wideeyedfunk

Tag: Homer Alaska

  • Sunday morning in the rain.

    We rented a 2005 Dodge Ram 4×4, grey with a red capper top, from a guy who doesn’t like over taxation and who is concerned that the WideEyedSpouse’s new hologram infused New York state driver’s license will be remarkably difficult to counterfeit. The rental rates were hundreds cheaper than one of the chain operations. The truck is sticky with years of mysterious stains. The side panels are dense with underbrush scrapes. “I buy ‘em prescratched and pass the savings on to you,” the guy told us. For once I feel no fear that I’m going to be fiscally punished for a minor rental car infraction. I didn’t even use a cup holder for my iced latte yesterday. Madness I know.

    We stayed the first night in an airport Marriott. The toilet overflowed for no reason. The light switches had grime encrustations. The floor corners desperately cried out for a solid vacuuming with a crevice tool. Other guests were also given our room so that the door slapped against the security lock five minutes after I crawled my head-colded, jet-lagged, dehydrated self into bed. “Is someone in there?” they called in to us.

    This morning I am lounging in a soft featherbedded mattress looking out over a rain drenched perennial garden to a misty Kachemak Bay.

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    All night the rain pattered on the metal roof and the birch trees fluttered in a small wind. I’m in a treehouse, I’d think. Then, no, I’m on a boat, an old boat with a wooden railed gangway between me and the open sea.

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    For the same price as the begrimed city Marriott we slept in someone’s mad dream –  a self-built compound of small outbuildings and gardens with cats and hens scurrying through the blooms.

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    There are rules here, no shoes inside, no cats inside, park at the end of the compound…I had to sneak over to an earlier breakfast seating to score some coffee. But so clean. So calm. No anxiety pheromones leached into the walls. No thunderous Chinese and Korean air cargo jets landing on the roof. Just windows and flowers and a rooster crowing now and again.

  • The third crane on the Fish Dock.

    My phone binged at me while I was stopped for an unloading school bus on Homer Spit. I watched the cutest collection ever of tiny-wee Xtra Tuff boots splash down into a puddle at the bus exit. I glanced at the console where my phone rested. “Third yellow crane in,” the message said.

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    The flashing red lights eventually quit blinking and I turned left onto Fish Dock Road. I putt putted the overloaded minivan between forklifts hauling fish bins, hoses, and hairy-faced men in overall Helly Hansens. Their Xtra Tuffs weren’t particularly cute. My minivan rental did not match the lifted pickups parked all over the place.

    There it was, the Puk uk.

    Image by C. Haupert 5/7/2014.
    Image by C. Haupert 5/7/2014.

    I walked over to the skipper to introduce myself. “Hi,” I stood next to him looking down into the Puk uk. “I’m C….” I told him. He glanced at me. “I figured,” he said.

    My logistics handlers were already loading the WeatherPorts, fuel, and other gear. The skipper craned the stuff onto his foredeck using the Fish Dock crane – you pay for the cranes in 15 minute increments. We weren’t in a rush, but time was money so no standing around chatting.

    Image by C. Haupert 5/7/2014.
    Image by C. Haupert 5/7/2014.

    I unloaded 25 bins of food and science equipment from the beleaguered minivan to plastic lined brailer bags. Hopefully the many layers of plastic between our food and the Bering Sea/North Pacific will keep everything safe and dry. I don’t like to think of the oatmeal and rice swelling into a rancid mass in the coming days.

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    I hopped down onto the boat deck to help Paula the Deckhand guide the brailers and then unload loose bins and gear from a fish bin the skipper lowered onto deck over and over again. Paula made a European noise in her throat. “What IS all this?” she gestured to the lumber, propone tanks and dozens of plastic crates. “Life and science for 9 people for a month,” I told her.

    Paula, left. WideEyedFunk, right. Image by C. Haupert 5/7/14.
    Paula, left. WideEyedFunk, right. Image by C. Haupert 5/7/14.

    It was over in two hours. I shook the skipper’s hand, “See you in a week,” I said, “Smooth sailing,” I told him. We’ll meet up again on Adak.

    WideEyedFunkHomerAK