By the time the stairs were wheeled to the plane and Gavin and I traipsed across the damp tarmac, the sun was shining and the clouds had parted. We were ready for our adventure to begin! The first part of the adventure was being retrieved from the airport by our former-New Jerseyan-now-Alaskan friend Keith. Gavin 'met' Keith through a mutual friend as a 'inspirational success story'--someone who escaped the rat race of the Northeast for the open spaces of the Last Frontier. For years, Gavin has poured over Keith's wildlife photography from Alaska and Antarctica (where Keith works in the winter months ferrying explorers to and from the continent on Zodiaks). In the summer, Keith runs a ferry service from the Gustavus dock to Point Adolphus. In an interesting twist of events--solidifying the world as being 'small'--Gavin and I had booked a ferry drop-off with Keith for the second part of our trip before we even realized that the Keith who'd be dropping us off was 'the Keith' we had been admiring. Through Facebook's power of connectivity, we reached out to Keith to solicit some advice about the second part of our kayaking adventure (this happened after reading an article posted about Keith's success as a photographer, masseuse, boat operator, and guide) and realized that he would be dropping us off at Point Adolphus. Keith enthusiastically gave us advice about where to paddle and he also kindly offered to pick us up at the Gustavus Airport upon arrival. The last offer was, for me, one of the most exciting moments because we could travel around Gustavus as the locals do. We New Jerseyans could be accepted into the small Alaskan community.
After most travelers were retrieved from the Gustavus airport, Gavin and I waited with our gear in great anticipation for a clunky Subaru carrying Keith to round the corner. When Keith arrived, he was friendly, funny, and full of advice. "Sorry none of the seat belts are functioning--there's no real need for them in Gustavus. If you wanted to, you could roll around town with an open six pack"--and with these words I became fascinated by the freedom of this town. Our first stop in town was to the local liquor store--not for Gavin nor me, since we needed to keep our wits about us in the backcountry--but for Keith, to refuel. We stopped out front of a small wood-shingle shack where locals streamed in and out sporting their Xtratuf rubber boots--standard issue brown wellies with a yellow toe stripe. Gavin and I got out to explore while Keith ducked in for some local brew and a bottle of Makers Mark.
Following our liquor store adventure we stopped at Toshko for some white gas, eggs, apples, and of course, bear spray (highly concentrated pepper spray that is proven effective for deterring ornery bears). Although Gavin has never traveled Alaska with bear spray, I, as a backcountry neophyte, had bear spray listed as the number one item on my shopping list.
Unfortunately, Toshko was out of white gas--a reality of small-town Alaska living--so Keith kindly offered to take us back to his place so we could pick up a container that he had. As we cruised the town of Gustavus, I marveled at the lack of street lamps, signs, and house numbers. Some homes had outboard motors on their front yard as a house marker while others existed in secrecy--tucked back into the woods unbeknownst to the uninitiated. Some homes mirrored typical suburban architecture while others either used metal sheeting as walls or were simply refurbished buses. Yes, in the same architectural vein as the shelter of Christopher McCandless, the main character of Jon Krakauer's novel Into the Wild.
A few turns after Toshko and much fascination at the local architecture, Keith turned the Subaru down a long dirt road and stopped at the end. Next to the car, littering the ground, were all of the items Keith had thrown out of his car in order to make room for us and our gear. In the pile were items associated with an adventurous lifestyle--hiking boots, buoyes, empty gas containers, a bicycle, a tire, a backpack, and an extra pair of rubber boots. Keith informed us that we had a little bit of a hike to reach his yurt--which, by the way, is one of the most badass backcountry shelters one could have--so he popped open a beer, offered one to me (which I declined on account of wanting to be fully attentive), and handed me the bottle of Makers Mark to carry to the yurt.
*As an aside, it was one of the neatest and most 'purely Alaskan' experiences to slop through the woods in search of a yurt while carrying a bottle of Makers Mark.*
Although spartan, Keith's yurt was remarkable. Inside was a bunk of beds that he shared with a friend, a two-burner gas stovetop, a beautiful wood-burning stove, baskets of clothing, jars of salmon Keith had caught and self-canned; and a crusty loaf of bread--an item that made the yurt look extremely rustic. There was also a visitor in the yurt--a vole--which had frequented Keith for some time. Although the vole was not the biggest visitor Keith had had in his yurt--last year, on two separate occasions bears had stomped into his humble abode while Keith was building a cabin just a few feet away--we sadly learned that the vole met his demise by a forcefully slammed box of pasta. The first 'bear-in-the-yurt' incident left muddy paw prints everywhere whereas the second incident resulted in Keith peering around the door of his yurt to a giant Grizzly chilling out in his house--an image that always makes me smile. Keith, of course, had to yell and physically chase the bear out--an action that is common in Alaska (one that Gavin and I would learn later in the trip).
After laughing about wildlife encounters, exploring the yurt, and awing at the cabin that Keith is in the process of constructing, we piled back into the Subaru and headed for Glacier Bay National Park. Our backcountry journey was about to begin.
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