The Way I Am

You know that feeling you get when you're going down one of your first ski slopes and you accidentally do french fries instead of pizza? You're flying down that snowy/icy slope completely inhibited and out of control. Your senses are sharpened as if your brain wants to make sure and remember every last second of its life, because at this rate, the end is most likely near. But then all of a sudden you're back on level ground in one piece and you feel like somehow you cheated the system by making it down. Some people live for that feeling. I don't.

Last evening Aunt Lyn took Mk and I out to Kincaid Park to do some mountain biking. I've been doing a good amount of biking lately so I was excited to do some off-roading as opposed to the nice paved trails that I usually ride on. Almost immediately I rethought this excitement as I fell into some prickly Cow Parsnip after being bounced off my bike seat by some evil, tricky, jutting roots. But I wasn't going to let it bring me down.
As we biked along the dirt trails for a while I began to realize a pattern in my behavior. Going uphill was a harder on my muscles, but it was much easier on my brain. It felt good to challenge my legs and feel the burn. But when we were at the top of a hill all of my muscles tensed and I became jittery and spastic. I would feel like this until we were finally slowed down enough to pedal again.
Just as I was learning that I obviously dislike going downhill greatly, Aunt Lyn yelled over her shoulder, "Niagra's coming up!" "Oh man," I thought, "This puppy's going to be hard to bike up if it's called Niagra." Then Aunt Lyn stopped. As I slowed down and stopped next to her I realized that Niagra was not a steep climb, but rather a sharp downhill. Aunt Lyn had stopped because she wanted to give us some tips on riding down Niagra safely. Her safety tips just caused me to become more frightened. If this hill needed directions, then it probably didn't need me to careen down it. But there was only one way back to the car.
Seeing my fear, Aunt Lyn nicely asked me, "Would you like to go first?" At this question a scene quickly flashed through my mind: I'm flying down the hill, the wind in my hair. Oh dear, I've hit a rock. Oh dear, I'm being thrown off my bike. Oh dear, Aunt Lyn is riding over my arm and goodness gracious Mk is being thrown off her bike because she hit my recently evacuated one. "Nah, you guys go first." At least that way if I go down, I won't bring anyone else down with me.
Mk and Aunt Lyn both kicked of and screamed and giggled down the hill. I tried to smile, but decided that a game face was better for this situation. I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and went over the edge.

I made it to the bottom of that hill and back to the car safely, but on the way down I felt that feeling. As I've matured I've realized something: Just because it's cool to say that you like to fly down hills called Niagra on your bike or, say, that you enjoy jumping off of 40 foot cliffs on the weekends, that doesn't mean that you have to actually do it. God didn't make everyone the same. Therefore, some of us would rather bike on a paved trail or stay in the boat. And that's just fine. I'm proud to be a scaredy-cat. It's just the way I am.

An Accomplishment

This past week has been a long one. I worked six days straight this week, five of those being 10 hour days. Yes, my job does use low amounts of physical activity, but after being at the office for a while you do actually begin to feel that long-car-trip feeling. So when 6 o'clock Friday afternoon was on the horizon, I wasn't trying to find anything to get in the way of my worn-out body connecting with a soft couch. But I've found that God rarely sets up life so that we get everything we want.
Aunt Lyn has a flight attendant friend, Julie, who lives at Aunt Lyn and Uncle Stuart's house when she is in Anchorage. She is one of the sweetest ladies I have ever met, and I love my conversations with her when we happen to be at the house at the same time. Around 4 o'clock Friday afternoon, Julie called me and asked if Mk and I would like to join her on a hike up Flattop Mountain: The Most Hiked Mountain in Alaska. All of a sudden there was something obstructing my view of the horizon. Unfortunately it was a 3,510 foot mountain, and it wanted me to climb it while getting to spend time with Julie. I quickly weighed the pros and cons of the situation. The pros began gaining weight instantly, especially after taking a look outside at the sunny and 70 weather. Finally after a short deliberation, it was decided that going on the hike was the best idea.
The hike turned out to be wonderful. At the end, aspiring peak-reachers are required to do just a bit of light rock climbing to arrive at that wooden pole that signifies victory. At this point, I knew that if I looked down that I would probably have a heart attack and die so I decided instead to keep my eyes on the prize. I am happy to say that I made it to the top of my second mountain last evening and I feel pretty good about it. We even got an unexpected treat while we were enjoying the view from the top. A paraglider allowed us the pleasure of watching him throw himself off the mountain and soar gracefully back down.
Now, last time I got myself to the peak of a mountain, I didn't have to hike back down because a handy-dandy helicopter wisked me away to flat ground. This time, I was not so fortunate. BUT I am pleased to announce (to my undoubtably millions of readers) that even for the steep descent and shifting pebbles, I did in fact make it all the way back down to the parking lot without my bum connecting with the ground. There may have been a couple scares, but all in all I stayed upright the whole way down. And that, my friends, is what I call an accomplishment.

Stable and Healthy

I've never been a big fisher. I never really understood fishing, honestly. When I think of fishing, I imagine sitting on a bank of a pond somewhere in the booneys sipping sweet tea and maybe barbecuing at the same time. It was always a past time that I didn't necessarily feel the need to take up. I've realized at this point in my Alaskan career that everything here is just a bit different than I expect or what I've experienced before. So when Mk and my BP intern friend, Kristine, asked us on Thursday afternoon if we wanted to come down with her and a couple other interns to Homer and go on a halibut fishing charter I thought, "I have no idea what to expect, and this could be super crazy. But, we're in Alaska for goodness sakes. Let's do it." So we did.

We left Friday afternoon to drive the four hours to Homer. We got there in time to have dinner, set up camp and watch a beautiful sunset. We were supposed to report at 5:30 the next morning to our charter to take off and catch ourselves some fish. Mk and I got up at 4:45, got a glimpse of the moon actually shining for the first time this summer, and made the longer walk to the nice bathrooms that had flushing toilets and warm water. It seemed like a good start to a good day on the ocean. Then we got on the boat.

The Foxfire started out onto the open seas. I was tired, so I laid my head down and slept for a few minutes only to have my head lifted from my arms several times due to the sudden lapse in gravity at the top of a steep wave. Again and again my stomach jumped up into my throat as our little ship sputtered and tumbled further away from the solid ground that I was now wishing was underneath me. It was an hour and a half ride out to where the halibut like to roam, and I was checking my watch every five minutes. I thought, "Surely once we finally stop I will feel better." But then we stopped.


I looked out the window. This boat was definitely going to tip. How could we stay upright when these waves are trying so hard to make us roll over? But the smiling deck hands, Megan and Kendall were beckoning us to come out on the deck and grab a pole. Seriously? I stumbled out onto the deck. A walk that should have taken about five steps took me about twenty-five steps and three knocked over people. A pole was thrust into my bare, cold hands and Kendall cheerily chatted about how to let out your line and such things. I was having trouble listening because I was too busy focusing on not dying and keeping my stomach where it should be. I let out my line. And then my stomach wanted to come out too.

Seasickness. Don't do it.

Four out of the five of the people that I went with got sick. Out of every passenger on the boat, I would say at least two out of every three people got sick. Who knew fishing could be so extreme? Now I do. Even so, I got my fish. After emptying my body, I was able to better stand and reel those ugly suckers up from the bottom of the ocean where they like to roam. We were only allowed to keep two, Alaskan Fish and Game rules. I hooked four, but I kept a 12 pounder and a 20 pounder. I got my fish pretty quickly, so I picked a spot on the front of the boat and waited until the engine finally started up to take us back to land. It was a trip that impacted me greatly, and a story that I will have for the rest of my life.

I might want to try that booney, sweet tea sipping kind of fishing now. That seems a lot more stable and healthy.

I Suppose

Ever felt like you're burning 10,000 more calories than you ate for breakfast? Ever felt like you're rubbing the first layer of skin off the back of your ankles because you're going so steeply uphill? Ever climbed a mountain?

Before July 4th, if someone asked me these questions I would have said, "No I have not, and I don't think I will. Who wants to do those things if you could be drinking a robust cup of coffee and reading a good book safely in the shelter of your very own home?" But. If you ask me those questions now I would say, "Yes, yes I have."

Every July 4th in Seward, Alaska there is a race that many fight tooth and nail to get registered for. Now, why people fight so hard to get in this race I'm unsure because running up a mountain and then flailing back down the same mountain doesn't sound like a party to me. But sports has never been my thing. The race is called Mount Marathon and so is the mountain on which the race takes place. Aunt Lyn volunteered herself, Mk and I to help hand out water to all the exhausted runners at the top of the mountain. So that's what we did. How did we get up there? You guessed it. We hiked. And hiked and (panting) hiked.

Now, physical activity that doesn't involve a leotard and tights has never really been my strong suit, so when I heard that we were going to hike a 3,000-something foot tall mountain I thought, "I wonder what would happen if I just didn't make it." This thought also occurred several times during the hike. But luckily I have an Aunt who loves me so much (and who had a knee replacement a year and a half ago) that she hung behind with me. The other hikers, including Mk and her fit runner's bod, took off faster and made their way in a speedier fashion to the peak. Aunt Lyn and I decided that the slow and steady route was probably better for the both of us. I probably should have eaten more than a forth of a muffin and a single strawberry for breakfast, but with the help of an encouraging Aunt, a full Nalgene of water,  and half a package of energizing goo, the peak was finally under my feet.

You may be wondering how we got back down. The logical answer would be that I had to hike back down, right? Well, not when you have an Aunt with friends in high places. Instead of risking our lives sliding back down the mountain on the loose shale, we climbed into a cozy little helicopter that gently taxied us down to sea level once again. It wasn't the longest helicopter ride out there, but it was cool enough to check that off my bucket list. And really, that's all that matters to me I suppose.

As Great as Flowers Are

This past Tuesday through Thursday Mk, her mom (who came up from Dallas to visit for a week), Megan, Taylor (Megan's visiting friend also from Texas) and I ventured back up to Denali National Park. This trip was much more relaxed than last time we went up to visit. This trip we went on an ATV tour, went on a hike through the wilderness, went rafting, and went on an interpretive hike. Now, you may be wondering what the difference between the two hikes was. I will tell you.
The day started off promising. I thought to myself, "We don't need to go on the interpretive, touristy bus. We need a shuttle. To take us out to the wilderness." In Denali National Park, you are allowed to hike wherever you want. There are very rarely trails because they don't want to disrupt the wilderness. Mk and I wanted to blaze our own trail. On our way out into the park on the shuttle, Mk spotted a lynx on the side of the road and calmly pointed it out to me. We were saying, "Oh! That's pretty cool." But we were fine with continuing on. Except the lady behind us (obviously several months behind us as far as Alaskaness goes) began to practically hyperventilate from excitement and began screaming, "LYNX, LYNX STOP THE BUS I MUST GET A MILLION PICTURES OR ELSE I WILL DIE FROM LACK OF ALASKAN WILDLIFE SHOTS!!!!!!!!" Or something like that. The same thing happened when a moose was spotted. I thought to myself, "That moose is very small, and I feel superior to these silly tourists who don't know what a real moose looks like. I'm more Alaskan than any of them."

Sinking into the permafrost

So, after these encounters I was feeling pretty good about trekking through the wilderness. I was much more rugged comparatively and felt rather prepared to face whatever we might stumble upon. Mk and I hopped off the shuttle about an hour and fifteen minutes into the park and took off. We were feeling rather adventurous as we bounced through the tundra. Even though the brush was attempting to steal our jackets and the ground was a bit wet, we didn't let these small set backs bother us. We were stronger than the brush and our invincible hiking boots were keeping our feet cozy and dry. But after a little while we realized that there was another enemy that we, embarrassingly, had not accounted for.

Mosquitoes.

At the top of the hill

After realizing that we had not brought bug spray I was astonished at how confident I had been in my Alaskaness before. Any good Alaskan knows that going hiking at the end of June without bug spray is basically asking to lose a pint of blood. But, we, still in our baby stages Alaskaness,  had managed to forget that small detail. Because of this, we could take no breaks or else the mosquitoes swarmed for a meal. We hiked to the top of a hill, and even with the breeze they were relentless. Therefore, our hike was cut a little shorter and our pride was lowered to a more reasonable level.

The hike the next day involved a guide with a can of bug spray and an extremely well-maintained trail. Pretty different, I would say. But when it comes down to it, I will probably remember being moved forward by a swarm of mosquitoes longer than I will remember being told the names of various flowers. As great as flowers are.