It was back to Tina and Jake's for breakfast today, and what was intended to be an early start to a busy day slipped away to lunchtime. Jake had sorted out some rather decent fishing gear to allow Ryan to take us fishing for salmon this afternoon. Tom had mentioned this several times, not least because he and I are the self-declared 'worst fishermen in the world' after our escapades at Rosedale Park, where we managed to foul up the two fishing poles we had been loaned to practice with.
We went back to Ship Creek, where we had seen the salmon ladder earlier in the week, and with dire warnings about the riverside mud ringing in our ears, we set about hooking our supper. Ryan very clearly and patiently coached Tom in how to cast for salmon, and I watched amazed as Tom proceeded to spent the next 50 minutes patiently throwing out his cast, watching the hook float downstream, winding it back, resetting his line, and casting again - over and over, showing a patience and serenity I really did not know he possessed. Unfortunately there was no sign of any salmon on our stretch of the creek (truth be told, there were no salmon to be seen anywhere) so we moved to another location where Tom showed his true colours by ignoring Ryan's advice on where to stand, tumbling on his backside in the sticky mud, and having to be rescued before his boots disappeared from view. Despite a further 20 minutes of patient casting (albeit downstream instead of upstream) we were no nearer hooking a fish, so decided to call it a day.
However our trip home was circuitous, since Jake quietly announced that he had got one of his father's float planes, and was offering to take us on a quick flight-seeing trip. This precipitated another meltdown - despite the attractions of the flight, this was another example of telling Tom what he was going to do next, and what had been perceived and intended as a nice surprise was interpreted by his tired 11 year old mind as more 'bossing around'. A concerted effort to understand his feelings, but make him understand everyone's good intentions came to nothing, when the ignition starter on Jake's plane came off in his hand, and the flights had to be aborted. Despite the earlier protestations about the care and attention lavished on these planes as compared to my and your car, I have to say I was in two minds about accepting a ride in a plane where pieces fell off so easily.
That evening, we ordered in some cracking pizza, and said goodbye to Shane and Missy, who were heading home to Eugene, Oregon via San Francisco. These brave souls had booked a flight which departed sometime after 1am.
More pictures here.
There really is no such thing as night flights from Anchorage in the summer, and given the time difference, flights often have to leave incredibly early to get to the East Coast before the end of the following day. One of our morning rituals has been the sight of Shane and I bent over our laptops with a mug of Bob's excellent coffee, trying to capture the previous day's events on our blogs. I admit defeat to Shane, who always kept up to date, always seemed to have his photos better organised, managed to capture the day's events in far fewer words than me, and managed to find internet connectivity in the most remote places (though not, of course, in the cabin at Rainbow Valley). You can read Shane's version of events here.
Comments