The word "Alaska" conjures up wonderful images in people's minds. Images of panoramic natural beauty. Images of wildlife roaming freely. Images of mountains, rivers, glaciers, forests, and northern lights. Do these images capture the essence of Alaska? Absolutely, for if there is one defining truth about Alaska, it is that Alaska is one of the last wild places on earth.

Consider the following:
Alaska is larger than California, Texas, and Montana combined, and is one-fifth the size of the United States. Alaska has more wilderness acreage than all other states combined. The Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve is the largest national park in the U.S. (six times larger than Yellowstone).

Alaska is home to 17 of the 20 highest mountains in North America, including Denali (Mt. McKinley), at 20,320 feet the highest peak in North America. The national park that surrounds Denali is larger than the State of Massachusetts.

Alaska contains 3 million lakes and 3,000 rivers, including an 1,875 mile section of the Yukon River.

Alaska has 100,000 glaciers, some larger than entire states.

Alaska has more eagles than all other states combined, and the largest number of grizzly, black, and polar bears, moose, caribou, and wolves.

What's wonderful about the Alaskan outdoors is that you can control the extent of your experience with it. It has the capacity to satisfy those who seek a full and active immersion, those who simply want to stand back and appreciate it from afar, and everyone in between.

Alaska has long been a magnet for unbalanced souls, often outfitted with little more than innocence and desire, who hope to find their footing in the unsullied enormity of the "Last Frontier".

The Alaskan bush, continues to be, a harsh environment and in reality cares nothing for hope and longing as is evident by more than a few dreamers who have met with predictably unpleasant ends.

The ordeal(s) of many unfortunate wilderness wanderers soundly advises us to temper our dreams with knowledge and to respect the wilderness rather than attempting to conquer it.

I suspect that we need to remind ourselves that the bush is not a place to lose ourselves in order to find ourselves. There is a strong need to recognize what it really means to be human in the context of wild spaces far larger than we are.

If the real truth was known and could be told, just how many of us have wondered our own outbacks, clearly without a death wish but naively oblivious to ever present wilderness dangers. But then again, God loves a fool, and most of us have survived our recklessness.

I, too, am greatful to have successfully made it through my own youthful attempts to peer over the edge and in solving life's riddles in a single bound.

Forever more, there are those among us who for what ever reasons, foster most notably a certain dreaminess, read too much Nietzsche, mistake passion for insight, lack a paucity of common sense, and function according to an obscure gap-ridden logic.

There maybe those of us who believe that in an attempt to conquer nature's challenges (like the sweep of a magic wand) all would be fixed within our lives. In the end, these wilderness accomplishments change almost nothing.

Within the Alaskan bush, we come not only to appreciate, however, that the cathedrals of Alaska's wildlands make poor receptacles for dreams and unprepared dreamers.

These dreams and desires stirred by many reasons sometime lack a degree of intellect and altruistic learnings coupled with grand intensity, heedlessness and maybe a touch of agitation of the soul.

And just maybe, sometimes, we as wilderness wanderers upon completing one of natures challenges/epic deeds, think that we have put our demons to rest, but in reality have only succeeded in merely agitation to them.

If there is a morale to this story, I would like to think that to venture forth into unfamiliar environments ill-prepared in intellect, experience, or equipment and to immediately immerse oneself in subsistance is to court disaster.

The ferocity of the weather within the high country can be a bit trying at times as it matches the magnitude of the open spaces.

Because the "old timers" spent so much time in the outdoors fighting against the elements, they ultimately developed a weather language of all their own. The following is a brief glossary of some sayings that I have heard most of my life within the mountain passes of life.

Blue Whistler: A violent gale wind
Cayuse Wind: A cold east wind
Chinook Wind: A warm wind here in the northwest from the Japan current that tends to melt snow even in mid-winter.
Cow Skinner: A severe winter storm
Fence Lifter: A very heavy rain
Gully Washer: A hard rain
Hell Wind: A tornado like wind
Lay The Dust: A light sprinkle of rain
Norther: A driving rain from the North
Silver Thaw: A rain that freezes as it hits the ground
Squaw Wind: Light wind from the Yolly Bolly

So your planning on packing in with a professional packer on horseback so here are a few uspoken rules of friendly advise. During my juvenile days, I did alot of walking for violating these few golden rules while the others rode.. nothin slow about me!!

Rule #1: Don't argue with the wrangler
Rule #2: Listen & Learn
Rule #3: Stay on the trail
Rule #4: Don't gallop past horses moving at a slower gait
Rule #5: Respect nature

Probably the most important rule of all:
Rule#6: Don't criticize the cook
My Old man had a saying, "if you don't like the food, wait five minutes."

Many of the coastal mountain and river communities celebrate the "rites of spring" with a good old Rocky Mountain Oyster Fry.

Where do these mountain oysters come from? The branding corral. Oyster is usually a euphemism for a calf testicle. You see, just before they're branded, male calves are dehorned, vaccinated, and castrated. With the flick of a sharp knife they are turned into "steers" rather than bulls.

I vividly remember the meal time after spring round-up, when everyone eats fried calf testicles, washed down with draft beer. Those were the days.

The harvesting of these mountain oysters was a little dustier than the ocean kind if ya get my drift. Once the calf has been roped and brought to the branding fire (propane fueled), my old man would slice off the tip of the scrotum (which is saved to quickly count how many steers were branded), pulls out both testicles, and cuts them off. The testicles were usually kept in a sawed off milk carton, to be cleaned and served later in the delicacy known as cow fries or Rocky Mountain Oysters. I can remember my old man throwing one testicle in the carton and the other to the awaiting cow dogs who were anxiously awaiting such a delicious treat.

Later, the oysters were washed in cold water and then soaked in buttermilk, coated with butter, and deep fried. That's the basic recipe. But each fanactic has his own carefully guarded recipe that is dusted off once a year.

Some of us claimed we loved the taste of calf fries. I just gulped and grinned. I looked at it as a wranglers fertility rite.

These three (3) axioms are:
1.) Be Prepared
2.) Don't hurry yourself into making a mistake
3.) Never allow perspiration to pave the path to hypothermia

Just basic stuff, but for the last 30 years I have learned by my mistakes in the wilderness, most of the time it turned out to be no-big-deal but a few times I literally came within a heartbeat from deaths door.

Please allow me to share some of my thoughts with you on some of the basics that have worked well for my family and I within the wilderness.
a.) While backpacking alone (which I do almost on half of my wilderness excursions), I always leave a detailed note at camp, in the car and with family. I also make visual natural markers where I leave an established trail (for a starting point of search and rescue teams should I fail to return).

b.) My brother and I (following the teachings of our father), have worked out a system of "wilderness mailboxes" where we can leave waterproof notes for each other in case there's a drastic change of plans.

Your legs are your ticket to safety when you hunt and prospect alone as I have done a large part of my adult life. Throughout my juvenile years, my father's wilderness survival teachings have always stayed with me. Such as in remembering the three (3) points of purchase in steep and unfamiliar territory:

1-3) Never lift a leg or reach out with your hand to climb the next yard until all your other limbs have a firm hold. Simple isn't it.

Remember a careless mistake that hobbles a knee or ankle can prove fatal to a solitary party.

Remember, too, that a person who is debilitated looses body warmth more quickly than someone who can walk, and is consequently at greater risk for hypothermia.

My brother and I carry vials of Tylenol with codine and a vial of morphine for the worst contingency. If a person suffers a bad break and he or she suspects that the only hope for survival is to crawl or hobble to a road or trail, the medication may dull the pain enough to enable travel.

Use Extreme Caution: Our medication is prescribed and we are both professionally trained in the use of the "carried medications". This medication IS NOT for everyone and is designated for use as a life and death situation dictates.

Misuse Of Medication (especially within the wilderness theater) could possibly do more harm than good.

It goes without saying that sound knowledge of map and compass navigation and basic survival techniques are crucial for the well being of anyone who plans to make a solo trip into the wilderness. Always carry a whistle and be familiar with signaling techniques in case you find yourself in need of help.

I cannot stress the importance of one being knowledgeable in the proper universal signaling techniques. The improper use of proper signals resulted in a young man starving to death in the bush due to improper hand signals given to an overhead State Trooper SAR aircraft. I will cover universal signaling techniques under a seperate heading within this web-site.

Last June (1998), a musky was discovered dead and removed from Hills Creek Lake in Pennsylvania. The musky measured a hefty 50 inches. The most incredible thing, though, was its last meal, which likely killed it.

A largemouth bass of 23 inches and approximately 7 lbs. estimated weight was lodged in the musky's stomach. I guess there is no such thing as "too big" for a musky bait.

The above was reported by Park Naturalist James Mucci.

I left the cabin around six a.m. in order to make my way down into the Mad River Gorge of Humboldt County. The fall day grew warm as I walked and fished. By late morning, a bright sun blazed over the hardwood and douglas fir canopy.

I had already caught and released several wild rainbow trout. It was now time to make my way back down the rivers bank to our trail head. My brother had gone down stream to try his luck and we had made plans to meet back at the trail head for a late afternoon lunch of sardines and crackers.

The Mad River Gorge area is quite remote and it is a rarity that we ever met or even saw signs of other human intervention. Mad River within this section is truely wild, with deep dark holes where the steelhead like to rest during the warm fall days and ample rambling fast areas in which to challenge ones fly fishing capabilities.

I had already broken my rod down, while steping out at a relatively fast pace in anticipation of meeting up with my brother and enjoying lunch beneath the big fir that marked our trail head. As I walked I savored the pleasant day that had unfolded before me, the chattering of the California gray squirrels that scolded me almost from first light, the limegreen wild ferns on the riverbank and hillside hollows, the soft cushiony feel of pine needles underfoot...

As usual I found myself daydreaming, away from the noise of life and harmonizing with nature. Perhaps the open trail along the river bank gave me a false sense of security. Regardless, I paused in mid step with the hair on the back of my neck standing full tilt. Looking down I saw a rather large timber rattlesnake coiled only a few inches from my right ankle. So close that I could hve reached down and touched it with my fingertips.

Rattlesnakes are not new to me in any sense. I have captured several hundred rattlesnakes for scientific study in my early years under strict supervision and professional guidenance, but this was unorchestrated to say the least.

I froze in my boots, of which one is still in mid-air and elevated within inches of the rattlers head.

The reptiles lethal head was poised and ready to strike. The high pitched sizzling song of warning rattles mesmerizes and terrifies. The sound somehow even scarier than the sight.

The snake was a solid five feet long and as thick as my wrist at mid length, tapering to a slender neck and small head. I stood motionless, scared to the bone. But beneath the fear, a strange calm took over. "I've been here before," my subconsious uttered to my conscious.

I somehow knew that the snake probably would not strike. It layed poised and ready, and I told myself that the posture was defensive. I took one excruciating step backward. My movement so deliberate as to seem no movement at all. Then another step, almost as slowly. And then one more, and I was out of range.

This reptile was exhibiting pure survival. From the tip of its warning rattles to the ends of the needle point fangs, nothing seemed wasted in the musculature between. The rattler relaxed its coil and lowered its head, and I moved laterally, away from the stream and the snake.

This was indeed a close call within natures theater. Another close call due to my lack of attention to natures warnings. As I made my way down the remaining four miles to the trailhead, I thought about how fortunate my escape had been. I shivered at the thought and reassembled my flyrod for the remaining passage home. What were the chances of encountering a second rattler on the warm fall afternoon?

I told myself, "Almost no one dies from a timber rattler bite these days," but my heart did not seem to hear that. I breathed deeply with relief.

Upon reaching the trailhead, my brother waiting anxiously for the can of sardines that I was carrying, said to me, "My Gosh, what happened to you?"

The moral of this story is not one of rattlesnakes but our lack of attention within the wilderness areas of todays world can possibly lead to serious injury and heartache.

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