Chapter 3. Southcoastal Alaska
© Bert & Shari Frenz, 2002 All rights reserved.
(Shari) The dumb jerk! The really dumb jerk! The really, really dumb jerk! Can you tell I am frustrated? We arrive in Anchorage today, the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend at 3 PM. I tell Bert we need new tires and we decide to drive to Sam's to get a pair. After looking at the tires, the young man tells us we should get four. Okay, let's go into the store to buy them. Bert goes off with the tires to the shop and I continue to grocery shop. Much to my surprise, 15 min. later, I see Bert looking for me. He needs my Sam's card to purchase installation and tire disposal. Here is the first dumb jerk: the young man who sold us the tires and told us where to push the cart for installation, but didn't tell us the other fees were a separate purchase. Okay, we do that. I go about my shopping and after paying for the groceries, take them out to the car. Bert is all frustrated because he cannot find the lug lock key that is suppose to be in its case under the backseat. Second dumb jerk: the Nisson mechanic in Texas who did not return our key and now we cannot get the tires off. Third dumb jerk is the young kid at Sam's that offers no help or suggestions. In frustration I tell him to put the tires back on the cart, give me the paperwork and I will return them. While in line at customer service a really, really, really nice guy tells me where to buy a tool to remove the lugs. Off we go. After making a couple of wrong turns, we find the place only to be told they have no such tool and we need a tire shop. Now it is 6 PM, on Saturday, on Memorial Day weekend. Fat chance! We drive past Goodyear - closed. I call 5 or 6 other places - closed. We will just have to drive to Kenai, praying all the way that we do not have a flat tire and deal with the problem on Monday or Tuesday. In hindsight, after I have cooled down, maybe Bert and I are the dumb jerks for not doing this sooner when we had more time. But I am not ready to say that yet. I am still too steamed. On a lighter note, weather report: sunny, warm and still wearing shorts. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop now. This good weather just cannot last.
(Shari) The price keeps going up. Bob, a one-man tire repair service, told me on the
phone yesterday that he would take my tires off and mount new ones for $22.50 each: $10 to
remove the lug nuts with his special tool and $12.50 to mount and balance. Now he says he
has to charge another $2.50 each because I did not tell him I had 4-wheel drive. Well, so?
Then he complains that we have recessed lug nuts and his tool cannot clamp around the
nuts, so he might have to charge extra. Then he wants $5 each to dispose of the old tires.
What is one to do at 10 AM on Memorial Day, 60 minutes before the caravan departs for
Kenai? We pay all but the disposal fee, because Sam's will do it for $1 each. Finally we
are on our way south. The road to Kenai has been improved since 1998. Soon traveling to
Alaska will just be a matter of endurance without the adventure of twisting, turning,
narrow roads with potholes and broken pavement. Like all others so far, today's drive is a
pleasant one. Now that the trees have popped their leaves, the flowers will soon follow.
We do find dandelions today. We arrive in Kenai and are delighted with the special front
row campsites overlooking the bay. Supposedly we can see Beluga whales at high tide right
from our RV window. Today's overcast skies will make spotting them easier. As I write
this, I feel like a kid in school who is constantly drawn to the window. It is hard to
focus; the view begs for my attention. Small boats motor past, seals play in the surf,
birds fly overhead, and people walk on the sand and cars drive on the beach below.
Mountains rising out of the ocean to my right with the setting sun and mountains rising
from the land on my left frame the picture. What a perfect place for Pat to celebrate her
birthday. 
This birthday is a special one, one of those
10-year milestones we all have to get past. She couldn't ask for a better place to have
it. We all gather in front of our rigs by the picnic tables and eat tiramisu I made for
the occasion. Jim and David are in fine form, cracking jokes right and left until it gets
too chilly to stay outside.
(Bert) One of my favorite drives in Alaska, we travel along the edge of Turnagain Arm
south of Anchorage, heading to the Kenai Peninsula. Turnagain, so named because Captain
Cook had to "turn again" in the dead end channel in yet another failed attempt
to find the Northwest Passage, is a narrow gap between mountain ranges welded together at
the juncture of tectonic plates. Today the gap is
filled with water; at another time when the tide is out the channel will be a treacherous
sea of mud. At Beluga Point we stop to see the Mountain Goats high up on the mountainside.
We look for Beluga Whales, but see none. Wildflowers have started to bloom. The dandelions
have been out for a few days, but now I also see the pale blue blooms of Beautiful Jacob's
Ladder and the dull yellow flowers of Yellow Oxytrope. Strong chilly winds blow and I can
feel the tug on R-TENT. Traffic is heavy in the opposite direction as Memorial Day weekend
travelers return to their Anchorage homes after a vacation on the peninsula. I count 20
cars and RV's per minute, a large number when you multiply by the almost 4 hours we
travel. The highway up the Kenai Mountains is much improved since our last visit - wider,
straighter and flatter and with many more scenic pullouts. I'm surprised how much snow is
still lying in Turnagain Pass. Ice has broken away from the beaver ponds, but at Summit
Lake only a narrow edge of open water yields a place for a lone loon to fish. Our campsite
in Kenai is pitched on a cliff overlooking Cook Inlet. From this vantage point we can see
the snow-covered peaks across the inlet, the flat marshlands at the mouth of the Kenai
River and a constant procession of birds flying and feeding below us: Bald Eagles,
Glaucous-winged Gulls, Sanderlings and Violet-green Swallows, among others.
(Shari) "Here's one," shouts Virginia to Wally. "Hurry before he gets
away. Go faster. Go deeper. Oh s---. Missed him. Here's another one. Hurry. Hurry. Don't
break him." So goes the morning as we participate in my favorite activity of the
whole world. I love to go razor clamming. Finally I hear Wally proudly shout, "I got
one." He holds it up for me to see and then
continues to dig for more. Not much later Virginia gets her first one too. They are on a
roll and turn out to be quick learners. We four are the only ones to get our limit of 45
each before giving up and retiring to the beach. We car-pooled to the beach access and
then Bert made two trips to get us all to the clamming spot because only 4-wheel drive
vehicles are allowed on the beach. The tide is on its way out and we all are outfitted
with waterproof shoes and clothes that can get dirty. Carrying shovels and buckets, we
hike to the tide line and look for the dimples
in the sand that indicate a clam is present. Then the fun starts. Everyone has his one way
of catching the little buggers. Bert digs like mad and, on his knees, he uses his hands to
shovel the sand away. I shovel and bend over. I have seen some diggers almost buried, arms
in a hole up to their armpits looking for the clams. But the most work comes later when we
have to clean them. Gathering around the picnic table we separate the meat from the shell,
cut the black part of the neck off, cut the foot and save it for the frying pan, and after
cleaning the yucky stuff off, we save the remainder for chowder. Pat enjoys watching the
activity as her Jim does all the cleaning at her house. The rest of us are not so lucky
and have to share the labor with our spouses. It still takes forever; especially for those
of us who got our limit. Finally we finish the last cleaning step. Bert and I take a break
with a glass of wine, to enjoy our campsite view before going back to the clams. This last
step in the process is the reason we do it: eating. Yum!
(Bert) "The only thing worse than not getting any is catching your limit."
This saying about Razor Clams proves true today as we count our catch, 45 clams each, and
begin the task of cleaning the lot. Earlier, we drove to the mudflats along Cook Inlet.
Remembering how muddy I got previous years, this time I wear my hip waders, but I still
manage to splatter mud on my shirt, face and glasses while I dig furiously for the clams
with my hands. Using their foot
the clams dig furiously in the opposite direction, but most of the time I reach them in
time to pinch my fingers around the top of the shell and slowly ooze them out of the
sucking mud and gravel. Clam Gulch is at its lowest negative tide of the year, exposing
the mudflats for a strip a few hundred yards wide and a couple miles long. We see dimples
in the mud everywhere, each a marker of a clam siphoning water below. I had bragged
earlier that I sometimes can get as many as five clams from one hole and, now, Nancy puts
me to the test. I find a spot with a cluster of dimples and start to dig. One, two, three
I pull them out. I search around some more, my hands buried below the surface of the water
filled hole. Four, and then five come out - the only time today I am able to find that
many. I guess the challenge of an audience improved my chances. But like I said before,
now comes the downside of catching our limit: we have to clean them. With a garden hose
and a couple of buckets, I wash the bulk of the sand from the clams. Then I cut open the
clams, detaching them from their shells, while Shari separates body parts between edible
and not. My task goes faster, so I end up helping Shari
with the scissor cutting. We had finished digging clams shortly after noon, but we do not
finish the cleaning process until well after 4 PM. Wally and Virginia are cleaning clams
right up to the end, but the other four finished earlier, perhaps the wiser of our group
in choosing to stop before catching their limit. Fried clams tonight!
(Shari) They seem to be quicker and stronger today. At least 10 pull harder than I do
and get away. I hear they can travel down at the rate of 1 inch per second. They are so
fast today that I seem to be getting more dry holes than usual. But the clams have not
changed and I just must be slower today. I agree, plus I am sore, with achy hands and back
from yesterday's activity. Bert and I are the only repeat clammers from our group on this
beautiful day and within 90 minutes we catch our limit
and head home to begin the process of cleaning. It takes as long to clean them as to catch
them but the process goes smoother this afternoon and in no time we are finished. I save
some for tomorrow night's chowder and freeze the rest. Between yesterday and today I
should have 15 meals of clam tucked away in cold storage. I think everyone did his or her
own thing today. I hardly saw anyone except to say good morning or goodnight.
(Bert) Our campsite atop the cliff overlooking Cook Inlet and the floodplain of the
Kenai River is a great vantage point for observing wildlife. At high tide waves roll over
sandy beaches, creeping up to the grass covered sand dunes. At low tide vast mud fields
appear, attracting the Glaucous-winged Gulls and Bald Eagles - as many as a dozen eagles
at a time. Today a mixed flock of Hudsonian Godwits
and Short-billed Dowitchers feed for hours along the intersection of mud and water. I set
up my spotting scope, adjusting the tripod height so I can observe while sitting on the
picnic table bench. Further out on the inlet Arctic Terns search the water. I watch a
Pacific Loon, not much more than a black dot to the naked eye, and as I pan the water
surface with my scope I see a Striped Dolphin humping in and out of the water. Yesterday a
Harbor Seal followed the shoreline upriver, perhaps catching the Hooligans that are
running now. I found one of the smelt-like fishes washed up on shore, still kicking, and
with the help of Dave's reference book we decide it is a Capelin, the same species that
occurs in the Maritimes (Hooligan is a local name). Right below our cliff, flowers grow,
including a few new ones that have just begun to bloom: Nootka Lupine and Wild Strawberry.
In the sand dunes I find Beach Peas in bloom. Below the cliff, trees provide a convenient
perch for nesting birds, singing to mark their territories. I hear and see Wilson's
Warbler, Fox Sparrow, White-crowned Sparrow and Dark-eyed Junco. Using the uplift produced
by the cliff, gulls and eagles soar by and Violet-green and Tree swallows catch insects.
In between wildlife sightings, we have a mesmerizing view of the water and the
snow-covered mountain range on the opposite shore and, in the opposite direction, a view
of the marsh where thousands of gulls wait out the tides and Barren Ground Caribou bourse
on the grassland. It's hard to imagine a more perfect campsite.
(Bert) At first the grassy floodplain seems devoid of anything interesting. Our
viewpoint is slightly elevated, making it easy to scan the vast flat land. I almost miss
the Sandhill Cranes, first seeing only a pair, then two more, and then Pat finds six more.
Their summer feathers are rusty brown, a perfect match to the browns and grays of their
browsing grounds. Virginia remarks that the color change is so dramatic she would have
taken them as a different species from the gray forms she sees in the Texas winter. Then
to the right, far on the horizon, we see a caribou with spindly antlers not yet fully
formed. Training binoculars on her we notice a calf wobbling unsteadily at her side. The
calf is so small and fragile, so unsteady on its new legs, it must have been born only
hours before. We set up our spotting scopes to get a better view and I even get a
full-frame photo through the scope. The fur on the adult caribou is a much lighter color
than the Woodland Caribou we saw along the Alaskan Highway. This species is the Barren
Ground Caribou, the one that typically resides in the Arctic regions. Dave, looking off in
another direction, gets our attention when he announces "Jaegers" as he watches
two black birds in flight. One lands and we can see the characteristic shape of a jaeger,
a relative of gulls, but even with our scopes we puzzle over which species. Pat and I hike
along the road in the direction of the bird and a half mile later I line up my scope. The
jaeger is completely black, including breast, bill and long tail, making this one a
Parasitic Jaeger. A seagoing
hunter, it is hard to find them during the winter season without a boat well offshore, but
here on dry land they nest in open areas. At sea they seem constantly in flight and always
at a great distance, but here they rest almost motionless and often quite approachable.
The "empty" floodplain turned out not to be so empty after all.
(Bert) I suggested to the group that they bring sack lunches for today's outing. Shari
questioned my wisdom, since the drive was only 18 miles, plus some to reach the location.
Well, it takes us over 5 hours to cover the 18 miles, not because of the gravel road, but
because the scenery is so spectacular that we find ourselves just gawking for hours,
trying to take it all in. Of course, a few good birds doesn't speed us up. A pair of
Red-throated Loons, first noticed by Wally, is a life bird for many. We find Common Loons
on every lake we stop at. The lakes are mirror flat, reflecting the snow-covered
mountains. The scenery is a field trip for the geology
talk I gave a week ago, with lots of good examples of cirques, glacial wash, moraines and
kettle lakes. On one of the lakes a partially submerged erratic becomes a nesting island
for gulls. Interestingly, the Herring Gulls include some hybrids, crossed with
Glaucous-winged Gulls. At the marshy edge of one small lake we find a pair of nesting
Trumpeter Swans. Along the Kenai River several pairs of Harlequin Ducks fly upstream, then
stop to float in the turbulence. The duck's clown like pattern makes it only second to our
Wood Duck in attractiveness. Today's sunny, dry warm weather certainly adds to our
enjoyment of the scenery.
(Shari) "Don't go into the backyard when you get home from work," the
salesclerk at the fabric tells her husband over the phone. "There is a new mother and
her newborn calf there." This is the season for caribou to have their babies and they
are popping out just anywhere. Yesterday the group saw a newborn, still hobbling on unsure
legs, next to its mother. So goes life on the Kenai - the unexpected, the serene and the
beautiful. When the group went out birding, I stayed home to diddle. Later we had a
potluck of clam chowder (from our freshly caught clams), lasagna, veggie tray and a choice
of either chocolate or lemon pie. Today they are gone again birding and I am home enjoying
my free time. The day is another warm spectacular one that just beckons me to bike ride.
After lunch I go to the fabric store and browse, finally purchasing some yarn for a
sweater and a quilting kit for a loon wall hanging. I have never seen the mountains of
Cook Inlet so spectacular. As I turn a
corner and look down the street, the top of a snow-covered mountain just peaks above the
horizon. Other years the clouds covered it and I never knew it was there. A Bald Eagle
lands on the pine tree right smack in front of R-TENT and sits there for almost an hour. I
have an up close and personal view of him and wish I had the camera instead of Bert. The
sea is calm as the tide goes out, but when the tide shifts, the water starts to churn and
rapids form at the mouth of the river. I keep looking
for Beluga whales but still have not seen one here. Later Dave and Sally, our transplanted
Alaskans, come for dinner and chat away the hours until we notice it is almost 11 PM. (the
sun sure does not tell you the time). We say our goodbyes, promising each other we will
keep in touch, especially since we both have RVing in Australia and New Zealand in mind.
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