Theo and the Arctic Ground Squirrel

 The morning we actually go into Denali National Park (meaning tall one--referring to the mountain which is 20,310 feet high and North America's highest peak), we're riding a school bus and are part of an official tour. For a price, we have a seat, a lunch and a window that we can look out of. There's a guide in front of the bus, who's visited Denali before, and a kind of television screen to the side that projects images from the outside. Our guide has a transmitter that helps him locate where the animals are.

That's why we're going to Denali. To see the animals. More specifically, Denali is home to 39 mammal species (red foxes, Arctic ground squirrels, marmots), 169 bird species (willow ptarmigans, golden eagles, ravens) 1 amphibian (wood frog) and the Big Five: Grizzly bears, wolves, caribou, Dall sheep, and moose.

The problem is Denali is a big place (6 million acres or approximately 7,408 miles) and the road we're traveling on (92 miles long), which twists and turns, which goes up and down, doesn't take you into the real interior of the park. To get there, you need to be a hiker and have a good map and days and days to spend tramping around. In the middle of almost nowhere. 

So, we'll spend the entire day driving around, hoping to see something, even though if you know anything about spotting wildlife, the best time to see them is early morning or early evening--not mid afternoon. 

Why a tour? Theo wants to know. Because private vehicles can ride into the park only so far. Tour busses can go in further. And, even though we wish we were, we're not professional hikers who can carry twenty pound back packs and use walking sticks. 

We lower our expectations. We're not going to come within two feet of a grizzly bear. We won't see any wolves. Anything we do see will be super far away. At this point I realize that's why those screens are here--to magnify what we can't see so we can see it. 

As I'm realizing all of this, Theo is eating his first snack of the day. He seems relatively unconcerned. I feel a bit devastated. 

BUT, Dan reminds me, we will see magnificent views. Scenery that is over the top. Awe inspiring. The day is beautiful--cool breezes, blue skies with lovely billowing clouds that drift past the mountain top, greenery, streams.

We spot a bird? Not sure what it is:

"Is this okay, Theo?" I whisper. "I mean . . ."

He gives me a withered look. "I can take it, see?"

And then we spot the smallest animal--the Arctic ground squirrel--but, gosh, they are cute. Imagine Theo--his face pressed up against the bus window--as the most adorable squirrels peek their heads out of their burrows and run around.

Our guide tells us that these burrowing rodents are known for their extreme hibernation. Their body temps drop below freezing. Their heart rates slow to a crawl. Which is why they can survive the harsh Arctic winters. They eat plants, seeds, insects and other small animals.

Be grateful, I tell myself. No. Arctic ground squirrels are not a moose or a wolf, but they are animals. 

Theo, surprisingly, takes another view. He's enthralled. He crouches down, with his eyes just above the bottom of the window. Stalking posture. Ready to pounce at any second. If the bus window wasn't there.

Theo Eats at Moose-Akas in Denali

 I blame myself. I've wanted to visit Denali National Park since I was a kid and now finally we're going. I've been talking about it and dreaming about it--the beautiful scenery and the animals we're going to see. Theo listens to every word, salivating at the mere mention of a wilderness area where animals abound . . . or so we both think.

In a nutshell, Denali is all and nothing like I think it's going to be. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Denali is not like your neighborhood park. You cannot just decide one day to go for a walk, put on your sneakers and you're there. It's an experience that takes planning and lots of traveling.  

First, it's the getting there (when you're inAlaska) which includes the traveling by road, awe-struck by the magnificent scenery (and we're not even in the park yet.)

And the deciding to stay at the premier resort--the Grande Denali Lodge, which is all part of the experience.

And deciding to hike around a bit outside the park:

And then deciding to eat our first dinner at Moose-Akas, a quirky restaurant, named by weirdly combining Moose (because we're in Alaska) and Moussaka (a famous Mediterranean lasagne-type dish made with eggplant and meat). 

 The chef, Michael Waring, was born in Guam but learned to cook in Serbia. His assistant Maya (his chief operator) and Nicki (part waitress and storyteller) make up the team. We arrive, and they all introduce themselves as if they're distant relatives and we're coming to their house for dinner.

That's the atmosphere. Theo wants to know why there's a bicycle hanging from the ceiling inside? I want to know why there are  grapes hanging from the ceiling in the outside terrace? It is an eclectic place with references to Serbian culture.

 Michael comes out and explains the menu himself. Dan orders the moussaka (made with potaoes not eggplant) and I order the Sarma (stuffed cabbage that is heads and tails above the usual Greek or Polish version.) For appetizers, we order the mixed platter which includes a salad made with potatoes, carrots, peas and pickles.

The food is delicious. The portions are bigger than usual. The prices are reasonable. You make reservations by email (weeks in advance) and basically have to accept the time allotted to you--only a few groups of people at a time. During the meal, Michael comes out and talks about the food--his inspiration for creating each dish, his mentorship with Maya's Serbian grandmother.

Gosh. He doesn't even seem to mind Theo who is basically sniffing the entire place, as if he's making a plan in his head to recreate it when he gets home. He also wanders over and nibbles at our dinner. Do cats like moussaka? Theo, the gangster cat, seems to. And he really likes the ice cream for dessert.

The restaurant is about three miles from the Lodge. We finish later than the hours posted for the shuttle but a wonderful older guy (who works at the lodge) in a tiny van arrives when we finish eating and takes us back to the lodge. He tells us his life story and spends most of the ride convincing us that a heated garage is the most important thing when buying a house in Alaska. 

We haven't even made it into the park yet so stay tuned.

Theo Visits a Railroad Museum

 Most people know that Alaska is a sparsely populated state. You can ride for miles and see more tractors than people. 

After we leave Fairbanks, we decide to stop in Nenana, a small town with about one thousand people total. Its claim to fame: it can offer a "remote experience" and, of course, a railroad museum that focuses on the history of Alaskan railroad.

Nenana's Main Street has a few houses, a grocery store that looks more like a larger than average convenience store and the railroad museum. In the day that's how people came to and left this town--by railroad. In fact, this museum, is a used to be depot.

How do you explain a place like this to Theo? The town sits on the Nenana River (considered to be the interior of Alaska). No animals. Only plenty of opportunities to sniff the bygone past. That's why I want to be here. I love history. I love imagining how life used to be a hundred or more years ago. Theo . . . not so much. 

We hightail it over to the museum, a small green planked building with white trim. As you might expect as you walk through the doors, you're immediately transported to a world that doesn't exist anymore. A bustling railroad depot has been preserved for the few tourists that wander in. 

"Theo, imagine. There used to be scores of people coming in with their luggage. You bought your ticket here for the train . . ."

For a second Theo looks more interested than he should be. He seems to think that's why we're here now. To buy a ticket and leave. To get out of town.

"Of course, the depot is a museum now." 

His momentary excitement fades.

Quickly I reframe the experience. "But there's plenty to sniff, and then we'll get you some snacks."

 I put him down and let him wander around. 

There's a ticket window. An office area behind wider than wide bars with desks and an old fashioned typewriter. 

And there's a museum.

Theo is in the corner sniffing whatever. Dan and I go into the back "museum space." It's what you would expect--old newspaper stories preserved on the wall, photos of life the way it used to be--snow sleds being pulled by dogs.

We come back to the front and casually I look around. Theo has got to be somewhere. But he seems to have completely disappeared. I don't panic. I've learned my lesson. In fact, I think with a small laugh, maybe he did buy a ticket and is sitting on some imaginary train outside on the tracks. 

Dan spots him first. He's jumped up on the ticket counter desk. Not buying a ticket. Oh, no. He's sniffing the small cubbies . . . we grab him.

"Time for snacks."

Finally, we wander over to the "grocery store" for the snacks.

Could I have ever lived in a town like this? It's quaint but so isolated. 

But, later as we're leaving I begin to glimpse the town's allure. The scenery is striking. The quiet is profound (except for Theo smacking his lips.)  And I begin to understand how someone could live here.  

Theo, on the other hand, has a more than serious look on his face. "Where to next?" he wants to know.

Denali National Park. And animals. Yippee!!!

Theo and Animals of a Different Kind

 If you're a regular follower of Hot Blogging with Chuck, you know all about Theo. This gangster cat loves snacks, animals and sniffing everything. We know this, too, and are not above using schemes to lure Theo where we want him to go.

I say the word "museum," and Theo shakes his head. I say the word "animal" and Theo agrees.

We visit the Museum of the North in Fairbanks, Alaska. This place is amazing for not having one live animal on the premises. But if you want an encapsulated view of Alaska and all its wildlife, this is the place to dip your toe in. Theo is in his glory . . .

First, we see the Alaskan dinosaur. Of course, all we have are the bones, but it is enough to show you how big they were . . . back in the day.

We're impressed  but then we see the dinosaur of all dinosaurs. Notice Dan on the side to see how big this dinosaur really is:

Then we have (and this is just a sampling) of some of the animals who live in Alaska. Stuffed animals. Which is cool because you can get really close and see them.

This museum goes one step further and showcases gigantic displays of sandpipers in their native habitat. All re-creations, of course, but they're magnificent.

There's a display of water animals: ducks, geese and swans and an entire slew of animals I've never heard of, part of the same family:

Finally we stumble upon some teeth of Ice-Age mammals. We immediately think of the Gold Sisters and the hundreds of pre-historic artifacts they uncovered and displayed in the geodesic dome on regular shelves. This museum has two sets of teeth only. Still the size is impressive compared to human teeth. 

Theo looks up at me. 

"Yes, you can sniff them." 

Keep in mind this is a ten minute operation as he sniffs and sniffs. If cats could smile, his would be a mile wide. 

Usually I'm telling him: "Think of this like watching TV." He loves to jump up and perch in front of the TV, watching it up close and personal--especially anything to do with nature. This time there's no glass to separate him from the teeth.

Okay, so we continue through the museum and I can't resist capturing the kayak that Alaskans use to go seal hunting. It is bigger than you imagine. 

Theo asks, "Where are the animals?"

"One track mind," I think but don't say.

 Finally, we reach the clothing exhibits. How do you dress to stay warm in frigid temperatures, especially before there was central heating--parkas and boots and hoods. 

 

Again, "Where are the animals?" Theo meows.

Again, I shake my head in disbelief.

"Well, what do you think, Theo? Did you like it?" We're back where we started, near the entrance, about to leave. 

Theo has one request. He wants to see the . . . I expect he'll say dinosaurs or that lovely stuffed eagle that we saw . . . but, no, he wants to see the sandpiper exhibit. Again. Go figure.

Theo and the Trans-Atlantic Pipeline

 I have no interest in seeing the Trans-Atlantic Pipeline. I know little about it and could care less how oil makes its way around the world, or for that matter how gas makes it's way into the local gas station. 

But, we're nearby. And Theo, for some unexplained reason, wants to see it. Or part of it.

"Theo, we're talking about miles and miles and miles and miles of pipeline . . ." I take a breath. "If we go, we're only going to see a little bit of it."

He meows plaintively. As if his life depends upon our decision. I point to the sign that is hanging off the pipes and read it out loud: "Please don't climb on the pipeline." 

Theo is not amused. He looks up. 

"I know. I know." He has no intention of climbing on this massive steel structure. I think he wants to sniff it.

I call out, "How about a snack?" to cause a distraction.

It doesn't work. 

The Trans-Atlantic Pipeline is an 800 mile, four foot in diameter pipeline that moves crude oil from the Proudhon Bay to Valdez, Alaska. It took three years to complete and cost eight billion dollars. It was built over some of the most rugged Alaskan terrain (75% permafrost). It transports about 3.5% of all US oil production. There is also stuff inside the pipes. How do I know this? I googled it. 

Dan is impressed. Theo isn't.

I pull Dan aside. "So why do you think he wants to see it?"

Dan laughs. "You know why. He wants to sniff it."

When you travel with a curious gangster style cat, you never know what his motivations are. And we have to play fair. He goes where we want to go--gold panning. We go where he wants to go--pipelines.

Alright. Alright. 

I have to eat my words. Other people are there looking at it. The pipeline itself is massive. How they built it is a remarkable story. I look at it with renewed respect. And actually stop to read all the facts on giant placards near the pipeline. 

I'm impressed with all the challenges they faced. The pipeline crosses three active faults, it navigates around mountain ranges, manages extreme sub-zero temperatures, and over 400 miles of pipeline are elevated above ground so the hot oil won't melt the permafrost underneath it. 

There's only one problem. The pipeline is high above us. Theo is on the ground. 

I think he imagines he could jump on top. We both look up. Theo looks up. 

"I'm sorry. But this is the access point. And as you can see . . . "

When he wants to look sad, he can pull it off--an Academy Award performance.

Dan is not to be deterred. "Come here, big guy."

Before Theo knows it, he's high into the air, near the pipeline. Dan has lifted him up over his head, close enough so his nose can touch the pipeline.

"Sniff, buddy, sniff."

And now everyone is happy. 

Theo, Ice Age Fossils and Gold-Part 2

 We're still at Gold Daughters and have wandered to other side of the place with the geodesic dome in the distance.

Gold. Who doesn't want a pocket full of gold? Who hasn't heard the stories of settlers going west in search of gold? And, maybe, just maybe, you've tried your hand at panning for gold.

Gold Daughters boast that there's gold in these there hills. Actually, they don't talk that way at all. They're two rather sophisticated ladies who know they have gold on their land. And they're making money off of that fact.

People can arrive, get a quick lesson on how to pan for gold and then pay to do just that---swirl some muck in your pan with just the right amount of water and at the right angle--because they'll tell you that gold weighs more than dirt and will sink to the bottom of your pan. Tiny flecks of gold. 

Really?

Theo has no interest in gold. He'd rather mooch around outside--even though it has begun to drizzle--and sniff his way around while Dan and I sit at a table and pan for gold. 

The motivating story is that a guy showed up a while back, paid for his time and walked away with about $200,000 worth of gold. It didn't happen all at once. I think he stayed about a week and really worked hard. 

Dan and I swirl and swirl. We see nothing in the bottom of our pan. One of the Gold daughters comes over and helps. She tilts the pan a little, adds some more water and then when we whoosh away the dirt, we see something.

It's the tiniest bit of something you can possibly see. If you don't do it right, you'll swish that gold right out of your pan. She helps us not do anything that stupid. At the end of it all, we put our gold specks together and empty them into a plastic container. 

Our plan is to take the precious gold home and leave it on our bedroom dresser. For a rainy day. Or stare at it. Remember. 

Meanwhile, Theo is soaked to the bone. He's had enough. 

"Don't ask," I warn him. 

He tilts his head in that enquiring and endearing way he has.

I hold up the container. Cats have great far eyesight and lousy close up vision. I have to hold the container in the air as he looks at it from a distance.

"The gold is in the bottom of the container," I explain.

He squints.

"Nevermind."

His paws are dirty. His fur is drenched. But he's not complaining. And he's not particularly interested in the gold. 

"Theo, look at you," Dan says.

"I think he had a bit too much fun," I add.

Dan laughs. But all Theo can do is give us the evil eye while we wrap him in a towel to dry off. 

Later, of course, once we're home with our plastic container of gold safely on our dresser . . .

we discover Theo with the container under his nose sniffing. Really?

Typical for a gangster cat to want to cash in on our gold!