Hawaii – Day 3

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Taking our time may be contrary to our natures, but we’ve been to Hawaii before and so we are committed to this visit to go slow. Six years ago, we couldn’t be blamed for thinking our time on the islands might be our first and last, and so we rushed to see as much as we could. We’re certainly older but probably no wiser (besides being Wise), still, we have to try and make the most of our limited resource of time and immerse ourselves as deeply as possible so our memories might form deep roots.

Caroline and I are in some ways like the water lilies in this photo or would like to be. Meaning that while we find beauty on the surface and can explore delight in the watery garden floating on still-glistening water, our connection to even a muddy foundation is held fast. And though our roots are immovable regarding who we are in our essence, we are like the bloom standing tall over the water below, catching a breeze that has us waving in the wind so we may see more of the world we live in and upon.

If we never moved, how could we be here to encounter flowers such as this? The non-sentient plant will send out its seed, and with favorable conditions and a vast enough space across time, it might spread its species to faraway corners. That plant, though, will never know where its descendants ultimately ended up. We humans, on the other hand, are sentient beings that briefly have a near-total awareness of our place, and with our ability to recollect our past, we can choose to live a life full of experiences that define something more than mere existence at the moment. We, too, will never know where our descendants may go, but we can know where we have been and what we’ve learned.

This doesn’t require us to go to Hawaii to gather these lessons, but it does mean we have to look closer at the world around us. Not everyone is as fortunate as Caroline and I or maybe as curious either; this, though, doesn’t inhibit people from at least becoming aware of a lack of curiosity and then cultivating it. Slow down, read about things you know nothing about such as the history of Alexander von Humboldt or the ocean crossings of Thor Heyerdahl. These are only examples of something you may not yet have heard about, but these people and what they found played important roles in our perspectives of how people have come to relate to our Earth. The same goes for others who ventured out on unsure footings either on the surface of our planet or in the depths of their mind. Just because there’s nothing below you but a thin leaf of support doesn’t mean that the view of the world from above is nothing less than spectacular. First, you must take the risk of exploring areas and things you never knew existed.

We are exploring the Waimea Valley Botanical Garden and we’re taking our time to do it. The Waimea Valley here on the North Shore of O’ahu is what is known as an ahupua‘a. That somewhat difficult word to pronounce for non-Hawaiians is a pie-like slice of land that stretches from the interior of the island to shore and was considered to have everything required for a group of Hawaiians to properly live and thrive. In the highlands were medicinal plants and the woods required for dwellings and watercraft. Below that is farmland for bananas, taro, breadfruit, sweet potato, and coconut. At the sea, an abundance of fish was readily available for the early Polynesians who discovered the islands to enjoy their island paradise. Today, the Waimea Valley is 1,875 acres of land, of which the botanical garden occupies 300 acres. Within this corner of the island, there are over 5,000 tropical and subtropical plants. We plan to see each and every one of them.

On our second visit to the biome known as a tropical forest, we became more familiar with one of the major habitats we humans have populated. To date, Caroline and I have visited six of the eight major biomes, and although we were close to a boreal forest while we were in Quebec last year, we have yet to visit one; the same goes for the tundra. The list of habitats is as follows: tundra, taiga (also called boreal forest), temperate deciduous forest (Eastern United States), scrub forest (called chaparral in California), grassland (the Great Plains), desert (we live in one of the major desert types of which there are four), tropical rain forest (right here on Hawaii), and temperate rainforests such as the ones we visit in Oregon and Washington.

Champagne beehive ginger, just the name, makes you want to sample it. Maybe the gift shop has some beehive ginger candy? Nope, other than an infrequent food item and some alleged medicinal use there’s not much the plant offers at this time other than it’s beautiful. Hmmm, when I think about it this way, it’s much like the majority of life, and I guess that’s good enough.

You know you always wanted to go to Heliconia and back. You can’t, though, because Heliconia isn’t a place, and it’s not found in Arizona either. This tropical plant is also known as lobster-claw, toucan peak, wild plantains, or false bird-of-paradise. The white seeds in the claw are not ripe yet; when they are, they will turn a dark blue-purple, which drives the birds wild; well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it sure sounds dramatic.

This is a picture of a tropical donkel. Yes, you read that right, part donkey, part camel. You’ll notice the large protruding hump on its back, which is unique to the female of the species. Darwin once speculated that the male of the species is too lazy to carry his own shit and that, somehow, it convinced the female to adapt and evolve this permanent growth on its back where the male could store the things he couldn’t be bothered to carry. The two enjoy a symbiotic relationship where the ass and donkel are able to move through the environment with everything needed for survival carried by the docile female.

I’m not even going to try and tell you what this is because I have no idea, but it looked amazing.

It’s already a lucky day just being on O’ahu, but here we are getting to see the endangered Hawaiian Moorhen, also called `alae `ula in Hawaiian. Not only is it endangered and rare, but the bird is typically quite secretive and will dash for cover at any disturbance. There are an estimated 250 to 450 of the birds left and we had this opportunity to see one with our very own eyes. So, while anybody could have watched the North Shore surfing competition live or on TV at some point, few will ever be witness to this bird’s existence.

Anybody who has talked with me will know that I just have to go where I’m going next. Look at the beauty of this flower and how the contrast of it standing out against the green background makes it all the more striking. Now imagine the people who once populated these islands being priced out of their lands because wealthier folks drive them out. The Hawaiian islanders were like this flower against a green backdrop; they stood out and were free to be wherever they popped up and found themselves on their ancestral lands. Revisionist histories of warlike people with a rich tradition of the warrior are, in my opinion, a bullshit cockamamie romanticized story that is used by conquering douche-bags to justify why the savages had to be contained. It is us white people who wanted control and wealth in addition to purging the earth of species and peoples that were considered inferior. Now, we know that we took their lands by sleight of hand, but even with this knowledge, there is no way in heaven that the 50th state of America will be allowed to return to its sovereign roots. I’d like to say that at least Native Americans were given reservations, but for the most part, we isolated them on lands we felt near worthless with little to harvest, mine, or steal from to build our own wealth; our ancestors kept that for themselves. In some way, this flower and the bird above have more rights and freedoms than the average indigenous Hawaiian. Paradise loses some of its luster should you look too deeply because, under the surface, you’ll often find muck.

The traditional dwellings in Waimea Valley are mostly not accessible by the general public, but a few can be visited such as this one. The valley here is a sacred site to Hawaiians where many high-ranking people would have lived and where religious ceremonies were practiced. At one time, the area was referred to as the Valley of the Priests. Prior to the protection of the area, the valley was owned by a land developer who was also responsible for the Kahala Hilton, which today is known as Kahala Resort and will cost you an arm and a leg to stay at.

This may forever be my favorite canopy photo I’ll have ever taken. The fractal nature of the trees and near-even distribution of leaves with just enough branches to paint the appearance of arteries stretching to the sky to harvest the nutrient of sunshine delights my eyes and brings back fond memories of amazement.

There’s much to learn and an equal amount to see here at Waimea Valley Botanical Garden. Time and hunger are pushing us towards the exit, but visiting has been a treat. We are well aware that being next to a pool, on a beach, or being seen in the coolest watering hole or a trendy restaurant means more to the average visitor to Hawaii, but we are not those kinds of visitors. Sadly it is the image of the buffoon tourist and their conformist ideas of what a vacation is that drives a larger amount of money into an economy. Caroline and I can only hope that places like this continue to draw in enough people to maintain their upkeep and pay staff so wildlands remain available. The places of history should always be cherished shrines where humanity strives to preserve our heritage so future generations can also celebrate those who have come before them.

I shot 132 images here in Waimea Valley and have shared just 15. There were another half dozen I would have liked posting, but already, this is a lot of plants and none of the images one has come to expect from a visit to Hawaii. As we are leaving I look over at this curious-looking bird and wonder what it’s thinking and then realize maybe it’s just listening for the movement of insects so it can grab a meal, like we are about to do.

Fortunately for us, we don’t have to put an ear to the asphalt and try to pull a bug out of crack to satisfy our hunger. Instead, we spot a food truck called Nakai Saimin and decide it has our flavor of gourmet written all over it. Their claim to fame on their sign is “Fresh Homemade Noodles,” and so that’s what Caroline opts for; I went for the Loco Moco. For whose dish was better, I think it was hands down mine. Loco Moco is a relatively simple dish of a hamburger patty on white rice topped with an egg and brown gravy, but like so many “simple” dishes, it is the totality of the parts that create a chemistry that goes far beyond the average ingredients. This was the GREATEST Loco Moco I’ve ever had and the standard for which all that will follow will have to compare to. Caroline is enjoying some fresh coconut next to our Jeep. We’d have preferred something with better gas mileage, but it seems the tourists feel more adventurous driving these foolish things.

Liquid metal glistening in the late day sun. We have no schedule and no other places to visit; we will meander for the rest of the afternoon and see what we find. Oh, is that the call of Poseidon, or is it the voice of shave ice I hear beckoning us? Sure enough, the universe was transmitting signals to Caroline and me that we should revisit the Old Sugar Mill and order a lilikoi shave ice sitting on a scoop of vanilla ice cream with a splash of coconut milk on top. While I’ve never been harpooned by an angry sea god, I can state with some certainty that gluttony accentuated with Hawaiian shave ice is likely preferable.

At a beach, a small crowd had formed, looking like the Hawaiian version of the animal spotting groups in Yellowstone. Sure enough, they were watching a few sea turtles in the surf next to shore delivering a message from Poseidon, who told those present that disrespecting the all-powerful sea god would result in a heavy price to pay. The turtles whispered to us they could intercede on our behalf if we were to throw them some sugary yummies, and so instead of facing the wrath of His Holy Water Monster, we gave up the rest of our shave ice to the turtles. By now, I’m starting to wonder if those Heliconia berries we ate earlier were some kind of psychedelic. Okay, full stop. Do you really think we fed those turtles our shave ice? Hell no, we didn’t care how dire those turtles made it sound.

The sky started turning overcast around the time that daylight was about to give way to sunset, so we headed back to the hotel in a light rain and were offered a rainbow in place of a glorious sunset; it would have to do. Remember my dissing of people who do the tourist gig and lay on the beach in the sun, go to the pool, and hang out at the bar? Well, we went back to our room, changed clothes, and hit the hot tub before heading out for dinner again at the Kahuku Grill for some more Fire in Paradise burgers. A fulfilling John-and-Caroline kind of touristy day was had.

The day ends with me writing the notes that would become this blog entry while Caroline sits on the balcony in a light breeze, reading about Hawaiian history and knitting.

Last Day in Alaska

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise at Oomingmak Shop in Anchorage, Alaska

It’s not always easy to know what’s important when it is so, and so it happened back in 2012 following a monumental experience that took us down the Alsek River out of the Yukon into British Columbia, and finally delivered us to Dry Bay, Alaska that all the important stuff was duly noted and extensively blogged about using near 30,000 words and just under 200 or so photos. Well, that was 11 years ago, and in looking back I realized that I neglected writing of our last, equally important day, of our first visit to this corner of the earth. Now in 2023, I’m going to try and repair that by including what I can about this day in the Anchorage, Alaska, area.

Had we done nothing else, Caroline required that we make a pilgrimage to the Oomingmak Co-Operative. This is possibly the only place on our entire planet where one can walk in and buy a handknit object created from a fiber known as qiviut, which comes from a rare northern creature called musk ox. The “Pack Ice” headband design Caroline is wearing will likely forever remain the most expensive small article of clothing she will ever buy at $130. And, as she reminds me, she chose the “discount option” because the yarn of this headband is 80% qiviut and 20% silk. No matter the expense, I’m certain Caroline will forever cherish this rarest of luxuries and how it will remain a part of her first experience in the wilds of Alaska.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

I’m barely into the narrative that accompanies these photos, but with the 21 images I’ve included here and then the realization that I only used about an average of a dozen photos per day in the original blog entries, I feel I need to return for further investigation of how I whittled nearly 5,500 photos down to the tiny number I shared. I do know a huge contributing factor to my possible lethargy in tackling more: I had just recently finished writing, editing, and publishing my seminal (and only) book titled Stay In The Magic about the Grand Canyon rafting adventure on which we had marked back at the end of 2010 prior to this Alaska trip and I’d had enough of venting my heart and mind. Looking at this railroad track, I’d like to try the corny, “That train has left the station,” but knowing me, I’ll revisit those directories of old photos and see if I might feel enticed to add a little something here and there.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

After two weeks in this environment, nothing had grown old. Every vista was spectacular and held an incredible amount of mystery as at best, we could only glimpse the tiniest of surface views regarding what the environment holds beyond the first glance.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

Our flight doesn’t depart until shortly after midnight, so we are driving somewhat aimlessly southeast until we know that we need to turn around.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

We are driving along the Knik Arm of the Cook Inlet, where the waters flowing out of Portage Lake head to the open sea.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

The telltale turquoise watercolor lets us know that a glacier is ahead.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

Oops, almost forgot to stop and smell the flowers, a lupine in this case.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

Looking across Portage Lake at a glaciated area. I don’t think this is part of the Portage Glacier.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

This was as close to Portage Glacier ice as we were going to get, the remnant of some broken-off ice that drifted across the lake.

Seward Highway thru the Chugach National Forest in Alaska

The road turned to the west, taking us past a bunch of lily ponds; if only we were present when the waters were still and reflected the surrounding mountains.

Kenai Peninsula in Alaska

This was the end of our exploration of the Seward Highway today. After reaching the Welcome to the Kenai Peninsula sign, we decided this should be the time to turn around, as reaching Seward or Homer was out of the question due to our limited time remaining in Alaska.

Caroline Wise at Turnagain Arm Pit on the Seward Highway in Alaska

Having a beer and BBQ at the Turnagain Arm BBQ in Indian, Alaska, on the Seward Highway because even if we had to stop for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Kool-Aid, this would still be one of the greatest stops for dinner ever. Does the sunlight have you thinking I meant lunch? Well, it was 7:00 p.m. when this photo was taken.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

We’ve stopped at the Potter Marsh area after spotting birds galore, and everyone knows that this is exactly the right number of birds to arrest our attention and force us from the car to inspect all of them.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

Unless you live in Alaska or some other northern clime, I’m guessing it’s not every day one sees a great black-backed gull chick.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

I’m calling it “Arctic Tern with Midnight Snack.”

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

I literally crawled on my belly, as monumental as it is, to approach this tern from a distance I would have never guessed possible.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

From this point, until we reach the airport, I’ve not been able to identify the park we visited, but who cares? Just take a moment to enjoy the warm sunset (9:15 p.m.) light illuminating the grasses in the woods.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

More flower-smelling time.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

Do you know what they call a daisy in Alaska? Daisy.

Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge in Alaska

And with this last late-day photo, we pointed the car towards the airport to catch our flight.

John Wise, Caroline Wise, and Daniel Billotte flying out of Alaska

We were seated and waiting for a couple of late arrivals, and as one of those stragglers was walking down the aisle, I nudged Caroline and told her that the guy approaching looked a lot like a guy we’d not seen in 5 or 10 years, Daniel Billotte. Of course, she said, “NO WAY!” So, as he started to pass us, I kind of blurted out Daniel under my breath, not directing exactly at him, but his head snapped; sure enough, it was Daniel. How on god’s green earth are we running into this guy on a midnight flight out of Alaska? I’d like to say stranger things have happened, and while this is up there in the unbelievable department, we’ve had our fair share of the No Way.

Rafting The Alsek – Canada To Alaska Day 7

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise reading the paper early in the morning while taking care of business in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

Reading the Chilkat Valley News out in the wild is a solo experience, the only real negative being that you have to read the same edition every day. This lone paper was our reading material while visiting the facilities; the only delivery in these parts is via helicopter. Your next question might be, so what does the local paper have to tell us we may not already know? Well, for starters, there was a recent explosion of dandelions. Nursery owner Toni Smith of Haines said of the problem, “It’s horrendous.” Vinegar seems to be the all-natural weed killer in these parts. In other big news, the end of a three-year study came to a conclusion with results showing that 7.1 million eulachons, a smelt-like fish, had returned to the Chilkoot River. The study was administered by the Takshanuk Watershed Council for the Chilkoot Indian Association. Apparently, this was great news for the locals as eulachon are known as, “Tlingit penicillin,” and it’s not every fish in the wild that gets that honor. As for the other part of the photo featuring my wife, tell me some of you weren’t curious as to where this was taken care of when on a whitewater rafting trip.

A grizzly bear swimming across the Alsek River in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

When the previous photo was taken, we had already been awake for an hour and were the only ones wandering about. After Caroline finished her business we walked over towards the kitchen to start the fire with hopes our camp would start to shake itself awake and we could get our first cup of coffee. As I got the fire going, I thought I heard something on my left. I looked over to see a log floating in the distance. There, I heard it again! This time, I saw that the “something” was not a log; it was a snorting grizzly bear swimming directly toward Caroline and me. Mesmerized and for a moment uncertain about which way to go or how much noise to start making, we hesitated. At that time, I could see that the bear was going to be picked up by the current and would not be able to make it directly to our shore. As the Grizz was jettisoned downstream, some of the others in our group started emerging from their tents. Caroline stealthily went over to tell them to peer into the river. On my right, Bruce and Shaun also were moving about. I got their attention as quietly as I could and gave them the signal that a bear was nearby. No, the signal is not one of turning around and pointing to my backside, suggesting I had done in my pants what Caroline did in the can. The guys asked in hushed tones, “Where did you see it?” It is in the river on the other side of the tents.

Behold the mighty grizzly bear in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

We waited for what felt like minutes. And then there he was, about 50 yards from camp and too close for comfort, but we remained quiet. He lumbered up the beach, paying no attention to us until he reached the area adjacent to our toilet, where Caroline had been sitting less than 45 minutes earlier! It is just on the other side of these bushes that today’s first photo was taken. This big old bear then started to shake the water from his coat. Talk about a moment of Wow! And fear. Fear because there were still some campers in their tents between the bear and us who were watching his moves trying to decide if we needed to start making serious noise. He sniffed around, turned, and continued on his way into a side canyon. Okay, now I’m ready for my Wheaties.

The rapids of Lava North in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

After breaking camp, we had a relatively short ride down the river to a pullout where the boatmen needed to scout our next dangerous move: Lava North. Named after the mother of gnarly rapids, Lava Falls in the Grand Canyon, this churn of ice water is not for the timid. After much deliberation and finger-pointing, the boatmen apparently have a bead on which track we’ll be traveling as they round us up to head back to the rafts. Once there, it is time to suit up. Packed away in one of the rafts was a bag of dry suits, each one tagged with a passenger’s name. We are warned to be gentle with these fragile life-savers; if they tear, they won’t seal, and that will not be good should we find ourselves in the tumult. The guides are serious about putting these on right, serious that we pay attention to, and serious when they say this rapid can kill, and it has. We struggle to get our limbs through tight fittings, but after some rolling around and grunting, we are finally suited up and ready to conquer Lava North.

A wave kicking up in the rapid known as Lava North in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

I would love to share photos with you taken while in the rapid, but that can’t happen because we were holding on for dear life as we skirted the Monster Hole and slid by the Haystack Wave on a path that took us straight down the middle of Lava North. The tension was high as Shaun had the lead position; he made it through without a hitch. Next up was Martha, right on track as she safely guided her raft and passengers to the other side of this beast. We are last with Bruce, the cleanup crew now with nothing to do but pass over Lava as safely as the others before us. The river is pumping, and we are racing full bore ahead. We are going so fast that the markers I spotted while onshore as the boatmen were scouting are not able to be seen. The scale of our environment overwhelms the senses until we are pressed deep into reality. The reality of being so very small on such very large water. What looked almost quaint from above now looks incomprehensible from down here. Bruce hollers, “Did you see that hole?” Har, it wasn’t a hole; it was the pit of doom. When we passed that Monster Hole, it looked as though the river dropped over six feet and nearly disappeared before the water crawled up the other side to lose momentum and crash back onto itself. I’m sure that hole is a great place to get a raft stuck as it violently flips and flops to disgorge itself of passengers and contents before spitting out the shreds of what had been a raft. And then, before we know it, we are on the other side of Lava North, and the water is starting to calm. Phew!

Caroline R., Carol and Harris, and Bruce Keller in dry suits after running Lava North in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

Drysuits get hot in the sun, and when they do, they inflate. Every so often, we had to break the neck seal to allow the hot air to escape. By the time we get far enough downriver to pull over for lunch and get out of the rubber gear, we are close to overheating. The boatmen encourage us to enjoy the protection the dry suits offer and to immerse ourselves in the river. We all do. Then, the adventurous are shown a place on the tributary we have paddled up to where they can easily enter the river and float downstream through some fast-moving water. I pass, certain I’d miss the pullout, and enter the Alsek, never to be seen again.

At the confluence of a side tributary and the Alsek River in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

The unobstructed view of our mid-day sojourn off the Alsek River. We’ll spend a couple of hours here just chilling out, enjoying the perfect day, happy that we weren’t eaten by the bear or Lava North.

Glacial ice picked out of the stream off Alsek River in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

After lunch, some of the others napped while Caroline and I explored; this is a little something she found. Glacial ice that had been floating downstream. To the best of our map reading ability, it appears that the tributary we have stopped at is a flow coming from Fisher Glacier that is north of us and out of sight. The real beauty found in these sculptures is lost in the photograph. They are difficult to find the perfect angle to show you, they are even more of a problem to hold with already cold hands. Looking like glass art, there is the inclination to want to stroke its sensuous curves and soft features until the freezing ice starts to do the same to your hands, and a dull ache sets in.

A swallowtail butterfly on shore near the Alsek River in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

A swallowtail takes a break from pollination duties, landing long enough for me to get one almost reasonable photo. A few minutes earlier a skittish ptarmigan was moving about, but he was having nothing to do with a busy guy trying to snap pictures of everything that moved and didn’t move.

A waterfall in the cliff next to our rest stop in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

Our afternoon break is nearly over; the tables that had been brought out for lunch are being put away. We sweep the beach to ensure we are not leaving anything behind. This is especially important where wildlife is concerned as if bears identify locations as being good foraging areas and then equate humans with those food sources, all of a sudden that bear gets a case of the smarts putting two-and-two together and us in danger. Scoured and clean, boats packed, passengers and boatmen ready to get on board, we push off. Our campsite is not too far away, just some miles downriver near the foot of the mountain seen four photos above. Feeling refreshed and energized by our encounters with the cold water earlier, Caroline and I opt not to put on our waterproof layer or the rubber gear for the rest of the river day. Instead, we are in shorts and shirts and ready for whatever water might come our way.

The view from Blue Lagoon campsite in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

We were good up until the turn in the river when the shadows bore down on us. Oh, it was easy out in the sun; after being splashed by the small rapids, we warmed quickly. Bruce warned us that we had one more large set of rapids yet to deal with and thought we might want to throw on our rubber gear; he was right. Good thing, too, because that water came right up and over with some mighty splashing action. Also, on the way to camp, we stopped next to a gravel bank and collected firewood. Shaun has rafted this river more than any other in his career and has a pretty good read on what we’ll find as we move downriver. He thought we’d have trouble collecting enough wood at Blue Lagoon, our home for the night. He was right about the lack of driftwood; he was also right in choosing our campsite. If you look at that golden yellow mountainside, you should be able to recognize it as the mountain we were looking at during lunch.

Our rafts tied up for the night at Blue Lagoon camp site in Kluane National Park Yukon, Canada

We were almost tricked into thinking we were having a sunset this early evening. With the sun reflecting off the golden mountains behind us, a warm sunset light was cast down upon us. Caroline learned a new trick today: one of the straps on a dry bag I carry for storing a camera broke. Bruce explained to her how to fix it when on a river – you need floss. Like all good boatmen, these folks travel with emergency supplies to fix just about anything that might break while on a river trip; a needle was found in a quick minute. Now armed, Caroline got to work reattaching the strap of my dry bag and fixing it, to our delight. Dinner was lasagna, the entertainment was a blazing fire, and dreams played second fiddle to the extraordinary view of nature we have been experiencing.