Back in July the husband and I ventured off to a magical land.
Alaska.
The husband, Mother-in-law and I departed from the Salt Lake international Airport with our
belly's full of beer and nachos from the airport pub.
After a short flight that seemed entirely too long due to the loud
jackwads behind us, preaching
LDSness to the entire fucking plane and boring us to tears with their conversations about punctuation and grammar, we finally had made it to
Long beach.
We were in
Long beach the perfect amount of time.
Read: 2 eight dollar beers at the airport bar worth and back on the plane we went. Alaska bound.
After a very long 5 hour flight we arrived in Anchorage. We landed around midnight to a dimly lit sky and the biggest hugs ever from the father-in-law and grandparents. They were so happy to see us they even carried some of our luggage.
We spent our first night in the motor home in Fairbanks. The next day we headed to
Soldotna.
After
ooing and
gooing at mother natures breath taking beauty over a 4 hour
motor home ride to
Soldotna we were finally there. We set up, Drank, had a fire and made
smores.
The next morning we woke up and headed to.... somewhere... on the coast, or gulf, or peninsula, or inlet, or something to go clamming. I was a little nervous because I had heard that clams can leave you with some pretty
bitchin' cuts, but after I saw my first
air bubble in the sand I was determined to get that little fucker up rooted. I was a wee bit too
aggressive however, and I smashed the shit out of my little gooey treasure.
After the mother-in-law getting stuck in the mud and me killing a few more clams, my father-in-law dug one up. He could feel where the clam was and told me where to go and that I needed to be
soft and
gentle and just wiggle him out of the sand and not
fucking annihilate him. I did just that and brought the sea creature right to the surface. Alive and squirming. And most importantly, not in a million pieces. I think the little guy was
grateful. He squirmed right out of his shell in an effort to give me a big
slimy hug. Thus, scaring the ever living
Christ out of me. Who knew a clam could move like that?
After clamming we stopped at a place called Jersey Subs. I was
leery to walk in there without a spray tan and a wicked fist pump routine, but when I saw it was a
sandwich shop running it's operation out of a bus and out houses for restrooms, I knew I'd be right at home. Best pastrami sandwich ever. Those Alaskan-Jersey sub bus drivers sure know what they're doing when it comes to a hot pastrami sandwich.
We arrived back at
Soldotna and decided to get on the
Kenia to slay some fish. Which is exactly
opposite of what
happened. As soon as we hit the river a storm rolled in, the bastard fish took raped all our bait and it was raining so hard water was going up our nose. On a boat with all men, the mother-in-law and I knew not to complain. So, with beers in hand, we just sat there, poles out, hands froze and a shitty grin.
The next morning the husband,
in-laws and I headed to Seward to go on a day cruise around the gulf of Alaska.
This cruise was simply amazing. Right away we saw
Orcas and Otters. Further into the cruise there was a cute little herd of
porpoises that came and swam along our boat, jumping in sequence and throwing up peace signs. We started making our way through an ice field and arrived about a quarter mile away from a massive glacier. The
captain said she was going to turn off the motor to the boat and for everyone to be silent and just listen. The cracks and pops that resonated off this monster glacier sounded like gun fire. Pieces of ice broke away and
plummeted into the ocean. Everyone stood on deck in awe. It was this very moment a tear came to my eye. I looked around at the people who were seeing the same thing I was. Most of them were older. A humbling
shock wave of emotion came over me. Here I was 27, wrapped in my husbands arms, My best
in-laws to my side, in Alaska, seeing what most people dream of. I couldn't help but get a little emotional and feel extremely lucky.
The glacier marked the half way point and we began heading back the way we came. We saw puffins, sea lions and jelly fish. We docked at Fox Island, which could possibly be one of the most beautiful islands on the gulf and indulged in prime rib and crab legs. We skipped rocks on the beach and took a few pictures before boarding the boat
(with rocks illegially smuggled down my pants) to head back to Seward.
About 40 minutes before arriving in Seward there was another whale sighting only this one, even more spectacular than the last. We encountered what was called a super pod. It's basically where all the whales from the sea get together to have a mixer. There's whale booze, fresh salmon, everyone puts their keys in the key bowl and then after that it's all just one big fuck fest. It's the
mardigras of the sea.
We ended our day cruise with a bald eagle welcoming us back to dock.
We
fiddlefucked around Seward for a bit, trying to get rid of our
sea legs and headed back to
Soldotna.
The next morning we left for Homer in the motor home. This is where I discovered that having a vehicle with a built in fridge and a toilet means you can drink as much beer as you'd like and you never once have to ask the driver to find a gas station that doesn't look like it's crawling with
STD'S. Best. Invention. Ever.
We arrived on the Homer spit, enjoyed the best fish and chips I've ever had, EVER and then went to the Salty
Dawg Saloon and had a bit of bourbon. We had a big day ahead of us so we kept things
relatively calm.
The next morning we headed out, at five fucking A.M. to meet the
captain of our deep sea charter boat and to get on the water. We had a bit of a hold up getting out to sea but we finally all were crammed inside the fishing boat and on our way out to the "fishing hole"--Which just means the sea.
Our
captains name was Rod.
I know right? Rod seemed super nice on the
TWO HOUR LONG boat ride out to the fishing hole. We made small talk, He found out it was my birthday and didn't laugh too hard when my mother-in-law asked about an hour into the boat ride if we were in international waters.
We finally anchored down. Rod was demonstrating exactly what we were to do, and how to do it when he got a fish on his line. Naturally he yells
"Birthday girl, get over here now"---You see, nice Rod went bye bye once we had stopped. This was now drill sargent Rod. Which, I guess if you're dealing with 8 semi drunk adults on a 10x10 space all playing with heavy metal jigs that could take someones face off and such, one probably can't leave much room for horseplay.So, I jumped to. I was so excited to actually catch my first fish
EVER! The
captain handed the rod over and my arms got immediately slammed into the side of the boat. I don't think I've ever really
contemplated or
assessed how much a fish
ACTUALLY weighs, but you'd think not much since everything is super light in water. This heavy mother fucker put up quite the fight. I didn't have a technique, I couldn't get any sort of leverage, I didn't know where to hold or how to pull and reel. In my brain, the only logical thing to do was to shove the rod (Not the captain) directly between my legs and ride it like a fucking pony.
Naturally.I was so wrapped up in trying to
NOT look like a jackass, and
TRY to get this fish in that I can't really recall what Rod was telling me to do. I think I heard
"idiot" and
"are you kidding me" mumbled somewhere along the line. I found it quite fitting I was getting junk punched by a 60 pound Ling Cod 27 times on my birthday.
Thank you sir, may I have another.Rod came to my rescue to take over and with my last breath I exhaled
"Thank you on behalf of my vagina." It was at that very moment
captain Rod and I became best friends.
He finished up his lesson and in the next few moments we dropped, hit bottom,
reeled up twice and waited. I got another fish on and brought that little bastard to the surface. Upon it's arrival, deck hand Michael,
who wasn't previously briefed on my sensitivity to killing things, GAFFED IT RIGHT
INFRONT OF MY FACE!. --
For those of you, much like me, unfamiliar with fishing terminology, this means impale a poor fish, after it's brought out of it's cute little sea home, with a hook suitable for Hannibal Lectar.THEN deck hand Michael put the fish on the deck of the boat, where it can flop around and slam into your legs while screaming
"Thanks a lot bitch, are you happy now!?" and he bleeds it out. Which means, jams a knife through it's gills. Then the words
"FISH BOX" are yelled, they open a compartment and throw the poor semi-lifeless fish below deck. Then they get a bucket of water from the ocean to splash the blood and guts from the deck. Which, awesomely splashed right up the crack of my ass.
Gruesome murder aside, the charter was awesome. I got to spend some amazing quality time in the middle of the ocean with my father-in-law. And by quality time I mean, him looking at his
spaz of a daughter-in-law with a puzzled look on his face as to why I'm having a borderline
epileptic fit on deck whenever a 70 pound fish is slammed down by my feet. It's all a little jarring still.
My mother-in-law and I had quite the time too. She made fun of me wearing my big silver hoops and all my rings on board. I cried to her about how badly my entire body ached from reeling in fish weighing the
equivalent to a god damn fifth grader and that I couldn't even put a sandwich to my mouth
AND that I didn't think I could fit in the pisser and I didn't want to pee
infront of a bucket of dead herring staring at me.
The husband looked proud as ever reeling in all his fish. He was totally in his element. He's not a huge fisher or hunter, but he knew exactly what he was doing. I think all the natural outdoors
knowledge is
transferred upon birth with the penis package.
Once we'd all caught our fill we headed back to land. After very minimal sleep and 12 hours on a boat, I was sure no one, including myself was going to be in the mood to get crazy on my birthday. I severely underestimated the caliber of
badasses we were on this trip with.
The
in laws told us to shower up and be ready in an hour. We headed further down the Homer spit and the in-laws treated us to a wonderful birthday dinner at the Market Grill. Our appetizer was Tequila. Our main course was meat of sorts paired with beer and our desert was more than our fill of bourbon at the Salty
Dawg.
I woke up with sand in every
orifice the next morning with no recollection of the night before.
Me:"Husband! How did I get so sandy?"Husband: "Oh, apparently you don't remember rolling around on the beach with my mother at midnight rambling something about "Can you say you've ever rolled around on the beach of the Homer spit at midnight on your birthday??" You two were like two drunken sea lions last night. It was like tending over grown toddlers on ambien"Me: "Huh. weird"Best. Birthday. Ever.
After
souvenir shopping we hit the road,
Soldotna bound once again.
The next couple days were pretty chill. We did some fishing on the
Kenia, laid around and caught up on some R&R and then processed an approximate
fuck load of fish.
By this time it was time to get packed up, clean up and head home. We caught a plane out of
Kenia and had a 30 minute flight to Fairbanks. Which was WAY better than a 4 hour drive crammed inside a regular cab truck. While in Fairbanks we all ate dinner as a family and my mother-in-law, husband and I saw my father-in-law off on his connecting flight. The 3 of us caught our flight a little later.
We made it home from vacation tired, sore and in need of a chiropractic adjustment but I must say it was one of the most memorable, amazing trips Brad and I have ever been on.
We've been to some pretty
badass places. Alaska might have just elbowed it's way to the top of the list.
To my in-laws: I can't think of two more
awesome inlaws to have shared Alaska with. The memories made and moments shared will forever be treasured in our hearts. You two made Alaska all that it could ever be and more. I absolutely love, adore and cherish you two. Thank you for everything.
Best fucking trip ever.
I love
yall to the moon.
