Road Warriors

I’m starting to think this sounds like a really boring trip. Truthfully, I am super relieved we have not had any real problems. But PROBLEMS make for funny stories. I feel like there aren’t any funny stories… but I must soldier on. But you, dear reader don’t have to. Don’t think you HAVE to read these!

Now that we’ve got that out of the way…

It rained all night and was still raining when we got up. *oh my GOSH* But not to worry: weatherman Dave had a plan. Laundry and showers in Homer. That (necessary) diversion would easily kill a couple hours and give the weather time to burn off. I must say: he has been UNCANNILY accurate in his forecasts…

It took us about 45 minute to get to Homer. The laundry/shower spot was very nice. Funny, how that has become a thing: “WOW… nice laundromat! Let’s look at the showers!” I find myself wondering if Minnesota has anything like these, that have become islands of respite… I don’t think so. I don’t think Colorado does either. They should. My experience with laundromats at home is gross. They are dirty, the machines are gross, there is no one on-site to make sure people are behaving. In Alaska there is always a staff. And they do laundry if you drop it off for a reasonable price. Help me out: does this exist in the lower 48? Am I just blind?

Anyway, the woman in charge was friendly, but also seriously scary. That’s probably why it was nice; no one would mess with her. I know WE weren’t gonna mess with her. She followed us around after we paid for our showers asking us when we were going in so she could start our timer. She was intimidating.

I was so worried that after I finished blow-drying my hair, I crawled around on my hands and knees picking up any random hairs on the floor. I don’t even do that in my own bathroom! I guess you could say she is good at her job.

We took a spin down the Homer Spit (a long, narrow land mass that juts out into the bay) to the ferry depot to check out things out for our trip that evening. We dropped the camper off at long-term parking, since it is not making the trip on the ferry with us (*sob*). Since the wind had picked up a bit and the sun had come out (thank you, Weatherman Dave), we unfurled the awning to let it dry out before we locked our baby up and set about exploring Homer.

Homer Spit is tourist central. A veritable carnival. We figured we’d check it out later and proceeded back onto the mainland to see Old Homer — which was very quaint and cute. We walked the beach and visited a VERY cool used bookstore. The oldest book they had was from 1640! They also had this INSANE old bible from 1817. $5000 seemed a bargain. I kind of wish I had asked him if I could look at it.

We boogied back to the Spit, parked and walked the docks looking at boats…

Visited some famous pub with dollar bills nailed all over… and landed at a restaurant that Dave had read had good fish’n chips. But it wasn’t open. So we waited next door at a taco spot where I ordered MY dinner of rockfish tacos and beer. 

We caught up with friends on FaceTime over Dave’s fish’n chips and headed to the ferry. 

…Where we waited almost 3 hours to board. THREE HOURS! I didn’t find out until the next day that the ferry was already running at least an hour late when we got there. Not sure why they didn’t tell us that, but the way it works is you park in a “staging area” and wait until you’re told to drive on board. People with vehicles are required to line up 2 hours ahead of the departure time. We got there a little ahead of that, being nervous newbies. We asked the guy in charge (the Purser) if it was possible to be loaded last (with the idea we’d be first off), as we were scheduled to halibut fish the next morning when the ferry was scheduled to arrive in Kodiak. He was super nice and said he’d do what he could and told us to “hide” in a certain area and to wait until he called us over.

It was a super interesting process. During the long wait, we met some New Zealanders who had recently flown here and bought a vintage 1978 Toyota Chinook camper. Super cool. Glad it’s not mine, but still super cool.

Anyway… after what seemed like forever, the Purser came over and said we had to get in line and “hope for the best.” About 60% of the vehicles had loaded by that point, so we were hopeful we’d be near the front. 

We got picked out of line almost right after that. Each vehicle has a ticket on it which lists the exact length. They try to put cars in pairs that don’t exceed 40’ and load them two at a time. As luck would have it, we got plucked out of the back of the line and loaded onto the ferry with a pickup  — and unloaded on the car deck into the literal back of the bus. Unbelievable. 

We grabbed our stuff and headed up to the decks, put our stuff in our “stateroom” and went outside to watch the rest of the loading. It took FOREVER – probably another hour. We watched for about 30 minutes before getting bored and starting to move away. And right about that time (this is now about 4 hours after we were first in line) was when the NON-NERVOUS NON-NEWBIES started to show up. There were probably 4 more cars that drove up right as the last cars were being queued up to load like they owned the place, waited about 15 total minutes and ended up right in front on the car deck. 

oh the KARMA!

It was super late by the time we left the dock, but we stayed up and watched the moon rise until we were out of Kachemak Bay and into the bigger sea. Dave had taken a couple sea sick pills just to be safe and was glad he did, as he started feeling a little yuck-o about the time we went to bed and things got much more wild through the night — though we were later told it really wasn’t that bad.

This is a travel/figure-it-out day. It’s raining everywhere. All day. It’s too far to drive to Anchorage for the museum (and our stupid grill part), so Dave made us the last of the blueberries for some pancakes and we pulled out. Destination unknown. In the rain. Soaking wet. 

Given that we have to be in Homer by tomorrow night for our ferry ride to Kodiak Island, we are headed that way. 

I was anxious to see Soldatna — where most of the fishermen we’ve talked were basing out of. I swear it seems more populated than Anchorage! More cars than I have seen anywhere, including Denali. (I did some research after I wrote this and, indeed, Soldatna is a large town. Nearby Kenai is even more populated. Makes sense, as this is where most fishing visitors base and that’s where the business is.)

Mark, the guide from a couple days ago, had recommended Kenai Brewery for their burgers, so we simply made a beeline there and set up shop for the afternoon — strategically spacing out beers, a Reuben, a wedge salad and more beer. Assuming we needed to be “active customers” to be able to take up space in their restaurant. It rained steady the entire day. No let up. The brewery was consistently crowded the whole time — and we were there for about 5 hours. I kept waiting for them to kick us out. It was a real good reason to day-drink, even if neither of us felt like it. 

Dave got caught up on the Olympics, which I had recorded on YouTubeTV and I, who had been writing for 4 straight hours since we left camp that morning was finally caught up.

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…I wrote that last sentence a week ago and haven’t written since. It has been a very busy 7 days. I am now sitting in a cold (but not rainy!) site trying hard to get my fingers working so I can type. So far not good.

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After we left the brewery, we continued south on the Sterling Highway toward Homer with some conflict about where to stop and camp. We knew we didn’t want to be in the circus town of Soldotna — or anywhere near it — but undecided how close to get to Homer, which we also thought might be a bit of a zoo.

We weren’t CRABBY, necessarily. Just worn down by the rain. Dave seemed to want to go one place and I was sort of contrary. I can’t even remember why. I just know it was more of a mood than a logical reason.

We explored a bit of the coastline around Kasilof River — known for its King Salmon run. Everything we read made it sound like a huge fishing hotspot, but it was completely deserted. Huge RV parks, completely empty. Which only adds to our sense of generalized bewilderment about Alaska fishing. 

We settled on the Ninilchik River Recreation Area campground which was all but a ghost town. From what we can tell, the vast majority of campers seem to want to park in RV parking lots. I’m sure you can picture it, but can you really?

This was a very nice campground. Not muddy or worn out. Lots of privacy. That said, each spot is actually TWO spots. So I guess it wouldn’t be quite so nice if there were another camper or tent 10 feet away from us before the next buffer, but in this case, we didn’t have to worry about it. 

Which is weird.

Where is everyone? What memo did we not receive?

Granted, it was a deluge. And there were exactly two other sites occupied out of 48 sites — both tenters. We felt so bad for them. But these Alaskan campers are TOUGH. They are tarp EXPERTS. But still, man. It’s a DRAG to camp in unrelenting rain. And ten times more so in a tent. With KIDS! 

We got the camper and awning set up and I set to making dinner. Nothing sounded too good after sitting in a brewery all day, but I am seriously worried I’m slowly starving Skinny Dave Menke, so cook I must — but something quick and easy, given the rain, rain, rain…

Pho? No…. I don’t feel good for it

Indian? Sounds really good, but no…. Too complicated

Mac n Cheese? Gosh no

Indian sounds so good… maybe just rice and lentils? But I have this ear of corn… That sounds really weird…

But that’s what I did. Indian Corn Chowder. This is a meal only a camper could love.

And that was it. We ate it in the rain and went to bed.

We had to be on the road by 6:30-ISH. I say “ish” because, 1) ish, and 2) they said we needed to check in for our 8:30 tour an hour early. Which seemed extreme. Surely they wouldn’t turn us away if we were 10 or 15 minutes later than that? I mean… not that I ever plan to be late, but I’m also not going to build in an extra 30 minutes to be on the safe side. Besides, the coffee shops wouldn’t be open yet so we wouldn’t lose time there like we did the other day…

We got on the road right at 6:30 — so proud of ourselves — but were quickly stymied by road construction that we had not planned for. It was kind of stressful, to be honest, because we also had no cell signal. So I couldn’t call the tour people to let them know. The construction delayed us almost 30 minutes and we arrived closer to 8 am. Plus, we needed to find a spot to park that was big enough for the camper. I was able to get a call out to them about 10 minutes out of town, so I knew we were ok, but it was still stressful. 

We were the last ones to board at 8:10 and they left right after we got on. Ugh. You never want to be THOSE people… (and now we are.)

Tours — of any kind — are not my thing. But this came highly recommended by a few different people. It was an 8+ hour tour, though. And hat’s a really long time. There were 60 people aboard and — even if we didn’t see wildlife — I knew there would be plenty of people watching. I wasn’t disappointed.

However, we DID see wildlife. Lots of it, I think — though I really have nothing to compare it to. Mostly I wanted to see Puffins. There were lots of puffins. They are smaller than I expected and for some reason I wasn’t expecting them to be like ducks. In my mind they were more penguin-like. What do I know?! The best part about the puffins is the way they FRANTICALLY swim/fly along the top of the water. I want to consult with them: “Listen Mr. Puffin: pick one. Swim or fly. You can’t have both.” But I can’t get a meeting with the head of the puffins so I expect this will continue, long after my tour. 

We saw RIDICULOUS sea otters. Just floating along on their backs. Not a care in the world. 

We saw giant whales. Sea lions. Dolphins. Coastal mountain goats. Seals. Birds. And Northwestern glacier – with giant slabs of ice falling into the ocean. It was great.

I learned that most of the people on a Fjord/Wildlife trip are REALLY excited about seeing whales. The whales don’t even have to be doing anything special or be that close. Tour people want the boat to sit in one place INDEFINITELY in the hope of seeing the back of a whale just ONE MORE TIME. Dave and I are more like “Cool. We saw a whale. Check. Let’s move on.” I guess it’s good we are on the same page and can entertain ourselves by making funny faces at each other as we eavesdrop. To be fair, Dave and I could have stared at the glacier calving slabs of ice all day long. And I’m pretty sure Mr. and Mrs. Whale Watcher were making funny faces at each other about US!

Again, it was great. It was just a little long. As we turned to go back they announced they were serving glacier drinks made with ice from the glacier. I wasn’t interested in the signature drink of the day (the margarita), so they made me a Puffin on the Rock-which I thought was a very clever name. It was very good. And while I sipped it (and simultaneously held Daves head up while he slept so it wouldn’t bang against the side of the boat) I fleshed out the stories I had made up for many of the interesting characters on our boat. (Eight hours is a lot of time to observe people.) It was a lovely ride back.

When Dave woke up, he braved giant seas (truly) to get down there before they closed the bar. After the drinks, the crew brought up warm brownies. This tour was getting better and better!

Alas it was over. We filed through the gift shop on our way out and I begged for a puffin hat souvenir, but Dave said no.

We hiked the half-mile to the outer parking lot to retrieve the car and camper and drove around looking for a spot to spend the night. There weren’t many places to choose from, so we set up shop at the city municipal campground. We made a critical error in selecting the site, though, as it abutted a little bike terrain park that was popular with the kids, so it made potty runs verrrra difficult…

Right on cue it started to rain as I started dinner. We unfurled the canopy and I made another meal of pasta. This one with — surprise — Italian sausage, tomato, onion, pepper and red wine. (I was out of cabbage.). I also dumped in the remaining cottage cheese. 

It was getting really cold, so we crawled in just before 9 and fell asleep to sounds of semi’s rolling by on highway and train engines idling just beyond.

It was still raining pretty steadily in the morning.

And we had learned we weren’t all that close to our meeting point with our guide: NOT Jason, who’d promised us he’d be taking us out himself, but Mark. Jason (the Minnesota guy Dave learned about from the United inflight mag), explained to us that he gives priority to repeat customers and we totally understand that. But we were disappointed. 

But that’s just life in the big city. We got over it.

We needed to meet Mark at a spot 30-45 minutes away, so we left. Giving ourselves a little 30 minutes to get there.

That’s how we roll.

And that’s why we are ALWAYS LATE.

Cuz we also, you know, wanted to pick up some snacks… and coffee… and maybe a delicious chorizo breakfast burrito.

Check. Check. Check.

So now we were REALLY late.

So Dave had to drive REALLY fast.

Check.

We got to the landing 12 minutes after our agreed upon time of 7 am. Where we met Mark, all of TWENTY ONE YEARS OLD, who didn’t mind at all.

He was fricken adorable.

But we did sort of wonder what wisdom he could impart on these wizened bones of ours…

But, as a seasoned veteran of four years of Alaskan guiding, he had PLENTY of wisdom to impart. It was all simply fascinating stuff. 

The takeaway? I don’t think I would come back to Alaska to fish for trout — except maybe in the late fall. They just have too much “flesh” to eat in the way of salmon eggs and carcasses to eat in the summer. I truly don’t care about catching “giant” fish. At least not at this point in my career. I care about the experience. And I like to dry fly when I can. ALL the trout fishing is subsurface. Good LORD IN HEAVEN: I do that all winter long in Colorado. No thanks.

Plus, with all the rain in summer, the rivers get high and blown out and then you can’t fish. I guess that’s why salmon is the name of the game, obviously. And, truth be told, we DO want to catch some salmon to ship home. We relied on Mark to guide us: both literally and figuratively. What would HE do?

It was a match made in heaven, because sweet Mark was very (VERY) tired of killing fish. He was tired of clients hopping on the boat, their only goal being to slay as many sockeye as possible in the least amount of time. Yes, yes, we too, wanted some fish, but we were also looking forward to floating and catching them. We had the unique experience of being able to troll for Sockeye vs “flossing” them. I won’t go into all the details, but think of it this way: when you troll, they bite. When you “floss” you snag them. One is fishing, the other is harvesting. We weren’t so keen on flossing. 

It rained most of the day, the morning being particularly rough. We stayed just warm enough. I was thankful that the temp went up a degree or two from when we started because I was starting to get the whole-body shivers and that can be hard to recover from that. Bone chilling.

We learned a lot from Mark. For those of you who care:

1. Sockeye salmon typically do NOT bite on flies or lures. The one exception is when they are defending their spawning area and is relatively rare.
2. 99% of sockeye caught (that are not dip-netted by locals) are caught by flossing. Or “flipping” as the guides say. Which consists of throwing a heavily weighted hook a few yards into the current letting it drift and then setting the hook, regardless of whether you feel anything. If your hook and line happened to float between the jaws of a fish, as you set that hook, it will lodge in the side of the mouth. And you “catch” your fish.
3. The other tiny percent are caught on “plugs” trolling. That was what we did. These are like the old Lazy Ike artificial lures. Some local guy figured out 15 years ago that he could get sockeye to bite in this particular spot of the Kenai river and now there are always several boats trolling. Mark likes this better and so did we.
4. I was one hundred percent WRONG when I said I was sure you could eat the fish we caught. You only want to eat light colored females. Technically, the males would still be good after they turned red, but generally speaking, the lighter the fish (the more silvery) the better. Score ONE for TEAM DAVE.
5. There really isn’t any dry fly fishing for trout in Alaska. Not down in this area at least.
6. King salmon should be on the endangered list. They might be as early as next year.
7. Too many fish are taken. There is no set limit on how much fish you can take home with you. (There is a possession limit for the day, which is very generous.) People just get gluttonous. And it makes these guides sad. They have to kill and fillet these fish. They have to hit the fish on the head with a mallet several times after they are caught. Our guide said “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” with each hit. And I, frankly, really appreciated that. 
8. Silver Salmon (starting soon) will bite. They are fun. And it is pure chaos in this area once that run starts because you aren’t just standing in a line flipping. (Although Mark didn’t say that, we heard it the next day on our boat tour. You get amateurs driving boats over whales… lots of just irresponsible fishing.) 

After we got six sockeye, we started fishing for trout. But we knew not to expect too much with the high water and the well-fed trout. We caught several Dolly Varden (I finally caught one) and I think one rainbow trout. 

As we prepared to head over to the take out spot the skies opened up again, just to keep us humble. And wet.

We headed back to get the camper because tonight we were staying at GRIZZLY RIDGE. A cute little cabin, right on the highway. 

We took our filets to a nearby processor and shipper and headed to our cabin.

I can’t say it was peaceful (road noise). But it was a nice reprieve from the rain. And it was cute and clean and comfortable. We dried out, watched our first Olympics (we are so sad to have missed them), and cooked some FRESH SALMON (also our first of the trip). The salmon was as good as I remembered. *Phew* — I have to admit: I was super nervous. I’m not a salmon lover at all. But I remember just loving the stuff Dave brought home probably 18 years ago from a trip he took with Charlie, Wes and Hank. Those were Silver salmon, though. Sockeye is more red and — depending on where you are reading — either way better or way “stronger” or “fishier” or “salmon-y-er.” So I was kind of worried. 

No longer! It was fabbie. 

It was nice to sit on a couch. It wasn’t even that comfortable of a couch. I have sat in three places since leaving home more than a month ago: the car, the camper and my camp chair. 

We showered and crawled into bed, watching the Olympics. Luxurious!

We planned an early departure but, lucky for me, Dave became hungry and decided to make blueberry pancakes and serve me in bed. His pancakes are legitimately better than mine. He did two batches so we could vote which were better: store-bought (sweeter) blueberries or wild (sour) blueberries. 

Definitely the wild were better. The tang was perfect with the super sweet syrup.

Dave, ever-watching the weather, had id’ed one day in Seward, out of the next 5, that it wouldn’t be raining and had me find a boat tour to see wildlife and glaciers for that day. I started to tell him I was BUSY (writing and posting) but then decided maybe I should do my part.

I’m reasonable like that.

We drove a few hours, having lunch in the car consisting of potato chips, Fritos, peanut m&ms — and an apple, so that we don’t get scurvy. 

We stopped at a wildlife refuge and donated $50 to drive around and look at a few fenced animals…

We stopped off in Hope Alaska, walked around on the cape and watched flossers…

We needed to be in the vicinity of Cooper’s Landing on the Kenai Peninsula for our float trip in the morning. Months ago, dave picked up a United in-flight magazine about the must do’s in Alaska and read about a Minnesota fishing guide in the area. He reached out to him and booked this trip. We were excited to finally talk to someone who could explain — in detail and correctly — this Alaskan fishing thing that we were struggling so hard to understand. 

Of course these guys are a super busy and connecting with them is tough. So we weren’t sure exactly where we were supposed to meet him, we knew it was near Cooper’s Landing and since Quartz Creek is right there (which was a spot A.J. the fly shop guy told us about) we decided to stay in a campground for the night there. The forecast wasn’t great, and indeed, it did spit rain on and off starting that morning and continued all day, though it wasn’t a downpour — that started about the time I started cooking dinner.

We found a decent site at Quartz Creek Campground and decided to fish, using our handy-dandy Kenai bead rigs. 

It still feels super strange, hucking these long leaders and giant bobbers with weight. I’m terrible at it. I just can’t get my rig out there very far, but whatEVER. When will I ever do this again? I don’t need to be great at it. We separated a bit and Dave was downriver from me and he actually caught a fish! But it ended up being a giant red salmon hooked on the dorsal fin. (So I guess he’s an official SNAG fisherman now). When you foul-hook a fish, they are super hard to land because you aren’t controlling their head. It was a HUGE fish and it took him a LONG time to bring it in. Of COURSE he didn’t have his stupid phone with him (it seems like he never does), so the size and variety are unconfirmed, though we now strongly believe it was a very large male sockeye.

Not long after, I saw him catch another — and he yelled that it was another salmon, but that this one was hooked in the mouth. Cool. Must be a humpy?

Eventually I caught what I thought at first was a nice trout, but turned out to be a salmon (I think a sockeye?). Dave was on his way back toward me and — very thankfully — netted it, unhooked it, and held it for a pic. Cuz I was not touching that thing. 

I was pretty sure mine was a sockeye. And it bit my bead. Those two things didn’t jive with what we knew about sockeye. Much googling ensued. 

My question was what kind of fish had I caught, and “do sockeye salmon ever bite beads?” Dave’s question was could we have eaten them: “Can you eat a red Sockeye salmon?” I, being me, was “ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SURE” we could have kept (and eaten) those salmon. But wanting to humor Dave, set out to prove my point on Google. 

I challenge you: try to google that question. All you will find is how long fresh (and filleted) salmon will last in your fridge. What you will not find is at what point live salmon, swimming upriver, go from yummy to yucky. (Mike, I’m talking to you: accept the challenge! I will look for the answer in the comment section.)

I finally put my phone down and said “We can ask the guide. We can get ALL our questions answered tomorrow.”

And I stood up, leaving the sanctuary of the canopy, to cook our dinner of cooler remnants. My specialty!

I seriously love to figure out what to cook from random stuff. In this case: 1/2 can refried beans, two tiny fingers of thin pork chop, tiny bit of leftover canned chicken, a tiny wedge of CABBAGE, some very sad cilantro, a half a tomato and a nice avocado I had forgotten all about, along with some other less remnant-y things.

Mexican is ON THE MENU!

So yummy.

But we were so, so wet and bedraggled. 

We were trying to figure out the next day’s logistics when Dave had the most brilliant idea: pay for another night at this site so that we wouldn’t have to deal with the wet canopy, our wet stuff, etc, etc. We could just leave it there and go!

That’s why I brought him along, friends. He has some good ideas.

We cleaned up and crawled in. 

And listened to it rain all night long.

The morning came quick, but always being loathe to actually get my ass out of bed, I laid in the camper until the very last minute. So much so that Dave, who had hitched it up the night before to save time in the morning, decided to drive it to the next site with me still in it. A first. I got to experience our squeaking suspension first hand.

We made a quick stop at a store in Girdwood to grab some snacks for the day. Dave: apple, banana, cheese. Me: peanut m&m’s, cheesy popcorn. 

Yeah, yeah, I WISH a banana sounded good. But it doesn’t.

We met our guide and headed to the airfield and signed our lives away before heading out to the helicopter. Dave has done a few heli-ski trips before, so it wasn’t that big a deal for him, but I’ve never been in one. I wasn’t really nervous, but I didn’t know what to expect. Taking off is wild. You just go straight up. Super slowly. Very unnatural — as if any type of flying is NATURAL. 

Very quickly I was wishing she’d go faster and do some sick banking and dives. But she didn’t. She drove in a slow, straight, safe line. All the way to the glacier where she dropped us off. Then she drove out of there like a mad-woman, having all the fun without us. We did get to see a huge bull moose on the flight out, so that was pretty cool.

Our guide had prepared us that there would be some “bushwacking” on the 1.5 mile hike from the glacier to the end of the lake where we would get into kayaks. We told him “no problem”, we are EXPERT bushwackers. He left us a few times to “scout routes” for us and then led us through “the bush”, consisting of some overgrown alders on a nice gravel path. He was “astonished” at our “abilities.”

I forget sometimes that we are 60 and that 60 is considered really old if you are in your 20s. 

Still, as we got to the camp and John said “I’ll get your lunches” and it was only 10:30 I was a little surprised. When another guide asked us if we had “run” the trail, I was even more confused. 

We were, apparently, the fastest “hikers” they had had all season. I can’t help wonder just how low that bar has been set? It left us more time to kayak the lake and around all the huge icebergs. Very cool.

I should mention that, while we had definitely proved our hiking mettle, they didn’t trust us enough to give us our own kayaks. We were in a tandem. Which I do totally understand. I’ve been in our kayak in Hayward on the windy side of the lake wishing for a partner before. And it afforded me lots of opportunities to coast, while Dave propelled us.

After our kayaking (again, winning the award for most paddling of anyone for the season…), we opted to walk to the train station vs taking the bus. We got there just in time and hopped on for a scenic ride to Grandview.

Once there, we turned around and headed back to Girdwood, picking people up along the way. John (our guide) got on at the glacier and we chatted with him for the rest of the return trip.

We opted to eat out again since Girdwood had so many options. We really haven’t been all that tempted to eat out because of that. Two of the ones that looked interesting were closed, though, so we picked the one next to Spoonline where we had eaten two nights ago. 

Three steps into the restaurant we looked at each other with the same expression: FRIED FOOD: OH NO!

At home, we frequent certain spots where we know we are going to come out stinking. We dress strategically and plan on showering. But CAMPING? I mean: showers are a luxury and we had just done our laundry. WHAT TO DO? They were already making a spot for us. We felt bad just turning around and walking out. So we sat at the bar. Ordered one beer and literally slammed it.

We call that Minnesota Nice.

We paid, and walked next door to Spoonline. Sitting inside because it was misty and cold out.

At our previous visit we had wished they offered a side of linguini to eat with the clams we ordered. They gave you bread to sop up the yummy juice, but there was still so much left over! So Dave ordered the clams and the only pasta they had: fusilli, while I had a sort of Korean lettuce wrap appetizer. We saw a carrot cake go by and decided to partake — not because we really wanted the carrot cake, but because we wanted to sit inside the restaurant longer so that by the time we got back to our camper we could legitimately just go to bed. (Which we did.)

There was a loud, raucous group of two families from California at the table next to us who ALSO looked interested in OUR carrot cake. When we held up the half we didn’t eat and asked if they wanted it, the 14 year old boy in the group nearly vaulted the table in his quest to nab it. 

It was awesome. No waste!