March 26, 2021 Happy Birthday Andy

As I pulled our sack of garbage to the dump, I kept a close eye. Ravens were studying my movements. Would it make sense to swoop on this bag of garbage when they could get fresh organically grown vegetables straight from a farm box by hanging around the terminal?

The State Trooper pulled up to give me an update on the injured moose. It was a first year bull who appeared to have a compound fracture of his left front leg. They will keep an eye on him, he told me. If he hadn’t moved on in a couple of days, his chance of survival would be slim, and they would shoot him and provide meat to the elders. We had opposite ethics on the killing of wolves, but from the little I know of the Trooper, I like him.

This afternoon was the running of the ‘Mini Iditarod’ hosted by the school. There were seven teams of 1st and 2nd graders. Each mini musher had a sled and was pulled by a single dog. The handler, a younger child, rode in the sled while the musher stood on the rails. A high school student was assigned to lead each dog so everyone was safe.

A second dog would have provided a little more excitement. At least two of the dogs were former Iditarod runners. Their owner was narrating some of their history. A woman commented on the incredible blue eyes of the blond dog. The owner claimed the dog was the most photographed dog on the Iditarod. Another one of his dogs had to be added because they were a dog short. This former athlete was retired and now was a couch potato. The dog begged his owner to let him take a pass. But he was coaxed and took off like it was his idea.

At last, a night out on the town to the restaurant at the Roadhouse. It’s owned by a French man who, a couple years earlier, skied for six weeks into McGrath from Willow AK on the Iditarod Trail. He had planned this trip to remote AK from France, a feat in itself. Then in November 2019, he bought the Roadhouse. This possible French restaurant mostly served burgers and pizza. He said nobody was interested in French food. The interior of this old rustic bunkhouse appeared to be a pan abode cabin kit, the same as our home in Corralitos. We were home.

The restaurant was empty except for a man who was settled in at the first booth. John was large, bearded, youthful looking middle aged man. He greeted us. He let us know he had arrived shortly from his cabin up the Innoko River where he had been for a couple of months. He was fascinating. One of the many things he owned and ran was his survival school, Feral Forest Alaska. We’re interested.

Terry in conversation with John while socially distanced, of course.