Entering the Backcountry

Denali is vast. The National Park is the size of Massachusetts and almost all of it is wilderness, accessible only by foot (if you were to walk continuously across every square mile, it would take over 11 years to see the entire thing).  There is one ribbon of road running into it-- an old mining road that is now used by the Park Service buses to give visitors a glimpse of the terrain.  Tundra, taiga, rivers, and mountains stretch in every direction.

There are a few trails around the entrance area, near the established tent and RV campsites and the visitor center. This is called the "frontcountry."  The rest of the park-- 6 million acres-- is backcountry: undisturbed wilderness with no trails or human traces.  The Park encourages you to hike all over it. 

My friend Angela and I arrived in Denali prepared to enter the backcountry.  After watching a safety video and receiving our free permit from the very friendly rangers, we boarded a bus to take us into the park.  From the bus we saw our first wildlife: a moose and yearling, a handful of caribou, a marmot, and a ptarmigan. As the bus hugged a edge of a mountain pass, it started to snow. 

We got off the bus at Toklat River.  The lodge and RV-dwelling tourists on the bus bid us farewell and we started hiking north.  After a five hour drive from Anchorage and three hours on the Park bus, finally strapping on our backpacks and setting foot on the ground was exhilarating.  We followed the rocky river bed-- the Toklat is a braided stream so it has many shallow strands winding in and out of each other. 

For a couple of hours we crossed little streams by picking our way on stones, but soon the strands converged into deeper channels and, to avoid wading through, we took to the embankment trees, taking up the "Hey Bear!" call so as not to surprise any predators... The woods proved almost impassable due to dense brush.  Every twig scraping and snagging our packs sounded like a bear.  We got out as soon as we could, back down to the riverbed, and were forced to do what we had vowed to avoid: get our feet wet.  We waded through the rushing river, glacial water soaking our boots.  Unpleasant but inevitable.

We hiked on a little further with squishing feet, until around 9:30pm, when we hurriedly set up our tents as it started to hail.  Our toes were numb; we wolfed down our food and got into our sleeping bags.

Sleeping with freezing toes was hard.  I woke up early and found little relief as I shoved my feet into my frozen boots (literally.  It was probably 25 or 30 degrees).  A campfire would have solved so many problems, but they are prohibited in the backcountry.  I paced back and forth to get warm, but wasn't too miserable due to the stunning scenery I soaked in as the day grew brighter:

Ice between the rocks.

Cape Clear Island

On a very sunny day this week, I took a ferry to Cape Clear, Ireland's most southerly island.  It's visible from the second story of the house and I had seen it in the distance when I was kayaking.  I expected to arrive in some semblance of a village, perhaps a street lined with tourist shops, but the ferry let us off in a very quiet harbor with two cafes and a craft shop.  During the summer the island hosts language camps for students wanting to improve their Irish.  The place was very quiet-- only the sound of the wind.  The roads were all one-lane wide, lined with stone walls covered in brambles.  If I had any problems to ponder or any emotional depths to delve into, this would certainly be the place for it.. but as it is I just walked around, took in the scenery, and returned the stares of some cows and pigs.. I can kind of see it as a setting for another "Misery" by Stephen King, especially during the winter... Very beautiful though.

The ferry captain favored us with some Irish songs on the return trip.

Walking the Dogs!

We piled the three labs in the car and drove toward Mizen Head, the most southwesterly point of Ireland, past rocky hills until we got to the dogs' favorite spot: Barley Cove.


A long time ago part of it was a golf course-- you can still see the shapes in the dunes--but it was taken over by rabbits. Everywhere you look are rabbit holes. No wonder the dogs love it.

Weekend

On June 1st we had to turn the heat on and light the fire, but the very next day a heat wave swooped in!  The newspaper showed kids jumping into the ocean and called the heat "scorching," which is pretty laughable, but it made the long weekend feel like a true holiday!  Irish from Cork City drove down to their holiday homes; we had Brits, Californians, and Swedes staying in the rooms...For three days, I didn't go farther than the front yard, but made countless trips from lawn to kitchen to dining room to wine rack to kitchen and back.

The large gravel patio in front of the house is set back from the road and affords the best view in town (left). After the guests had eaten all of their breakfast sausages and toast, we started getting mid-morning coffee-drinkers. Then lunch outside on the tables or afternoon wine in the Adirondack chairs. One day I was doing so much back-and-forth outside that I had to put sunscreen on my face (story of my life)...

The restaurant was fully booked both Saturday and Sunday night, so amidst serving afternoon tea and answering the phone and endlessly loading the dishwasher and washing machine, we'd prep for dinner ("we" being myself, Katarina cook and owner, and an Australian WWOOFer helping behind the scenes).

Then there was a moment of calm.  Before the evening commenced, we could sit for a few minutes in the dining room, admiring the set table and the lit candles and listening to Rod Stewart... 

Almost everyone who stays or dines here is positively lovely.  I usually have little chats with them. Very nice people.  Then again, being on holiday and getting waited upon in a nice place, why shouldn't they be pleasant?

One couple was from France and I got to serve them in French!  Wonderful!  They were visiting a good friend of the House and came two days in a row.  French men, they're so charming when they're married; after some French banter he tipped me and gave me a kiss. They invited me to come stay with them in Normandy. It's legit.... I tell you, I have more open doors than I have time for... 

Dinner: sixty odd courses and a dozen empty bottles later, we'd have some red wine of our own in the kitchen and wait for the last tables to leave.  I can't blame them for wanting to loiter in there-- it's downright classy.  But we eventually see them off with a smile, run a last load in the dishwasher, prep for breakfast and then go straight to bed.  It's a healthy existence, all this work, and it was quite fun.  Good mental exercise-- waitressing.  People are back to work, though; the weekend's gone and so is the warm weather.  All for the best: I now have time to write this and I get to wear a new cashmere sweater I bought at the charity shop for three euro. Score.  If no one comes for dinner tonight, maybe we'll get to light the fire and relax ourselves!

Landmark Day

One year ago today, I flew to Anchorage!! thus beginning my summer in the Midnight Sun. I remember it so vividly!  I did a few calculations and in the past year, to the day, I've traveled 20,669 miles.  After I fly home, I'll nearly have traveled the equivalent of the circumference of the globe. Fun facts!

As an ode to Alaska, and because I can't get enough of them, here are some photos.

Filleting the 23 salmon we caught. It took all night.

On a roof overlooking the tundra.

Reid's first catch in Alaska, two pike.

Last year's dried salmon, for the dogs.

 

The only two brave enough for the challenge: 38 degree water for 20 minutes.

  
To be honest, none of my experiences in Europe have compared to Alaska... Not that it's a contest. 

Taking to the Sea

It's easy to forget how high up Ireland is on the globe.  It's not Alaska, but the sun still doesn't set until 10:30 and it's fully risen when I wake up to serve breakfast.  It's not always master of the sky, though: we've had many gray, windy, wet mornings.  A couple days ago, I awoke to a very promising day; the sun was gleaming off the harbor.  So after a few hours of work, I headed for the water.  I had intended to rent a kayak for a couple of hours one day, but thanks to small town connections, I have a free sea kayak at my disposal,  just two minutes from the house.  I took her out.

I paddled across the bay and along the shore to the tip of a peninsula.  I found a cove and went ashore.  Exploring this jut of land was one of my particular motives in kayaking because I can see the peninsula from the house, but it's not accessible by road.  So I wandered up and around and got a fantastic view of the islands, the sheer coastline, and the Atlantic beyond.

While I was tromping around the cow pastures, the wind had picked up and it took some effort and some getting-wet to launch my kayak against the waves.  Once in the wider water, things were rough.  I was riding up and down on the waves and rain pelted my sunglasses and I had a long paddle against the wind to reach home.  But the taste of salt splashing on my face made me feel like I was really sea kayaking!

"Irish Girl"

It was a quiet Saturday night at the B&B.  After Katarina went to bed early, I held down the fort and waited to show one more guest to his room.  I did so with my feet propped in front of the fire, eating chocolates and reading a book. What a job.


There's a big film festival in town, well, big for a town of 700.  A film festival in a town without a cinema.  The main street has yellow and blue streamers hanging across it and shops have been turned into screening venues.  I saw one film, "Runway," which was filmed here in Schull.  Locals had been extras so at the viewing everyone was anxious to pick out familiar faces.

The film festival is bringing in lots of people.  Last night I served dinner to a group of big movie directors/producers.  The conversation snippets I caught were about casting and talent and Glenn Close... The only uncertain moment I've had waiting tables was opening a bottle of wine for them. My on-the-ground French education included bottle-opening: I can do it; but opening one with an unfamiliar opener in front of these worldly people while trying to look experienced in a candle-lit restaurant...a different matter.  But I got 'er done, although I'm no sommelier.

By the fire, I also chatted with a guest, an Irish woman just slightly older than me.  We talked about Italy, Obama, tech jobs, and this charming house and at the end she asked my name again. "Oh my gosh, that's the perfect name!" was her shrill reply.  It's true.  Everyone is delighted when they learn of my Irish name.  It's never fit so well as it does here. If only I could mask my accent, I'd have them all fooled.