Theo Sniffs Totem Poles

 We arrive in downtown Anchorage, Alaska, which I can't describe as a thriving metropolis, but it is Alaska's biggest city. Finally, you feel like you've returned to civilization as we know it, the good and the bad. 

Anchorage is home to half of Alaska's population. James Cook arrived here in 1778 on his search for the Northwest Passage. At that time Russian fur trappers lived here and traded with the local natives. The Gold Rush of the 1880's and the Alaskan Railroad in 1915 brought more settlers.

We decide to visit The Alaska Native Heritage center in Anchorage, even though the moment we mention "museum," Theo puts on his saddest pout face. We lure him with snacks. 

"There'll be plenty of snacks along the way," we promise. "This museum is special," we tell him--marketing is key in this kind of situation--because it not only has indoor exhibits (Theo ho hums his disapproval) but also a model outside of authentic Eskimo dwellings and customs. 

First the inside where we glimpse rare finds of eskimo art and totem poles, which Theo sniffs. We can't resist telling Theo that totem poles tell us a lot. The carved animals and figures are a kind of family crest and represent ancestral spirits and supernatural beings that connect to the village.

In a time when there was no central heating in a colder than cold climate, we see what kinds of clothing the natives wore:

Outside, we wander along a path and see what a native village would have looked like a century ago. The only thing we know are igloos, that the natives built in the snow. We have a lot to learn.

Since Alaska is 14.2% water, measuring 94,743 miles (the largest total amount of water in the USA) fish was their staple food--they built racks to dry the fish on:

Theo trots over to sniff the rack.

The locals stored their food high off the ground so the animals couldn't reach it:

Theo needs to sniff the poles.

The villages were tight-knit for survival, focused on hunting.

The native people built large communal spaces for the men to meet. It was used for ceremonies, dances, council meetings and where the men and older boys worked, ate and slept.

Individual families lived in smaller sod-insulated houses which were built underground using whale ribs, driftwood or logs and heavily insulated with layers of sod to combat extreme Arctic winds and sub-zero temperatures.

Theo had a field day sniffing the communal houses.

The locals also invested time in building tunnels, heavily disguised, that they could use to escape the village in case of an attack. These tunnels also connected dwellings. They could be 72 to 90 feet long.

Theo trots ahead of us as we try to imagine what life was like back then. The local people fished for whales, seals, and used the blubber to light and heat their homes. They melted water from the frozen rivers around them for drinking water. They used kayaks for traveling. 

We can't resist walking through one of the tunnels to see where it leads. This escape tunnel ended outside the village, near a waterway.

As we're leaving, we pass one more totem pole (which, of course, Theo sniffs). "Remember what we told you about the totem poles."

Theo sighs.

"Well, would you like living out here, Theo, a hundred years ago?"

"Would I have snacks?"

"No, probably not, but there would be plenty of fish."

He nods.

"And, of course, plenty of totem poles to sniff." 

Can Theo Sniff Exit Glacier?

 If you love being outside surrounded by spectacular views, go to Alaska. We visit--Dan, Theo and I--hoping to see wild animals in Denali National Park and whales in Resurrection Bay, hoping to see the top of Mt. McKinley when the clouds part, hoping to see the seals and octopus--in short, a world that's so different from where we live. 

What we don't expect to see is a glacier cascading into the bay. We also don't expect to see another glacier--Exit Glacier--or what is left of it receding into some of the most beautiful country. WE want to serve as witnesses to what some call global warming, others climate change. The once magnificent glacier is disappearing, receding into the distance. It looks closer than it is, and we're reeled in like a fish on a line. 

We want to see this glacier up close. Theo, the gangster cat, can see but can he really see? He would prefer to sniff, which means that even though we can see this glacier from the road, to actually sniff it means hiking the trail. 

You may wonder why glacial ice is blue when water is clear or white looking.  It has to do with light and the compression of snow and ice. The deeper the glacial ice, the less air which deflects the light so the ice appears blue. But Theo doesn't care about that. 

Our first glimpse of the glacier is from the road. 

Then with snow-capped mountains in the distance and a river roaring next to us, we decide to hike the path. There are actually three trails--the easiest to the most difficult, ranging from one mile to 8 miles. Markers along the trail show how much the glacier has retreated during the last century. From 1917 to 1987 the glacier has retreated one mile and currently is losing about 300 feet a year. 

We choose the two mile trail, not knowing exactly where we'll end up but hoping it takes us close to the glacier. We walk through the woods, on wood chips which partially cover the trail, over rocks and boulders, across a stream (where we almost fall in as we leap across), getting closer and closer believing the trail will take us where we want to be. We emerge into a clearing, our feet wet from the stream, with bits and pieces of leaves and twigs in our hair. Dan braves the rest of the way down and snaps a photo.

We see the glacier but learn (after consulting some professional hikers) that to get close enough to sniff the glacier means we have to go back to the beginning and take the longer eight mile trail.

I'm no Math genius but that means two miles back, eight miles forward and eight miles back. 

I look at Dan and he looks at me. We both look at Theo who is craning his neck to see the glacier, still hoping we have further to walk but the river is in front of us and there's nowhere else to go but back. 

"We know you're disappointed," I tell Theo, "but seriously, we need to go back and eat lunch."

I can see the "but" forming on his gangster face. 

"It would mean hiking another eighteen miles, Theo."

It's a beautiful day. The scenery is stunning, and we did manage to get closer to the glacier. 

"I packed you a terrific lunch," I add. 

If Theo has a bucket list and sniffing the Exit Glacier is on it, he gives up his dream and nods. Hiking or eating? Tuna. And like a real trooper he begins the two mile trek back to the food. 

Theo--Love Struck by Octopus

 The SeaLife Center in Seward, Alaska, located on Resurrection Bay is special for a lot of reasons. It's literally home to hundreds of fish. You can watch them and in some places literally touch them. It is also the home to a giant Pacific octopus. 

When we visit with Theo, the gangster cat, we don't know the story of Oceana, the giant octopus that lives in a tank on the premises. But to see her is to fall in love with her. One of the staff tell us that she has a steady visitor (fan) who comes to see her everyday. Remarkably, as soon as he arrives, she knows who he is and she puts on quite a show. 

We stand in front of her awestruck. She is beautiful and graceful and so full of life. She twirls and floats and dances in her tank. As she moves from the top to the bottom, she changes color from a pinkish orange to white. Octopus are highly intelligent and sensitive creatures.

Usually Theo has a bit of a short attention span unless he's watching a bird or a squirrel. Then he's all eyes, stalker still. As soon as he spots Oceana floating by in her tank, he wants to get closer. We watch as he puts his paw on the tank, trying to reach out and touch her. Maybe Theo is in love with an octopus.

"She needs to be in the water", we explain. 

We learn that she was brought to SeaLife Center as a baby when she weighed only 1.5 pounds. Later in the summer she'll be released back into the bay--Resurrection Bay--into a safe spot because she's now fully grown and the good folks at SeaLife want to give her a chance to mate and have a baby. Octopuses can only have one litter so the timing is everything.

We stand in front of her tank for at least a half an hour, watching her. It is a unique experience--to see her so close up. The people at Sea-Life call her an ambassador of good will--hoping that in the real world, you just might act to protect her in the wild.

Oceana looks happy in her tank. She's well fed and healthy. 

"This is a special moment," I say to Theo. "Take time to appreciate that this is a once in a lifetime chance to see an octopus so close up."

Later, I watch a video on You Tube. Oceana is being released into the bay. She's in a large container that two SeaLife workers lower down into the water. She doesn't swim away right away. The men reach down and pet her, gently coaxing her into her new home--Resurrection Bay. 

https://youtu.be/q6an40yxe1M?si=qE4O2XiE9Io_c9Vz

And, of course, a new octopus is now in the SeaLife tank. She or he will stay for a while--serve as ambassadors--and then return back into the bay.

Life is good. 

 

Theo Visits Alaska's SeaLife Center

 It is the visit of a lifetime. At first Theo is not convinced. He loves birds and squirrels. He tolerates whales. But fish? Oh sure, he'll eat fish--tuna and salmon are his favorites--but watching them swim around in a tank? 

But, wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Alaska's SeaLife Center in Seward, Alaska, comes highly recommended, and unless you want to spend days and weeks snorkeling in Alaska's vast bodies of water--you'll never get a chance to see--and I mean really see--some mind-blowing specimens of fish. All kind of fish. (www.alaskasealife.org)

The SeaLife Center is located square in the middle of some beautiful, breathtaking scenery that is so Alaska--the mist, clouds and sheer expansiveness of the place sets the stage for what is inside. 

We pass an amazing monument that provides just a glimpse of what is in store when you visit the ocean:

Once inside, we don't know where to go first. You can watch the seals swim in their super gigantic tank--from above and from below.

You can visit smaller tanks that house all kinds of fish--leaning toward the exotic--fish you have never seen before or even heard of.

These tanks represent just a small area of what lives underneath the ocean. The colors. The variety of fish.

 

I particularly love the starfish. Especially when you see them living in concert together. Hanging out. The good life.

And where is Theo during all of this time as we wander from tank to tank? I can feel him stalking beside me, but he's not satisfied to watch the fish from his lowly spot. I lift him up to give him what I would call a Birds Eye view. 

I'm not sure what he actually sees. But his gaze doesn't falter. He's truly mesmerized--watching the fish swim back and forth. 

I point to one tank in particular. "Do you see what looks like a rock with those pink spots?"

I think he nods or maybe he's stretching.

"Well, that's not a rock, Theo. That's a fish. Believe it or not."

He's a little impressed. At first I think he's spending the most time staring at the starfish. But they barely move. They float through the water. But then I realize he's not particular. 

Can it be true that Theo likes all fish? To eat???

 

Home Turf for Gangster Cat

 Theo's fans are clamoring--who is Theo, the gangster cat, really? What does he do when he's at home? So, I'm sharing photos of what his day to day life is like, whether he's perched on the dining room table (to see a bird out the window) or stretched out in casual style on my favorite writing chair.

First, Theo is the oldest of three cats. His two siblings (twins) are about two years younger than he is: Michelangelo (orange and white) and Sienna (mostly white with tips of gray).

Theo was adopted (or as he sees it--kidnapped) a few years ago from Tabby's Place, a privately owned cat shelter in New Jersey. He was rescued from a clinic where for 2 1/2 years they did animal testing--mostly for vaccines. At Tabby's Place, he was incredibly shy. It took some time for his true nature to emerge--a slightly sardonic, slightly sarcastic traveling man who has a heart of gold. 

He rules the household with an iron fist. No nonsense is his motto. He's not easily ruffled or insulted. At times Mico (nickname for Michelangelo) will chase him through the house, stalk him from a nearby sofa, or try to steal his snacks. Sienna is known for grooming him one second and then smacking him seconds later. Theo barely reacts. 

"I have their number," he assures me, fully understanding that the twins were feral and lived in a barn outside for the first few months of their life. Luckily, they were rescued (kidnapped) and taught some social skills. Still, Theo and I know the twins are wild to the core--they just know how to disguise it. 

That doesn't mean they don't do things together. Often the three of them are lined up at the patio door, furtively watching a squirrel or bird carouse outside. They take turns on guard duty, making sure that other cats don't invade their space. Because we have catnip growing outside, neighborhood cats like to come around and sniff. 

Usually, Sienna will smack the glass with her paw to scare them away, while Mico races from window to window, tracking their escape. Theo, his tail blown up like an oversized balloon, sometimes stays with Sienna and sometimes runs around with Mico. 

They take their sworn guard duty very seriously. 

The best times are when they play with a scratching board (covered with dry catnip) and hit a small ball around and around a groove, trying to hit it, then catch it. Or when they lounge around, ready to chant in unison: we have nothing to do.

The worst times are when we catch them--heads huddled together--plotting. Theo at these times is the spokesperson cat--meowing and explaining that we're three minutes past the due time for a snack or negligent in not turning on the nature channel so they can drool over the birds. 

For the record, Mico and Sienna hate when Theo goes traveling. They've written up several petitions alleging the grevious offense of leaving them alone. Even though they absolutely love Rachel, their cat sitter. 

Theo tries to talk sense into them. Really? You want to travel? And then he tells a harrowing tale of what can happen when you're out there in the wild world. 

"But you're a star," they argue. 

Theo shrugs because, after all, he may be a star, but Theo is still the gangster cat and that's the way it will always be.

Is Theo Really Whale Watching?

 Everyone knows that whales are not birds. Theo, our gangster cat, (affectionately called) loves birds. He loves to watch them, chase them, cackle at them and well . . . who knows what else? But whales?

We love whales. I've even gone on whale watching cruises, hoping to see one. 

"They're super big. And they're the nicest animals, Theo. They hang out with their family."

And then we point. When you're on a cruise in Resurrection Bay, with hundreds of other tourists, you almost have to knock down and drag people out of the way to see into the bay--to actually see the whales. You have to be ready to rush from one side of the boat to the other. Someone shouts out a sighting, and everyone rushes to the spot. Then someone else spots a whale and everyone rushes to the next spot. It is a miracle if you're standing in the exact right place and can actually see the whales. 

We are dying to get a good photo. But it's hard. We click and click and all we end up with are whale tails. The whales leap up but by the time we click, they are submerged with just their tails as evidence that they were ever there.

Whales do not pose for photos.

I am determined, though, to catch a full bodied whale. I take a video:

Imagine--whales are swimming along--under the water and then they pop up like jack in the boxes, water spouts up and then they dive under the water again. You learn to look for clues so you can see one of those magic moments.

 You look for seabirds--the gulls, the shearwaters, the gannets and the petrels who gather near a whale family to partake of the buffet of fish the whales create. Whales herd fish and krill to the surface, which the seabirds love. You see the birds, you see the whales.

We realize part of the way through our whale watching (with Theo in our arms, equally captivated) or so we think that he isn't looking at the whales at all. No, by gosh, he's enamored with the seabirds that are madly flying around, hoping for a snack.

That's how Dan puts it. "See those birds, Theo. They want a snack."

It all makes perfect sense to Theo, whose view of the world is much simpler than ours. Much more pragmatic than ours. 

"Are you noticing the whales at all?" I want to know.

Theo looks up at me. Then goes back to watching the whales . . . no, correction please--I now know the truth. He's watching those darn birds. Even as we see the most magnificent sight of all, more than tails. We see the whales leaping up out of the water. Yes.

As we eventually sail back to dock (after spending hours chasing a whale family in the bay) we pass another amazing sight. Seals are sunbathing on the rocks. And you can actually see the entire seal. We imagine they've already put on their suntan lotion and will be there for hours, hoping for a tan.

Does Theo even notice or is he looking backwards, hoping to see more birds.