Of Honker Doubles and Retirement

“Often when you think you are at the end of something, you're at the beginning of something else”-Fred Rogers.

Full moon over the Tordrillo 
mountain range.

Ten Canadian geese breezed by me just out of range.  “Darn”.  I was hunkered behind a large cottonwood drift-log hoping for some action.  The morning had been a calamity of missteps summed up by the phrase wrong place, wrong time.  It was as if the geese were toying with me by flying just out of range or (my favorite) flying directly over the spot I had just left.  

My hiding spot.

     I watched as they set their wings and landed safely out of reach on the other side of Ivan River.  Now there were over 200 of them waddling around on the mud flats;  I think they were snickering at me.

     After waiting as long as I could, I decided to come out of hiding from behind the log; I couldn’t stand it anymore.  I decided to flush them up.  Maybe some of them would head in my Dads direction.  I stood up and started walking directly toward them.   I was able to make it onto the muddy bank right across the river from them.  Finally they started to squawk and honk and before long they had all taken flight in a big noisy frenzy.  

       Imagine my surprise when a group of 15 got confused and decided to fly right over the top of me.  I missed the first shot but the next two connected, sending two nice Canadians to the ground; Honker double!

     Retirement; What fun!  26 years of teaching and coaching was enough for me and I was ready.  I hadn’t been able to afford the time-off to join Dad waterfowl hunting while I was working but this year was different.  “I’m so glad you could make it.” He told me.  Dad was as happy as I was.  

     My Dad, Mom, and I had pushed off of the silty bank at Deshka Landing on the 27th of September and began our journey down-river to the mouth of the Susitna River, into Cook Inlet and then to Ivan River.  Our cabin on Ivan has been the base of our setnet salmon fishing operation for the last 36 years.

       Dad’s new 18 foot Woolridge was dialed-in.  The sun was shining high in the sky and it was a glorious day. We arrived at the cabin at high tide to unload.   We would spend the next five days hunting, cooking, plucking birds and enjoying everything the late fall had to offer.  

     We had a great time no doubt,  but it wasn’t all honker-doubles and rays-of-sunshine by any stretch.  I realized early in the trip how out-of-practice I was with a shotgun and missed so many more than I hit.   In-the-end I would collect more shoulder bruises than birds.  Luckily my Dad knocked down a couple nice geese and we got some ducks too.  

     “STEVE!” It was early on day four and Mom appeared in the distance.  I could sense the urgency.  Dad and I had set out early with headlamps to get in position for first light hunting.  

      “Why was mom out here?”, I wondered.  I grabbed my pack and headed her way.  The tide was cresting 32 feet that morning and the whole place was wet.  I almost went over my chest waders negotiating a slough.

        “A log got the boat!”, she shouted.  She was still 75 yards from me and once she saw that I was on my way she quickly turned her heels back the way she’d come. 

      Ivan River is a tidal slough and is a collection-zone for all manner of Susitna River driftwood.  Everything from cottonwood bark, branches of every size, and even entire trees come floating down the river.  This year’s heavy rains and near flooding conditions have flushed the Susitna basin of massive amounts of drift. Occasionally a log sweeps into our anchored boat dragging it up or down river (depending on the stage of the tide).

     I wanted to catch up to her for some details of the boat situation on the way back to camp but she was hustling with a definitive  hop-in-her-step.  I thought that I would catch her soon but I realized that I wasn’t gaining; She was on fire!  I picked up my pace to almost a jog and finally caught up to her after a quarter mile of chase.  “Jesus mom, I had a hard time catching you!”.  She giggled.  She’ll be 80 in February. 

     Sure enough a monster 70 foot cottonwood tree had dislodged the boat’s anchor and took it for a ride.  The behemoth log took the boat upriver to the corner before it rotated off and continued its wayward journey.  It’s always a little disheartening to look out the window of the cabin to discover that the boat is gone.  

The boat resting on the corner at sunrise
after going on a "ghost ride".

But all's well that ends well and I launched our rubber raft and retrieved the boat soon thereafter.  That night Dad made his famous sweet-and-sour duck recipe and later we sipped Creme de menthe by the wood stove.  We would leave the next morning but for now we would stay up late and swap old stories of Ivan River lore.

Full moon over Mt. Spurr

Dad plucking a goose
on the back deck.

Mom stripping a net in the front yard.

Lots of new drift including several
Iditarod trail stakes that washed 
down the river in the Spring.

Rendered goose fat.   

     

 

31 foot tide pushing drift 
onto our boardwalk.