7/3/14
Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, Washington (SEA)
As we sit in front of the gate a SeaTac that will take us to Juneau,
all of the trouble of the past 12 hours is meaningless. All that mattered was that we got out of New
York and made it to SeaTac in time for our flght to JNU. The flight kept getting pushed back, but I
didn’t care. I just cared about one
thing: being on that boat in Glacier Bay NP&Pres on July 4th. NOTHING ELSE MATTERED. All the people complainng about being
delayed, being stuck in an airport, it was all irrelevant. I had left 8 hours to make the connection at
SeaTac, and there was another 8 hours to make the connection at Juneau, so,
even if the flight got cancelled, we would still have time to make alternate
arrangements and get to the boat in time.
That was when the lightning started, and they had to shut down the
apron. For an hour, no planes were
allowed to enter or leave the airport, so the inbound SLC flight was stuck and
unable to make its way to the gate. It
was supposed to have landed at 5 PM. In
reality, they did not got off the plane until 9 PM. They cleaned the plane, and we got on board,
both of us able to keep all of our bags.
I was in Zone 1, so I wasn’t too concerned, but Sokol was in Zone
3. I had told him half a dozen times
that if they gate-checked his bag to make sure it got checked all the way to
JNU.
Well before he got in, they
announced that there was no more room for suitcases, but I saw him get on with
his suitcase. Apparently, when he told
them we were going to Alaska, they didn’t want to take any chances and made
sure to find a spot for his bag. I had
somehow made the fatal mistake of choosing a seat in front of the exit row,
which meant no recline. It was going to
be a long and miserable flight. That was
when the power went out on the airplane.
Yes, reader, the lights, the air conditioning, everything. They had to restart the plane, which took 20
minutes. Then, they told us we were 23rd
in line and would be another hour before we took off. At 11:24 PM, we finally took off. In a huge coincidence, to the minute almost,
the 5 hours and 7 minutes we would be in the air matched the 5 hours and 7
minutes it had been since we arrived at Kennedy. I actually managed to sleep a little on the
plain, and we made our way towards the main concourse. We would have to wait until the Alaska
Airlines ticket counter opened before we could get our boarding passes. On the way towards the connection to the N
Gates, Sokol found a Visa Gift Card.
Though we had no idea whether there was anything on it, I claimed it
towards general trip expenses.
We were
able to get a little sleep as we were waiting for the entrance to the N Gates
to open. After it did, we took our much
needed Us and went to Starbucks, seeing as we are in Seattle. I checked the balance on the gift card, and
it was enough to get coffee, a muffin, breakfast at BK, and have plenty left
over for a meal at Anchorage’s finest restaurant. After breakfast, we headed to our gate, where
I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can get our
boarding passes.
Juneau, Alaska
Sokol and I went to take our first official U in Alaska, and I thought
that he had went into the stall. I said,
“I’ll see you outside.” I went outside,
and Sokol was waiting for me. He had left
when he saw the stall was occupied, so I had been talking to some random
stranger. The hotel called a taxi driver
to take us to the Capitol, and our driver was the friendliest guy imaginable,
giving us all the advice we needed about how to spend our day in town. I’m quite sure that my grandfather would have
given a tip equal to the amount of the fare, but I was more modest, generous,
nonetheless. He seemed to think that we
were here to visit “Sean” on business and wished us luck on our meeting with the
governor. I didn’t have the heart to
tell him otherwise. We were both wearing
suits, after all. They offered tours,
but I didn’t want to take the time, opting for the self-guided option instead. I then commented that I had been inside the
Capitol of the two biggest states both by area and population.
From there, we headed to a hotel to get an
overpriced breakfast, but, by getting reindeer sausage, I was able to have a
local dish and officially check Alaska off my list, which brings me to 48
states. After breakfast, I lit up a
Camacho, and Sokol had an Alec Bradley.
We walked around town stopping at souvenir shops, leaving our cigars
outside on ledges. I loaded up on souvenirs,
since this was a capital city, after all.
After I had gotten my fill of souvenirs, and picked up a cup of coffee
from a famous local chain, I we sat down on a bench with a scenic view. The rain had stopped, and I knew that this
would be a vista I would remember the rest of my life. We were right along the waterfront, and there
were mountains on the other side with houses along the mountainside. Some were wooded, while others were
snow-capped. There are no words to
describe the beauty of that vista.
After
we finished our cigars, we headed to the bar that the driver had recommended
for wings, which was actually the oldest bar in Juneau and on the NRHP. I ordered us some wings and a couple of beers
while we charged our phones. We then
went to take our second official U in Alaska.
The beers were quite good, and then the “wings” came. We both looked at each other without a
word. These were not wings. They were fried chicken drumsticks with hot
sauce and ranch on the side. We joked
that we should have just said, “Fuck you, these are not wings. Give them to someone who doesn’t know what
wings are,” but we ate them. They were
edible, but nothing like Candlelight. I
ordered us another round, and then we headed back to the Capitol. I lit up an ESG while Sokol had a Villager,
and I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can
finish our cigars, take our third official U in Alaska, take some more
pictures, and make our way back to the airport.
Gustavus, Alaska (Glacier Bay National Park)
About 6 months, I wrote in this journal that history never quites
repeat itself. Attempting to recreate
the adventures of two years ago this week was nothing less than assured failure. When I go to a U.S. World Heritage Site,
nothing less than perfect success is considered an option, yet, more often than
not, something goes wrong. For every
perfect hit at Mammoth Caves and Redwoods, there are the less than perfect
experiences of the Great Smokies and Yosemite.
I made it a goal to get a Plaque on every July 4th from 2012
to 2017. By a plaque, I mean a US or
Canadian WHS Plaque, which ties in to the vow that I made after getting the
Mammoth Caves Plaque, something I will discuss tomorrow in my reflective entry,
two years ago tomorrow.
Unfortunately,
history never quite repeat itself.
Plaques are not always Plaques, and stamps are not always Stamps. Where does that leave me? Can I try to rationalize every failure, how
it was for the best, or I can accept that perfect success is the rule and not
the exception. I can remedy the problem
the best I can and move on. I usually
settle for something in the middle. In
business, you can measure your results in terms of a bottom line, but that is
not always possible with my 30 Goals.
Sometimes I just need to redefine my definition of success, but I refuse
to accept failure. If it means
revisiting a site or taking a square stamp instead of a round one, sometimes I
need to do just that. It can be said
that the entirety of this trip was designed around getting a July 4, 2014 WHS
Plaque picture and a circle stamp with that date on my WHS brochures. That would not be happening. It would not even be happening with a July 3,
2014 date, as I was prepared to accept. I had made all of the preparations, but I had feared that it would be
cutting it too close with the return flight and that I might not have time to
stop at the VC after the boat tour to get my July 4, 2014 stamp. I had to choose between the guaranteed July
3, 2014 stamp, or risk missing my flight and screwing up the whole itinerary,
but I have gotten ahead of myself.
After
I closed and took our pictures, our taxi was waiting for us, and he asked us
how our meeting with the Governor was.
Prepared to go on to a how spiel about how Alaska should implement a
Special Inspections program, I just said that the governor took our proposal
under advisement. The driver then said
that “Sean” was a great guy and hoped it would work out. We got to the airport well over an hour
before our flight, and I had another cup of coffee, which brought me to a
half-gallon for the day. I had made the
mistake of thinking we were flying an airplane on a real airline.
The pilot called our names, and we walked
with him to the plane, such as it was, having to put our bags, all of our bags,
in the back. Yes, reader, I had to leave
my computer bag, which contained my WHS folder, my water bottle, my laptop, and
my cigars unattended. I was a little apprehensive. The pilot said that he was legally required
to tell us to turn off our phones, but that we could keep them on if we wanted
to. It was such a short and low-flying
flight that we had cell (not data) service the whole time. To call the flight scenic would have been an
understatement. People would pay an
order of magnitude higher for sightseeing tour that was not much longer. We landed, and I kept a close eye to make sure
I got my computer bag back. There was a
bit of a SNAFU with the shuttle, and we wound up waiting longer at the airport
for the shuttle from the hotel than the duration of our flight.
We made our way to the park, but I soon learned
that I would not be having cell service for the next 24 hours. We had Wi-Fi at the hotel, which meant I
could Facebook, Blog, email, and browse, but no texting. For 24 hours, I would not be able to send or receive
texts, and no one who might want to send me a text would know I was out of range and not just ignoring. We passed the official National Park sign,
and I considered asking the driver to stop for us to take a picture, but I didn’t
have the brochure, so I decided to wait and get it later. She said there was another sign at the lodge,
but I saw no such sign. I didn’t
care. I quickly got my bags, took my
first official U in the WHS, and raced upstairs to the VC.
I had done my homework. My list said they had the stamp at that VC,
and it was open late. I had called ahead
earlier in the week, and I was told they had a WHS Plaque. I raced around the VC, but I couldn’t find
it. That was when my world slowly began
to unravel. The ranger asked if he could
help me? Where is the WHS Plaque? The what Plaque? The WHS Plaque? This?
Apparently the woman I had called earlier did not know the difference
between a Plaque and a certificate.
Sure, in any other country in the world other than the US and Canada, a
WHS Certificate would work just fine.
Not here, not now, not when I had designed this entire trip around that
July 4, 2014 plaque and stamp. Alright,
I could live with the Certificate. I knew
Kluane had an official Plaque, and I hoped that Wrangell would, too. It is a four site inscription, so technically
one Plaque in each country would suffice.
I asked the ranger to call Wrangell to see if they had a plaque, and he
did, and they did. Phew. The VC was open until 6 PM, which was very
doable on that day. Okay, it was time to
go to the stamping. They had a “bonus
stamp,” which had a date, but it was square and had a picture. It was the stamp they would bring on the
boat, but it was not the standard NPS stamp.
Where was the stamp? This guy
knew his stuff. He asked if I was part
of the club? I was. He knew where every single stamp in the park
was and exactly what they said. He had
been forewarned that we were coming, and he was prepared. They did not have a standard NPS stamp with
the correct date. My list had last been
updated in 2012, and the standard NPS stamp expired in 2013. I could pencil in the date or use the
non-standard stamp. I was crushed. I was so frustrated at this point that I didn’t
even care about the July 4, 2014 date.
Sure, I would stamp my Glacier Bay brochure and my Passport book a
second time with non-standard stamp on the boat tomorrow, but I didn’t want to
futz with all of my stuff at sea. Then,
to add insult to injury, they did not have the right stickers. That was okay. I probably even had the sticker at home, or I
could maybe pick it up at Wrangell. I
thanked him for his help and apologized for driving him insane. He understood completely. The one redeeming factor was that they had
the official pins.
Sokol took some
pictures of me with the Certificate, and I got a windbreaker, along with some
other souvenirs from the gift shop downstairs.
Crushed at this point, I knew that only one thing would cheer me up: a
hike with some great cigars, Davidoffs to be precise so as to recreate the
experience from two years ago. That was exactly
what we did. Sort of. I had thought that the entrance sign was
right past the trail head. Sokol was
convinced it was halfway back to the airport.
He was right. As we walked and
smoked along the beautiful, wooded highway, which was no different from Olympic
or the rest of the Pacific Northwest, I kept saying the sign would be just
around the bend or just past the hill.
This went on for two hours. We
had seen the shuttle going up the road, figuring we could get to the sign in
time, take some pictures, ditch the cigars, and take the shuttle back. Just as we were approaching the sign, tired,
sore, and exhausted, we saw the shuttle approach. We couldn’t tell it to wait, so there was
nothing to do but laugh.
Then it was time for dinner. Using the gift card we had found, we
splurged, ordering two Alaskan beers, smoked salmon chowder, crab cakes,
halibut, and salmon, all local. It was
so good. Sokol said that the waiter was
convinced we were gay, and I replied just as Jerry and George would have. The best part, by far, was the salmon, and I
could not help but thinking of my mother, who was with me on the last July 4 US
WHS and will be with me on my next July 4 US WHS. She would not have liked the salmon. It was too salty and too undercooked for her
taste, but it was the way salmon should be.
After dinner, Sokol was starting to get silly, whether from lack of
sleep or the beer, I don’t know, but I tried to convince him to smoke the same
cigars with me that I smoked with my brother two years ago at the WHS where I
vowed to say US/Canada Complete. He took
a few puffs, but he had no focus and was unable to sit still or stay calm. The bugs were bothering him to boot. He went inside for socks and never came back. As much as I hate bugs anywhere else in the
world, I have an advantage over him. I
am in love with The North, especially during the summer, and bugs are just a
natural part of being outdoors in the North during the summer. There will be a lot more in this topic in
future entries.
After we lit up the
cigars, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can
publish it and upload my photos. Oh, I
forgot to mention that as I puffing on my cigar, someone asked me what I was
smoking? Rocky Patel Thunder. He loved Patel. I thought to myself that if he knew cigars,
he would not say that. No one loves
Rocky Patel. It is a cheap cigar sold to
people who don’t know better, and I had said as much to the cute rep when I saw
her last week, not caring that I was making a very pretty woman very angry at
me. The guy then came back and started talking
about VSGs and Padron 64s, two of the best cigars in the US. Clearly this guy knew his stuff. He asked where I was from? New York.
What part? I did not say, “If I
meant Brooklyn or Albany, I would have fucking said Brooklyn or Albany.” Instead, I just repeated, “New York.” He got the hint.
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