Why Did the Hoary Marmot Cross the Road?

            Wow! We, who had never before seen a hoary marmot, nor even really wondered what one looked like, saw two of the creatures on the same day! Some folks from Holland who happened to be driving behind us stopped at the next turnout and asked what the creature was that we had slowed down for and tried to photograph. We didn’t know. Gary guessed a hedgehog, I thought maybe a groundhog, but knew it was too large to be a hedgehog. My other guess was a hyrax. I know I’d heard that name somewhere, but couldn’t’ remember ever seeing one. This thing was probably as large as a beaver, but had a little fuzzy tail like a squirrel and a pointed-looking face. After driving almost to the head of the Salmon Glacier, on the return trip, we saw another one—crossing the road. Still no picture.

            We talked to the Dutch folks for a few minutes, told them how much we’d enjoyed our visit to their country and I tried out my pronunciation of “Schipohl,” the airport in Amsterdam. I’ll never get it right, but they said I’d come pretty close. I was disappointed we couldn’t identify the animal for them, but as luck would have it, they were walking up to the wildlife center I’ll tell about later just as we were leaving and I was able to tell them what it was. They had heard of marmots before, and after wrangling with “hoary” and trying to think of a European equivalent (rime), we got the idea across and everyone left happy.

            Our blog has been pretty silent for a few days. We were  not idle, however. After spending a wonderful weekend in Seward and thinking it just didn’t get any better than a halibut dinner at Ray’s on the waterfront, it did get better. We backtracked from Seward, past Anchorage, then turned toward Destruction Bay on the Alaskan Highway. The drive through the Wrangell Mountains was another of those breath-taking drives through some of the most gorgeous scenery that can’t be described and that pictures can’t convey. There were several glaciers and waterfalls and seemingly unending ranges of peaks reaching into the clouds.

We spent one night camped on the Copper River in the middle of nowhere at a place called Gakona. Most of our fellow campers appeared to be workers working on the telephone lines and right-of-way. There were some young people on a motorcycle camping in a tent. Ah, the resilience of youth. The morning we pulled out the temperature registered 34 degrees.

            That evening, after a rockinghorse ride over the heaves and around blood-curdling curves, we reached Destruction Bay. Destruction Bay is on the largest lake in the Yukon and its name escapes me for the moment. The lake is beautiful. The weather was chilly, clouds were looming, and we found the reason the place is named Destruction Bay. There was a camp there during World War II. The enlisted men were in barracks down near what is now a small village. The officers were higher up on a hill, where the campground  now sits. A storm came through with winds approaching 200 miles per hour and wiped out the enlisted men’s tents and many of the men. The camp was never rebuilt.

            The campground owner caters to caravans of motor homes and campers who plan their stopovers with him. He has a live band (don’t know where the musicians come from, the woods, I suppose), and great food. The bread is all homemade and we had it for breakfast the morning we left. They were getting ready for the last caravan of the year to come through the day we left, then they’d spend a week or two closing up. We saw fresh snow on the  mountain tops that already had some caps they keep year-round.

            We stopped at the end of the lake for pictures and met a young couple from Belgium who had been over last year and toured part of the lower 48. This year they were on their way to Alaska. We told them how much we’d enjoyed our river cruise in their country a couple of years ago. Later in the day when we stopped at a rest area we met two couples and the ten-year-old son of one of them. They were traveling in a 1980’s-era bus that they have converted to run on cooking oil. They have been living and traveling on the bus for about two years now. They work at odd jobs, sell some of their artwork and crafts, get their fuel from restaurants, and were from Charleston, South Carolina. If you’d like to learn more about these artists, check out their website at transitantenna.com. You never know who you’ll meet on the Alaskan Highway! We saw a camper today that had a bumper sticker from South of the Border plastered across its rear.

            We retraced part of our earlier route past Whitehorse, where we had stayed for one night. This time we arrived about one p.m. and I searched until I found a hair salon so I could get a trim. After that was taken care of we stopped at the Beringia Interpretive Center and learned a little about the mammoths, 800-pound beavers and other interesting creatures that have been found in the vicinity.

            We arrived in Stewart, BC, on Saturday afternoon, early enough to drive the couple of miles into town from the campground and get a look around. It still doesn’t get dark until almost ten p.m.  We drove through the tiny town, along the Portland Canal, where we saw logs floating awaiting transfer to ships. There isn’t much industry in Stewart. We ate dinner at the King Edward Hotel, for which we paid a kingly price, then drove on out of town and into Hyder, Alaska. Hyder is even smaller than Stewart, but very charming. When you go to Hyder, there is no U.S. Customs Office. If you go from Stewart to Hyder, you gotta come back on the same road, so only the Canadians have an office at the border crossing. What happens in Hyder either stays in Hyder or goes back to Stewart. There is only one road.

As an aside, we are amazed at the number of cyclists calmly pedaling their way up these mountains. Sometimes alone. The pastor at the Stewart church told us they had once had a visitor, from North Carolina no less, who had pedaled across the continent and was on his way to Prudhoe Bay. We could only shudder at the thought. Remembering that we actually camped in tents in our “good old days” is hard enough to deal with. We like having the comforts of home in our Prowler.

            Sunday morning we attended church at the Stewart Community Church. It was great to be with other Christians again. A youth group from Alberta was in Stewart for the second year, putting siding provided by their church on the Stewart Church building. The youth led the service and the young preacher did a great job. Afterwards we were invited for sandwiches, but after chatting awhile we left to head for the scenic highway to Hyder.

            The thing both towns have going for them is the view. Stewart has a glacier you can see from almost any point in the town. Hyder’s view isn’t as dramatic, but what they lack in view, they make up with by having a bus. The bus restaurant that serves “mermaid chowder,” which is to die for—and they have bears.

            The single road that runs from Stewart to Hyder continues on up for 25 or so miles, past some old mines, gorgeous scenery following the course of the Salmon River and ends at the top of the Salmon Glacier. The Salmon Glacier is the fifth-largest in British Columbia and one of the few you can drive up to. We didn’t go all the way to the top because the clouds had rolled in. I mentioned seeing the strange creature which turned out to be a hoary marmot. We also saw a black bear walking across the road. On our way back to Stewart this time we stopped at the wildlife viewing area run by the National Park Service. They have built a walkway out over the river, high above where the bears come to fish.

            The folks at church had told us to go early in the morning or about eight p.m. We happened to be there about six, and had almost decided to return to the camper for a nap, then come back, when two young grizzlies came galloping out of the forest, under the walkway and splashed their way into the stream. According to the wildlife officers they are four-year-old male siblings. Apparently their mother stays in the area and they have come to know her and her cubs over the years.

            We had been watching the salmon at the end of their spawning run. There were dead salmon lying around the shallow water and a few along the banks. The sea gulls were out in force, eating until they could barely waddle—until the bears showed up. The bears cavorted around up and down the stream for a good little while, chasing the dying salmon into the shallows and chomping down on them.

            It’s sad to think that the salmon go through all the effort to swim from the ocean back to the streams they were born in, only to die at the end, but we discussed how many people and animals depend on this cycle. The native people of the Northwest have for centuries caught and dried the salmon and are still allowed to fish for subsistence. Others are limited in the number they can keep, especially of certain species. The bears fatten themselves for the winter hibernation and many other animals depend on this yearly cycle. Even the eggs and hatchlings provide food for other creatures in the chain. Death is never pretty, but it’s the ugly side of dealing with a fallen world. How wonderful it will be when it’s all made right again!

            We almost hated to leave Stewart, but Monday morning we hitched up and wended our way back to Canada Highway 16 and onto the Yellowhead Highway. We are really on our way home now and look forward to new scenery and sights along the way. The grand mountains and snow-capped peaks have given way to rolling hills and hay fields. We are beginning to come to larger towns closer together. We are in a beautiful area known as Williams Lake. Tomorrow we plan to spend the night in Hope, British Columbia, then on Thursday, we’ll stop in Everett, Washington, and spend a day or two with our niece, Rachel and her family.

  

  

   

  

  

 

Willow to Seward

This blog will have very little writing. The pictures speak more than a thousand words.

The pictures, of course, can’t convey the sense of grandeur that seeing the actual mountains and other formations give, but every time we went around a curve or pulled over at a viewpoint I kept humming the old hymn “I sing the mighty power of God that made the mountains rise, that spread the flowing seas abroad and built the lofty skies. I sing the Wisdom that ordained the sun to rule the day, the moon shines full at His command, and all the stars obey.”

We opted to go to Seward instead of Homer, as we had heard there were both excellent fishing and glacier tours there. Are we ever glad we did! We camped in a campground a few miles from Seward, then drove there after setting up the camper and unhitching the truck. Seward is a very small place, never having completely recovered after the tsunami that struck it after the Great Alaskan Earthquake of 1964. They do have excellent halibut fishing, and in fact, a tournament started on the day we arrived.

We signed up for a tour with Kenai Fjords Tours that left at ten a.m. the next morning, served lunch on the boat and dinner at their lodge on Fox Island. Another excellent choice, recommended by someone at an info center we stopped at. (And incidentally, a large portion of the trip was through Resurrection Bay.)

The captain/naturalist pointed out too many things for our aging brains to remember, but best of all, slowed down, circled, and/or stopped often for us to take pictures of wildlife and scenery. We saw sea otters, Dall’s porpoises  (which look like miniature orcas), harbor seals, sea lions, puffins (two types) and their rookeries, along with other birds, and had several whale sightings of humpbacks. There is a website that has whales identified by the patterns on the undersides of their flukes and the captain was able to i.d. two of the ones we spotted. One was Alphonso, the other was Morgan LeFey (sp?) Morgan was traveling with two other whales which we were unable to i.d. I didn’t get pictures of the flukes when the whales sounded, but several people on board did, so they were able to match them with the computer catalog.

We saw a lot of glaciers, but the boat sailed within a quarter-mile of the edge of the Aialik Glacier. We could hear the rumbling and crackling as it moved, and actually got shots of it calving. The “dirty” looking streaks you see on it are volcanic ash from the recent eruption of  Mt. Redoubt.

One note for our foodie friends: lunch was a turkey wrap, bag of baby carrots and caramel-peanut bar and lemonade. Dinner at Fox Island consisted of prime rib, baked salmon, rice pilaf, corn on the cob, tossed salad, rolls, and various kinds of bar cookies for dessert. We felt like we got more than our $159 worth on this 8.5-hour trip and highly recommend it to anyone traveling this way. (You could add a pound of king crab legs for an additional $15 also.)

Along with Glacier National Park, the Kenai Peninsula has been a highlight of the trip for us so far. I will hush and put up the pictures.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

   

  

  

 

Watson Lake to Dawson City, Yukon Territory and on to Alaska

  

   

We made it to the Yukon! It was a fairly easy drive most of the time through some gorgeous scenery. We are in the northern end of the Canadian Rockies. We’ve crossed and driven beside some beautiful rivers, driven through an area devastated by forest fires and actually seen some of the wildlife we keep reading signs about.

Today we saw a forest bison, Stone sheep, mule deer, two caribou, and a black bear. I got photos of the bison, sheep and a caribou, but wasn’t quick enough with the camera for the others. The animals come along the road because there are wide swaths of green on both sides and the grazing is easy.

Of course, we had to have our little SNAFU. This time it was the slide-out on the trailer. When we stop for a potty break we have to slide it out just a few inches in order to get the bathroom door open. Speaking of which: there are very few rest areas on the Alaska Highway. The ones there are are not like those you find on the interstate highways. They are not even Porta-johns. They are outhouses. They are kept pretty clean considering, but if you can bring your own, I’d recommend that. Service stations are few and far between and many are closed. If you don’t have a porta-potty, you might be in dire straits—and believe me, you don’t want to go in the woods. But I was telling a story. We had our potty break. My job is always to see that the pump is off, the slide is IN and the steps are UP. We started to pull away and Gary checked the mirror and said the slide wasn’t in. Uh-oh. Sure enough, one side had slid right into place, but the other end stuck out several inches. He managed to pull and push it into place and we went on our way to Watson Lake.

Watson Lake is one of those places that sprang up during the war when the road was being built. They even have a motel here that was built in 1942 for the Air Force. Watson Lake’s main claim to fame is the signpost forest. There are thousands of signposts (and you’re invited to bring one and add to the collection) from all over the world. One that jumped out at me was Petoskey—we were there last year in the boat. It’s in Michigan. Anyway, a GI with nothing better to do started the signpost forest and it’s grown and grown over the years. It’s pretty neat.

Watson Lake has a supermarket, several fuel depots and RV parks/motels. It also has a home store where you can buy things like bolts. It’s a typical Yukon sort of place. The RV park is just a big piece of level ground covered in gravel with electric and water hookups at regular intervals. It’s a short walk to Wye Lake, but we don’t care for mosquitoes, and besides, Gary was pretty tired after dealing with the slide-out.

First we had to level the truck and camper. In order to avoid unhooking the truck and thus having to re-hook in the  morning, we try to find a place level enough to just leave it be. This often entails my hauling 2 x 6 boards around and sticking them under various wheels and Gary backing or driving the truck and/or camper wheels onto them. You might know that with all the worry over what we’d find wrong with the slide-out, we had to have two boards under both rear truck wheels and one under the left side of the trailer.

This meant my sticking the long board under the trailer wheel, his pulling the first of the two wheels onto it, my signaling him to stop, running and putting two shorter boards, slightly offset, under the rear truck tires and his rolling onto them at the same time the rear trailer tire is pulled up to join its twin on the long board.

Watching the stout lady do all this “board maneuvering” must be almost as much fun as watching the novice camper do the dreaded pumpout. And the worst part is Gary’s deafness. I can’t yell and tell him to stop, everything has to be done with hand signals and he’s always yelling out the cab, “What does that mean?” So I have to calmly walk up to his window and yell back at him what I meant. In the meantime the truck has rolled forward or back off the boards and it’s all to do over again.

Joy of joys, though, the problem with the slide-out was a simple matter of a bolt that had come out of something that connected something else to the big screw thingy that runs the thing in and out. Gary was able to get down on his tire-changing mat and find the problem very quickly. Only the forward end of the slide was connecting to the thingy. He didn’t have a bolt, but a large screw worked until we got a replacement bolt at the aforementioned home supply store. We feel like things have gone very well for having come over 5,000 miles. We’re very blessed and we know Who’s responsible.

We went through a 60-kilometer stretch of highway which had signs posted telling travelers not to stop, that there was an active forest fire. We could see smoke coming up ahead of us and saw acres and acres of burnt forest, but never actually saw the fire itself. We could smell the smoke, though, and that was bad enough. We talked to a forest worker who told us the fire had been burning since sometime in June. It’s a horrible sight, but they have learned it has good effects also. They don’t try to put them out any more, just keep them from spreading to homes and businesses.

Next we made a stop in Whitehorse, then from there to Dawson City, site of the famous Klondike Gold Rush. We stayed at a fairly scenic place in Whitehorse, which surprised us at how large it is. It has things like car dealerships and is a city in the true sense of the word. While doing the laundry I talked with a couple from Anchorage on their way to Calgary and a young man from Vancouver whose dad was employed rebuilding the bridge across the river going into Whitehorse from the south. All we have to do is open our mouths and people know we aren’t from “around here.”

Whitehorse was the starting point for many of the sternwheelers that steamed up and down the Yukon and Klondike rivers, carrying people and goods to and from the gold fields. At the height of the gold rush many of the boats were built in Whitehorse and carried the fortune hunters up to Dawson City, as well as hauling out the gold that only a few of them found.

We were told by several fellow travelers that Alaska is full of smoke from forest fires. They were telling the truth. Truth is, the smoke is all the way up into Canada, and there are several fires burning in both places. We decided to take the Klondike Trail on leaving Whitehorse and soon found ourselves smelling smoke. We could see the haze of it lying over the mountains, too. We stopped several miles outside Whitehorse for breakfast and found they had the world’s largest cinnamon buns. The airstrip across the road had a sign that read: “Cinnamon Bun Strip.” Before our breakfast order arrived a tour bus stopped and they snapped up the buns very quickly. We had already gotten ours to enjoy later. Which we did.

We dallied along, stopping often to walk around and take pictures and drink in the scenery. We passed Lake LaBerge, the setting for Robert Service’s poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” It’s called LaBarge in the poem. I wasn’t able to get a photo because of the trees along the highway and there was no turnout. The road was fairly good, although there were a lot of “heaves” in it and Gary quickly learned that you speed up a hill, then slow down on the way down, because there’s invariably a rough spot at the bottom where the road can be washed out. Road work is a constant factor to take into consideration when planning a day’s travel. At the campgrounds all the drivers (usually the males, of course) get together and compare notes: east vs. west,  north vs. south to get the latest delay reports.

After driving what appeared to be endless miles through endless forest we arrived in Dawson City. It is postcard quaint. The town streets are all dirt, bordered in the most tourist-infested parts with board sidewalks. Most of the buildings are either logs or board siding, even the government buildings. Some are painted in crazy Victorian colors, others are allowed to weather to antique gray. We pulled into the Gold Rush Campground and RV Park and were happy to see that the slide was working fine. We set up and got busy. The poor camper is so filthy from all the dusty roads that it looks pathetic. But why wash it? It’s all to go through again tomorrow. The first order of business when we park is to swab down everything inside because it’s wall to wall dust everywhere. Once that’s done, though, we can kick back and relax. We had left Whitehorse early because we didn’t know what the road conditions would be like and it had been a long day. There are 20 hours of daylight this time of year and it’s a little hard to get to sleep at times.

During the night I woke up to hear pattering on the skylight. A light rain fell, not much, but it did settle the dust somewhat, and the front that brought it cooled us down from the 80’s to the 60’s. It didn’t clear out the smoke, though, those fires were (and are) still burning.

In the morning Gary took the truck to the pressure washer. It didn’t get it completely clean, but it looked a lot better. After he got back we drove into town and went to the museum. It was very interesting, had a lot of stuff on gold mining and the foundation of the town. I was shocked to learn that in spite of the mining town atmosphere they had major law enforcement early on and that there was not a single murder in the town during the gold rush heyday. The Mounties rigidly controlled many things, including work on Sundays, but drinking, gambling and prostitution were rampant.

There are a number of old wooden churches around town. Missionaries had come to the Yukon early on from a number of denominations. It’s funny that you hear a lot about the dance halls and saloons, and that’s a big part of the mining history, but there were churches, schools and hard-working people who were the backbone of the community and the descendants of quite a few are still here. The gold rush was short-lived and Dawson City soon became more settled and families came to join the miners and others who chose to stay there

One of the famous pictures from the gold rush era is of the long line of men toiling up the long, long stairway at the Chillkoot Pass. The stairway rose from the river where the supply boats docked and the miners were not allowed to enter Yukon Territory without a year’s worth of provisions. They toiled up that stairway with one load after another till they got their supplies to the top, then had the tedious job of going to try to stake a claim. Turns out that the best claims had already been staked by the time the majority arrived. As you approach the town from the south side there are piles and piles of river rock that have been dredged up, put through the modern-day equivalent of a “rocker” to sift out the gold, then dumped in enormous heaps. The campground we stayed in has the old buckets that were used to dig out the river bottoms turned upside down, painted blue with white numbers marking campsites. Others are used as planters for flowers and vegetables. Reuse and recycle.

Another problem was the permafrost. Many miners just hacked frozen stone out during the winter and had to wait until summer when it thawed to find out how much, if any gold they had mined.

We watched two documentary films at the museum about life in Dawson years ago and how they deal with 40-below temperatures today. Cars have to be treated carefully. When it’s too cold, even engine oil and fuel will turn to gel. We allowed as how the South has its advantages. After the museum we had lunch at “Sourdough Joe’s.” Expensive, but good food. We bought a loaf of sourdough bread which we ate with our soup for supper back at the camper.

There is still mining going on today. Gary and I talked to a fellow from New York who has been living here 30 years and makes a living mining. He showed us his three prize nuggets. All were over an inch across. He said he’s semi-retired now, but still does a little mining. There’s still gold around here, but it’s hard work to get to it and get it out.

The next day we were back in the U.S. We crossed the border about two p.m. at Beaver Creek, population two, (both border patrol agents) and headed for Tok, Alaska. We were driving the “Top of the World” highway. The world has a very dusty top. The camper and truck looked like they had been in a mud bog. In addition, there was still a lot of smoke. We were somewhat disappointed because we had been told the scenery was spectacular. The smoke had settled in the valleys so that when we pulled over at scenic view spots, there was no view, scenic or otherwise.

We stopped at one rest area and saw an old miner’s cabin that was partially collapsed. At another, called Boundary, there were several cabins, men’s and women’s outhouses and signs of fairly recent occupation. One old cabin had plexiglass inserted in the front and back doors so that you could look in and see the old wood cookstove, an ancient upright piano and other signs of better days, slowly falling into ruin. One sign said in huge letters: “BEST COFFEE IN BOUNDARY.” I suppose it was at one time. We made a pot in the camper before we headed on across the Top of the World. For one day at least, WE had the best coffee in Boundary.

A bright spot in the day was the little community of Chicken, Alaska. The story goes that the miners who founded the town wanted to name it ptarmigan but none knew how to spell it, so they settled on “Chicken.” There is a big lodge and campground and a sign pointing to the “Lost Chicken Mine,” but we were intrigued by the one that said “Downtown Chicken” and had an arrow pointing left. We stirred up a cloud of yellow dust and headed downtown. There, all in a row, stood the Chicken Mercantile, Chicken Saloon and Chicken Café. There were all sorts of tourist trap items with “Chicken, Alaska” on them. I bought a coffee mug with a drawing of downtown Chicken. Gary got a cap. And we had a find lunch. He had a bison burger and I had a salmon burger.

Before we left a couple of tour groups showed up. The young men behind the counter were bantering with everyone and you could tell they get a lot of fun out of living and working in Chicken. It’s a rare opportunity.

We finally pulled into Tok and a wonderful campground. It was really woodsy and the campsites were not cheek-by-jowl with each other. We had to walk back to the office to use the wi-fi and we’ve just given up on TV totally, but the exercise was good for us, and it was a pleasant evening too. There didn’t seem to be quite as much smoke, either. After wiping down the inside of the camper, eating supper and enjoying the breeze, we slept well. Maggie enjoyed a little time “out” also. When a fellow camper who was talking with Gary left and said, “Stay safe,” Maggie called out,” Bye,” to him. But she wouldn’t say hello to two ladies strolling by a little later.

Next morning we headed for a service station that advertised “Free Wash with Fillup.” They know their advertising strategy! We had to wait in line for the pressure washer and Gary gave the truck and camper a once-over, even getting the brush out and getting some, but not all of the suicidal bugs off. Then we were off to find a road house and breakfast. We drove for quite awhile without finding one. Then we saw a sign “Dot Lake.” Gary felt sure we’d find a delicious breakfast there. There were a school, a post office and several log residences, but no food establishment of any sort. We finally broke out the pecan sandies and fig newtons I had luckily brought along.

We zinged along, passing through North Pole, Alaska, which has all the tacky stuff you’d associate with a town named North Pole, zoomed around Fairbanks, and headed south again, looking for that perfect road house for lunch. About 20 miles outside Fairbanks we broke out the leftovers and ate in the camper.

We arrived in Clear, Alaska, fairly early in the evening and found we were the only campers in one part of the campground. It is beautiful, set in a grove of birch trees. It’s obviously quiet and peaceful. And cheap. Apparently the main attraction here is the gift shop, which has a lot of high-quality Alaskan handcrafts, plus the usual t-shirts and bric-a-brac. It’s run by a family and they have a lush garden in the yard—surrounded by an electric fence—and a greenhouse with lots of tomato plants.

They have a plane, too, and the noisiest thing we’ve heard since we’ve been here was the plane taking off and returning about an hour later. It’s typically Alaskan, down to the stuffed polar bear in the gift shop, moose antlers on walls inside and out, and old animal traps too rusted to be useful any more.

We decided to spend two nights here in this peaceful place, and drove the 35 or so miles to Denali this morning. At Healy we found the road house we’d been looking for for two days. Rosie’s was exactly what we were looking for: great breakfast, homey atmosphere, and the lady who waited on us knew the family Mom and I met in Healy when we were here 34 years ago. They had two daughters and one of them had given Mom a rock with a leaf fossil in it.  The waitress had even worked at the motel/campground we had stayed at when Bill was a baby.

We considered taking a bus tour, but opted to just drive the 15 miles to Savage Creek ourselves. It was a beautiful drive, and wonder of wonders—one of Deanli’s “out days.” From the part of the park we were in the mountain doesn’t look so high, but you know it is because it is covered in snow. We went around a curve and there it was, in the “V” between two mountains closer to ous. We’ll head toward Anchorage tomorrow and hopefully be able to see it more from the south side.

As we drove through Denali National Park we saw fires burning in the distance, at least we saw the smoke from them. It is apparently all going into Canada now, and eastern Alaska, because by the time we arrived back at the campground there hardly seemed to be any. We’ll take off in the morning and head for salmon fishing. Gary keeps reminding me that this is really just a fishing trip with a little scenery thrown in.