Tag Archives: Culture

Going to the Dogs

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Thursday 29 September 2022 – Until we finally boarded our flight out of Churchill, the schedule for the day was in a more or less perpetual state of flux, as in no-one knowing what the flux going on. The first spanner in the works was that our flight would now be at midday, much earlier than originally planned. So Mark had to make some last-minute changes, involving finding our group some packed lunches and squeezing today’s excursions into a smaller window.  Later on, we found out that the midday flight had been cancelled and we were now going to fly out at (the original time of) 17.45. This meant that Mark, having crammed everything in, now had to find other diversions for us.  He managed all of this with aplomb and many phone calls.

Our first port of call was something that I hadn’t very high expectations of – very wrongly, as it turned out.  It was a visit to a dog yard.  Dogs have long been used to haul sleds and since there was no snow on the ground I couldn’t quite see how it could be made interesting. I hadn’t reckoned with the passion, energy and sheer charisma of “Big Dog” Dave Daley, the owner of the yard

who was accompanied by two of his sled dogs.

Where I had expected a routine presentation about dog sledding, he treated us to a brilliant, impassioned and amusing exposition about the relationship between man and dog, between dog and dog and between man, dog and the race he created and runs every year he can, the Hudson Bay Quest, a 220-mile wilderness race which knocks the more-widely-known 80-mile Iditarod into a cocked hat. In the HBQ, one man, 10 dogs and a sled have to complete the race unsupported except for a half-way stop for a compulsory 6-hour rest (for the dogs, not the men) and a reload of the hay that is needed to create rest dens for the dogs en route.  Extraordinarily, this distance can be covered in 40 hours, by someone who knows what he’s doing.

Much of the substance of Dave’s presentation consisted of underlining what “knowing what you’re doing” means when it comes to running a dog team, and this involves having a deep relationship with every dog, knowing its strengths, weaknesses, health and preferences.  Some dogs make good lead dogs, but would be no good as “wheel dogs”, the raw muscle power that runs just ahead of the sled, for example. (There are also point dogs and swing dogs, each with a role in the team, and “knowing what you’re doing” involves understanding and exploiting this.) Some dogs prefer to run on the left, some on the right. Some prefer sprints, some are better at marathons.  “Knowing what you’re doing” involves being a planner, physiotherapist, psychotherapist, nutritionist, physician, breeder, salesman and trainer.  Dave currently has 47 dogs in his yard and every single one of them seemed to be bursting with energy and enthusiasm when it became clear that they would be working that morning,

because after talking about the theory behind running a dog team, we actually got the chance to get a tiny insight into the practice.  There was no snow on the ground, but the dogs still need to work to keep them healthy and happy, so outside winter they pull carts; we got the chance to ride the carts whilst they were being pulled – two guests and a driver per cart, with the dogs in teams of five, rather than 10.

The energy and enthusiasm that was bursting out of the dogs increased, if anything, when they were hitched up to a cart – which had to be anchored to a huge boulder to stop them immediately rocketing off into the forest.  Jane and I were lucky – Dave picked on us as his passengers, and his team had seemingly impossible amounts of energy waiting to be harnessed.

As you can see from the video, there was a choice of track, but each ride was about 1½km, and so Dave calls the outing on the carts the “Ididamile”, which is rather lovely.  It was huge fun being carted along by these bundles of energy – and because Big Dog was our driver, we went faster than the others which necessitated veering off onto a forest path, rather than staying on the main drag, so we didn’t run into the other teams!  All in all, it was an absorbing, entertaining and thought-provoking couple of hours.

The next item on the agenda was a visit to Churchill’s museum, but before we did that we called in at the Churchill Post Office to get our passports stamped.

On the door of the Post Office building is, erm, posted a summary of encounters with bears.

So even though we’d had to search high and low for a bear, it seems as though bears are finding people, even this early in Bear Season.

The museum we visited is called the Itsanitaq Museum and is dedicated to Inuit culture, with wonderful collections of carvings and artefacts which are among the finest and oldest in the world, dating from 1700 B.C.

It used to be called the Eskimo Museum, but Eskimo is a term which has fallen out of favour; itsanitaq is an Inuit word meaning “things from the past”. This was explained to us by Lorraine, the lady in charge, who gave us a short introductory spiel,

and included further information about the principal peoples of the area.

Among the exhibits in the museum was an explanation of the script that we found on the Calm Air aeroplane safety leaflet.

It turns out that the symbols weren’t in themselves a language, but rather a phonetic code enabling the various indigenous languages to be written down.  So our safety leaflet was probably in the Cree language, that being the largest of the populations in the area.

We had a lunch stop at the Churchill Northern Studies Center, a non-profit facility that promotes and facilitates research and education about many issues that affect the northern regions, with an emphasis on sustainability and climate change. They provide accommodation and facilities for visiting researchers as well as carrying out their own research and educational programmes.

They allowed us to have our (clearly rather hastily-assembled) packed lunches in their canteen, and also hosted a tour of the place, which is sustainably designed and ecologically and environmentally secured so as not to affect the area around it.

After this, having discovered that the rescheduling of the rescheduled flight left us with time on our hands, Joe drove us slowly around the back roads whilst we searched again for bears.  Unfortunately the bloody bears had buggered off again, so all we saw was another Arctic Hare

who was reasonably close and so a bit easier to spot among the rocks than our elusive ursines. The sun came out and so this one perked up a bit

before it started raining again, with a stiff and cold wind blowing, so it hunkered down again, looking distinctly unimpressed with the weather.

Mark gave us a final chance to get images of the town, starting at the Churchill sign

and we managed to catch a couple of grab shots of artwork we hadn’t recorded before

and also an Interesting Church (see our Iceland pages).

And, barring visits to a couple of gift shops, that was that for Churchill.  We went to the airport and bade farewell to the guys who had made the last three days so interesting and varied.

We duly arrived into Winnipeg just in time to crash into the hotel’s Sports Bar where the group got together for a final time to consume (in some cases rather inadvisable) quantities of drink.  It was a good way to end this section of our holiday which was great fun, excellently guided and shared with some nice people.

Tomorrow is just a travel day – Winnipeg to Halifax, Nova Scotia via Toronto.  It’s unlikely that I’ll have anything interesting to report about two flights, so the story is To Be Continued in a couple of days.  I hope to see you then; bye for now.

Crossing a qulture qhasm

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Monday September 19 2022 – The day started and ended with something warm and familiar – a Nice Cup Of Tea (Twinings Earl Grey, courtesy of St. Lawrence Market in Toronto). In between those comforting landmarks, there was a distinct culture shift as we headed to Québec City.

The Via Rail experience was broadly similar to that of our journey into Ottawa:  masks were required at all times in station and train, unless actually eating or drinking (even between sips of a drink, according to the stern-sounding MC shortly after we set off); food and drink were served at our comfortable seats; power and WiFi were available throughout the journey; and we arrived about half an hour late.  The differences were subtle, though marked:  the ham and omelette served for breakfast were both very odd creations; the WiFi worked for some websites (including, fortunately, this one) but not others (including my banking app, so I couldn’t check on whether the Ottawa hotel had really given us free internet access); and our suitcases were checked in, rather than accompanying us in the carriage. Oh, and the weather wasn’t all that brilliant, either, but then we were on a train, so didn’t really mind.

On the journey, Jane saw more churches with what looked like silver spires

(reminiscent of Notre Dame in Ottawa). The explanation will be forthcoming tomorrow, by the way, so please continue to pay attention.

But then we arrived in Québec city, and it was obvious that we had qrossed a qultural qhasm: we might as well have been in Paris.  The atmospheric change affected the passengers, whose previous orderly behaviour descended into an amorphous mob grabbing at their luggage as it came off the baggage car; initial signs directing passengers to taxis evaporated, leaving those in need of transport baffled as to where to go; a young lady at an “information” desk couldn’t be arsed to do more than hold up a piece of paper with a taxi phone number on it; and the taxi rank (once we discovered it, indicated by a scruffy and not very prominent sign attached crookedly to a lamppost hidden behind a construction site) was devoid of taxis. After all the orderly, North American and well-organised travels of the last six weeks, it was a distinctly European experience.

Eventually, taxis started appearing and the ragged queue that had rather grudgingly formed with a puzzled expression on its collective face, started being transported to its destinations. The sophistication of the local taxi network was laid bare as our taxi driver stopped at one point to shout at another taxi that he should go to the station as it was “plein” (full), and reinforced as he explained that he’d prefer us to pay cash – the first time we had actually had to use Canadian banknotes in a month and a half. Oh, how we chuckled!

The Parisian feel continued as we arrived at our hotel (yet another Fairmonster, the Chateau Frontenac)

whose front yard was littered with vehicles (Gawd alone knows how our taxi driver got out). Once inside, we had a choice of what might or might not have been three separate queues, any of which might or might not have led to a point where we might or might not have been able to check in, amid scenes of fairly voluble and rather unco-ordinated discussions going on all around us.  We took the only course of action one can under these circumstances, which is to stand separately in two of the least unpromising-looking queues, ready to spring to the other in case it was a more effective choice.  In the end, and completely by accident, I won.  I saw a couple of people apparently jump all of the available queues and decided that I should follow this very Parisian example; it turned out that they’d found the Fairmont Loyalty Card queue and since I have an Accor membership I was able to find someone prepared to help us.

Once that had happened, everything proceeded a lot more smoothly.  We got a nice room (rather reminiscent of Jane’s Parisian garret apartment of 30 years ago) on the seventh floor, and the last Parisian snook cocked at us was that we were charged by a hotel room service jobsworth for some milk for the cup of tea we were really in need of by this stage. This is our eighth Fairmont; none of the previous seven have cavilled at simply – and freely – helping out a couple of Brits in pitiful need of tea. But we were now in logical Paris, so not only were we charged for a glass of milk, but, of course, there was a delivery cost added to the bill.

Anyhoo….

It was late afternoon by this stage and so we decided to go for a walk. Obviously.  We (broadly) followed a recommendation from Ian Burley (you’ll remember – of course! – that we met him as we walked around Menorca a year ago) for a stroll around parts of the city.  The walk started on the terrace outside the hotel

which also gives an opportunity to see quite what a monster the hotel is.  The terrace is a pleasant boardwalk in a nice environment

with the occasional surprise, like this toboggan run (winters only, of course)

and, at the end, a really quite substantial set of steps up to Quebec’s Citadel.

Our route took us across the Plains of Abraham (no, not that one, actually; more likely a Scottish fisherman who came here early in the 17th century) which were the scene of a battle between perfidious Albion and those diabolical Frenchies in 1759 as the two nations struggled for control of an extremely important strategic location.  Then we went past the National Assembly building

(very imposing, and much more pleasant on the eye than the government buildings opposite),

and one of the historic gates into the city (St. Louis Gate).

It was almost impossible for me to shake off the feeling of being in Paris.  On one side of the street you could find a charming row of houses and brasseries,

and, directly opposite, great brutalist slabs of masonry;

inexplicable bits of statuary;

attempts to disguise, with a mural

a ghastly block of modern masonry;

and some really charming buildings.

We ended up walking along the Rue St. Jean, sadly by now in the dark, as it looks like it would be really interesting to see in the daylight, past the building site outside the cathedral and back towards the hotel. Québec is clearly going to be an interesting place to look around

despite the appalling solecism of having a Christmas Shop.

This was one of the giveaways that we were not, actually, in Paris; the other was that walking along Rue St. Jean was accompanied by the smells emanating from innumerable popcorn and ice-cream parlours – an ineluctable part of being anywhere near retail establishments in North America.

All in all, it was a pleasant and interesting introduction to somewhere which clearly has a great deal of historical interest to accompany its undoubted charm.  We will hardly scratch the surface in our forthcoming two days here, but it’ll be nice to aim for some degree of insight.

Tomorrow, we are promised, on our itinerary, “A Fabulous Country Tour” and, by the weather forecast, wind and rain.  Who knows how it will go?  Answer: you will, but only if you check back in to these pages to find out.

 

Up Ship Creek in Anchorage

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Wednesday 10 August 2022 – Long Read Alert!

Anchorage!  Such a lot packed into a single day! I recommend you get yourself a stiff drink and settle in for a long session if you want to read this at a single sitting.

The main task for the day was to take a Covid test as a pre-requisite for being allowed to join the cruise that starts tomorrow.  We’d tried to pre-empt it yesterday by going to the Egan Congress Center in the optimistic hope that the testing facility might be open.  It wasn’t – we’d arrived too late – but at least we now knew where the testing facility was.  Optimism ruled our hearts once again as we headed there just after 8am today hoping that it might be open.  Again, the Congress Centre appeared to be still closed, so we retired to the hotel for breakfast before trying again just after 9am, by which time it had opened its doors. The testing process was efficient – a QR code to register on-site, test kits ready to hand out, a promise of results by e-mail within 20 minutes and contactless payment to relieve you of the fee – $89 per person, which is a scandalous amount, but if it gets us on to the boat, then that’s a win.

By the time we’d walked the two blocks back to the hotel and got a coffee from the lobby café, the results were in, and we were officially declared free of the Dreaded Lurgy, which should make the blog entries for the next few days a little more interesting than they might otherwise have been.  To add further to our joy, the sun had come out and the day was warming up nicely. We had decided to take a Trolleybus Tour to give us some idea of what Anchorage had to offer, so we wandered off in the general direction of the Visitor Center to see what the deal was.

The Visitor Center features a log cabin, which is quite fetching, particularly when viewed through the Spirit Bridge, a 1985 sculpture by Roger Barr.

You can also see our hotel in the background.  Nearby the Visitor Center is a hot dog stand with some interesting wares.

Had we not just had breakfast, the spicy reindeer dog would have exerted a strong draw, I think. Also by the centre is a statue along a rather common theme in these here parts.

Wherever you look, it seems there are references to bears.  Our hotel’s bar/restaurant is called Bruins, for example, and just outside its doors is the reason why.

Trolleybus tour operators proselytise tirelessly outside the center, happy to explain what was on offer, and they proved as efficient at parting us wirelessly from our dollars as was the Covid Test site. The deal we settled on was the Luxury version of the tour, distinguished from the standard version by occasional stops with the opportunity to get off and take photos. That started at midday and it was just 10.30 when we bought the tickets, so we had an hour and a half to kill. This we did by our normal tactic of Going Off For A Wander.  We had a vague idea of a direction to go in, as we’d seen some pleasant-looking timber houses on the taxi ride in from the airport. Jane accordingly navigated us in the general direction that we thought we might have seen them.

On the way, we passed some quirky street art touches,

the local take on Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia, the Sacred Family Cathedral of Anchorage

and the Veterans Memorial

before reaching the area we’d sought, which did indeed have a very nice selection of timber buildings.

By this stage we were at Delaney Park, a long stretch of green space between 9th and 10th Avenues, which was originally cleared in the early 20th century as a firebreak to stop the wildfires that are part of the warp and weft of life in Alaska from destroying the developing city. From the park, you can see distant mountains.

We passed the First Presbyterian Church

and “556”, an S-160 class steam locomotive built in 1943, one of 2,300 built for the American army and missing the typical steam engine domes because many were used for the war in Europe and Africa, where tunnels and bridges were lower than in the USA.

(Very creative use of rolling stock wheels for seating purposes, I thought.)

Around here, we met a Friendly Native (there seem to be plenty of them hereabouts – it’s a very amiable place) who suggested a couple of things we should have seen, so we tucked them away for future use after we’d finished our trolleybus tour.  As we worked our way back towards the tour meeting place, we passed some striking murals.

The Trolleybus tour was delightfully led by a lady called Donna who was a mine of interesting information, leavened by very good humour.

One of the strongest threads running through her commentary concerned a major event, not only for Alaskans, but with global impact – the 1964 Earthquake. This was absolutely massive – 9.2 on the Richter scale, thus the most powerful earthquake recorded in North American history, and the second most powerful earthquake recorded in world history. Six hundred miles of fault ruptured at once and moved up to 60 ft. Post-quake tsunamis severely affected Whittier, Seward, Kodiak, and other Alaskan communities, as well as people and property in British Columbia, Washington, Oregon, and California. Tsunamis also caused damage in Hawaii and Japan. Evidence of motion directly related to the earthquake was also reported from Florida and Texas. The repercussions even caused church bells in Johannesburg to ring. It is a candidate to be the third most massive shock to the planet after the Chicxulub meteorite which did for the dinosaurs 66 million years ago and the meteorite which exploded over Antarctica 430,000 years ago.

The incredible thing about the Alaskan earthquake is that although property damage was huge, very few people in Anchorage were killed, because it happened on Good Friday – schools and businesses were closed and the areas affected were largely deserted.

The tour route took us to the James Cook monument, where Donna gave a summary of the huge (but not quite earth-shaking) impact that Cook had had on our knowledge of the world in the 18th century;

he discovered and mapped Alaska as he searched for the fabled North Western Passage that, were it found, would open up trade to Asia. The monument site offers views across the water to distant mountains

and to the “Sleeping Lady”, Mount Susitna, which has an Athabascan mythical story attached to it.

From there, we went to Earthquake Park, where the Pacific and American tectonic plates meet, enabling someone to stand with a foot on each.

A short walk into the woods reveals the waves that were caused as the surface moved up and down during the earthquake.

Shortly afterwards we came to the point on the coast which enables a view back over downtown Anchorage

as well as two significant mountains over the water – Denali, also known as Mount McKinley, on the right in this picture

and Mount Foraker on the left.  Denali, at over 20,000 feet, is the highest mountain peak in North America, as well as the third most prominent and third most isolated peak on Earth, after Everest and Aconcagua (in Argentina).

The route back to town took us past Lake Spenard (named for Joe Spenard, a significant player in the development of Alaska in the early 20th century) and the site of a vast number of “float planes”.

Aeroplanes are hugely important in Alaska, as they are often the only way to reach places because building roads is made difficult by the permafrost which is often only feet below the surface in the state. Trying to develop on such land is challenging as the permafrost melts, meaning you’re now trying to build on water.

The lake is near to Anchorage’s international airport, and one can see huge warehouses in the area, which belong to logistics giants such as Fedex and UPS. This comes about because Anchorage has a critical role to play in the air freight business.  Since it’s a maximum of 9 air hours away from the majority of the planet’s major cities, going via Anchorage is often the most efficient way to move cargo.  It’s notable that the airport was at its busiest during the pandemic as delivery operations became more and more important to people who were in lockdown.

And that was our trolleybus tour – fascinating and entertaining.

We’d learned so much – and it was only lunchtime! We headed to the Glacier Brewhouse, a recommendation from the hotel receptionist, which served us a very agreeable lunch, and then, in order to take advantage of the superb weather, went out and about again.

Going along with the recommendations from our Friendly Native, we headed back down to  Delaney Park and struck out west towards the water’s edge.  We’d already seen one Interesting Church (the Presbyterian one) and we soon passed another, the First Baptist Church.

I wonder if there’s a link between being in the far north and building interesting churches – we’d seen a plethora in Iceland also.

We worked our way along the length of the park (which is 14 blocks from end to end) and came to the water.  We’d planned to take a path back along beside the water but there was the inconvenient matter of a railway between us and it.  So we zig-zagged our way back up towards the city in search of the place where the path crosses the track so we could join it. There was a steady stream of interesting and attractive buildings.

Outside the one shown just above, we noticed that the trees are encircled by metal. This is to protect them from moose, which would otherwise simply eat them.

Moose play a more important role in Alaskan life than simply being a road hazard in the winter. They wander quite freely and whilst they’ll eat practically any vegetation, they have a special relationship with willow; not the weeping willow that’s familiar in the UK, but feltleaf or diamond willow.  And there’s a link with the original firebreak role for Delaney Park.  It’s an interesting, but complicated story.

Willow trees shed their leaves every year, and the leaf mould is gradually compacted over the years by the snow, eventually forming a thick layer of a substance called duff, which prevents further growth. When the duff dries out in summer, lightning strikes can cause it to burn, giving rise to the wildfires which are common all over the state.  These clear the duff, allowing for new willow growth which is food for moose, which, in turn are food for the apex predators – wolves and bears. Moose are unusual in that they can eat the bark as well as the leaves of willow, which is why it plays such  a key role as a foodstuff.  But protection round trees is a common sight, as mooses’ appetites aren’t limited just to willow.

Another botanical nugget concerns “fireweed” – what we’d call rosebay willowherb. This can be found growing all over

and according to local lore, each year the height it grows to predicts the depth of the snows in the coming winter.  (Our guide Donna’s family did a project over 15 years of monitoring this, and she asserted that this was true each year they measured it to within an inch or two.)

The final chapter of this extraordinarily content-filled day concerned salmon, a high-profile industry in Alaska. The salmon harvest in Alaska is the largest in North America and represents about 80% of the total wild-caught catch, with harvests from Canada and the Pacific Northwest representing the remainder.  You can see salmon all over the place as artwork

but, more to the point, this is the time of year where they run upriver to spawn and Donna had told us about a place where we could maybe see them in action – the Ship Creek Overlook Park. This was the final stop on our walkabout.  We made our way to the bridge which offered the best viewing possibilities and, sure enough, there they were, in profusion.


But, accompanying this was the (very laid-back) cabaret of people fishing for salmon in the river. There were lots of them

and indeed watching them appears to be a spectator sport, too.

There’s a restaurant built on a bridge over the river

and, just to the side, a place which is famous for its superb fish processing knives

(Ulu is derived from an indigenous people’s word for knife, apparently).

And this completed the walkabout for the day.  We’d covered around nine miles as well as going on the bus tour and our brains were full of all the things we’d learned and the sights we’d seen. For such a small town, Anchorage had given us a marvellous and varied day out, enhanced by some lovely weather.

I’ve just taken a look at the forecast for Seward, which is where we will board our cruise, some 120 miles south of Anchorage.  It looks like it will be raining there, not only when we arrive, but for the whole week, which emphasises how fortunate we have been today.

Tomorrow, then, will be taken up by the transit to Silver Muse and the concomitant fuss about boarding, and getting to know the layout of the ship (particularly where we can find gin). So it will be a couple of days before I report anything, and, given the length of this entry, I should think you’re quite relieved about that.  Anyway, do come back in a couple of days to see how we’ve got on, won’t you?