Road Warriors

We got up with plans to speed out to Lowell’s secret spot on Stariski Creek, hit it, and head north to the Kenai area. I was a bit nervous when Lowell said there wasn’t a trail and it was a long walk (having VOWED OFF any more bushwhacking) but he said we could just “walk in the river”. (Yeah… right). I agreed to it because I figured it was the last hurrah. I could do it this “one last time.”

But first, we had some breakfast. I used up the last of my beloved homemade granola. (now it’s REALLY time to go home…)

And we needed to fill the camper up with water, as we were totally out. Handily, the campground had water. It wasn’t until I finished and was putting the hose away that I saw the small nearby sign saying “boil before drinking.” *sigh*

We figured we’d deal with it later. Stariski Creek was WAITING for us!

It was beautiful. The sun was out. We had the place to ourselves. 

Yeah, yeah. I’m assuming you know this already, but that’s code for “we caught no fish.”

We had not one bite. We saw nothing. The water was high and fast. We could NOT “just walk in the water” Like Lowell had promised. We walked a LONG way to the secret spot, scrambling up banks, through the bracken and back down to the water. Many times. When we finally got to the spot and it gave up no fish, we gave up fishing.

Bushwhacking straight up the steep canyon to the highway seemed like a way better idea that trying to ford our way in and out of the water back to where we started upstream. Walking upstream in fast, deep water is more than twice as hard as walking downstream. And walking downstream wasn’t easy. But still.

Does that sound like a way better idea to you?

Why do we keep doing this?

It was awful. It was a bit harrowing. We were sweaty. But we were DONE, thank God. 

We were heading home!

…But first a shower for Dave in Soldatna. Dave gets crabby when he misses a shower like I get crabby when I don’t catch a fish and he does. I don’t think I have ever gotten crabby when I couldn’t shower… I wonder what that says about me.

I don’t feel like typing out the whole story of stopping for a few quick soft tacos at Taco Bell (so exciting!!), other than to say it wasn’t quick and we didn’t get soft tacos — or anything else at the Soldatna Taco Bell.

Thirty minutes later and one quarter mile down the road we got McDoubles at McDonalds. And they were just FINE.

Remember me saying Soldatna is a place I want to get out of? Still true. Here is a pic of a standard campground in Soldatna:

We continued on, checking campgrounds out along the way — none good. We were tentatively hoping to stay at the Russian River campground but it was closed for improvements. That’s a big campground that serves a lot of the Kenai River salmon fishermen. The confluence of the Kenai and Russian Rivers is, I believe, the home of the busiest “Combat Fishing” anywhere — maybe in the world! At least that’s what we are told. And it’s a Saturday — halfway through a gorgeous weekend. It may have been full even if it had been open. — And it certainly means that all the other campgrounds in the area will be busier than usual… 

We took bets on whether there would be spots available at Quartz Creek, further up the road, where we had stayed a couple weeks ago. I won. (They were full.) 

We continued up a road to another (much smaller) campground. Also full. But lo and behold we learned we were in a national forest. On a dirt road. We could disperse camp!

The campground host at the smaller Crescent Creek campground sternly warned us that, while we COULD camp at any of the pull outs in the national forest, we could NOT “prospect.”

I laughed.

He didn’t.

He repeated himself, sternly: “NO PROSPECTING.”

“Like, for gold? Are you serious?” 

He was serious. 

“Not a problem,” I said.

It was LOVELY to be able to be by ourselves off a dirt road like we are used to when we camp. Never, in a billion years would I have dreamed that, on a trip to Alaska — through the YUKON territories no less — we’d be staying in mostly lame campgrounds on mostly busy roads. Paying a minimum of $20 a night. But, unless we want to stay at a paved rest area/turnout on the highway, this is how you pretty much have to do it. We are nearing the end of our journey and I can count on one hand the number of dirt roads that we’ve been able to camp off of. Granted, there may be some insider information we aren’t privy to, but — despite our bad-ass rig — we aren’t going to take too many chances on sketchy roads that aren’t marked on any maps. It’s not worth it.

We found a nice spot — which, crazily enough, you could still hear that damned road from — set up and promptly crawled back into our waders and drove back down to fish one of the spots we had marked on the Kenai River from our friend Loren (our Colorado River fishing guide from Alaska 1 post).

We parked just beyond the Russian River Ferry in a large turnout and were greeted by a loud, boisterous white dog named Riley. We make lots of friends by loving other people’s dogs and this was no exception. Love their dogs and watch them tell all their (fishing) secrets!

We followed Wayne and Riley out through a beautiful wooded path — no bushwhacking involved, for once. He warned us to be very vigilant about bears. Lots of bears in this area, and indeed, lots of fresh bear poop. (But nope. no bear sightings.)

We casted out and accidentally hooked a few Red Sockeyes, which was hilarious. A group of guys that had just cleaned fish told us they threw Sockeye eggs into the water and that there were a bunch of trout eating them up. Dave wandered over and sure enough. A GAGGLE of them! And BIG ones, too! He casted to them and turned their heads, but couldn’t get a take. They were too busy gorging themselves on the real thing…

It was nice out. And it was beautiful. 

We called it a night and decided to grab a bite at a nearby spot rather than fuss with dinner at camp. We split a very good burger, fries and chowder and then drove back and crawled into bed. 

Alarms went off at 5 am. It had rained all night long. The only good thing? I had bought myself some PopTarts for the occasion of the 5 am wake up call. Apple flavor. Much standing in front of the PopTart aisle was spent contemplating my choice. I used to be a Brown Sugar and Cinnamon girl. But my kids always wanted Strawberry. Dave CONDEMNED PopTarts on all fronts but, oddly, declared himself to be a Strawberry guy one time… In a bold move, I selected Apple. I haven’t had a PopTart in YEARS. Maybe longer than even a Twinkie. And I wondered: would the PopTart disappoint like the Twinkies*?

They were better than the Twinkies*, but they weren’t great. 

But I was hungry, so I enjoyed them.

I guess the OTHER good thing was that they hadn’t called off the charter due to the forecasted winds. 

(And the other OTHER good thing was that it wasn’t raining any more.)

We met our captain, Lowell, who was a youngish guy and who was being VERY dramatic about the forecasted winds. He sounded like a drill sergeant telling us how we were gonna “Go out there. Get our fish. And get back here by 8:30 am” There would be no “throwing fish back” and “being picky about size.” We’d get our “one under” (28”) and “one over.” All that was missing was a “drop and give me ten.”

So off we went in a paddy-wagon-like people-hauler pulling the boat on a trailer behind us to the rocky beach, where they use TRACTORS to launch the boats — right into the surf. Not even on a concrete launch.

Fascinating.

And also, now more obviously, a big reason why wind is such a factor for the Ninilchik charters. There is no harbor. And the waves can strand a boat out at sea or even on the beach until the tide changes. It actually happened to a boat the day before. It can be a pretty dangerous game for the boat, the tractor driver and the guy in the water.

We had our usual characters to laugh about fishing with us. But it was all good. Everyone was very nice. Just one bossy lady who was pretty funny. There were six of us on the boat, so we were looking to catch 12 fish.

Dave caught his two in literally the first 5 minutes we were out. He’s a seasoned halibut fisher, having gone once before, many years ago.

I had to work a little harder. I caught my first one — a BABY HALIBUT — that had the distinction of being the only fish thrown back for being too small.

But then I caught a big one! Lowell was very excited. “Nice fish!” And “Nice job!” But there is literally not one bit of skill involved. You reel it in when they tell you to. But not before. But *maybe* before because you might have missed a bite. But not too soon because then you pulled it out of its mouth. Then you have to reel in and rebait (no small feat). So I just did what he told me to and got the big one of the day. 170’ of line. 45” 45lb?

So that was my “over” fish and I still needed to catch an “under” that wasn’t a baby… It took a one more fish, but then I caught a 24” – the smallest “under” that we kept. There were still two others fishing when I finished but they quickly followed suit and we were, indeed, out of there and back to the beach by 8:30 am.

Weatherman Dave was baffled by Captain Lowell’s wind forecast. Weatherman Dave forecasted that the winds would not become significant until 1 pm. Lowell said 9 am. 

Weatherman Dave was right again.

But Captain Lowell DID give us some good advice about fishing some of the smaller creeks for trout and Dolly Varden (with a dash of reality that “these creeks don’t fish in high water”) after he finished cleaning all our fish. We paid more insane amounts of money to ship the fish home (but worth it: 40 lbs of fresh halibut!).

We headed back to the campground to regroup and eat before heading off for, yes, more fishing. Based on Lowell’s advice that the creeks “don’t fish well” after heavy rains — and Lord knows we have had HEAVY, RELENTLESS rains — we headed further south to Anchor Creek, closer to Homer, as Lowell speculated that area had gotten less rain. 

And right at 1 pm, the wind started HOWLING! Score another one for my sexy weather man.

Anchor River was beautiful! It was a REALLY NICE day. We saw golden eagles and moose calves. We thought we might have heard a bear… 

Are you picking up on my subterfuge here?

We didn’t catch fish.

Wait. I take that back. Dave caught two. I didn’t even have a bite. I am SO over it.

I might have weeped a bit while walking through the river. Not because I wasn’t catching fish — I have stopped expecting to catch fish, to be honest. I think I’m just over it. I need to point my boots toward home. I was expecting to do that when we got off the ferry. But then we had to stay to halibut fish. And then we had to stay because it was “too late to leave.” Tomorrow we want to fish Lowells “super secret spot” … I just want to get in the car and drive. Towards home.

Well. Catching a DAMNED FISH wouldn’t be bad either. 

We wrapped up, headed back to the car and ran into a local guy who gave us a spot to fish for big grayling on the way home in Delta Junction. When we asked him how he did fishing Anchor Creek, he chuckled and said “Oh, I’m not fishing. It’s way too high and blown out. I’m just teaching my friend how to cast.”

*sigh*

I mean… we are in Alaska mainly to fish, so we are fishing. But it’s a bummer to be here — not just in-between salmon runs, but also at a time where all the rivers are blown out. 

But it’s really nice out. And it sure is beautiful. 

We headed back to camp and made some delicious FRESH halibut that we held back from being shipped. Really, REALLY  good. Very exciting to have that to look forward to at home.

We also mapped out a rough route home. Knowing we are officially starting back helped my mood tremendously. Don’t get me wrong: I have really enjoyed this trip. I’m STILL enjoying the trip. But we are going on six weeks on the road. Add to that a lot of rain and cold and living out of the car and camper. It starts to wear on you. I still like it, but I am ready to start heading home — remember we still have another two weeks on the road.

And to be fair, crawling into the camper at night feels as good as crawling into my bed at home. I love it and look forward to it. I truly did not think that would ever happen, but it did. I told Dave I didn’t even want to stay in any hotels as a “special treat” because I like the camper better. 

So put that in your pipe and smoke it!

*I completely forgot to chronicle the lunches that Jack brought for us on our ATV/fishing trip. They were HUGE and included a twin pack of TWINKIES. It was the BEST SURPRISE I could have dreamed of. And it MADE MY DAY. I ripped into that package like a kid on Christmas. …and they were truly AWFUL. Nothing like my brain had remembered. I still powered through them, though. Dave threw his away.

We arrived back at Homer right on time and got unloaded. But even with everything going right, we didn’t drive off the ferry until 9 am. And we had completely forgotten that Soldotna, where the oil change appointment was, is 90 minutes away from Homer.

And I needed a latte.

And we decided we should probably drop the camper at the same campground we stayed at on our way down.

(We like to keep things exciting.)

So we were like 45 minutes late for our appointment. Which, honestly, didn’t really matter because they were so short staffed we probably would have just waited longer than the 4 hours we DID have to wait if we had arrived at 10. 

We walked to a restaurant for breakfast but missed the cut off and had lunch instead. It was pretty bad. And let me just say this: Soldatna is INSANE. Busy. Super high prices. Crazy drivers. Clueless rental camper drivers. It’s not a place I’d want to stay. It’s a place to get out of!

We walked to the grocery store and shopped. 

We sat outside Midas. We sat inside Midas. We waited.

And eventually it was done. We drove back down to Ninilchik River campground where the camper was and climbed into our waders to go fish Deep Creek.

We fished. We walked. We bushwacked. We looked high and low for fish. We walked all the way from the highway bridge to the mouth of the river where it meets the bay. 

Nada.

Just when we think we are getting a handle on this Alaskan fishing thing, we get schooled. Are we supposed to be fishing with the tides? Where are the salmon? You usually at least see lumbering salmon…

WHO THE HECK KNOWS! We gave up.

It was raining and raining and raining. Both awnings out for the first time ever. More Italian sausage. More pasta. We have the campground entirely to ourselves. Isn’t that weird? We think it’s weird. Maybe even a little creepy.

Halibut fishing in the morning. Call time: 5:30 am *sigh*

Despite wanting to sleep in, we never really CAN. We wake up when we wake up and that is kind of it. (Doesn’t mean I have to get out of bed though, does it?) Dave, of course, made us coffee and then went out to the car to grab some breakfast stuff out of the car and reported back that the neighbor boys were already outside playing (7:30 am) — the youngest, naked again. We had assumed he was only circumstancially naked the first time we met him upon our arrival. This was false. 

He is always naked.

The kid simply doesn’t wear clothes. Ever. 

We have this on good authority (mom and grandpa). Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think it’s any big deal. As my brother will be quick to point: MY kids were naked most of the time. So I want to be clear that I find the naked part adorable. I’m simply taking issue with the ALASKAN ELEMENTS and the temperature! He’s running around on rocks, climbing on cars, sitting in the dirt while he is also NAKED. In 50 degree weather! Impressive.

We had the whole day to kill before leaving on the ferry in the evening, so we set out to drive around the island. Maybe fish. Maybe hike. 

But definitely drive.

We stopped at fossil beach and saw the cool bowling balls made of sand and silt locked into layers of rock that hold ancient shells and crustaceans. We fished Pagashak River, known for its King Salmon run which was all but deserted. (No. We didn’t catch anything.)

We drove to Chiniak Point going the other way, which, despite the description wasn’t “all that.”

We saw thousands of salmon in every little creek we crossed. Mostly Chums, we think. Dave dangled a fly from a bridge to see what would happen and wouldn’t you know, he got a bite. Much chaos ensued as he had to scramble down the steep brushy bank while I held the pole (and the fish), then handed him the pole so he could release it. 

I think (though we did not see this for ourselves) this is how thick the Sockeye can be when you are flossing for them and why it’s considered so easy to snag them. Makes sense. (Versus casting to just five of them.)

We ultimately were headed back to the Buskin River near the Coast Guard base (biggest in USA) to fish for whatever would bite — presumably pinks and chums. It was a beautiful day and we were just enjoying it. 

Do I sound like I am making excuses for not catching fish?

I am. 

I casted till my arm fell off. I tried everything. I DID have a bite or two. Dave snagged a chum by the tail and caught one legitimately. He might have had another one on and lost it — I can’t remember and I don’t care. I’m working hard not to be petulant when Dave catches fish and I don’t — it happens more often than not and it’s hard not to be a baby about it. At least for me… And right now I’m being a baby.

Plus: we watched two guys upstream catching fish after fish after fish. I finally went up there to ask them what they were fishing with. Usually I’m not one to do that (“too embarrassing”) but age, casting fatigue and envy — along with the 100% positive, friendly interactions I have had with Alaskans so far — fueled my bravery. 

Plus I’m a girl and therefore unintimitdating, right? Surely they’d be nice to me?

Wrong.

The guy was an ass.

But I stood there anyway and watched them. They were doing exactly what we were and using similar flies. I think they were just in the honey hole. Which was also the troublesome bear that we had read about’s honey hole — from what a FRIENDLY local fisherman told us. 

I don’t know. I don’t know what to say or how to explain it.

I just know I got skunked again.

But it was really beautiful. And nice out.

We had picked a very dicey-looking spot to eat dinner called The Rendezvous which got really good reviews. It was quirky. But very good. I got halibut tacos and Dave had a Halibut burger and we split some clam chowder. (Spoiler Alert: even after almost the whole trip Dave still rates the Halibut burger he ordered here as the best of the trip).

Speaking of halibut, Dave was able to get us on a charter out of Ninilchik (30 min north of Homer) for Friday, so we plan to stay in the area after we get back to Homer. Weather is iffy, though, so just hoping we are able to go out. 

The Rendezvous was delicious and we timed it perfectly for our 6:45 pm arrival to the ferry staging area. We were no long newbies and knew what to expect. And I had done my homework and knew the ferry was in port and on time. Far less angst and drama knowing we didn’t need to be to a fishing charter right when we docked the next morning. However, we DID have an appointment at Midas in Soldatna at 10 am to get the oil changed and the tires rotated on the Bronco in anticipation of the drive home.

And, as luck would have it, we were loaded pretty near the front, so things are looking good!

Dave went right to bed  (in the same room we had coming over!) and I sat and watched Kodiak go by. It was calm and beautiful. 

We went to bed super early with hopes of getting at least SOME sleep before our THREE A.M. alarm. We had gotten the rather disappointing news yesterday that the guy we researched and booked for our fly fishing trip to Saltry Creek was passing us off to a guide who works for him. Sound familiar? Whatever. I’m sure it doesn’t really matter. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves, because: what are you gonna do about it?

We called him, because, at some point yesterday, after driving around the Island and watching people fish, something occurred to me. Knowing much more about Alaska fishing than we knew when we booked this trip, I said to Dave, “So I assume we are gonna be flossing tomorrow,?” And Dave was like “No. We are fly fishing.” And then like one minute later, “Right?” And then another minute later of debate, “Oh my gosh. You are probably right.”

He called and Travis answered. He was on his roof, in the middle of replacing it.

[Aside] All we heard yesterday as we explored Kodiak was how AMAZING the weather was. (And it was.) But the genuine looks of pure astonishment and the “NO REALLYs” that we encountered from locals was a bit crazy. 

Now, talking to Travis, we learn that it’s *because of this nice weather* that he is sending us out with someone else. He’s apparently been waiting FIVE YEARS for 3 sunny days in a row on Kodiak to do his roof. And here it is. 

And oh, by the way, “You’ll be meeting your guide, Jack,  at 4 am.”  When Dave balked at that ridiculous call time, Travis said, “Four a.m. if you want to catch some fish. It’s fine if you want to go later if you just want to have a nice day and see the sights.”

Four a.m. it was.

Which actually meant three a.m. for our alarms.

I didn’t sleep more than an hour. Not sure if it was knowing I had to get up at 3 a.m. or if it was the damn waterproof mattress pad. I HATE THOSE! I guess I’m like the Princess and the Pea. I can feel every wrinkle; hear ever crinkle…

We were both, honestly, just putting our heads down and trying to make the best of it. We felt like VICTORS, having escaped the comedy of flossing for Sockeye on the Kenai. We had been imagining real fly fishing on Kodiak and had been looking forward to it more than anything else. And we were getting up in the middle of the night to go snag fish — and that was if we were LUCKY, since the Sockeyes were all but done.

If I haven’t waxed poetic enough about the strangeness of fishing in Alaska then you haven’t been reading along. But I should clarify that our experience is largely based on the timing of our trip and the order of the salmon runs. We are here during the beloved (because they are so tasty, not because they are fun to fish) Sockeye run — which don’t bite bait or lures 95% of the time. So you snag them by “flossing.” We are also here during crazy rains. August is always rainy in Alaska but this has been a record year for many of the parts we are in. So that pretty much shuts off trout, Dolly Varden and char — the species we were most excited to fish for. Very soon the Silver (Coho) run should start, which from everything we hear, is a gas. They bite. So do Kings, which run much earlier. Pinks and chums bite as well, but these have not yet been seen by us.

As I said, we are still (STILL!) figuring all this out. 

Anyway, we actually were EARLY meeting Jack, the guide. Three rounds of APPLAUSE for the MENKES!! 

Jack was also adorable. 

I wonder if manly fishing guides would take issue with being called adorable…

He loaded us up into the ATV and we hit the trail. It was about an hour and a half on a rough, flooded out trail, up and over a pass, and down to the other side of the island. We went through HUGE puddles of standing water that I would have thought were impassable. Despite being the sister of the former president of Polaris, I can’t say I’ve ever truly ATV’d before, so what do I know? It should also be noted that this was a HONDA 4×4, so… ?

Heh heh

We got set up on the creek and got schooled in how to FLOSS. No one makes it out to be anything more than it is: a legal snag. Apparently, it’s pretty easy if there are a lot of fish in the water. Jack claims there isn’t much skill involved, but I would beg to differ, since he was able to hook a fish after just casting a few times while I damn near wore out my rotator cuff with nothing to show for it.

Dave caught a few — good for him! Jack caught a couple and handed me the rod to land and I lost them. Jennie is not a good flosser or fish lander, sadly.

Ironically, both Dave and I can see how people get into it. It becomes sort of an obsession to see 5 or 6 fish schooled up and seeing your fly/hook/lure go past them and miss. It’s kind of like playing that bar game where you try to swing the hoop on a rope and hook the nail on the wall. 

The vistas and scenery were breathtaking. Cliché, I know, but it was.

We got three very nice fresh silver sockeye salmon (you want them when they are still silver in color, vs the red color that they turn as they start the spawn). 

We moved upriver to have lunch and talk to the guys who work at the weir counting the fish in the stream as they enter the lake. Manually. One at a time. It must be mind numbing. And lonely. Cuz that guy, Ben, damn near talked our ear off. (He, too, was adorable.)

We planned to end the day casting to pinks (I FINALLY CAUGHT/SNAGGED ONE lol)…

…And wouldn’t you know, just as if God Himself ordered it up, a grizzly came walking up the river! Ben, the fish counter, told us his name was Bruce and he had a bum leg from an unknown incident. They’d seen him around all summer. We were glad to have seen Bruce and not Reba McIntyre with her two daughters (a mama bear with her cubs), as they are far more unpredictable. 

What a great end to the day. 

The ATV ride was much more fun in the light of the day, too. 

We brought the fish to the processor/shipper and headed back to the Airbnb to hang out on the deck and enjoy the weather. 

We ate an early dinner at a sushi place on the water and it was warm enough to actually eat outside! 

We saw some whales, talked with various people and had a decent breakfast on the boat before arriving. We also got the sad news that our halibut charter had been cancelled due to wind — which was probably good since the ferry was running really (REALLY) late. It also took all the pressure off getting off-loaded which, unsurprisingly, took a long time.

We were able to check in to our Airbnb a bit early — which was adorable, and VERY Alaskan (looked like a shack on the outside but was very nice inside).

We had to pass by the “trolls” before we actually made it to the door though: one GIANT mastiff, one medium golden and one happy terrier. Nowhere in the reviews did anyone mention these dogs. We LOVE dogs. ALL dogs. But I can think of several people who would not have gotten out of their cars. No one came out to call them off, so we just assumed they must be nice. 

I know, probably not the smartest move, but we like to think we are dog whisperers. And, as is usually the case, these trolls were all show/no go. We are well versed in that language.

We got settled and headed out to explore.

We hit a spot called White Sands Beach, which is very much an overstatement on the “white sand.” It is closer to “Black Sand Beach with white sprinkles.” But it was beautiful. And as we were leaving, I saw something far off a point in the water. We backtracked until we could get close enough to see what it was: medium size fish torpedoing out of the water! Obviously salmon, but we had no idea they did that. We presume they were Pinks. Super mesmerizing  and fun to watch.

The big debate of the day was hike? No hike? Yes hike? No?

No. 

No hike.

We drive.

We drove to the top of the hill overlooking Kodiak Town where there were sentinels of windmills absolutely ripping through the wind. Gorgeous view. From there, we planned to drive to a river to fish, but the road looked pretty sketch. I was dumbfounded that Dave didn’t just point the Bronco down the path and go. I fully expected it and prepared to keep my mouth shut. But, no! He surprised me! I was happy! Instead, we turned around and headed back the way we came.

And promptly got a flat tire.

Oh the karma.

It has been several years since we had to change a tire in the wild. And the first time with the Bronco, but it went pretty dang smoothly, if I do say so myself. That tire went from full to flat in a matter of two minutes. I could feel the air rushing out, but I couldn’t see what popped the tire. 

We dropped it off at a tire shop on the island that was luckily still open and were told it would be done by the next afternoon — assuming they could fix it.

We checked out an area we might want to fish and read about a problem bear in the area (which was BEAUTIFUL).

I yelped restaurants on Kodiak to see what sounded good and learned that, like much of Alaska, restaurants aren’t really a “thing”. Oh, they have them. It’s not that. It’s just that they don’t really have NICE restaurants. I don’t need fancy. I just need GOOD. But the only GOOD seems to be in the form of deep fried and french fried. I mean…

I can do that. 

But…

Those dumbbells that are wasting away under the seat of the Bronco aren’t gonna save me from french fries, so why even bother? I’ve decided I’m gonna be fat and happy until we get home. Case closed. 

Anyway, as I searched for a restaurant and realized there were NOT THAT MANY. Then, I noticed that literally all but TWO (of the not very many in the first place) were closed on Mondays. We got to choose between “Noodles” and Old Henry’s Alaskan Restaurant.” A ramen shop or bar food.

We picked bar food. And I had my childhood favorite eating-out meal of deep fried shrimp (much to my dad’s dismay as it was usually the most expensive thing on the menu). I used to BEG to have deep fried shrimp at EVERY restaurant we ever ate at, most commonly, Mr. Steak. Remember Mr. Steak?? Basically, eating in Alaska is like going back to the late 70’s and eating out at Mr. Steak, now that I think about it. 

I gotta say, my deep fried shrimp was to DIE for. Dave’s was not. He got the “Captain’s Platter” which was a medley of grilled seafood — one item of which was bacon-wrapped scallops. The problem is, bacon doesn’t really crisp up (or even cook for that matter) on a grill in the time it takes a scallop to cook. So it was unappetizing at best and dangerously raw at worst. And it kind of wrecked everything else for him.

But the beer was good!

We were super tired — or maybe that was just me, as Dave slept pretty well on the ferry and I did not — so we didn’t dally. We went back to the Airbnb and pretty much went right to bed.