Homer Bound:

An Account of My Solo Travels to Homer, Alaska in a 1966 VW Westy Named Clara

September/October, 2009

One Fine Day in Homer, Alaska

It was just luck that I ran into the Weird RV - a Chevy "Titan" - again in Homer. OK, maybe it wasn't luck ... once you've committed yourself to Homer, there's really nowhere to run, and it's not that big of a place, assuming you went there for a reason, instead of hiding out, like many of the Homer sapiens, being somewhat Homerphobic, seem to be doing. Not really, though. Most everyone I had a chance to talk to in this "drinking town with a fishing problem" seemed to be chipper, lively, eccentric, interesting, and up-front, without being "in-your-face." I'm not sure about the shambling Homer Zombie yet, though ... he kind of scared me.

Anyway, back to the Titan. I saw it once at the intersection of Lake St., East End Rd., and Pioneer St., then again in the Safeway lot. I parked across from it and lay in wait, spending my time writing in the logbook and trying to get a good shot of the raven that had taken up residence on the Titan's roof. Before long, the owner came out and indicated that he recognised me from earlier at the intersection, and I went over to talk to him. Interesting guy. Bizarre RV. Kinda funny the way the fuel tank was held up underneath by one metal strap (stock), and one orange nylon ratchet strap (not stock!). Not so funny was the persistant leak that I noticed (and he fixed) coming from the connection to the tank! Before I left, he helped me put my mind at ease about some local things, and we parted ways.

I had this notion that I was going to go find a nice spot somewhere on the Homer Spit or thereabouts, make myself comfy with my computer, and start writing my report. That would be this report ... yes, the same that I am almost finished with a month-and-a-half after the trip. I never got started, as I spotted something in the water not far off the shore. Stopping the bus on the side of the road, I clambered over the rocks and strode down the beach toward this floating whatever-it-was. "Oh what fun!" I exclaimed, as I leapt for joy and clicked my heels together. "An otter!"

Yes, there he was, lolling blissfully in the gentle waves with his little paws held together over his chest as if in prayer, his body rolling with each swell. A sea otter. He saw me, too, and with a nod of his head and the barest suggestion of a wink, acknowledged my presence. I guess he figured I was OK, and allowed me to shoot quite a bit of video of him. Naturally, I was shooting because I thought he would DO something, but he outlasted me by a long shot. At one point he licked his paws and made sure his formidable whiskers were not in disarray, and at another point he spun around in the water to re-moisten his belly fur. I had thought he was eating a clam or somesuch, but apparently he had already finished, and was just enjoying the sun. He kept floating further away, too, making it harder to get a decent shot of him, but all that patience did finally pay off.

Besides the oh-so-brief emergence of a seal's curious face in the same frame as the otter, I also got swooping seabirds, swimming seabirds, seabirds crashing into the sea in pursuit of tasty little fish, and a rather strange jellyfish of striped and globular nature. As I trained my lens on the otter for one more (just one more, I say!) "last" shot before I left the beach, I saw, or thought I saw, through the corner of my eye before I got the camera rolling, a perpendicular column of water far in the distance. NOW the camera was rolling, and I scanned the horizon, waiting for a lucky break. Who you callin' "tourist"? The whale finally did resurface, and I did get the barest glimpse of it on tape - the dark mass just showing for an instant on the surface and the accompanying spout. Well, it wasn't dramatic or anything, but it was a whale! There was more than one, but unfortunately, I didn't really get anything on tape to prove it. I guess all these shots I 'didn't' get just give me something to look forward to.

I meandered back toward the bus, which was looking exquisite from that angle, and on my way saw many items of interest. A bizarre seashell, inhabited, with attached seaweed looking like dreadlocks. The requisite "daily eagle", which sometimes was more than one. This one was in flight, scanning the beach for yummies, and like so many of the other eagles in flight I saw, was flying further away, and I didn't get a good shot of it. The mountains across the bay looked really cool with the blustering clouds that came and went in impetuous billows, alternately obscuring the crags, then framing them in magnificence, accented by rays of sunlight skewering the mists like swords of the gods.

During our jaunt the day before, Igor told me about a semi-derelict bus that he knew of, and indicated that the owner wanted to make it go away. While I drove, he wrote out some excellent directions for me to follow, and after my little idyllic experience on the beach of the Spit, I thought maybe I should go check it out, envisioning a semi-rusted-out monstrosity of a barndoor, or maybe just a '59 kombi or something. I'd even have been happy to see another '66. However, when I got there, I found that the front window was too bulbous, and the shape of the body kind of funny. Resolving to come back once our move was complete, I'd look it over further to see if I could at least get the engine, which was supposed to be a "Porsche" engine, and sell the body to someone who needs a baywindow! No offense, of course, but I really do prefer having to grease more zerks, lube and worry about extra gear boxes, open and close my cargo doors in a specific order, and have trouble getting my wheels balanced because so many tire shops don't have the adapters for my wide-five rims.

Since the weather was still quite stunning, I thought I'd go over the hill towards Anchor Point again to see if I couldn't find a place to frame scenic shots of Mt. Illiamna and Mt. Redoubt. I stopped at the overlook to patronize the bathroom there, with which I had developed a certain relationship with over the last week, and when I was inside, I saw that someone had augmented the various epithets and crude graffiti with a sentiment that I thought most amusing. Written carefully in small letters, in pencil no less, it read: "I just wanted to write something." Well done! Glad you thought to share. I dunno ... call me crazy, but I thought that was swell!

When I was driving northward on Sterling Highway, I glanced to the left at just the right time, and saw a small brown sign partially hidden by the bushes at the mouth of a narrow dirt road. Brown means public, so I looped back and checked it out. Looked like a road that went somewhere, so I followed it. There were muddy water-filled potholes that acted as speed bumps, but as the road curved around as it headed through sparse forest and brush toward the west coast of the southern end of the Peninsula, it posed no challenge or threat. I was thinking that maybe I had found a way to another beach!

I was partially right, as the road ended in a small parking area, and two trails stemmed from it, one going almost due west, and the other heading south. The southern trail looked awfully well-maintained, while the westward trail looked kind of rough and overgrown, so naturally, I chose the rough and overgrown trail, and headed west with my cameras. The going was a little rough, and I had to be careful of hidden sticks that I might slip on or trip over. I was also getting my boots and lower pant legs quite wet. The trail was hemmed in closely on both sides by lines of scrawny trees, and tall grass, namely fireweed. When I saw the big pile of fresh bear scat, I wondered whether to continue, as I was defenseless, and there would be nowhere to retreat to except back up the narrow trail. Undoubtedly, the bear would have felt the same, and would have been more likely to get upset were we to meet. As luck would have it, I met no bear, but after walking for another ten minutes in the ever-thickening wet brush, I decided to turn back anyway. I could hear the ocean, but could not see it, and did not want to have to retrace my steps back up this trail!

Back at the parking spot, I took the nice trail this time. The niceness ended after a quarter-mile or so, but it was still beautiful, and eminently walkable. Instead of pea gravel, the trail was just packed earth, some of it a bit on the muddy side, but not a problem. It started getting steeper as it angled along the side of the ravine, and there were a couple spots where I had leap over slippery mus spots, but it was indeed a beautiful day for a hike. I met a woman's dog, and then the dog's owner coming up from the beach that I could now hear. The dog was happy and energetic, but the woman had her coat around her waist and was sweating profusely as well as huffing and puffing. She wasn't out-of-shape, either, but it was a hot day, and looking down past her, I saw that the trail was much steeper! I said "Hi!" and she said "Nice day!" and then I said "I think I might be overdressed ..." and she replied "It will all be around your waist on the way up!"

She was right. I was protected by layers: I was in boots, jeans, a t-shirt, a heavier Rustybus t-shirt, a long-sleeved Shasta Snow Trip shirt, a pullover sweater, a zip-up "fuzzy", and finally, a Marmot jacket (sans liner). I was comfy in the cold, but this wasn't cold! Actually, I was comfortable heading downhill under the shade of the trees, but once I finally emerged into the full sun on the open hillside just before the beach, I immediately started to take in more heat than I could expel, and my brains almost boiled. Maybe they did. I do know this: I was not in the mood to linger long due to the heat, and because of this, my photography suffered. Some of you hardened photo-veterans may scoff, but hey, who said I thought I was a professional?

At any rate, it was a gorgeous beach - bummer that so few clouds graced the sky over the horizon, which was comprised of a long range of pointy, white mountains, many of which were volcanos. The clouds that were not there would have given the sky a little more in the way of detail and interest, but I cheerfully accepted my fate and shot stills and video of the scene. As soon as I turned my back to the sun to start the arduous climb, I really began to melt, and off came half my layers. I would have taken off more, but this just meant more to carry, and I was already packing an oversized video camera which required a good amount of energy just to lug around!

Long story short, by the time I made it up to the bus, I was drenched in sweat, but cold, as I no longer had the benefit of the sun, and was simply soaked. I endured this quite well, as I knew better than to remain wet if so unfortunate as to get wet, (thanks Mr. Stroud!) and ate lunch while my clothing dried in the breeze. When I was returning to the highway, it was late afternoon, and time to go back to civilization to prepare for my last night in the area. I earned a scathing glare from some lady who was loading her dogs into the back of her truck as I came 'round a corner a little fast, happily splurshing through one of the bigger puddles. I guess she was looking at me like I would look at some nincompoop on a snow machine or ATV, destroying the serenity and making a mess of things ... but you do NOT want to get me going on that subject. We are a little better, being in buses that have to (for the most part) stay on things we generally call "roads", but those guys go where there are no roads, and the things they leave are called "scars." Go figure.

Anyway, why'd you get me started on a subject that has no easy resolution? Go look up "problems with ATV or snowmobile use" on Google or something, if you want, and you'll understand why even the wild places are no longer sacrosanct, and quietude is something you only get if you happen to be the last one standing after the shootout. Gawd, that really irks me that so many of these bozos feel that it's OK to tear up the land and raise such a racket. What the people of Alaska do not understand is that they are not immune from the same kind of situation as many other more regulated places. Look at California! Can't hardly think fun thoughts without having to pull a permit for it! Too many damn people all over the place, and everyone wants a piece of it. The reason Alaska is still so wild and free is that it is really big and there are far fewer people to ruin it. But they are coming ... they are coming ...

I told you not to get me started. See what happens? I reached the highway with no further incident and rejoined the mainstream. Back in Homer, I set out to find Debra and tell her I was leaving, and to find the brewery so I could find out just what it is that makes a small brewery (Homer Brewing Company) gain such a reputation in a small, land's-end type town as Homer. Have I even mentioned the Armageddon Cafe? Maybe I'll fill you in on that place in some other report. It involves aliens.

Later, I finally located the brewery in Homer, and bought a Sobe bottle full of Oktoberfest ale. I took this to the beach, where I settled down to wait for the sunset one last time, and do Internet stuff, and relax with my beer, when I met a guy who was very confident in himself and his prowess with the guitar, and he proved it by helping me drink my brew. The sunset finally arrived, and my new friend, having seen one sunset, and therefore all, got bored and staggered off to heist someone else's libations. I, however, remained, and trained my lens on the sun and moon, as both afforded many an opportunity for good photos. This was my last free night in Homer, and I relished it.

It had been a truly great day, most worthy of being remembered as a last day of a vacation/adventure trip before the relatively stressful and harried day that was to follow, which didn't really count.

If you want to go back to your spot on Page 10 - CLICK HERE!!


Gene Cornelius
mizamook@geemail dot com


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