Awed by the Claws: the Grizzlies of Katmai National Park

Rule #1 of Katmai Park?  When you see a grizzly, make yourself look big!  Raise up both arms and repeat in a big, firm voice, “Whoa Bear.  Hellooooo Bear.  Whoa Bear”.

We needed those instructions BEFORE our flight, though, because, as our seaplane banked into Brooks Falls Camp, we stared wide-eyed out the window.  We were landing in grizzly country!  Two on the shore, another by the woods.  Mama and her cubs in the shallows, another skulking by the trail, and, at the bridge by the Falls, an actual Bear Jam. It was a hair-raising position to be in, and my typically venturous sons crowded together for security. 

The salmon were spawning, and Katmai was positively crawling with grizzlies!

So, we completed our bear safety orientation, stuck our graduation pins to our packs, and set out on the ½ mile hike down to the campsite, 5 wide pairs of eyes on the lookout.

We made it!  As we pitched our tents and separated out our bear edibles (food, of course, but also gum and even toothpaste!), I couldn’t help but eye the thin electric fence intended to protect the boundary of our campsite.  I tried not to imagine what would happen if any of these massively-clawed, grizzly-jawed, giants decided to breach the fence. But I was supposed to be the Fearless Group Leader, so I got the group chatting about the volcano we had just flown over and the “kitchen sink mashed potatoes” we had packed for camp dinner.  Before anyone could get anxious, we had stowed our gear in the bear-proof lockers, grabbed our books and travel journals, and were happily headed back towards the warmth and company of the lodge hearth.

 

Along the narrow trail we marched… me in the rear, following my 4 sons, led spiritedly by our family’s jokester, Robert.

Not 30 paces up the trail, though, Rob stopped dead in his tracks.  We train-wrecked into each other, as Rob thrust his hands high into the air, and quivered, in his 13-year-old Man-cub voice,  “Whooooooa Bear.  Helloo Bear.  Whooooaaaaaaa”.

We could barely get out “Ha, ha!”…“Yeah right, Rob”… before it rose up!  

Only a bodylength off the trail, out of a tangle of lingonberry bushes, 9 feet of lush black fur rose to tower over us.  Mouths agape, silenced, we listened to him slowly crunch his branch.  Close enough to see the shadowed furrows of his coat and his limp, black claws, curved comfortably against his chest, we got our first whiff of “bear”.

At that moment, the tome of summer ’02, Harry Potter’s Goblet of Fire, which had been clutched high up in Rob’s hand, dropped onto the path.

All I could manage was a whisper to Rob, “Do NOT pick that up!”And we began to backpedal, oh so slowly…

“Walk slow-ly”, I whispered. “Go Faster”, they hissed.

“Keep it slow, sloooow”, I quieted. “C’mon…c’mon”, they begged in whispers. 

 

We made about 20 yards, then turned tail and ran- exactly what our bear safety guy had warned us never to do.  We jumbled in the gate and slammed the lock, as adrenaline overcame us, with laughter and sweat, and we patted each other on the back, hysterical with relief. 

That’s when I remembered Rule #2:  If you see a grizzly, tell a Ranger. Like how?  The grizzly was BETWEEN us and that helpful park ranger!  

 

Instead, we spied through the thicket of sitka spruce until we saw our mighty grizzly, sated with berries and salmon, shoving one last branch into his jowl, then ambling off to the lakeshore.

We snuck out the gate, and, gingerly retracing our steps, discovered the spoils of Rob’s Potter classic.  The pages were shredded across the path, and the blue linen cover was pierced by 2 giant canines. We had come mighty close to that mighty creature, and as proof, that cover remains our most prized travel souvenir, to this day!

 

 

Hangin' on a Houseboat... Lake Powell and the Southwest

It had seemed like a fine idea… renting a houseboat to explore the canyons and emerald swimming bays of Lake Powell.  When I called for a reservation, the nice Utah gal on the phone said, “If ‘ya can drive a car, ‘ya can drive a houseboat."

Easy for her to say!  To begin with, there are no brakes on a boat… only a coasting stop (and a reverse gear, if you’re really in a panic!).  Also, it’s more the size of a double 18-wheeler than of any car I’ve ever driven.

But we boldly loaded up, and somehow got it backed out of the slip.   The narrow channels of the marina didn’t leave much room for error, though, and before I knew it, the Dock Master was flagging us down. My novice boating skills had earned us a private escort out of the yacht-filled marina.  Fortunately, my sons were young enough to think it meant we were special, not incompetent.

Free at last on the lake!  The breeze was cool, the rock buttes were a brilliant orange, and our icy beverages fizzed as we cracked open the peanuts. I guess I got caught up in our newfound adventure, and, before I knew it, we were nose-diving!

The bow of the boat, loaded down with 2 huge iced-down coolers, disappeared into the waves, and everything – our bodies, our books, our peanuts – flew South!  I yelled to the kids, “Run!  Run to the back!”, and as if their 70-pound, 10-year old bodies could save the day, they ran rear, grabbing white plastic chairs as they flew off the deck.

I slammed the engine into reverse (see alternate breaking method above), and with a great green slosh past my captain’s station and a thick glug of the motor, the pontoons rocked back upright.  Whew!  That was a close one!

 

So, all went well for the afternoon.  We quietly toured the lake and dreamed of our week ahead…  Jet-skiing through the warren of canyons, back to the famous Rainbow Bridge!  Fishing derbies (can Mom really clean a catfish?)  Morning hikes along the shoreline!  Ancient caves to explore!  Grand Western sunsets! Bonfires blazing in the desert night! Sleeping under the stars!

 

As the sky turned rosy and the kids called for dinner, though, I remembered that scary phrase from the boat orientation… “Beaching.” I had asked at the time, “Can’t we just circle the lake all night long?

The idea of beaching is to ram this 15,000-pound box of a boat into the sand beach, hard enough to stick, but not get stuck (all the while avoiding the red boulders for which Lake Powell is so famous).  It was a chaotic mix of boys, anchors, shovels, splashing and sweating, but we got her “set,” and with a whoop of victory, fired up the grill and opened the water slide.   Maybe houseboating WAS a brilliant idea after all.

 

As the kids chased each other down the slide, I took stock in our first day. I had nearly gotten a ticket, swamped the boat, and terrorized my crew. I had wondered if we had the “right stuff”-- when loading up, the other boaters filled their black wheelbarrows with cases of beer, while ours overflowed with scrabble, beach balls, and bags of marshmallows for our campfire.

But as the sun set, we dragged our mattresses out of the bunks and up onto the top deck, to sleep out under the powdered-sugar sky… just us five and the stars…and I knew we did!

 

I always say I raised my 4 sons, partly in our home in Princeton, NJ and partly in our Ford van as we road-tripped to the 4 corners of the United States, Mexico and Canada.

These trips started as a way to connect with distant grandparents, but soon became a moving classroom, retracing the Oregon Trail and wondering why the bats circled their way out of Carlsbad Caverns. (Have you ever seen this?  UTube below!)

Over time, though, these trips became an all-out quest for adventure-- camping with grizzly bears, swimming with manta rays, and using all forms of outdoor plumbing! (I raised sons, so we stuck to the noise-friendly, wide-open wilderness.)

As we motored along, the terrain of America rolled past us like a slow motion movie… green hills with Amish barns, to tabletop farms with geometrically-perfect rows of corn, up the abrupt Rockies, then back to the soft valleys and down to touch the Pacific. 

As the van drove west, a collage of bumper stickers covered our Ford Van, and a lifetime of memories filled our family.  The lore of these trips so deeply marked my kids, that at least one them wrote of it in his college essay: 

      “the doors to my youth are on my Ford Van”.

 

Someone asked me recently, “I bet you traveled all over when you were a kid”.  But, actually, when I was a kid, I never traveled out of my cul-de-sac!  

I got my first taste of travel in my 20’s…

I found myself in Tiananmen Square when martial law was declared in 1989 (My flowered Laura Ashley pants made for some interesting photos, amongst the black-clad, bicycling Chinese.  Travel teaches many lessons!)  I side-stepped cobra charmers in the souk of Marrakech, hiked up Arenal volcano, saw my first mummy at Pompeii, and rode the Orient Express into Budapest.  I had the bug!

Through all these experiences-- rugged and urban, for young and old, at home and abroad -- I was touched by the magic of travel.  And so it was, that Tough Love Travel was born.

It is my mission at Tough Love Travel to share this passion with you…

To create inspired adventure itineraries, which reveal the essence of a destination through culturally seasoned meals, offbeat lodging, and unique activities – Trips to fire your imagination, open your eyes, and bond your group or family.  Welcome to the world of Tough Love Travel!

 

This month, Tough Love Travel will devote its blog to that storied family ritual, The Summer Road Trip.

But stay tuned in June, for All about South Africa!