Gull Cove, Alaska

We landed on a calm stretch of ocean protected on three sides by surrounding land and by a big island that ran parallel with the lodge a mile or so to the west. As we climbed down from our plane, we were greeted by a friendly looking chap who looked as if he could have been captain on the whale ship Pequod, had he been born a fictional book character and lived 150 years or so earlier. He was of stout proportions, dressed in regalia that reflected the likeliness he worked outdoors for a living. He sported a classic shipman's salt and pepper beard that partially hid his friendly round face and wore rubber boots that were well broken in. The big man had a warm smile that suggested he was sincerely glad we were there. He introduced himself as Paul Johnson and welcomed us to Gull Cove.
Standing on the dock along side Paul, was Alex, a Johnson family friend from Seattle. He was Paul's 17 year old deck hand and assistant and this was his job for the Summer.

                                          -Tami, Paul and Alex

After helping us unload our gear, Paul and Yard led us up the ramp to the lodge where we laid down our bags just inside the sturdy front door.
Out from a store room off to the side of the kitchen walked a friendly blond headed gal who'd apparently been hurrying herself with last minute preparations as her newest guest arrived. Paul introduced her as his lovely wife Tami and she too made us feel sincerely welcome. Tami had a slight northern accent that suggested she might originally be from Wisconsin or Minnesota and handled herself in a way that told us she was born to make folks feel comfortable, welcome, and immediately at home.



-Ricky Ricardo

We noticed a young lad sitting on top the refrigerator who appeared to be somewhere between 5 and 6 years of age. Paul called to him to come down and meet the visitors. The miniature man reluctantly jumped from the fridge to the counter top a few feet down from where he'd been sitting, before pouncing a second time onto the kitchen floor. Paul said, "Guys, this is our son Ricky!". Ricky looked us over, apparently unimpressed with the new guys and quickly climbed back up to his preferred perch on the fridge.                          -Little Ricky

                                          -Alice in the Palace

Next we met little Alice, Ricky's younger sister. Alice looked a lot like her mom and although not completey impressed with our arrival, did seem somewhat more enthused about us being there than her older brother had. She gave us a smile as she showed us a future work of art she'd been busily crafting before we walked in. She sat back down at the table and proceeded as if there in fact hadn't been an interruption to her three year old world.
                                         
-Paul dressed for work
Paul showed us around the lodge and filled us in on the specific details of making ourselves at home. I noticed Ricky had climbed down from the fridge and was now standing in the living area in front of the wood stove. I broke away and went over to the young man to introduce myself one on one. I bent down and put my hands on my knees to get closer to his level and as I asked little Ricky how he was doing, he drew back his right arm and cold cocked me with a closed fist upside the face. My surprised head reacted to the blow by bending to the right and quickly back to center, like it was sitting on top one of those Fred Flintstone blow-up whacking bags they used to sell in the annual "Sears Wish Book" in the early 70's. Before I was able to completely gather my senses, "SMACK",  he whacked me again. "Little Ricky" then went for the apparent knock out blow, but this time I was ready; I caught his hand mid air, looked him in the eye and whispered, "Please don't do that again!"
He glanced down at my boots before looking me square in the eye, just long enough to convey that he was more than likely thinking, "I'm not afraid of you 'new guy'", before quickly climbing back up on top  the refrigerator. Before the day was out, I was referring to him as "Ricky Riccardo", a nick name that would stick from that point on.

After showing us around, Paul escorted us out of the lodge, down the gangway, around the corner and over to the two individual cabins where we'd be relaxing the next few nights...when we weren't fishing,  counting bears, whale watching, or just leisurely cruising around the Alaskan gulf coast on the Johnson whaling ship, "YAKOBI"!

Arriving Juneau

After retrieving our bags, we rented a car, checked into our room at the Juneau Best Western, and headed for downtown Juneau for a burger and a beverage. We hopped on a sky lift and headed to the top of the mountain to get a better view of the landscape. We settled in on the outside deck of the restaurant and sat for a while admiring the great view of the local mountain range. Eddie and I enjoyed a couple of micro brews that were conveniently kept on tap for visiting flat landers like us, while Tyler and Matt sipped their favorite soft drink in preparation for their upcoming college careers.
After dinner we walked around downtown Juneau taking in the local atmosphere and various tourist shops. None of the four of us had ever been to Juneau but were enjoying this new found land.

A while into our walking tour we heard music coming from inside what we soon found out was the renowned "Red Dog Saloon". As we unsuspectingly walked through the swinging doors, the music abruptly stopped and the goomer on stage looking down at us asks, "Hey there, where ya boys from?"
After a slight pause and obviously surprised by the attention, Eddie answers, "Bentonville, Arkansas". With a puzzled look on his face, the stage guy responds back inquisitively, "Bentonville, Arkansas?", to which the entire crowd yells out, "Bentonville, Arkansas....NO SH*T!", before bursting into spontaneous laughter.

NOTE: If you ever find yourself in Juneau, Alaska, take at least a half hour or so and saunter into the Red Dog Saloon like you own the place. I bet they still do the "Where ya guys from" gag and while there you can sample a Red Dog or two. If you don't like beer, you might just try one.

We awoke the following morning, gathered our gear and dropped the rental car off at the Juneau Airport. We soon boarded the small float plane compliments of the airline Paul Johnson-the guy we were going to see-had recommended. We were now air-born for the short 40 minute flight to Gull Cove, our final destination.
Shortly after departing Juneau, we saw nothing but water and wilderness from that point on. We were very excited as we glided over the numerous scattered patches of land that dotted the waters below and wondered in awe at the surrounding mountain-scape. It was obvious we were moving further and further from civilization with each passing minute as we neared our final destination of Gull Cove and of course the anticipation continued to build.
Just as we were getting accustomed to bouncing around the cabin of our small float plane, the pilot made a hard bank to the left and reported into the headset, "There she is boys....the Johnson Resort!"
I looked down to see a small lodge nestled at the back of an ocean inlet and 4 smaller cabins which obviously went with it. This would be our home and base of operation for the next few days. As I fondly recall, we were all very excited to be there!

Alaska-The State of Adventure!

Little boys grow up way too fast. One day he's running around the house playing "just one more game of tag-ball Dad" before asking for help buttoning up his feet pajamas and to be tucked into bed. The next thing you know, you're putting his bike in the attic and dropping him off at college. That's at least the way I remember it.

When our son Tyler was about half way through his junior year of high school I was hit with the realization that he'd soon be leaving home and beginning the first stage of manly independence. I figured the next few years would pass by in a blur and he'd be leaving school for the final time to begin a career and to marry the woman of his dreams. I decided the two of us needed one more adventure before he headed out on his own; something cool that might leave us both with lasting memories.
A friend had previously told me about a very nice fishing trip he'd taken in Southeast Alaska, so I contacted him to get the information. After talking with the owner of the guide service, Paul Johnson, I asked Tyler if he wanted to invite one of his friends. He did and we invited his good friend Matt and his Dad Eddie, who was also a friend of mine.
We planned out the details, set the dates and gave the trip several boxes on the calendar. I'm not a big planner but knew if we were going to make this trip actually happen we'd need to make it official with calendar's, deposits, and so on.
As the departure date drew closer, Eddie and I organized our gear, purchased a few additional items we thought we might need, and patiently waited for the last week of July while Tyler and young Matthew busied themselves with being 17.

The day finally arrived and our team of adventurers departed immediately after the wedding of our friends Mark and Christina. Several hours later we arrived at the Juneau Airport, exhausted from hauling all our gear around and from having gone through several random anal cavity searches at airport security (I'm confident these random searches were a direct result of the numerous firearms and bullets I'd brought along; I don't have much confidence in "bear spray" and can't imagine trusting my very life to a can of spray).
It was late on Saturday afternoon July 28, 2001 when we took this picture. I don't know exactly what was going through Tyler's mind or what the Frail boys were thinking as the unknown but agreeable airport visitor snapped this shot, but I remember thinking how much fun the next few days were going to be. I didn't know for sure what lay ahead but I had a strong feeling we were going to have a great time and see some cool stuff. As it turned out, over the next 5 days we saw and experienced what surely must be some of the truly wonderful sites and sounds available on planet earth, or at least in North America. It turned out to be a great time that I fondly remember as one of our very finest adventures to date!
I'll share some of the individual stories over the next several days, along with pictures of some of the things we experienced. I'll also include some stories about the Johnson Family--lead by one of Alaska's favorite son's, Paul Johnson.
Stay tuned; if you get bored between now and then I recommend watching re-runs of "Gold Rush" or the movie "Jeremiah Johnson"--he was a mountain man!

Some of the Best Things in Life are Free

The Murph's Surprise Fire Pit

As I stacked the final stone, I experienced the good feeling of satisfaction that goes along with building something with your own 2 hands. It wasn't the most impressive stone structure ever built, but I was pleased with the outcome. Adding to the feeling of satisfaction was the fact that I'd built it for our friends Joe and Cindee, and they had no idea I was doing it.

Joe had recently purchased a few acres on Beaver Lake and was putting together plans to build a long dreamed of family retreat there. I was thinking about this that late fall morning on my way out to our cabin with my K-9 Max. My intent that day was to check on things at our place and perhaps work on one of the myriad projects I had begun but not yet completed.
Just before reaching the highway 12 turnoff, it hit me that it might be fun to leave a personal mark on the Murph's property while they were away celebrating their wedding anniversary. With that in mind I cruised thru McDonald's for another cup of fresh brewed, custom blend, rich, bold and robust coffee before turning right and heading out to the Murph's place.

I arrived at Joe and Cindee's property and spent some time walking around considering the possibilities.  The lake was down several feet since I'd last seen it and as I walked the length of their property I couldn't help but notice the great quantity of large flat rocks newly exposed by the receding lake water. I saw those rocks as a nice resource and although I didn't know whether or not the Army Corp of Engineers had any specific rock rules, I figured it wouldn't hurt if I moved a hand full of them 20 or 30 yards and organized them into a circle that would hopefully end up looking like a nice spot to build a camp fire.

Some of the rocks I chose were way too heavy to lift and resulted in me invoking my long standing belief that "if you can move something an inch you can eventually move it a mile". With that idea in mind I managed to roll several large rocks over the bank and up the incline where I was able to push, shove, and eventually move them into place.
A little while into the project, the neighbor lady saw a vehicle parked next door that she apparently didn't recognize as friendly and walked down to inquire. When I told her who I was and what I was doing, she looked at me like I was from another planet before walking back up to her house and going back to whatever it was she was doing before I had interrupted her quiet morning time.

Later that day after just a few hours of rock rolling, dragging and stacking, my latest hand crafted project had come to fruition. I finished it off by building a rock bench, which rather nicely complimented the main structure. After a few minutes of admiring my handy work from various angles, I set my Nikon D5000 on a nearby rock and snapped a picture to chronicle the event.

I decided not to tell anyone about what I'd done that day and just wait until one of the Murphy clan stumbled onto it. Joe was surprised to find it a week or so later and after finding out I'd put it there he expressed how much he liked it. It was satisfying knowing I'd done a little something unexpected for some good friends. The knowledge that my efforts might one day be a catalyst for additional "lake time memories" for Joe, Cindee, and their ever growing extended family, was a nice bonus. And compliments of Mother Nature....none of this cost a dime!

He Scores!

A few years ago I was on our annual duck hunting trip just outside Stuttgart, Arkansas with a group of friends that included the guy you see in this picture--my great friend Tony.
Tony decided to hit the hay a little early this particular evening and as I'm prone to do, decided to mess with him a little bit. It's always enjoyable to have harmless fun at the other guy's expense-especially if it's a good friend with a sense of humor.
Once I was sure my good buddy was asleep (very few men are capable of snoring at this level while awake), I quietly brought a log in from outside the cabin, and very gently slipped it into bed next to my buddy. I kept thinking he'd wake up right away, but he went right on sawing logs like there was no tomorrow, apparently oblivious to the fact that he no longer had the bed all to himself.

After watching Tony and the log for quite some time and laughing ourselves to tears, the other guys and I eventually tired of the shenanigan and went to bed ourselves.
I lay there in the cabin darkness snickering to myself, wishing I could see the look on his face when he finally awoke to discover that not only was he the center of a redneck practical joke, but that he also had spent the first part of his first night at duck camp sleeping with a pretty good size chunk of wood in his bed.

Well, it took a while but eventually he rolled over, bounced around a little and muttered, "What the hell?" There was a brief pause before he turned on his flashlight in an obvious attempt to find out what the snot had made it's way into his bed. A second or two after his light came on, I heard the line I knew was eventually coming; "You dirty Rat B******!" That's when I knew the little gag had been well worth the effort. You see, in the rapscallion world of Tom-foolery, to get called "Rat B******" by my good friend Tony, is like listening to a championship basketball game over the radio and hearing the announcer scream out, "He drives, he shoots, HE SCORES!".

Lions, Tigers, and Missouri Bears...Oh My!

The Missouri Department of Conservation may or may not concur, but I know for a fact bears and mountain lions exist in the state of Missouri, from at least the south central part of the state to the southwest corner. I've only seen one Mountain Lion personally (south of Rolla in the winter of 1977 around Lane Springs), but I know several people who say they've seen them as well (3 different people over the course of about 15 years say they've seen one on our Barry County property).
Bears have been spotted as close as a mile away from our cabin, which sits about 4 miles as a crow flies southwest of Roaring River State Park. My good friends from Rolla (the C. "Howard" French family), watched a nice sized black bear cross State Highway 112 immediately in front of their car and mill around beside the road a few seconds before bounding into the safety of Missouri's Mark Twain National Forest.

Although I've yet to see my first Missouri bear, I have what I believe to be confirmation of their existence. The picture above was taken a couple of years ago. This corn feeder was destroyed by a critter with big teeth and big claws. It seems safe to assume it was either a bear or a 250 pound Raccoon. I ruled out a Mountain Lion, since they're carnivorous and not attracted to corn. The large holes were made by something with big teeth and the widely spaced claw marks confirm it was a good sized animal. The feeder had been knocked down and rolled or dragged about 75 yards from where it had previously been standing, before being torn open and the contents scattered and consumed. If Raccoons ran in packs I might consider them as a possible culprit, but again, these critters don't grow teeth and claws big enough to fit these prints.

Although by world standards it won't be earth shattering news, I think it's pretty cool to know we might one day actually get to see a bear while driving into or out of our cabin property on some early morning or late afternoon outing. It's probably more likely that one of our several game/security cameras will snap a picture in the middle of the night when bears are more active. Either way, I'm confident I'll be able to follow up this post one day soon with an actual picture of a Barry County Missouri bear. And when it happens, don't expect to see it on the 5 O'clock news: you'll have to read about it right here in "Old and Ridiculous"!

Simple Pleasures II

It doesn't get much better than bacon frying in an early morning fry pan. If it's been a while since you've woke up to the sound and aroma of bacon frying in a cast iron skillet, you need to make this happen as soon as possible. Life is full of simple pleasures like this if we'll take time to experience them. Here's how you go about it:

Take a cast iron skillet and put some bacon in it. Turn on your stove to slightly more than half power and wait for the bacon to begin frying. Turn occasionally until your bacon reaches your desired level of perfection. Pour a cup of steaming hot black coffee in your favorite coffee cup. Take a bite of bacon, chew, and wash down with black coffee. Repeat until gone.

If this doesn't make you feel real good, keep trying until it does. Once you get to the point that this makes you feel real good, it will become one of the greatest simple pleasures of your life. If you're lucky, it will remind you of your Grandma.

Summer Vacation

Of all the trips and vacations we took when I was growing up in the 1960's and '70's, the two weeks we spent camping across the western plains and throughout the great Rocky Mountains, was clearly the pinnacle of our family travels. Although we took several nice vacations that included trips to places like Dallas, Texas, New Orleans, and Silver Dollar City, nothing compared to our two week long camping trip the summer of 1970.

During that vacation, we saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time in our young lives, the Bad Lands of South Dakota, the awe-inspiring Teton Mountains, the site of Custer's Last Stand, the Crazy Horse monument, the raging Colorado River, and assorted National Parks and land marks too numerous to mention. If it had historical significance and lay somewhere between Missouri and Montana, the Robertson boys saw it first hand.

I vividly recall seeing several brown and black beers close up and personal from the safety of our car while driving through Yellow Stone National Park. We saw Elk, mule deer, buffalo, and just about every other critter that roamed the wilds of the western United States. We fished, hiked, waded, played in the snow, pulled off to take pictures at points of interest and sometimes, just drove around to find places like Devil's Tower or Spanky's Barber Shop.


But the thing I remember most about those 2 wonderful weeks, was camping out in our big Sears and Roebuck cabin tent. I remember the clang of the tent poles every night as my 2 brothers and I helped Dad put it together while Mom perepared supper on the Coleman stove. I remember the hiss of the Coleman lantern as it did it's nightly work of lighting our camp site. I recall blowing up air mattresses and rolling out our Sears sleeping bags so they'd be ready when Mom or Dad said, "Boys, time to hit the sack". I remember exploring around our various camp sites as if we were the first human beings to set foot in this new un-explored wilderness.  I'll never forget the time Mom came out of the bathroom at our Wyoming camp site and saw what she thought was a horse standing there and staring her in the eye (it turned out to be a cow Moose).
I remember lying in my sleeping bag at night when Dad turned out the lantern and listening to all the night sounds from the comfort and warmth of our family tent. I fondly recall waking up and going outside in the early morning to be greeted by the crisp clean mountain air and walking through the sometimes frost-covered grass on the way to the bathroom, intent on creating the illusion of having taken a shower.

One of my greatest memeories of all time is the sound and aroma of bacon frying in the skillet sitting on top that old Coleman 2 burner stove. I recall the distinct sound of eggs cracking as Mom banged them on the side of the skillet. And of course the best part, sitting on the ground or on a near by pic-nic table with my family, eating a camp fried breakfast of bacon and eggs. The only part I didn't like was having to clean everything up and pack it all back into the trunk of our '69 Plymouth. Knowing how Moms and Dads are, however, I'm sure they actually did most of the work while Larry, Mark and I carried out our final explorations prior to departing for our next destination.

When I think about those 2 weeks we spent as a young family camping from our humble Missouri home all the way to Wyoming and back, I can't imagine a better way to have spent the first part of our 1970 Summer vacation, or a more meaningful and fun memory created for 3 young boys growing up in small town America. As the narrator in the opening segment of the movie "Jerimial Johnson would have said: "You kain't go no better"!