Bears in the Driveway

At the Alaska Bar

I haven’t blogged in a while. But, this has nothing at all to do with laziness. Juneau, Alaska, with it’s jagged mountain peaks, quaint and cozy downtown area and welcoming populace forces you to be out and busy. All the time.

Plus, this time of year, the sun is rising at 5:30 AM and not setting until well after eight (it'll be light for about eighteen hours a day, at peak daylight). Come home from a long day of work, and still have the opportunity to take the dogs for a walk through the neighborhood, or down to Sandy Beach, which is only two miles away.

When I lived in Portland, I didn’t hike. We didn’t hike. We wanted to, but, we never did. It seemed too difficult. Here, nothing seems too difficult. I can’t explain it and there’s probly no logical reason for it. I still have financial obligations, I still have a 45 plus hour per week job, I still a wife and a family to take care of. But, it’s just… easier.

And that ease defies logic. Sure, there’s no such thing as a traffic jam, but there’s also no such thing as overnight mail (unless you want have the package shipped to or from by plane), groceries arrive once a week by ferry and, by Sunday, the pickins are slim… even at Costco, the internet has plenty of days where it is spotty, and the weather is extreme. Nothing about living here in Juneau should be easy. But, it is. For us. Maybe it’s just the change we needed in our lives.

Fish Creek

One of our favorite shows before we moved here was Northern Exposure. Now that we live here, we are re-watching the show and are amazed by the way it captures the quirky nature of the people, the way it captures the scenic beauty (even though the show was actually filmed in Washington State), and just… it feels like watching our friends and neighbors. We say this to each other all the time.

We are like the less whiny version of Joel Fleischman.

Sandy Beach

Fish Creek

You see, we didn’t just move from one state to another, we moved from one culture to another. Here, we have to watch out for crows the size of a small dog, for Porcupines sleeping in trees, bald eagles (which are everywhere! The main drag through town, Egan, has a bald eagle or two perched atop every street sign) looking for easy meals in the form of house cats and small dogs, for nasty little red squirrels, the overly aggressive cousins of the grey squirrels inhabiting Portland and the rest of the Northwest.

And bears. The bears are awake now.

About a week or so ago, I was letting the little dog out to go to the bathroom. This was about 9:30 in the evening. As I was letting her out, the upstairs neighbor (we are the downstairs unit of what is essentially a duplex) said to me “Good evening. There’s a bear outside in the driveway.”

A bear in the driveway. That’s not something you hear or experience every day in Portland. Or, really, ever.

No sooner had he said this then both the dogs bolted from the comfort and safety of the living room and up to the gate, where they proceeded to bark their heads off. I grabbed my camera and ran to the gate, but no bear. Not anymore. Not even a flash.

I was exhilarated and disappointed. I wanted to see my bear!

But I knew he’d be back. Bears patrol an area in search of food and, this time year, fresh out of hibernation, they are hungry and cranky.

Fish Creek

In Portland, we thought nothing of walking the dogs after dark. So, last night, just after sunset, the little one made her way to the gate, asking for a walk. This is also new behavior for her. She seemed indifferent to walks in Portland. So, we leashed her up, along with her big sissy and made our way out the street… and a voice was telling me to be alert.

Sure enough, about five minutes into our walk, I look back and see a dark shadow lumbering about fifty yards behind us. It was clear the shadow had come from our driveway, which is part of his nightly patrol. I said to Andrea, “There’s a bear.” And I pointed. She couldn’t see it. Neither could I. 

This was disconcerting, especially considering that the bear was between our house and us. We would have to go past it in order to get home.

Sandy Beach

Then, I saw it again, lumbering, very much like a dog. Closer now. Within 30 yards. There was no doubt. This was a black bear. Perhaps a juvenile, about five feet in height. Not huge, but certainly big enough to do some damage.

Fish Creek

Bella, the big dog, starts going ballistic, barking like mad. Andrea’s bear survival training kicked in as she starts waving her arms and stomping her feet and yelling “I’m a bear!” and the bear once again disappears, this time up the hill.

Losing sight of a bear when you are out in the open, with no weapons of any kind, is not one my list of things to do again.

Sandy Beach

Sandy Beach

But, being fish out of water, we don’t know what to do. So, we call our landlord. This made sense at the time. He assured us that most black bears are afraid of people and want nothing to do with them. Yes, I’m thinking, tell that to the guy who had his eye yanked out of his socket by a black bear here in Juneau last year. Small comfort. “We always walk around with bear belts and bear sprays” he said to me. Great advice. Not helpful at the moment.

Fish Creek

But, it felt comforting to have someone on the phone with us. And, we walked our way back to our place, my eyes glued to the hill, Andrea making as much noise and possible.

And, we were home. Safe and sound.

We had been waiting for a bear story. Now we had one. It’s just too bad I didn’t have a chance to take a picture. But don’t worry. There will be more chances. Of this, I am certain. 

Oh, also, no more dog walks in the dark. Lesson learned.

Alaska, my muse

Just outside Thane, about a mile from downtown Juneau. That's downtown Douglas on Douglas Island. 

I know that I haven’t updated this blog in a while, but that’s not because I have grown bored with it. It’s not because I stopped being creative. In fact, quite the opposite. If you are a naturally creative person, as I am, you cannot live in Juneau and NOT create. It’s like breathing. It just happens. You don’t have to try.

I haven’t updated because my creativity has kept me to busy to do so.

I’ve always been a writer (poetry, short stories, failed attempts at novels/screenplays) but music is my first love. My dad is and was a professional musician so, naturally that was my bent too. I played in bands all through high school and throughout my twenties. I recorded half a dozen albums, went on half a dozen west coast tours and, never had much success, and only sporadic bouts of fun.  Making music, in a band, is, difficult. Egos, long road trips, very little financial payoff: All of these factors contribute to a difficult life style.

And, I have had many friendships end or become permanently strained as a result of being in bands. So, in 2010, about a month before my wedding, I quit my last band, and swore off music. I even wrote a poem about it:

Flailing Empty Capillaries

You were there from birth,

passed down from father to son,

waltzing through my veins, My muse.

We embraced, in perfect pitch,

a song, and then I found

another

and I left you.

Still I see you

tattooed on my wrists. Thick

black lines, a G

and an F. Permanent,

my former muse, over my veins,

under my skin,

a perpetual reminder.

I stare at you, remembering.

Still wanting

to create with you. After all,

you are still in my blood,

but you’re left my heart.

Empty capillaries flail

like strings waiting to be plucked,

longing to be played once again,

but I’ve forgotten the tune.

The irony of that poem is that one my “Permanent markings,” the G (a reference to the G or Bass clef) has since been covered by a feather quill and ink, which I had published shortly after I published my first book. Yet, tattoos never go totally away. If I look closely, I can see it through the ink blot. It reminds me of my roots. It reminds of, perhaps, my first love.

But, I made this trek to Alaska, selling all of my musical equipment, with the exception of my Blues Harmonicas. I haven’t played a guitar for at least a year. I sing, I sing a lot (in the shower, at home, at the karaoke bar), but, really, the creative side of me musically was dormant, perhaps in danger of dying.

Enter: Alaska. My muse, all of my muses—writing, drawing, musically—has/have been reawakened. It’s glorious! I a no longer tormented by unwritten ideas, I am no longer bothered by the expression trying to get out and be expressed. So, I embarked on something I have never done before: Solo music.

Under the name The Proper English, I have composed two songs completely using my IPhone. One is a middle eastern inspired, dance/trance piece called “Pipa Longstocking” (the Pipa being a Chinese instrument, which makes up the lead instrument in the tune). The second is a spoken word piece called “Open Air West Side Market on the First Day off Spring.”  Set to, what I like to call, Youth Group altar call music. The poem, first published in an anthology poetry collection about Portland, Oregon ironically enough, is a tribute/mockery of my home town.

I don’t know if they’re any good, these songs. I have never ventured being a solo artist before. I have never created music without a band to hide behind. Even my first band, Five Minutes Cooler, where I was lead vocalist and wrote most of the songs, I still had two or three bandmates (the band fluctuated from a trio to a quartet throughout its four-year career) to hide behind.

But, something about Alaska, coupled with approaching middle age and with it supreme confidence, gave me the strength to write these songs and share them with the public. I hope there’s more. One thing I know for sure, though: Living in Alaska has revived my muse. In every form that she takes.

Checking for Bears

View from our first hike

We have one of those sunrise alarm clocks. Despite the pervasive and glorious darkness of the nights here, this alarm allows us to wake up with an artificial sunlight the helps ease the apparent gloom that can set in up here. I like the darkness, which is one of the reasons that I moved here and, with the snow on the ground, it’s really not that dark anyway.

The previous tenants left the gate open one night and woke up to a bear slumbering in the backyard. Knowing this, we have a morning ritual that includes one of us venturing to the backyard and doing a quick search for bears before letting the dogs out to do their business. I did ask my wife once what would happen if we found a bear. Could I really get in the house before the bear could get me? I hope I don’t find out!

My wife testing the strength of Bear Proof Garbage cans. 

The attached apartment has a broken gate, broken by a bear, who then broke into the bear proof garbage can and helped himself to a fine meal of leftovers. These Garbage Bears, as we call them in Juneau, are the most dangerous because they have zero fear of humans. Outside of the Juneau Public Library, in the heart of downtown Juneau, large garbage cans marked “Bear Proof” reside. My wife tried to see how strong they were. 

 This is a different world.

Of course, it’s the dead of winter. The bears are hibernating, so, the ritual of bear checking is an empty one.

We hiked the other day. There is no shortage of places to hike. We climbed this trail—I swear it was a ninety degree slope—and it was no more than twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. But the view, wow. Nature is a whole new beast here. And, come springtime, I may even encounter some of these beasts on a hike.  

And the snowy beach, middle of a mild blizzard, we piled one of the dogs (the little one was not interested) into the car and drove two miles to the beach. As you can see from this video, she went absolutely mad with delight. And, she is impervious to the cold, as she bounded into the ocean as if it was the middle of August in Miami.

Watching the snowflakes gentle parade to the icy ground, the trees wearing their coats of white, and majestic Mount Juneau disguised behind a shroud of fog, this is my idea of paradise. Never have I longed to be more outdoorsy, never have I admired creation, and never have I been more inspired to write and create and express my awe at my surroundings and my overall feelings as I have since I moved here. I never doubted that we made the right decision to come here. I still don’t. I have no regrets.