ALASKA ROCKS!

And why, you ask? Believe it or not…(drum roll, please…)

WE HAVE JOBS! (Temporarily, of course, so no one should worry that we’re taking up permanent residence here (though it’s tempting).

After arriving in Anchorage about a month ago, we made a new friend in the Alaskan salmon business who sent us to the Alaskan meat people, more specifically to Doug Drum, a.k.a. Mr. Alaska, and his daughters who run Indian Valley Meats. Mr. Alaska has been great to us. We’ve been busy turning salmon mush to tasty jerky and breaking down all kinds of wild game brought in for processing. Blood guts vats of meat and sausage slime equal good times. We’re gathering skills here. Alaskans know, when shit hits the fan, they’re still gonna eat. We certainly have been.

And in between boxing dog treats and slicing tenderloins, we’ve been celebrating, too. First, with Taylor’s birthday, topped off with a flaming igloo ice-cream cake, courtesy of Dawn, and then with Dawn’s “Almost 30″ birthday (what’s the point of saying 29 anyway?), which we toasted with Long Island iced teas down at the Indian House bar.

As a Welcome-to-Alaska gift, Doug treated us to a special trip to the Kenai Wildlife Refuge. The Kenai’s rocky mountains lie across the inlet from where we sleep in Walter. Every morning when we step out of the bus, we take in the view before heading up to work, just a driveway’s climb to the processing plant. They swell up to jagged peaks that now gather powdery snow. So for Memorial Day weekend, Doug offered to fly us over the inlet to drop us off in the middle of the mountains for some total isolation from non-Trantennas. So two-by-two we climbed into Doug’s little biplane for a twenty minute flight out to Trapper Joe Lake. Before taking off, Doug’s daughter called and begged him not to overload the plane. “Oh, I would never overload,” Doug said, later admitting, “We’ve got three pounds of shit in a two-pound bag!”

Dawn and I took the second trip over. During the flight, Doug demonstrated his snazzy GPS device which practically flies the plane for him, and then banked the plane down and over our shoulder in search for bears along the tree line where they hang out to catch delicious little frogs. During our sweep of the tree tops, Doug asked us if we were the types to get sick and when we said no he bounded into funny stories about people puking in nose dive. One guy puked in his stocking hat. Doug opened the door and told him to “Throw it out! I’ll buy you a new one!” to which the guy chucked it out over the inlet, shedding himself of the humiliation. Then he realized he lost his dentures in the mix. “There’s no way we’d get those back!” Doug chortled.

A few minutes later we were approaching Trapper Joe Lake on which sat a little aluminum john boat occupied by Seth and Taylor, who arrived first at the cabin. Doug wanted to “scare the crap out of ‘em” and pointed the props right at the boat pulling up only whipping up enough of a torrent to blow the hair piece off a bald spot. He landed in the lake and taxied over to Trapper Joe’s cabin where he dropped us before speeding off to pick up Bob and Kentridge and the remainder of our supplies.

The little domicile housed us all (with one on the floor) and Kentridge for the three nights we stayed. We spent most of our time resting, reading, and fishing for rainbow trout on the lake. Rainbow trout are sneaky fish, slowly stalking the shiny metal lures before chomping down. Then when they realize they’re hooked, they’ll fight until they’re bloody, flying into the air and stressing the line. But despite losing many lures to their razor teeth, the fish did not prevail. Bob and Dawn managed to bring in enough to feed us and then some for our time there.

And I’ve never heard such a silence as I did sitting on the lake, only the sound of ourselves, the occasional plane or the howling of wolves echoing through the valley to interrupt it. Oh, I can’t forget the squeaky oars.

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When Doug picked us up, the lake was calm, but the wind was building on the other side of the inlet, so we had to hurry. Bob and Kentridge, round one, Dawn and Taylor, round two, and Seth and I hung back just in case the weather didn’t permit a third return. With the kid and the dog gone, Seth and I decided to fire the gun Doug gave us as a precaution against the bears we didn’t see: a 357 magnum.

Taking turns, we sent slugs across the lake and into the wild. After all, it’s Alaska. Grab y’er hand cannon and go get lost.