Wednesday, August 10, 2016
The trip had been circled on the calendar for quite a few months, starting back when snow was still on the ground. The public use cabins in Alaska on summer weekends fill up pretty fast, so I wisely booked early.
The cabin we chose is on Red Shirt Lake in the Willow area, and is reached by canoe after backpacking 3 miles to the canoe launch. Henry asserted repeatedly that he was up for the 3 mile forest hike and that he would happily carry his John Deere backpack. I knew I could carry the majority of our gear in my large multi-day pack, along with the oars and fishing poles in my hands. I quietly prepared for tacking on the John Deere pack in the middle of the hike if need be.
I needn't have worried. Henry mowed down the 3 miles like a champion. He certainly began noting how sore his feet were getting in that last mile, but he never asked to stop and rest. He bought into the plan to just keep ticking forward, and was clearly exciting about the canoe part of the trip. Most of the hike out to Red Shirt Lake was soundtracked by Henry repeatedly identifying the devil's club plants. It was tedious at times, but it kept his mind distracted while his feet clicked along. As we reached the final half mile he started to drag, but I quickly sent him off with questions about Legos and what big thing he could build next.
In our travels around the lake we found a tiny island, and scavenged it for blueberries and firewood. Looking at the picture above, you'll see that we stumbled onto a geocache. Henry promptly wrote his name in it and we safely placed it back where we found it.
As expected, there was a certain degree of jumping in the air when the lake and canoe racks came into view. With canoes loaded, we began our 15 minute paddle to our cabin. Once we hit the open water the wind began pushing us around more than I had expected, and we needed to regroup before pushing hard into the wind, tucking behind a small island, and then plowing broadside into the whitecaps, ultimately spinning towards our destination. It was real work for one adult, but we found our solution. For the rest of that evening through the next morning, that strong wind blew whitecaps. Even the loons took the night off.
Thankfully the afternoon of day two brought calm waters as the Hamel girls and their Dad came to join us.
The picture above has Henry and the Hamel girls pointing at the scene of the weekend's most dramatic moment. On the quiet side of the island, far from the cabin, is a small trail leading to a smooth piece of dirt from which you can easily cast and fish. Henry and I fished from that point together much of the previous day, and even sat there a few times while we filtered water. It's a peaceful spot and out of the wind.
While dinner was being prepared, Henry and I walked to our peaceful spot with Nalgene bottle and water purifier in hand. Henry loves pumping the device and I'm happy to hold it. Down we sat on the shore, our feet dangling in the shallow water. I pinched the bottle between my things, guided the hose into it, and then propped the pump on my knee, while Henry hammered down on the pump. I believe we filled a quarter of the bottle before the first bees appeared. I noticed a few yellow jackets buzzing around my legs, then one near Henry's moving hand. By the time I looked up fully there were four near Henry's face, another four near his chest, and more than a few around me. Henry had no doubts about what was happening.
Up he jumped and out came the screams. He spun immediately and began running up the small incline, but his feet couldn't gain any traction. I yelled for him to run and he yelled that he could not. I placed my palm squarely on his bottom and shoved him solidly up the hill. His boots caught and soon he was twenty feet down the trail, standing and crying. In helping him I missed my opportunity to shoo away the bees, and took two stings to my arm.
Once I made it up the hill and verified that he had not been stung and that the bees had not followed us up, Henry was able to start to calm down. It's a flat out miracle he didn't take a hit. It was definitely an intense few minutes, compounded by our awkward squatting. We looked down gingerly at the shore and saw the bees cruising in and out of the nest right at ground level. We had plopped ourselves right on top of it.
Thirty minutes later Henry had decided that the bees had only wanted to check him out, were much more upset with Daddy, and that Maggie and Ann needed to be carefully taken to the spot so they knew where to avoid.
Full set of photos here.