Update on Princess's Puppies

Recently a TMD reader left a comment asking for an update on the litter of puppies that Princess gave birth to last spring. They are now 15 months old, vigorous young dogs full of strength and energy. Photos of them during their first month of life are included in posts from the May '07 archives, here and here. In that first post I was mistaken about the gender split; there were two males, the gray and one of the blacks.

Of the six pups in the litter, three went to good homes when they were two months old. Henry kept the gray one, the white one, and the black male to train as sled dogs.

All three did well in early training, but the white one and the black one didn’t quite measure up to what Henry wanted as top sled dogs. He has since given them to a local sprint musher who is looking for different qualities in his sled dogs. The remaining gray dog is turning into a top notch long-distance sled dog.

His name is Silver. He looks very much like his mother, but is bigger and a bit more aggressive; Princess is very shy for a sled dog. At his house when he is on the chain, he is friendly, curious, and loves to be petted. But put him on the gang line in front of a sled and he is all business and rarin’ to go. He is already running in lead position, working with an old leader who is very dependable in taking commands. Silver has learned gee and haw (right and left) pretty well for a youngster. He is not afraid to cross shallow water and he pulls hard all the time.

He is also a good eater, which is an important quality in sled dogs. They need to gobble up their food quickly. On a long race the rest stops must be utilized efficiently: eat their meal quickly and then sleep until it is time to go. A picky eater often won’t consume the calories needed for hours of work and may start to lose weight, which is not good. Princess is a reasonably good eater, but she is naturally thin, and has passed that trait on to most of her pups. The white puppy, Queenie, doesn’t eat well enough to keep her weight up for long distance mushing, which is why she went to the sprint musher; it matters less in sprinting.

Another quality that Henry considers important for sled dogs is that they have good feet. In the old days of mushing, nobody used booties much, and having tough pads meant that the dogs did not get sore feet. Henry believes that black pads are tougher than white ones. He uses booties when necessary, but prefers not to if possible. Dogs with good feet don’t need booties as often. Professional mushers just use booties all the time and don’t worry so much about tough pads. But booties are expensive—about $1 each, bought in bags of 100. And even with elastic and Velcro closures, nearly every dog loses one or two on every run; with a heavy training schedule, it adds up quickly. And it takes time to booty an entire team, several minutes per dog. For a musher on a tight budget who doesn’t have the luxury of handlers to help, tough feet save both money and time.

Silver has black pads, and he doesn’t have a lot of fur between his pads. Dogs with furry feet tend to form ice balls between their toes from snow sticking to the fur and congealing from body heat into rock-hard little nuggets. Like having a rock in your shoe, it quickly leads to a sore foot.

At this point in his young life, Silver is showing all the attributes of a great sled dog. He has beautiful conformation, a good gait, and enthusiasm for his job. He is a good eater, has good feet, and is a strong and consistent puller who never has a slack tug line. He is not afraid of poor trail and is willing to plunge into overflow if necessary. Which means he likely has the mental toughness which his granddaddy, Riker, was known for, and that is one of the most important qualities of a great lead dog. Silver could turn out to be one of the greats as well. Henry and I both have high hopes for him.

Photos by The Tundra PA: Princess, now 8 years old; and Silver at almost 15 months old. If you clicked on the links to the new puppy posts, he is the newborn in my hand, and is easily identifiable as the only gray pup in the group photos.

Cold and Miserable July

When I returned home to Bethel on July 7^th from my all-too-short visit with Dutch for the holiday weekend, people were raving about what great hot weather there had been for the 4^th and 5^th. Bright sun and temperatures in the mid-80s; and no wind, which means lots of bugs, but no one was complaining about that. It had just been fabulous, I heard over and over.

I was hearing these tales as rain lashed the buildings, blown sideways from the winds which whipped unrelentingly and pounded everything flat to the earth. The landscape had no color but gray, and the clouds were so thick there was no hint to the sun’s position in the sky. It went on for four days. The rain came and went but the wind never stopped blowing, night or day. Flags stood board-straight from bent flag poles, fringe whipping, looking like they had been painted on a dark gray canvas.

It is an amazing creature, this wind, like a live thing. It can suck the breath right out of your lungs. The sound of it gets on your nerves after a while. People get irritable when it doesn’t stop for days. It becomes an enemy you can’t see directly, but evidence of its presence is everywhere.

A few weeks ago some new friends came over for the first time; they are recent transplants to Bethel from the Midwest. They had been reading and occasionally commenting on the blog prior to coming up, and I was happy to meet them in person. I think of them as Breezy and Summer. They noted my large plastic garbage cans on the deck, leashed to the railing with bungee cords which also hold the lids on.

“Is that to keep out critters, like raccoons or fox?” Breezy wanted to know.

“Oh, no.” I responded. “That’s for the wind.” I’ve chased more garbage can lids across the tundra than I care to recall.

The windstorm finally passed, and was replaced with heavy rain. The clouds were just as thick, the sky just as gray, and rain poured down every day for a week. A different sort of misery from the constant wind. And with temperatures hovering on both sides of 50 degrees, there is just a damp coldness to everything. The roads become a pothole-filled washboard that rattles your teeth to drive over, even at 10 mph.

And people’s sore spirits sure weren’t getting any better. The memory of those two hot summer days during the holiday weekend were rapidly becoming dim. Lots of weather-grousing was going on. It was beginning to feel like we had had a two-day summer which was now over and gone.

But just when you are sure you can’t stand it any longer, a break comes. Friday afternoon, after two solid miserable weeks of cold, gray, cloudy, windy, rainy weather, the clouds parted and the sun shone in a deep blue sky. A light breeze helped the sun dry up the roads and remove the waterlogged feeling from everything and everyone. We were all praying that it would just last for a little while.

Saturday morning gave hope to our prayers. More blue sky and bright sun, and the thermometer nudging towards 70. The wind was gusty and the horizons held some thick clouds, but it looked like a great day was in store for southwest Alaska.

My priority for the day was to get my boat out on the river. It has been docked at the small boat harbor for several weeks, but my one attempt to take it out had been unsuccessful: I couldn’t get the motor started. I called one of the boat shops and talked to the guy there about the sound it made when I tried to start it; he thought I probably just didn’t have the electrical cables screwed down tight enough on the battery poles. My friend Henry and Joan’s son Michael (the new grad who just turned 18; congratulations!) went down to the harbor on Friday afternoon while I was at work and dinked around with it some. They cleaned the leads and screwed them down with a wrench and voila! The motor cranked like a champ. I was greatly relieved not to need a new starter or something.

So a shakedown cruise was in order. I had promised Breezy and Summer a trip on the river; Summer had to work, but Breezy was excited to come. Joan agreed to come too, which gave me additional peace of mind. Any trip on the Kuskokwim River, at any season, is not without risk; this IS the wilderness. It helps to have experienced people along.

The three of us had a delightful few hours on the river. The trip went without a hitch. The motor started right up at every turn of the key. The new gas tank and line worked perfectly. The tide was going out as we left the harbor, so water level was on the low side, but no sandbar problems ensued. The wind remained gusty all afternoon and was a definite influence on boating, but wasn’t too bad. My boat has fairly high sides and is easily affected by wind.

We ran upriver to the bluffs to show Breezy the sparrow colony that has drilled thousands of holes in the mud face of the cliff. Our arrival brought lots of birds winging into the sky. It is fun to pull up at the base of the bluffs to watch them, but with an ebbing tide it is easy to get seriously stuck in the mud there. In just a few minutes we were already getting into trouble; had we waited much longer—and if Joan weren’t as strong as she is, pushing us off—we’d have been waiting several hours for an incoming tide to float us off.

So we decided to get farther out in deeper water and just drift with the current. We had sandwiches and coffee, fresh fruit and trail mix to munch on, and the sun felt great beaming down on us. The wind was strong enough that it blew us across the river faster than the river carried us downstream, so before we knew it we were in danger of grounding on the other side. But the motor cranked instantly and with a quick reverse we were back in deep water.

Our trip home was uneventful until we got back to Bethel. The water level was higher than when we left, so the tide was coming back in. We were right in the middle of the narrow waterway that leads from the river to the boat harbor when with a loud THUNK we hit something very solid. It sounded and felt more like metal than a tree stump. Whatever it was didn’t kill the motor, or even break the prop, thank goodness. I’ll call the Port Director’s office tomorrow and let them know. Whatever it is needs to be hauled out of there.

With the shakedown cruise a success, I am ready to put a For Sale sign on the boat and begin actively looking for a buyer. My hope is that someone in a nearby village with lots of people and/or supplies to haul will recognize what a perfect boat this is for that application. It is a workhorse, not a beauty queen, built by my dad out of flat sheets of aluminum, completely welded. He wanted me to name it “Skookum”, meaning “a good and lucky thing” in the Salish language of the Northwest Native people; but I call it “The Chuckwagon.” At 22 feet long and 7 feet wide, it holds literally a ton of gear; and the Honda 110 four-stroke has plenty of power to push it fast without gulping the gas. I just have to find the right person to appreciate its handcrafted uniqueness.

My hope was to take the boat out again today with Breezy and Summer and perhaps a few others, but in a few short hours we are back to last week’s weather. Heavy clouds, harsh wind, blowing rain and cold. I am once again wearing fleece-lined jeans, wool socks and a heavy sweatshirt to stay warm inside the house (kills me to burn expensive heating oil during the summer). So call me a fair-weather sailor if you like, I won’t deny it. For me, boating is about having fun. Today is not the day for it. I’m just hoping it won’t be quite so long before we get another infusion of summer weather.

Photo of The Chuckwagon taken two summers ago, on our fishing trip up the Kisaralik River.

Bethel's Saturday Market

There is a long tradition in western culture of cities and large towns holding an open market on Saturdays where farmers and craftspeople gather to sell the products of their labors. Bethel has had a Saturday Market for several years now, and it is a delightful way to spend an hour or an afternoon.

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It is important to understand the context in which the Market exists. There is just not a whole lot to do for entertainment in Bethel on a Saturday afternoon. I’ve listed before on this blog all the things we don’t have that lower 48ers take so much for granted—no shopping mall, no movie theater, no bowling alley, no skating rink, no swimming pool, no highways to just go for a drive on, no amusement park, no gaming arcade, no tennis courts, no golf course (well. The die-hards go out to the sand pit and knock balls around, but it’s not what you could really call golf.).

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There are not even a lot of options for bicycling: one six-mile loop of partially paved road which is the major traffic artery around town. Not exactly a cyclist’s dream.

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So the Market fills a social need completely aside from the products available for sale: it is a place for people to gather and visit, and they do. Whole families come to spend a few hours.

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The Market is held inside the Cultural Center (which is nice when it is rainy, and it frequently is during the summer) on the second and fourth Saturdays of the month during the summer. In winter it drops to once a month, on the last Saturday, with additional Markets around the holidays. The hours are from 10 am to 3 pm. One of only three espresso stands currently operating in Bethel is also in the Cultural Center, so those with a penchant for fancy and expensive caffeine can get their fix when they go to Market as well (ummmmm, double tall skinny mocha no whip).

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One of the Saturday Market’s most important functions is that it provides one of the few local opportunities to buy hand-made Yupik crafts. Our regional craftspeople do not have many venues to sell their work; this is one of them. Dolls, baskets, carved ivory, and beaded jewelry are popular items, though on any given Saturday, not all different things are available. Many craftspeople only show up occasionally; some Markets have lots of vendors, and some are less well attended. You just never know, and if you are in search of some particular item it may take weeks to come across a vendor who has it.

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I have been in search of a particular thing for some time now. After my post on the Cama-i Dance Festival, in which I mentioned having found a small owl carved from ivory, a TMD reader wrote to me and asked if I could find him one. I’ve been searching ever since and have not yet come across another one, but I will. Hang in there Randall, I haven’t forgotten your request!

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In addition to crafts, there are usually vendors selling fresh vegetables from their gardens, live plants, tickets to various raffles, furs, leather, things made from wood, useful household items like long-handled dippers for the steambath, crocheted and knitted hats, gloves and blankets, dry fish, agutuk, fresh eggs, homemade soap, jam made from tundra berries, sometimes even collections of garage sale type items—books, records, clothes, pots and pans. Every Market is different, and even if you don’t think you need anything it is worth stopping by; you never know what you’ll come home with.

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And you’ll always run into people you know and can have a few minutes of enjoyable conversation with. Entertainment in Bethel is what we create for ourselves, and usually involves time spent with friends. It is one of the things that make Bethel such a special place.

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The photos for this post were taken by my friend Peter Ashman, who is an amazing photographer. He has a huge collection of photographs on Flickr; you can access his work and see more great photos of Alaska and other places from his travels by clicking here. Thanks, Peter!

4th of July in Kenai

It has been nearly two months since Dutch left Bethel to take his new post as Public Works Director for the City of Kenai. We miss each other dreadfully, but round trip air fare is a little pricey (just under $600) so we haven’t been traveling back and forth on weekends. Since the Independence Day holiday fell on Friday, it was all the justification I needed to make a trip over to see him. Besides, his birthday is four days later, so of course I had to go. And the best birthday present of all (besides me!) was that I could take him his big dog.

Bear and I flew out of Bethel Thursday evening, had a quick wait in Anchorage where my new cell phone actually works, and then made the very short flight down to Kenai, arriving just before midnight. Dutch was very glad to see us both, and Bear was crazed to get out of the man-made hell known as an airline kennel. Once out the front doors of the airport terminal he raced around like a mad dog and peed on every stationary object he could find; that done, he was ready to greet his poppa and proceed to the next adventure.

Our new house in Kenai sits on a tall bluff above the Kenai River with a gorgeous view—clouds permitting—of the Alaska Range and the big volcano shown above, Mt. Redoubt. A bit further away to the south in the Range is Mt. Illiamna. Both are over 10,000 feet tall. So far in my brief experience of being there, all six days of it, the clouds have not been terribly cooperative. Dutch says the mountains come and go suddenly; now you see them, now you don’t. I was happy to get this quick view of Redoubt on the fourth of July. It wasn’t visible for very long; most of the weekend was cloudy and rainy.

Despite a late night on Thursday, Dutch and I managed to get to the Fourth of July parade in downtown Kenai by 11 AM on Friday morning. We found a good parking spot and then were amazed to see huge crowds of people trudging up from further away carrying all manner of portable chairs. By the time the parade started there was a gallery of chairs two and three deep lining the parade route.

The parade started with just about every fire truck the city owns, all with lights and sirens going. It was pretty loud there for a while. We were close to the start of the route, and fortunately they turned the sirens off after a few blocks. It served to get people’s attention that the parade was under way.

The civic and charitable organizations were well represented, there were a few floats, people throwing candy, lots of flags and folks dressed in red-white-and-blue. The VFW drove a real-looking (probably is) train engine on tires with a coal car behind it. A Dixieland jazz band performed from a large flatbed being hauled along. There were antique cars and tractors dressed in bunting, a dance school performing as they walked, a guy on one of those old-fashioned bicycles with a six-foot-tall front wheel, a very tall stilt walker, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle division (potato-potato-potato), rollerbladers in formation wearing Uncle Sam hats, and local candidates for public office shaking hands and passing out vote-for-me flyers. The crowd loved it all.

My big hope was for a marching band, the thing I most miss in Bethel’s Fourth of July parade. Having cut my parade teeth on Mardi Gras in Mobile and New Orleans, it just ain’t a great parade without a marching band or two or three (big, incredible floats don’t hurt either).

Kenai’s parade didn’t have a full marching band, but they did have a “drumline”, the percussion section of the high school band. There were more than a dozen drummers and cymbalists (?) marching in uniform, creating very intricate percussive rhythms that were great to listen to. Just made you want to dance right there on the street. And easily heard for several blocks.

After the parade was over, we discovered why so many people walked in with their chairs. So many roads were blocked off for the parade and the festival afterwards that we had a hard time getting out.

In my two brief visits to Kenai, my most dominant visual image is of moose. It seems like they are everywhere. A day rarely goes by that Dutch doesn’t see several. Usually it is cows with one or two calves grazing beside the roads. They are obviously unmolested, as they seem to have little fear. But they are in some danger from the cars whizzing by at 60 mph paying no attention; I saw one sign that said “151 moose road-killed this year.” I don’t know if that means since January of 2008 or some longer time, but it seems like a LOT of moose to me. I also don’t know what they do with the road kills. People here in Bethel would go crazy if that much yummy moose meat is being wasted.

Bald eagles follow closely behind moose in terms of wildlife prevalence. They seem to be all up and down the river. From our deck on the bluff we see one flying over or sitting in trees at the river’s edge every few minutes. Sunday morning we awoke to one sitting in a tree at the edge of the yard. He (she?) perched there for about two hours as we drank coffee and watched. At first I was concerned that the big bird had been injured, as s/he sat for the longest time with the left talon stretched in front of the branch and all weight borne on the right leg. Through the binoculars I could see the left talon clinch and unclench repeatedly. Eventually the bird shifted weight to the left leg and went through the same routine with the right talon, so I guess it was just a stretching exercise. When I came back later the eagle had flown.

The weekend was filled with chores as well as fun. Some combat shopping for household goods for Dutch. Establishing a Bear-restraint system in the yard for the big dog. Ditto the back of Dutch’s brand new truck, after repairing the chewed seat belt where the big dog expressed his displeasure at being left in the cab when we went out for breakfast. His life nearly came to a premature end on that one. And, on the fun side, going to a minor league baseball game to cheer for the Peninsula Oilers, the local team.

Of course the three short days went by in a flash and all too soon it was time to come home. In the effort to extend the visit as long as possible, I made the rash decision to catch the early plane on Monday morning and go straight to work from the airport. That meant being on the 5:10 commuter flight out of Kenai, which meant getting up at quarter till 4, and no time for coffee before racing to the airport. Painful.

In my sleep-deprived state as I was checking my bags in, I found the airline’s sign taped to the counter somewhat humorous. The murderous treatment of English in signage is one of my pet peeves. The sign said:

One carry-on bag allowed, weight not to exceed more than 20 pounds.

Am I just weird, or what?

83 days until October 1^st; one more visit planned before then. Photos, as usual, by The Tundra PA; sorry I have no shots of the parade. For once I forgot my camera.