If your one of my followers, you know my husband and I winter on St George Island, Florida. We volunteer at the State Campground doing general maintenance, picking up trash, painting and other tasks. Thsi year Michael hit the island with a 12 foot storm surge. The residential area is built on pilings. The damage is great.
This is the main gate entrance.
The road that extends 10 miles through the park is gone along with the dunes.
The way is impassable except for four wheel drive vehicles.
Thank God, the rangers who live on-sight evacuated and their homes which are on pillars remain. None of them were hurt.
I know many people have worst damage. And I send them my prayers and sympathy. But I will miss seeing everyone this winter.
Although I posted this on another blog, I wanted to share it here, too. Coast of Maine
I’ve mentioned before that my husband gets bored when he doesn’t have anything to do. The heat wave we’ve been experiencing made it impossible to do outside chores and he already painted the living room a lovely shade of ivory. He asked me if I’d like to take a ride to Maine for fresh lobster. Since it’s difficult to write with him placing through the house I agreed a lobster dinner would be terrific. The trip is about four hours from where we live in Connecticut. i assumed a drive up and back along one of the scenic routes.
Whoops. While I packed my laptop, he loaded the truck camper on our Dodge Ram. He mentioned casually that I should take a change of clothes. Thankfully I interpreted Williams Parkthat to mean three days.
Of we went. then he says he reserved a campsite. Okay. I sit back to enjoy the ride. For some reason the traffic past Boston and Cape Cod was light. The roadwork that seems a constant repair, slowed us for very little time.
We set up in the campground and headed out for dinner. I had this picture in my head of lobster. There are lobster places all over. Lobster rolls, lobster bisque, mac and cheese with lobster on signs galore.
Here is the big but. These are your usual tourist eateries geared to handling the summer crowd. You walk in, stand in line, order over the counter, pay and wait for your tray. You take it inside in the AC or out on a patio, usually overlooking the water. I’m ready. My husband wants a restaurant. A sit-down, waiter, table with tablecloth restaurant.
He didn’t find one. Not on the first cruise through town. Not in the second town.
I’m hungry, but I know better than to ask when we’ll eat.
He’s on a quest.
He doesn’t want to eat outside in the heat. He wants what he wants. I don’t care. I just want lobster.
Today we’re stopping at a lobster pound, getting them steamed, grabbing side-dished from the supermarket and eating at the campground.
To keep me happy. He drove to the oldest lighthouse in Maine.
Beautiful park maintained by volunteers from town.
I’m glad we went. I got two thousand words done on my WIP and lobster.
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There are so many things to see when you travel. We left our campsite early one morning and noticed smoke hovering over St. George Island.
Forest fires are common in Florida. Wild fires ravaged the swamps and land for centuries before the area was settled. The thick dry brush is ignited by lightning. The fires kept the brush low and allowed animals to find food and shelter.
The federal government decided they knew better than nature and insisted all forest fires be fought until extinguished. This national policy resulted in millions of acres being prime for huge fires. Firefighters lost their lives when the brush exploded in violent bursts. Finally the policy changed to clearing brush by cutting, and in many areas, by controlled burns.
Park Manager
The park rangers were in the process of controlled burning of the overgrowth. This is important for the safety of the residents. St. George Island is on the North American bird migration route and the birds managed before people when the barrier island was swept by natural burning every four or five years.
Ranger Melody
The rangers burn in controlled sections when the wind and humidity are right. Over the course of several years all the wild sections are burned to spurt regrowth.
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I admit to loving the weather on St George’s Island in Florida over the winter. Its not like further south. It can get down to 30 degrees, rains a lot and has a high pollen count in the early spring. But, a very big but, it doesn’t snow. And that’s the point of going south for the winter.
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As I watch the weather report another clipper is throwing a blizzard across the country. I breath a sigh of relief that I’m in sunny Florida. Except its not so bright.
The red flag means no boating, dangerous conditions. The waves are up to eleven feet and hitting the edge of the boardwalk here on St George Island. Despite the rain and wind, I expect sunshine to return before the snow melts back home.
I had the exciting experience of releasing a sea turtle into the warm Gulf water off of St George’s Island in Florida.
Barbara Edwards releasing sea turtleBarbara Edwards releasing turtle into the Gulf of Mexico
Not exactly what I thought to be doing as a campground volunteer.
I didn’t know what to expect when the Ranger told us to be at the turtle release today.
When we arrived at the beach, they explained twenty-two turtles were being released. There was a crowd listening to the brief lecture.
Sea turtles are warm water lifeforms. When a cold snap happens that chills the water they can go into a type of hibernation and are vulnerable.
These were carried here in plastic boxes and are about the size of a dinner plate.
They are about ten to fifteen years old and won’t be back to lay eggs until they’re twenty-five years old.
The Greens were taken from St. Joseph’s Island in Florida and the others from Boston Harbor in Massachusetts.
Many rescue centers take them in, nurse them back to health and rerelease them into the wild.
We released eleven Green Sea turtles and eleven Kemp-Ripler Turtles.
The Greens will return to this area, The others will scatter up the Atlantic coast.
I was nervous to handle these wild creatures but the one I held was placid. It was surprisingly light for its size.
I waded into the water and let it go. within seconds it swam into deep water and was gone.
My heart fluttered with a mixture of joy and trepidation. I won’t be here in ten to twenty years, but someone will. To see the eggs hatch. To know life goes on.
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Are we going to the Arctic Circle today? Maybe. We’ve checked the weather reports and it is partly cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms this afternoon.
Dalton Highway
It’s a 200 mile drive. Not much distance on a normal day, but the road to Prudhoe Bay is not your normal road.
It’s made for trucks and the winter has damaged it. Heaves, mud, potholes and loose gravel are a few of the hazards. Trucks have the right-of-way always.
And you can’t drive to the Arctic Ocean. It is fenced off. You must take a bus and get security
clearance before you can go. That takes time and we didn’t know, so that part of the trip is out.
So we’ll drive up to the Dalton Highway and see what it looks like from there. How far we get depends on a number of factors.
Alaska Pipeline
The Alaskan pipeline is right outside town. It’s not like I pictured. It’s a shiny pipe about four feet wide on stilts. It doesn’t look controversial.
The Elliot highway is rough as the ocean. Up and down over frost heaves. The landscape is changing. Scrub pine, birch and alder crowd the road. Fewer and fewer mail boxes. The mountains are rounded but high. Not much traffic right now. I keep feeling like we’ve dropped into another space. It feels empty, not abandoned, but without human prescence.
There’s mosquitos swarming whenever we slow, but patches of snow remain along the road. And we’re not to the Dalton Highway yet.
Alaska
At the Dalton highway, the road is no longer paved. It is a mixture of gravel and clay that sticks to the vehicle with the poer of superglue. It is a mud brown, of course and we are covered with it.
The pipeline runs along the road or vise-versa. I stare at the stunted black spruce and then the 120,000 acre burn that occured two years ago. Cause by lightning, it jumped from place to place. The traffic is almost non-existent. Mostly big rigs and a few tour buses. I’m impressed by the bridge over the Yukon River made of wood. Heck, I’m impressed by the Yukon River. All those stories of prospectors and miners heading North repeat in my mind.
Arctic Circle
We stop at Finger Rock for a photo, then proceed.
The 200 miles takes us seven hours. With a posted speed limit of 50mph, we crept along at 35 mph because of the slick mud and potholes. Not a ride for the faint-hearted.
When we reach the Arctic Circle, Bill looks around “Is this it?” he asks. I take a couple photos and laugh.
Arctic Circle
There’s nothing but scrub and distant mountains. We debate starting the drive back, but Bill is tired. We are equipped to dry camp. And I don’t want him risking injury.
We’ll return tomorrow and spend a few hours removing the mud. Luckily, the campground has an area to wash the vehicles. We’re not the first to drive out here.
Arctic Circle
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Heading into Fairbanks. We stopped at the nicest campground. The gift shop had tons of decently priced Alaskan articles and we did buy stuff for the boys.
My daughter, Theresa P.
Fairbanks, AK
Stark lived in Fairbanks and worked at the hospital.
Fairbanks, AK
The place is among white birches and Alder on the banks of the Sistern River. Beautiful country, although the pine trees are short- look like they grow on the tree-line. Lots of people live here but the houses aren’t visible from the highway. I count mailboxes at each road or drive and there are several at each
I’m feeling a little sad. Fairbanks is not the end of our journey, but it does signal the end of the leg north in Alaska. We are debating the next goal. Up to the Arctic Circle? Dawson? Too many options to choose from it seems.
I didn’t get into the history of Fairbanks. It was on the gold trail and a major stopping point. You’ll have fun looking up the details yourself.
The longer we’re here, the more I like it. Despite the tough winters with 40 degree below zero weather, I wish I’d know about it 20 years ago. I’d have moved here.
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Denali finally. We waited three days for the rain to clear before heading out this morning. It’s going to reach the 70s with a bright sunny sky. Denali is the Indian name for the region. Mt McKinley is 20,230 feet high and growing 34 of an inch each year.
I’m so excited. There is a photo turnoff and I get my first clear view of the mountains ahead. I can’t talk. My mouth is hanging open. Is that the Mountain? If not its huge anyway. Denali is the native Indian name for the region. Mt. McKinley is 20,230 feet high and growing 34 of an inch each year,
Denali
Signs warning of moose crossing the road are frequent. It is low, wet forest along here. Lots of yound birch and aspen.
The drive towards Denali is long. Soon the land belongs to the government. I’m disappointed because we see little wildlife. A few caribous are in the park, but the photos are too distant.
The road into the park is 80 miles long and only the first twenty drivable with a car. A bus must take you on a 12 hour ride back and forth. Hiking is the only real option to see the interior.
Denali
Bill and I have decided most of the trip has been fun. Some parts boring since neither of us can hike the trails. I have the binoculars for spotting animals. He’s had two knee replacements and doesn’t take chances. I get out of breath with exertion.
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Somehow I managed to delete my post about leaving Whittier for Anchorage. What can I say—after several towns and many mountains it’s hard to remember details.
I am fascinated by the glaciers that appear along the road to Anchorage. And the surrounding mountains.
Anchorage, AK
The city is widely spread out and has all the amenities of every other large city. Our campground is on the edge and we can drive around easily. What to do is the question. The weather is lousy. Drizzly and cool, it sucks the warmth from my Florida bones.
AnchorageAnchorage, AK
So we’re going to the zoo. I might not get another chance to see much of the local wildlife. I’ve found that a zoo is a great way to judge a city and this one is no exception. The place is beautiful with wide paths winding through trees and low scrub. Each animal looks healthy and well-cared-for even though most of them are here because they were injured in the wild and unable to return.
Wasilla
We want to see Denali and drive on, stopping in Wasilla. A fairly large town, it has five miles of stores and businesses on the main road. We camp here for three days of rain. No point going on until we can see Mt. Whitney instead of clouds.
Barbara Edwards Comments 