moooooose

Our Alaskan adventures began with hordes of family at a picnic where Sandi and I adopted a massively heavy bag of low-salt, high-fat potato chips we affectionately named Chip. Chip lost weight ever the course of the week, as we gained it. Our “son” Chip was not the only cause of weight gain, as we lunched with friends from Korea the Lemons, attended a party and a reception with family, and gorged ourselves on rhubarb pie after visiting the family of some other friends, the Abrams. These rendezvous with family and friends were by far the highlight of the trip, and the rhubarb pie was so delectable that we shared none with Chip.

With us in tow, Chip floated the Prince William Sound, admiring massive glaciers and adorable sea otters. He even journeyed with us up to Cantwell, where the road into town merges with the active taxiway. The taxiway runs along the railroad from the grass airstrip around the corner into a hanger in someone’s backyard. Sandi and I strolled hand in hand passed town (the hotel and restaurant) and along the airstrip before hitchhiking back to our hotel, the Backwoods Lodge. The Lodge hides among trees at mile 133.8 on the western end of the 134-mile, unpaved, Alaska “Highway”.

We packed up Chip, lunch, warm clothes and cameras for the 12-hour, 180-mile round trip to the foot of Mount McKinley and back. Thankfully, lunch was provided, so in standard Kohout tradition, food abounded! So did wildlife. Bears along creek beds, caribou grazing on open hillsides, an eagle perched on an outcropping, white dall sheep clinging to rock faces…but the moose remained elusive. And Mom, much as she enjoyed eating wild blueberries, would not be satisfied until she spotted a moose. Even a brief appearance of the rarely-seen top of McKinley’s North Peak above heavy clouds was insufficient. We listened to the history of the area, walked through buildings where history happened, danced the mosquito dance and even watched the local air show (a plane landed). But still, as she dozed, Mom started with anticipation whenever we whispered the word “moose”.

At long last, a distant rock on a hillside moved and morphed into a cow moose. And her calf. The day was complete at last.

The next evening found the airline pilot (Dad) buzzing Alaskan hillsides while the pilot in the back seat (Sandi) looked for the bluest of azure blue lakes among Knik Glacier’s folds. Mom still kept her eyes pealed for moose while I did my best to look for traffic (there was plenty!) and keep us safe. We landed in broad daylight at almost 9pm. I think Mom dreamed of moose again that night.

Before we flew out on our last day, we accepted the challenge of a hike with our Alaska-resident relatives. We arrived with plenty of water; they showed up with bear spray. We clutched our cameras and binoculars while they packed plenty of warm clothes. We realized we’d become tourists in one simple flight north from the lower forty-eight. But our hosts had the trip well planned, complete with close-up encounters with young bull moose who hogged the trail and a cow who chewed so loudly that Sandi heard her before he saw her – the other five of us had passed obliviously within ten feet of her. Because just ahead was the coup de grace: a monstrous male moose with a massive rack.

With this dose of Alaskan wildlife, Mom contentedly boarded the plane southbound with the rest of us except Chip, who was sadly but unceremoniously deposited into an airport trash can at a fraction of his original size and weight.