Intermission

I've been to Alaska all the past three summers since 2004, and every time my return has followed the same emotional pattern: the first week back I am elated to be in a real town with hot showers and good sushi and tragically hip cafes where you can sit and watch beautiful people go casually about their business without a single thought of running into a grizzly bear; the second week, I am a little less thrilled and even perhaps a bit bored; and then by the third week, I am petulantly discontent, wishing I was back on the river and cursing the distance between me and the summer salmon runs of the North.

Certainly that has been the story this time. I've worked hard to fill the time and have made a point of hanging out with all my favorite people in the area. I even went out to the East Sierra and did some car camping and social fishing with a couple of friends and even a friend's wife -- and let me tell you, I got way, way more sun out in those arid hills than I really needed. Ten minutes of East Sierra sun covered the entire amount of heat and direct rays that I enjoyed in three weeks of Alaskan weather.

However, one of those friends just happened to be planning an Alaskan float for 8/20, and I just happened to volunteer myself in case any of his three buddies defaulted, and to make a long story short, I just happen to be going back to Alaska in a few days. And my, don't it feel right! It's just in time to head off those third-week willies. And indeed, it lets me say that I really did play a full sonata after all, with distinct instrumentation and arrangement in each movement: 168.5 inflatable kayak miles in Tikchik country; 65 miles sea kayaking in the Wood Lakes; and a concluding 90 miles or so rafting down the Kanektok. My mind is full of fresh cohos and sea-run char, punctuated by the savage strike of big trout taking flesh flies out of the current. What's more, there is going to be some quality accompaniment, which is sure to share the whisky, the sashimi, and the wogging. It all makes that low, disorganized but promising sound of an orchestra tuning up as intermission comes to an end.

Yes gentle readers, this does mean that you may have to endure another flurry of fish pictures and maybe even a few more silly film clips. I apologize. But this is it; life will go back to normal sometime in September and the fish talk will go back down to a manageable trickle. But for now, raise the baton, conductor, and fly me back to Alaska! Bravo!!!!