can’t be comfortable. He never said a word. Just like Ron said. The boys immediately started talking and didn’t stop for 2.5 hours. This was a social event. Not physical exertion. The 3/4 of a mile was actually packed gravel. Then it gave way to an old mining tram trail. We stopped at the falls. As we worked our way along Peterson creek up the drainage to the lake, we started walking on 2×12 planks and other wooden structures that were either over the muskeg swampy portions, or crossed creeks and other rough parts in the rainforest. Up we climbed. The boys talking. I just let my mind wander. I showed the boys how the new buds on devils club were edible, and they tried them. I saw twisted stalk here, too, which is another forest edible I’d just learned.

We got into the heavy forest on mile 3. Lots of root wads and mucky areas. This turned out to be the toughest part of the trail. By this time, it was a scout Ben and me bringing up the rear. Ben had a pack that was almost too big for his skinny frame. The shoulder straps were falling off his shoulders and he was struggling. I had a full frame pack with cooking gear, food and all my stuff and it wasn’t feasible that I just take his pack. I saw the shoulder straps weren’t snug, so I tightened those and then had him tie the tag ends of the shoulder straps around his waist. That helped, he said.

We saw open country ahead. I see the cabin he said. Then we realized it wasn’t the cabin. But it was the lake. He knew the cabin was near, and never said another word about his pack. He let out a whoop and picked up his pace. Kids are tough. The cabin was still another half mile it turns out. It was at the distant end of the lake. But we’d knew we’d made it. When we reached the cabin, the boys did not sluff their packs and collapse in exhaustion like me. They saw a dock with a boat. They grabbed life jackets and soon were out with Josh, the Jesuit Volunteer who is the assistant scout leader, on the dock and launching the boat. Like they just got up in the morning. I broke out the new Jet Boil stove my brother in law had gifted me at Christmas. I got some tannic water from the forest creek, and cranked it up. Soon, I was sipping instant coffee.

I relaxed while the boys yelled instructions to each other on the lake in the boat. As darkness set it, they came back to the cabin. We figured out the propane stove and got some heat in the cabin. Josh set up a tent in case we needed to sleep overflow outside, and I helped him with the set up and knots. A great young man from Long Beach, he’d not spent much time in the woods and wanted to learn. I got Mac and cheese going for dinner. It was the kind you need butter and milk, but their was no butter or milk. I just poured the cheese packets on the cooked pasta and stirred it up. The boys didn’t care. They were hungry and no parents to whine to.

Hooters were talking all across the little ridge across the lake. I noted it could be a good place to come up and hunt. Hike in day 1. Hunt day 2 and 3. Hike out day 4. Eventually, they got their bunks staked out and their sleeping bags set up. The scoutmaster and his son were on their way in the near dark to join us. The boys in the cabin were talking about all order of things. And making farting sounds and laughing like crazy. Josh and I had our sleeping bags on the floor and were immune to the banter. The scoutmaster and son showed up at just about pitch dark. The scouts heard them coming and went silent. As the scoutmaster came in and was trying to be quiet, I said the boys were nowhere close to asleep. At this, they scouts erupted and welcomed in the scoutmaster’s son and the yakking was back on.

I slept terribly on the hard floor and thin sleeping pad I knew would do little for padding as Sam was snoring in his bag with no pad at all. Kids are tough. As I turned over in the middle of the night, the back of my thigh cramped up bad. Took that about 10 minutes to finally not be on a hair trigger to cramp, and I got back to resting. I got little actual sleep but already saw this coming, so accepted it. I can do anything for a night.

Today we were all up early. The kids put their sleeping bags away, then were back out on the lake in the boat. Not a sore muscle in them. I got water going for instant coffee and popped more ibuprofen. Light rain and fog had sent in overnight. By mid morning, fog had rolled in from up the mountain, and you couldn’t see across the little lake. The boat back on the dock, and the kids ate breakfast and we packed up to leave. By the time we left at 11, the fog had lifted, the rain stopped, and it was going to be nice weather for the hike out. I was surprisingly spry and ready to go. The hike out was a lot easier. Downhill, but not too steep. We knew about how far we had gone and had to go by landmarks we noted coming in. The scoutmaster made frequent stops for rests and more yakking. I would catch up to the group, and keep going and they’d catch up again. I like to keep going. I don’t need rests as my knees can start to get stiff. When we hit the packed gravel, we knew we were close. Then we could hear and then see cars. We were back. The boys will remember this trip the rest of their lives.

Now, I get scouting.

Early Forage

This was definitely the earliest in the year I’ve picked fiddleheads.  It’s maybe a 1/4 mile from the road to my spot.  As I clamored across the tundra and down the hill to cross the creek, I noticed the devils club had no buds – not a single bud out yet.  I’d never picked fiddleheads when the buds weren’t out as I’d get some buds on my may there and back.  So, I was a bit doubtful the fiddleheads would be up yet. The creek was running pretty hard.  I walked along till I found a tree across that I thought I might not fall off of, and made it across.  As I headed through the forest up hill to the open hill side, I saw a few scrawny fiddleheads but nothing to stop for.   When I got to the hillside, there were still no devils club with buds.  But I did see some green false hellebore growing up the hill in the sun, so I headed up there.  I finally found a good patch of fiddle heads.  They were just barely up through the dead ground grass. When I pulled the grass back, there was lots of fiddleheads.  Very close to the ground and with a full brown sheath.   As I picked and picked, a hooter hooted up on the hillside.  I thought, maybe this is how old age is gonna be.  I can’t get up to the hooters anymore, but can still enjoy them while I’m down here picking fiddleheads. John Cox introduced us to twisted stalk when he was here, then I read about it on http://www.foodabe.com written by another forager in Juneau. I found some on the hill, but it was just starting, as were the nettles, so I left them for a little later.  I’m not much on the nettles, but looks like you can just eat twisted stalk raw as a salad and that sounds good.  Dick Proeneke used to eat fireweed shoots all summer at Twin Lakes.  I know where theres lots here but it’s near the busy road.  The twisted stalk just might be the thing.  I picked 10 Costco nut jars of fiddleheads and that was just about right.  The sun was touching the mountain and about to go down.   I found my way back to the same tree to cross the creek, then up into the sunlight again across the muskeg to the car.   We got an electric car and I was interested to see what it would do going down hill.  When I started out it said I had 31 miles left.  When I got down the mountain, I was up to 45.  Not bad. 

A time to can

I canned the remaining 2016 king salmon from our freezer last night.  On Sunday, I pulled all the fish, let it partially thaw, then removed the skin and cut the fish into cubes and put in the fridge to finish thawing.   I went up to the garage to sort through our canning jars to get all the same size opening (standard) and same size jar (pint).  I also grabbed lids and rings. I ran the jars through the dishwasher.  When I got home from work last evening, I started loading the jars.  I also put a little pot of water on the stove, brought the water to a boil, then turned off the heat and put the lids in the water.  We’ve got this cool collapsable funnel that fits in the jar mouth.  This keeps debris off the rim of the jar.  The rims were so clean after filling the jars I didn’t have to wipe them.  I then found another trick tool – a plastic stick with a magnet on the end – and used this to pull the lids one at a time from the hot water to put on the jar, then with my finger pressing in the center of the jar lid, I put the ring on that holds the lid on, screwing it till just snug. I garage saled a little propane boat stove a few years ago.  I hooked up the propane bottle to it in the garage, and then put the canner together.  I put the seal in the lid, the basket and plate in the bottom, and grabbed a second plate that goes over the first layer of jars to which I set the second layer of jars.  Then I put a third plate upside down on top of the second layer, to keep them from moving around as much.  I filled the jar up till water was about 2/3 up the side of the bottom layer of jars, put on the lid, put the rocker weight in my pocket, and took the filled pot up to the garage and onto the lit stove.   I knew it would take a while for the canner to come up to a boil, so I left it on the stove and started hauling firewood from my splitting pile to the wood bin.  After 3 wheelbarrow loads, I climbed into the bin and stacked what I’d hauled.   I checked on the canner, and when it started to steam, I went inside and put the timer on for 10 minutes.  After 10 minutes, I returned and put the weight onto the nipple on the 10 lbs hole, then did a few projects in the garage while the canner built pressure.  I drilled out and re-riveted an aluminum step ladder.  Then repaired the paint holder on another step ladder.   Then put away some tools.  Finally, the weight started rocking.  I returned to the house and set the timer to an hour and 20 minutes. I had a few cubes of salmon left over.  I put these in some balsamic vinegar, olive oil and soy sauce to mainate, and some rice in the rice cooker.  Then chopped and fried some celery, onion and garlic in olive oil.  When these got soft, I made a hole in the middle of the vegetables in the pan, then put in the cubes of salmon and the marinade.  I turned the cubes once, let them cook another minute, then turned off the heat. Sara came home from yoga, and dinner was ready.  She likes that. When the canner timer chimed, I turned off the heat and set the canner on the concrete floor to cool till morning.  I then backed the electric car into the garage, plugged it in, and went to bed. This morning, I got up early to see the results.   All the lids sealed properly.  I wiped each jar, labeled the lid with a marker, removed all the rings, then turned the jars upside down on a cloth.  I’ll pack them in a box and put in the pantry.  17 jars, and still a few jars of pink salmon left from a few years ago, so we’re good for awile.  Knees still a little achy and stiff from Friday’s hooter hunt.   Life is good.