| The jangling of the telephone sliced through the | | | | Part II |
| darkness, shaking me to my core. It was 4:30 a.m., and | | | | The bone-chilling cold of the morning was warring with |
| in the handful of instants before Ken could pick up the | | | | the sleep-inducing warmth of the big quilt that engulfed |
| phone on his side of the bed, I imagined every possible | | | | us. The skies had cleared overnight, and the |
| disaster in the book. | | | | temperature had dipped below freezing, coating the |
| “Who is it?” I mouthed, unable to stand the | | | | grass and the front porch of our little cabin with a |
| suspense a moment longer. “Northwest | | | | brittle coat of frost. Though it would have been easy |
| Airlines....” he lip synched to me in return. And so, our | | | | to give in to the beckoning of our warm covers, the |
| vacation began. For months, we had been planning it | | | | thought of the thermos of hot coffee that I knew |
| – our return to Alaska after a two-year hiatus. And | | | | would be waiting out front on the porch railing was too |
| now, the recording on the other end of the telephone | | | | strong to resist. |
| was telling us our flight had been canceled because | | | | I gingerly crawled into jeans that were as cold as the |
| the Duluth Airport was socked in by fog. “Oh, | | | | outside air, dragged a sweatshirt over my head and |
| noooooo.....” I moaned into my pillow. I quickly | | | | darted outside to grab the waiting thermos and the |
| reemerged, however. “Let’s get in the car, drive | | | | thick mug that accompanied it. |
| to Minneapolis and catch it there!” I cried. We | | | | I knew that my son, Jason, probably had been up for |
| leaped out of bed and scrambled around in the | | | | hours already and I marveled at how all things come |
| darkness – resolve quickly taking over for despair. | | | | full circle.... Later, we walked up to the main lodge, |
| Twelve hours later, we found ourselves circling over | | | | where Jason was frying hash browns generously |
| the tree-covered hills, dramatic ocean flats and | | | | laced with onion on the grill in the kitchen. Off in another |
| snow-capped mountains surrounding Anchorage. It | | | | corner of the grill was a mountain of eggs scrambled |
| was like coming home again – our fourth trip to a | | | | with thick slices of sausage. Breakfast is definitely one |
| land we’d grown to know and love ever since our | | | | of the high points of the day at Wilderness Place |
| son, Jason, first moved there to attend college in | | | | Lodge, and after one sniff of its delicious aromas, there |
| Fairbanks. | | | | was no turning back! We pretty much inhaled our |
| We made a quick trip to the market for supplies to | | | | breakfast, however – eager to set out on our |
| replenish the pantry at the fishing lodge Jason now | | | | planned trip to a salmon creek known as Eight Mile, up |
| operates on Lake Creek, and we arrived at Rust’s | | | | the mighty Yenta and Skwentna rivers. We were |
| Flying Service on Lake Hood shortly before 5 p.m. with | | | | soon zooming up the Yenta in one of the lodge’s |
| our four big duffel bags and five boxes of groceries. A | | | | flat-bottomed jet boats, bundled up to the eyebrows |
| group of tourists who had just returned from a flight | | | | against the icy morning air. For a time, I felt as though |
| seeing trip to Mount McKinley seemed impressed by | | | | my eye sockets were freezing – until we rounded |
| our mountain of gear. “You’d think we were | | | | a bend in the river and were greeted by the full |
| going out caribou hunting for weeks, wouldn’t | | | | panorama of the Alaska Range in bold relief against |
| you?” I commented with a grin to no one in | | | | the brightening morning sky. It took our collective |
| particular. We went into the office and checked in for | | | | breaths away, and we forgot all about being cold. |
| our float plane flight and then returned outside to await | | | | At last, we arrived at our destination – a sand bar |
| our departure. An older woman from the flight seeing | | | | just at the confluence of the Skwentna and Eight Mile. |
| group tentatively approached me and asked shyly, | | | | We beached the boat, threw the anchor ashore and |
| “Are you really going caribou hunting?” | | | | disembarked with all of our gear. |
| “No,” I laughed, “we’re actually going out | | | | As the morning sun began to warm us, it was a day |
| to our son’s fishing lodge.” “Oh, darn!” she | | | | unlike few others – and the silvers were biting! Silver |
| replied, looking disappointed. “I was so impressed to | | | | salmon are fighting fish, and their acrobatics and |
| think that you were actually going caribou hunting!” | | | | reel-smoking runs make stream fishing for them as |
| It wasn’t until the next morning, when we were | | | | exciting as any fishing I’ve ever encountered. One |
| finally knee-deep in the middle of Lake Creek in our hip | | | | minute the line is casually drifting through pockets of |
| waders that I finally began to relax and let Alaska truly | | | | calm water along the shoreline, and the next, the |
| began to seep under my skin and rid me of all the | | | | brawny fish hit with spine-tingling aggression and |
| stress and tension of the days and weeks leading up | | | | proceed to give you the wildest game tug-of-war |
| to that moment. Before I was even ready for it, a | | | | you’ve every played! |
| silver salmon hit my line. “Mom, mom, let him run | | | | And though we did battle with so many of them our |
| with it!” yelled Jason. “And don’t forget to | | | | arms were aching by the end of the morning, we only |
| keep your rod tip up or he’ll break it right off!” | | | | kept three of them – one to eat for dinner that night |
| No matter how often I’ve done it before, I always | | | | and two to take back and smoke over a slow-burning |
| seem to have that “breaking in” period where I | | | | alder fire in the smoker. |
| forget everything I’ve been taught – and simply | | | | Before heading back to the lodge, we decided to stop |
| panic. And as quickly as it began, my “battle” | | | | and hike in from the river to the Skwentna Roadhouse |
| with the fish was over as he broke loose and darted | | | | for lunch in the warm, homey kitchen of the old |
| away. It wasn’t long, however, before another one | | | | two-story house located in a small clearing in the |
| hit my line. At this time of year, the salmon are | | | | woods. The roadhouse, like so many others scattered |
| preparing to spawn, so they hit the bait more out of | | | | across Alaska, is meant as a stopping-over place for |
| anger and distraction than hunger, and they put up a | | | | remote travelers in the Alaskan wilderness. This |
| mighty fight when they get hooked. | | | | particular one also once served as a wintertime |
| My line zinged almost continually as the silver salmon | | | | boarding house for children whose families lived in |
| made run after run with it, and finally he managed to | | | | areas too isolated for them to get to school every |
| cartwheel his entire length above the surface of the | | | | day. It also plays host to race spectators during the |
| water. “Man, oh, man,” I yelled. “This is | | | | famous Iditarod Sled Dog race each year (the |
| living!” Remembering at last my carefully-tutored | | | | Skwentna Post Office across the river is the |
| instructions of a couple of years ago, I patiently | | | | race’s first official stopover). |
| worked the fish until I got him far enough up toward | | | | The couple who has owned and run the roadhouse |
| shore for Jason to ease him out of the water. | | | | for the past 40 years has been trying to retire for the |
| The 8-pound salmon was solid muscle and in the early | | | | past several years so they can fulfill their dream of |
| throes of turning the tell-tale scarlet of the spawning | | | | living on a sailboat off the coast of Baja California. But |
| season. Intending to release him, I wanted first to have | | | | alas – they have been unable to find a buyer and |
| my picture taken with him. I handed my digital camera | | | | so they run it still. |
| to Jason, and he carefully transferred the fish into my | | | | Part of the ritual of stopping there is sitting around the |
| eagerly waiting grasp. “Now, Mom,” Jason | | | | big kitchen table and “shooting the breeze” with |
| cautioned, “be careful not to squeeze him too hard, | | | | them for a while before ordering your food – no |
| but keep a firm grip so he doesn’t get away from | | | | matter how empty your stomach is. When we |
| you....” | | | | mentioned we were from northern Minnesota, the |
| I wrapped one hand around the base of the fish’s | | | | husband, John, commented with a grin, “Wow – |
| tail and gingerly slipped the other just under its gills, | | | | as if I couldn’t tell from the accent!” |
| keeping him low to the water. And then, as I looked up | | | | “Whoo-ee, Joyce,” he guffawed to his wife, |
| into the camera lens and turned on a dazzling smile, | | | | “maybe we should put on the ‘Fargo’ tape |
| the fish gave one mighty twist – and got away. | | | | while these folks are here...!! |