Booyeah Summer Break

School year (number four!) ended last Thursday.  It snowed.  Friday was a work day - the official last day for me - and it snowed some more.  Saturday, the official first day of summer and we decided to go goose hunting.  It is too strange to explain why it wasn't quite a success.

Ahhh...summer break.  Finally.

The south hill.

Ready for the zombie apocalypse

 It is officially spring (according to the calendar) so the geese should be returning.  They've been slowly making their way back, but the larger migration has yet to start.  I blame it on the lack of open water.  All of the ponds around Tununak are still covered in ice.  Snow blankets most of the tundra.  The river ice is still in place.  The sea ice is still anchored to the shore.  It's weird.  First day of summer, and it's below freezing.

Kurt guarding

All of these disadvantages didn't stop Kurt from shooting the solo goose flying overhead.  We'd posted up on the hill waiting for geese to fly over us.  Boring, cold, but not so bad when you lay back on the frozen tundra.  The lonely bird flew over us once, too high for a shot, when Victor began calling.  The sad, lonely bird, thinking his homies were calling him in banked wide and began his descent.  He came back around when - Bang!

Stalking ptarmigan

We sat, staring up, trying to determine if he hit it.  Then trying to determine if it was coming down.  Then we were up running.  The dead bird landed within three feet of where we were sitting, I mean guarding.  Most terrifying thing in the world to see a bird fall out of the sky.

We ended the day with two ptarmigan, a goose, and a brush with falling death.  Not the worst start to summer break.

Victor, Kurt, Danny, two ptarmigan, and one goose.

I now like ice fishing.

The first time I went ice fishing I fell in a hole.  As a little kid with a little foot I was able to fall in the little hole.  It was cold and miserable, and on top of all that I don't remember catching anything resembling a fish.  Maybe I caught a cold.  Who knows?  That was about twenty-five years ago.  I can now say that my opinion on the activity has changed.

A little more than nine miles round trip.

My change of heart happened three weeks ago.  Up for something out the ordinary, we (Angie, Kurt, Neal, and myself) decided to go ice fishing.  The fabled location was a ways away.  Kurt and Neal had made an attempt to find the spot an earlier weekend with no luck.  In preparation for this attempt I asked the other high school teacher how to get there.  She sketched out a quick map on my whiteboard.  "Okay, got it," I said.  Armed with this knowledge we now felt ready to go.  We discussed our plan, and Kurt had heard it was shorter to go over the hill, we set out.

Kurt shoulda worn cleats.  Oh well.  Next time.

 We left the BIA in the early afternoon.  The sun was out, blasting the way.  As our journey up the hill started I was instantly pleased with my last minute decision to wear my ice cleats.  Angie had hers on as well.  Neal and Kurt opted to venture forth without.  What had appeared as nice soft snow turned out to be nice soft snow, except under that layer was a much trickier layer of ice.  The nice soft snow did nothing but make the ice even more slippery.  Combined with the steep incline of the hill and the sled carrying our fishing gear, the hike up the hill took a long time.  About half way up, after both Neal and Kurt had stumbled and fallen a number of times apiece, the clouds rolled in.  The wisdom of our route was in question.  But we were invested in the adventure by this time.  There would be no turning around.

Slightly reminiscent of an arctic exploratory team

As we neared the summit, Angie and I were out in front.  We climbed the last bit and as we came even with the top of the hill we came face to face with a herd of musk ox.  Probably fifty adults and a number of juveniles stood no more than one hundred feet from us.  The wind had been coming from the north - they had not been able to smell us approach.  We dropped to the ground, whispering to Neal and Kurt to hurry up.  Before they made it up to us the herd figured us out and began moving away to stage their defensive positions.  Musk ox, being gigantic animals, are not the bravest of creatures.  I have heard that they will charge, but most of the time all I've seen them do is line up, shoulder to shoulder in a display of power.  They are mighty intimidating, but after sizing us up for a while and watching us slowly get closer they must have recognized our true power.  I am still trying to figure out what our true power was, but they took off to the North.  We continued to follow their retreat as it was in the direction of our fishing spot.

Muskox.

Muskox.  Chillin'.

Rare blue sky moments are fantastic.

 The hill we were crossing, actually the core of an ancient volcano, rises maybe one thousand feet above the village.  The top is a large flat area offering views in all directions.  From there we could just barely make out where we were going.  It was a long ways away without a very clear line down.  We continued along the ridge looking for the easiest way down.  After deciding that using the sled to bomb the hill was probably not the best idea we opted for sliding down on our feet and butts.  Slower than sledding (we ghost rode that whip), it was much more fun that climbing the hill.  Our descent took us to about one hundred feet above the sea – to the edge of a rocky cliff that falls to meet the shore.  We would have to walk along the cliff until we found a drainage chute to descend.  A little further on we came across a baby musk ox, completely alone.  Angie and I left Neal and Kurt at this point and we descended down a chute to the ocean below.  Kurt and Neal got much closer to the baby than I thought would have been possible.  Kind of a bummer to miss that.  Oh well.

The baby I missed.

But I did get first tracks in the backcountry.

We arrived at the old fishing hole as two others were packing up to return to the village.  They'd had luck catching fish so we decided to get to work.  The spot we were at was on sea ice near the shore where a stream draining the hills we'd been climbing on emptied into the ocean.  This assured that open water was available below the sea ice and fisherpeople before us has chipped out holes to catch the fish. 

You just watch for a fish - then yank!

There are two primary methods to catching fish where we were.  Dip netting and jigging.  Nets may be the fastest method but we didn't have one.  The traditional manaq would have to do.  Basically what you have is a dowel with some fishing line connected to a hook.  The most basic fishing kit ever.  I actually felt overburdened with a reel on the ice fishing rod that I'd borrowed from another teacher.  No matter, the fish were there.  In a matter of speaking they were biting, but that's not completely accurate.  The method we used involves laying on the ice, sticking your face in the hole to block out the light so that you can see into the water.  I didn't believe that I would see anything at first, but as my eyes adjusted I was overwhelmed at the numbers of fish swirling about under the surface.  At this point all you do is lower you naked hook into the water, wait for a fish to approach it, and yank - snagging the fish through the lower jaw.  It was unbelievable.  We caught fish after fish like this.  Kurt had advised us to be content with the smaller guys - they fry up the best.  With this we were completely content pulling whatever fish came our way up and out of the water.  In about half an hour we'd caught about sixty fish between the four of us using three rods.  That's a little less that one fish per minute per person.  It was awesome.

One of sixty.

I know it looks ridiculous.

Our catch.

The walk back, however, was not so great.  After realizing that walking over ice covered mountains was more work than walking on ice covered oceans, we decided to take the coastal route back.  Longer?  Maybe.  Windier?  Absolutely.  But flatter and ultimately probably faster.  Our journey concluded, arriving wind- and sunburned, starving, and tired, about six hours later after covering a total of about nine and a half miles.  Quite the day. 

Epilogue:

We were too tired and hungry the night we returned to eat the fish we’d caught.  After giving away approximately half of the fish, we quickly cleaned them and put then in the refrigerator for the next night.

Filling two frying pans with oil we fried the little guys up.  Absolutely delicious.    

About 40 fish heads.

Fryin'

Batter fry assembly line.

Oh yeah.

So tasty.

Acquiring Skills For Life

I will leave Tununak one day, and when I do I will have collected the weirdest set of experiences.  For example, I have cooked the senior banquet for six seniors and their ten guests each.  I have run sound effects at a district-wide art performance.  I have help create high school student schedules.  But the most helpful thing, I'm sure, is perfecting the art of grocery shopping.  A never ending process, shopping for food has become some sort of weird obsession.

First off, remember that while there are two stores in town, the prices are exorbitant and the selection miserable.  So our shopping usually happens twice a year - once in the fall and again over winter break.

For the grocery nerds out there is our list.

Here's the basic plan.

1. Inventory what's on hand in our house.
2. Using that list and previous lists, begin making the current shopping list.
3. Separate it out into dry, shelf stable items; refrigerator; and frozen.  These will be coming from different locations.
4. Once separated, attempt to order as much as possible from Amazon.  With free shipping it often has some incredible deals. 
5. The refrigerator and frozen items, however, require far more thought.  After getting frustrated with the professional shoppers (commissioned shoppers in Anchorage) we decided to try it ourselves.  The process requires a number of coolers (three), some cooler bags (two), duct tape, ice packs, and a knife.  
6. Show up at the airport.  Thank Alaska Air for their liberal three bag free policy (when flying within the state of Alaska).  Slap the stickers on and board.  Pray that the village flight is not too full so that all of your coolers get to fly with you.
7. Unpack.  It's like Christmas.  Kind of.

Here's what are freezer looks like right now - stocked full for next school year.  

Mmm.  Frozen foods.

Angie did all the shopping.  Booyeah.

Sunday, July 1st - Amritsar

Cute, huh?

Not sure if I could ever get used to India.  Yesterday morning we left Dharamsala at around 7am.  We were headed to Amritsar in the western border state of Punjab.  We'd hired two cabs, one carrying six and ours carrying three.

The journey was billed as a 5-6 hour trip.  I don't know why I even think it will take that amount of time.  The variables involved in Indian travel are too numerous and random to mention.  Things that impacted our actual journey, however, included the following:

• The language barrier.  Our driver spoke very limited English.  We spoke very limited Hindi (actually about all I know is "sit down" and "repeat after me").  Combine this with the fact that the typical Indian response to a question posed in English is "yes" regardless of the whether or not the answer to the question is yes, or even whether or not the question is understood.
• Traffic.  At one point we were stopped for ten minutes for no apparent reason besides the fact that all of the cars in front of us were stopped.
• Tea breaks.  Fewer on this time around, but still too many considering the fact that it was over 100 degrees out.
• Random additional breaks.  Usually spontaneous bathroom breaks for the drivers on the side of the road.  But other times for driver conferences.  The reasons for these meetings are highlighted next.
• Detours.  Completely unmarked, and in reality optional, as some vehicles choose to continue along as if the road under construction was not have finished and partially paved.  And you can always just drive around the massive piles of dirt and rock used in road construction.
• Getting lost.  Our drivers got lost - twice.  We were driving from one giant city to another and they managed to get lost.  Not that I would have done any better, but I'm paying these people because they are experts.

So back to the beginning of the journey.  We left Dharamsala at about 7am.  Immdediately we began the descent.  Dh'sala is nestled in the foothills at around 1200m.  Amritsar is well under a few hundred meters.  We zipped along the winding mountain roads, our driver rarely taking heed of the helpful signs that showed up before many hairpin turn ("Do Not Dare!  Drive With Care!" and "Be Gentle On My Curves").  Reaching the bottom of the mountains was relief until we realized that the temperature had risen considerably.  The average 80 degree days of Dharamsala had given way what was sure to be Hellish.  Barely 9:00 and it was already well above 90 degrees.  Well, now is a great time to stop for tea and scrmuled egg.  Thank God its hygienic. 

From there we left Himachel Pradesh and entered Punjab in the heat and the traffic that is India.  Again, I became amazed that I was still alive.  What would be considered a close call in the US was becoming an hourly experience here.  Passing a truck in the wrong lane while oncoming traffic squeezes past in the exact same lane is no big deal.  Being nearly forced off the road when the car you are passing decides that it too would like to pass the vehicle in front of him scares the daylights out of me but doesn't even phase our driver.  And then there is the dodging - of spilled goods, pedestrians, bikes, rickshaws, horse drawn carts, potholes, washed out sections of road, etc, etc, etc.

After some time driving we stopped on a very small road in the middle of some rice field, lost I believe (we had left the main road due to some road construction then driven through some very small villages and side roads to end up with both drivers out of their cars conversing with the random person then turning around, retracing steps and repeating).  Reconstructing our journey up to this point it seems that to avoid some unexpected road construction we'd taken an impromptu detour.  We were now smack dab in the middle of a primitive farm community.  Women were rolling cow pies to dry on the walls of their yards.  A future source of fuel we reasoned.  The diversity in India is amazing.  I have to stop this post here for the sake of time.  But there is much more to come.   

Lost in the rice paddy.  I'd like to say incompetent, but they did end up getting us to Amritsar...

 

Thursday, June 28th - Dharamsala

Rumor has it that the monsoon is set to break today.  Not sure exactly what that means.  At the moment it's about 75, sunny with bubbling cumulus clouds to the north over the mountains.  Granted, this is what it was like yesterday.  Then at about 10:30 in the morning, in the middle of my volunteer placement, it began pouring.  The rain poured into the windows and through the open doors.  The assistant teacher attempted to combat the flood flowing across the floor with a grass broom but with little luck.  She gave up, instead deciding to shut the windows and door.

I know I haven't talked about my volunteer placement much - that post is coming up - but the daycare is little more than a concrete cube with metal windows and doors.  I started a list of the things that they don't have, but I am going to change it to a list of what they have.  About eight small tables, a red blanket, and a pair of burners to make lunch on.  That's pretty much it.  No electricity or running water.  No paper, books, coloring supplies, etc.  But more later.  The point here is that with the doors and windows closed, the daycare was pitch black.

So there I sat, in the middle of an Indian daycare, surrounded by twelve preschoolers as the rain fell.  In the dark, over the sound of rain drops falling a child screamed and come strange man entered the daycare and began arguing with an elder demanding his umbrella.  So much for doing the things we had planned.  Little of anything would be accomplished until the rains stopped, which could be a long time if this truly is the monsoon.
   

This is not from the same day, but it's what we got.

Wednesday, July 27th - Kangra Fort

Today we visited an ancient fort - Kangra Fort - with the CCS crew.  Entering, Angie and I rented some awesome little guided headphone sets.  Mine only spoke Hindi.  Bummer.  So I plugged my headphones into the second jack on Angie's set.  We were so cool!

Yep.  That's what I will look like in 20 years.  Angie can't wait!

It's old.

There is no way you could invade this place.

Tuesday, June 26th, 2012 - Dharamsala

Picnic. 

Sunday was dedicated to a picnic put on by the staff at CCS.  We cruised to a park about a forty-five minute drive from Dharamsala.  Down a windy road, next to a river was where we staged our picnic.  The weather was beatiful.  Sun shining down, a single shade tree to keep the sun off the food, and a wide open field for a game of cricket.  My time in New Zealand prepared my little for the game.  I don't seem to be destined to fame on the cricket field, but it was enjoyable to hit and run.  I still feel like I'm playing baseball the whole time, which isn't bad for me, but I think that all the cricket lovers of the world (the Kiwis, the Indians, I'm sure the British) bristle at the thought.  Oh well.

A home run!

Great form!

After the game we sat down to a delightful meal.  I don't think I'll ever get enough Indian food.  It is just too delicious.  Following the meal the CCS team insisted on taking a photograph of our group near the river.  "Pass us your cameras," they insisted.  "We'll take group shots."  Sounded like a good idea.  Little did we all know that an all out attack was coming.  Immediately following the last pictures we were attacked from all sides and tossed into the river.  So much for friendly photo ops.  Refreshing yes.  A little frightening yes.  No matter how open minded I try to be I can't get it out of my head.  The water here is unsafe to drink.  Tap water - the water that comes into your house will make you sick.  How safe can a river possibly be?  Well, days went by and I survived. 

Swimming.