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A Real Vacation!

I loved my trip to Denali National Park! I stayed for several days and did many different things, it was the closest I’ve ever come to having a traditional vacation since I started these park trips, and I loved every minute of it.  That’s why, unlike any other park post to date, I’ve split this one into two parts.

Take a Ride on the Rails

My trip started with a ride on the famed Alaska Railroad. Trains are such a soothing way to travel. Even commuter rail like Connecticut’s Metro North is good this way. It’s better than sitting in traffic, and sooooo much better than flying. You can just kick back and read, or stare out into space, or work on your blog, or chat with fellow passengers, at complete ease. No unplanned turbulence, no recycled air, no crammed seats, no plummet into the Hudson River (these things can run over cows never mind geese). And the Alaska Railroad ups that ante by having that historic feel in their cars (including a dining car and even a bar car if you want). I wish we had passenger trains like this crisscrossing the entire nation, I’d take them everywhere.

Alaska Railroad © 2009 America In Context

The key to an enjoyable ride on the Alaska Railroad, in fact the key to a fulfilling trip to Alaska in general, is, in my opinion, to bag the cruise packages entirely and book with an Alaska travel “arranger” like Alaska Tour and Travel (the firm I used). These outfits simply collect hotels, transportation, and various tours, events or excursions into packaged itineraries. You can select adventure itineraries or low-impact itineraries or “just give me a hot tub and a bottle of tequila” itineraries. This provides the best of two worlds: it helps you put together a trip that suits your interests without having to make tons of phone calls (or struggling to figure out which cruise line has the party boats vs. the fogey boats), but it also gives you loads of freedom that a full, all-in-one cruise package can’t (or won’t).

In the case of the railroad, you end up with a ride on the historic cars. Why is that a big deal? Because all the cruise ship folks are packed into one or two cruise-owned cars (the “Princess Car” or the “Carnival Car” or whatever), and you can’t roam from one to the other! Cruise people are stuck, just like they’re stuck on that boat. I talked with lots of folks on the “freedom” part of that train, everyone from locals  to intrepid wilderness backpackers to a family of Germans straining to see a moose (don’t they have moose in Germany?). On the Carnival Car, you’re stuck talking to the same cruisers you’ve been stuck with for the past week. You know, the ones who never shut up at dinner or wear too much perfume all the time or don’t care much for their personal hygiene (“hey, I’m on vacation, why bother bathing”)? Bleagh.

View through a Rain-Spattered Window © 2009 America In Context

Before my trip on the Alaska Railroad, I’ve never ridden on a train outside of the Metro North or various city subway systems, and there is no comparison. The Metro North rails are lined with trash and abandonment, the subways are lined with urban decay or tunnel darkness. The Alaska Railroad is lined with gorgeous scenery. The Alaska countryside is so beautiful, so interesting, you can look out the windows for hours and hours  and never get bored. Even more appealing, on the day I rode (late August, nearing the end of the season), the railroad was about 1/3 full, if that. I sat in the upper viewing booth (the one with the sign saying “30 minute limit”), by myself at times, at other times with only a handful of interesting people, for almost the entire trip. That itself was a lot of fun, it’s like watching great previews before the movie at the local multi-megaplex. It soooo gets you into the right frame of mind for beautiful Denali Park.

Life in a Tourist Town

I stayed at Denali. No, not in the park. I stayed at the tourist town just outside of Denali that is also called, I guess, Denali (I wonder if Denali is Alaskan for “Smurf”?). Anyway, Denali is literally just that: a tourist town, meaning no one actually resides there. People live there during the tourist season to wait tables or operate the local sub shop or drive the tour buses or clean the hotel rooms or run the river rafting excursions. Tourism is the sole reason the place exists, and when there are no tourists, there is no town.

Trackside Colors © 2009 America In ContextGoing at the end of season was actually kind of cool in that aspect. You get the sense that Denali Town is like a big travelling circus or something, by the end of the season everyone who’s been living there for the past 2-3 months not only knows each other really well, they’ve consequently learned how to relax and party (or participate in :ahem: other activities) with each other. They also realize that they will soon be going back to their real lives wherever their real lives are. This gives such a relaxed, carefree, Bohemian vibe to the place (sort of like a Dead concert with a high cost of living). It was even getting close to Denali New Year, a manufactured holiday, complete with midnight countdown, marking the end of the tourist season.  Soon the town would be boarded up and evacuated, all the bartenders or shopkeepers or chambermaids going back to Russia or New Orleans or Croatia or Los Angeles or wherever else they really call home.

I enjoyed being in Denali Town at the end of season, in fact I liked being in Alaska at the end of season for a lot of reasons. If you go, I recommend you go the last week of August into the first week of September.

J.C. and the Boys

The very afternoon I arrived in Denali Town, I had my first excursion: horseback riding on the tundra. A grizzled local (yes, an actual local, imagine that!) picked up several of us from our hotel and took us to a ranch in nearby Healy. Our guide was a nice chap, a Coloradan ranch hand who worked in Alaska during the season to pick up extra cash. I was joined by five or six other folks, all nice people who actually knew how to act around animals even if they weren’t experienced  riders. I’ve ridden horses before, but am still a pretty weak horseman. I do know the cardinal rule of horseback riding: treat the animal with respect and kindness, but don’t be afraid to tell him where you want to go. So many folks are either scared to death, are unwilling to take control, or simply don’t treat the animal right. Horses sense all these things and will act accordingly. I’ve seen people lose complete control of their horse, usually with painful consequences.

Alaska Range © 2009 America In Context

Fortunately, I was with a great bunch of folks, and the nature of the tundra prevents most accidents. The tundra is squishy and soft and full of unsuspected holes, so there is no galloping. The pace is slow, actually, to be accurate, I should say “slooooooooowwwwwww.” Going at any type of speed is dangerous to the animal, and because you’re on the animal’s back, it’s dangerous to you, too. Our guide was very clear in that regard, and there were no problems. He gave me a horse named J.C. (clearly a religious connection, quite ironic if you know my own views on religion). J.C., I was told, is an independent spirit, more likely to leave the trail and wander on his own than the others. Being an independent spirit myself, we got along great, didn’t have a single problem. I wish I could ride more often, I get along great with animals but don’t hang out with them as much as I’d like …

We were out there for a couple of hours, and right away, I fell in love with the place. Alaska is big and sparsely populated. That means it’s incredibly easy to get out into the wild, away from it all. We only had to go through the gate and cross one small hill to experience what it’s like to actually be out there. No visible roads. No sounds of car engines or gangsta subwoofers. Nothing but birds and wind and the flump flump sound of hoof on tundra. Our guide actually didn’t speak much for the first 20 minutes or so, and that was intentional. You can’t really experience Alaska without experiencing that quiet of remoteness, and he let us soak it up for a time before going into tour guide mode.

Horse and Tundra © 2009 America In Context

Once he did turn talkative, we started to learn more of the ins and outs of Alaska life. He explained the two cardinal rules of wildlife encounters (“run from moose, don’t run from bears”). He explained the nature of the tundra (it’s a carpet of tangled root systems laying on top of permafrost). He explained the significance of fireweed (“it turns redder as winter approaches” — it being the end of season we saw several plants with reddish leaf tips). All of it low key, all of it interesting, and, best of all, he was simply a good guy to us and to the animals. None of the arrogance of the typical impatient or bored tour operator, you could tell he liked what he was doing, and liked dealing with people.

After a couple of hours, we were back at the ranch, and the local drove us back to Denali Town. He wasn’t too thrilled to hear about the fireweed (they take winter very seriously up there), but he chatted us up with some of the local folklore. I ended up back at the hotel quite satisfied: I just had my first day at Denali, and so far, it was a great trip.

Hotel View at Night © 2009 America In Context

[Pics are mine and copyrighted thusly. More to come on the next post.]

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Links

Denali National Park

Alaska Railroad

Alaska Tour and Travel

Google map to Denali

Somewhere Down That Lazy River

The Delaware Water Gap is a protected stretch of river and shoreline between Port Jarvis and East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. Like Catoctin, Chickasaw, and Cuyahoga, it’s mundane and uninteresting. But that’s OK, because like those other national park sites, it serves a purpose: protecting our natural resources, providing habitat for wildlife, and simply giving city folks a place to see what a tree looks like. I go on and on about this point so often in this blog, I don’t really feel like retreading that all over again here.

What I do want to talk about is good, old-fashioned laziness.

Public domain photo courtesy National Park ServiceI had no grandiose plans for my Water Gap visit. I had an exciting, inspiring trip the prior autumn when I visited Alaska for the first time (a subject for my next post), but for my trip through Pennsylvania the following spring, I wanted to tone it down (although some might say you have no alternative but to ‘tone it down’ when you visit Pennsylvania, but, well, moving on …).

For my visit to the Delaware Water Gap, I went uber-simple. I just rented a kayak from the fine, Bohemian folks at Chamberlain Canoes, and paddled (well, floated really) downstream for a couple of hours. Yes, it was lame and unexciting. A couple of deer playing on an island, a few ducks paddling around, a couple of Class 1 (actually Class 0.5) rapids, that’s about it. There wasn’t a drop of adrenaline for miles around (unless you count the headbanging hillbilly houseparty happening on the eastern shore).  I didn’t even take my camera, didn’t feel like fussing with it. I just wanted to enjoy a calm, early summer afternoon, futzing around on the Delaware River.

As I live my life and travel around the country, observing the society around me (and often looking inward, as I am wont to do), I feel that one ability sadly missing in most Americans is an ability I am calling “soulful laziness”. Our society is high-strung, jittery, overly busy, and tremendously uptight. Everywhere you turn, you see it: the chronic impatience,  the busy little rush-rush for even the most mundane of tasks, that hum of self-created stress for decidely unimportant minutiae, that decidedly un-subtle “me first and right now” attitude that sends psychic ripples of anxiety up and down the corridors of business and the tiled expanses of mall food courts nationwide. I feel this constant buzz-buzz of motion and thought and stress is so damaging to folks that our society would be so much better if we could simply learn to be soulfully lazy.

Public domain photo courtesy National Park ServiceNow I have to be careful here: I am calling it “soulful laziness” for a very specific reason. It’s the ability to just stop, for a few minutes or a few hours or a few days, and relax. Find a quiet spot, at the beach or in a field or on your own back patio, and take a breather. Get away from the noise. Stop and smell the roses.  Free your mind and the rest will follow. Let not only your body and your mind but the very fiber of your being, your soul (in both the theological and non-theological meanings of the word) take a rest.

Let me also be clear, lest there be no confusion. Laziness (or sloth if you will), is the Fourth Deadly Sin, and for good reason.  Physical laziness is clearly bad, and is a chronic problem in America. Our obesity epidemic is one part bad nutrition and one part physical laziness. Our environmental problems are partly attributable to physical laziness. How many folks are simply too lazy to walk up one flight of stairs and burn unknown amounts of kilo-watt hours using the elevator instead? I even think our economic collapse has elements of physical laziness. So many folks are too lazy to earn an honest living or provide real value to customers or society or business, instead they try to take the short road through lying on home mortgage applications, cheating people via pyramid schemes, or making horribly risky get-rich-quick investments. That’s laziness right there.

Public domain photo courtesy National Park ServicePart and parcel with physical laziness is intellectual laziness, as  evidenced by excessive TV watching, vapid internet surfing, pointless shopping sprees or chronic videogaming. Many people are too intellectually lazy to even ask questions of our leaders or their bosses or even their spouses. Fewer and fewer people read or write effectively, or even try to think their way out of problems, instead depending on others to bail them out or praying to God for salvation while having another box of Ring-Dings and watching Monday Night Football. How many people can’t even count change? Lots and lots.

The odd thing is, even lazy folks injure themselves through pointless, self-inflicted stress.  The chronic TV watcher bombards himself with cacophonies of action-packed movies, bitch-slap reality TV bickerfests, or pointless arguments on Fox News. The shop-a-holic exposes herself to a crush of traffic, a swarm of humanity in the checkout line, and that ludicrous self-inflicted drama of “does this look good on me” that serves no purpose. The chronic internet surfer or videogamer literally absorbs himself into a narrow, two-dimensional world where one must constantly point-and-click-and-point-and-click all for the next split-second fix of Flash-animated inanity in order to remain interested. So even the physically and intellectually lazy segments of society clutter themselves up with so much stress and noise, they too can benefit from a self-inflicted heavy dose of soulful laziness.

Public domain photo courtesy National Park ServiceWhat we need to do as individuals is occasionally enter that state that allows one to set aside all the petty, self-created stresses, and just sit there in a quiet, low-key space and watch the world go by for a few hours on the weekend, or a few days while on vacation. This type of laziness is a wonder and a marvel. It shuts off all the noise and all the crap that we either willingly enter or (far worse) create for ourselves. Now this brand of laziness must be earned and can’t be abused (you can’t live your life staring out into space or gazing into your own navel, that’s what puts you into “the home”), but, in moderation, this is what we need, what we all need, the entire country, for our own sanity and our own survival.

I think if there’s one hope, one bright & shining potential outcome from our current economic crisis, it’s the notion that maybe people will start to shut out the noise and self-propagated stress in our lives and learn to be soulfully lazy once in a while. I spent $40 for that kayak rental down the Delaware River, and I loved it, but soulful laziness can have the best price tag possible in tough economic times: it’s free.

Courtesy of Chamberlain Canoes

[The above picture is from Chamberlain Canoes’ website. I hope they don’t begrudge me using it here, they’re nice folks & deserve some props. All the other pics on this post are public domain from the National Park Service website. I also took a hike up to Dingman’s Falls, a few pics from that hike are here.]

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Links:

Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area

Chamberlain Canoes

Google map to Delaware Water Gap

I normally have four links per post but I was just too durn lazy

Florida, As It Used to Be

I don’t think there are many places in America where people have had a greater impact on the overall environment than in the state of Florida. The Everglades, that swampy “river of grass” that once extended from Lake Okeechobee to the Florida Bay, has been interrupted by highways and sugar plantations. The big lake itself has been modified and contained by numerous dikes and canals. Shorelines have been overdeveloped, beaches have been artificially expanded, natural waterways have been dredged and deepened, invasive plant species run rampant all over, and great tracts of open land has been clear-cut, raised, and built upon. I won’t even go into the paved monstrosity known as Greater Orlando ….

Gulf Coast As It WasNot to be forgotten are the changes to Florida’s gulf coast. When Hernando De Soto explored Florida in the mid-1500’s, the gulf coast was lined with subtropical estuaries, tangled masses of native plants rarely seen any more. Palmettos, saltmarsh pines, and mangroves formed a natural wall dividing narrow beaches from the interior. Manatees plied the waters and great flocks of migratory birds filled the skies. In the time before European exploration, I suspect Florida was an immense botanical and biological wonderland, filled with thousands of species of plants and hundreds of species of animals, the Amazon Basin of North America. It must have been wonderful.

After the colonization of America, the peninsula of Florida was ignored by all settlers, Spanish, French, English, or whomever, for the longest time. It was deemed wholly inhospitable, and, to an extent, I’ll agree.  I stated earlier it must have been wonderful, but not for humans. For settlers, it must have been ghastly. All that slow-moving water plus all that humidity plus all that biological diversity meant insects and disease. To make matters worse, the best arable land is in the interior, away from the cooling ocean breezes and ease of nautical transportation. So, if you wanted to actually eek out a living in the Sunshine State back then, you needed to tolerate an awful lot of misery and hardship. So the peninsula was mostly ignored by most settlers for a couple hundred years

Then, along the way, something changed. Something drastically changed.

Mangroves and the Bay

De Soto National Memorial, situated in Tampa Bay at the mouth of the Manatee River, is a tiny little spot of Old Florida.  The shoreline area is chock full of mangroves and other species of trees, shrubs & plants. Spanish moss clings to live oaks, gumbo trees surround the visitor’s center, and birds nibble on wax myrtle berries. Even the beaches are different, they are rocky and covered in shells, not artificially enhanced with truckloads of fine sand like most Florida beaches. It’s a postage-stamp facsimile of old Florida; a 26-acre oasis in the middle of an overpopulated, overdeveloped, overpaved land; a reminder of how the coastline used to look in the days before Henry Flagler and other 19th century industrialists developed the dual coasts of Florida’s peninsula.

PinkThat’s the sad thing about Florida. I lived in south Florida for a couple of years, and many things bothered me about that state. First is the overdevelopment. The flatness of the land has made development so easy. There are almost no natural boundaries to demarc things like in other parts of the country. Most of the rest of the eastern United States is interrupted with big rivers or mountains, these obstacles prevent most back-to-back development. Not Florida, there folks can build and build and build some more, uninterrupted. From a plane on approach to a southern Florida airport, you can see miles and miles of square grids divided by overwide roadways, each square packed solid with home after home after home. Whenever I fly over the state, I look below and just shake my head at the inanity of it all. The Lorax would weep.

All of this development has led to other problems, like a dropping water table. When I went to De Soto, the Manatee River was basically a dry river bed, something normally seen in west Texas, not Florida. Yes, there was a drought in the state at the time, but overpopulation stresses the water table in such a way as to make droughts more damaging to the environment. I suspect in ages past, before permanent settlement, Florida still had droughts, but the rivers still flowed with water. Now, a few months without rain and everything is dry. That’s one price of progress.

PloverThe sad thing is this, in my opinion (and this is based solely on my own personal observations), Floridians care less about the environment than any state population with the exception of Texas. They just don’t seem to care. They water their lawns constantly, even when hurricanes approach they don’t shut off their sprinklers. They plant grasses and non-native plants that either require lots of fertilization to thrive, or spread out and choke the marshes. They shamelessly drive big honkin’ SUVs everywhere. I swear there are more four-wheel-drive vehicles per capita in warm, flat Florida than in snowy, hilly Massachusetts (and don’t say “it’s for towing boats”, I doubt 1 in 10 are used for that). I know one Floridian who practically burst into tears when high gas prices meant he might have to downsize from his big Ford Expedition. And I’ve never seen a region so disinterested in saving electricity: you’ll see regional baseball fields brightly lit all hours of the night. The whole place is so brightly lit you don’t even need headlights. I’m surprised you can see any stars.

I’m sure I’m going to get slapped for this, but in a way, it’s good that the real estate market has crashed. Finally, after decades of pleading from environmentalists, the crush of development in Florida has ground to a halt, not through ethical concerns over what we are doing, but because it’s no longer profitable. It’s a shame that people have lost their livelihoods in this economic crisis, but the path we are going, the continued over-building of America’s best places is simply not sustainable.

Gumbo-Limbo Tree in Spring

[I don’t want to disparage the folks of Florida with this post. I do want to state that I did meet a lot of great people when I lived in Florida, and made some really good friends. I just think Floridians could take a little more care, that’s all. Pics on this post are mine and copyrighted thusly. See my other photos of De Soto National Memorial here.]

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Links:

De Soto National Memorial

Mangrove Action Project

Florida Coastal Strategies

Google map to De Soto

Happy New Year — And Thanks

So it’s been about a year since I started this little blog. I wanted to thank all my readers for their comments & support, and hope everyone has a great New Year. 🙂