Post the Last

Well, dear readers, I have just arrived in Anchorage after the longest drive between the cabin and home I have ever experienced, clocking in at 8 hours. I spent the early day frantically trying not to forget any of the 3,000 things required to properly shut up the property, and I am sure I forgot at least 1,500 of them, but hopefully nothing so egregious that my parents show up and find a smoldering pile of moldy straw in a couple weeks.

Skylar was sad to see me go, but honestly, he doesn't look good. We had a really awkward goodbye, but I did make sure not to let Sancho pee on him.

I got the truck all kitted out to sustain anything that nature could possibly throw at it. I was ready for the most slippery of roads, the deepest ice wells, and the sharpest tiger traps. Observe the impressive beast ready for battle.

I got out on the road, and there were a couple spots that tried to test my metal mammoth.

In the end though, the road was much tamer than I thought it would be. An inch of snow fell and provided plenty of traction. It took me about an hour of cruising along at 15 miles an hour with the chains on before I realized I needed to change my game plan if I was going to make it home before I caught a bad case of death by old age. So I took the chains off and cruised into Chitina (35 miles from the cabin) about 2 hours after I left. I thought things would be peachy from then on out.

By the time I hit Glenallen it was completely dark and snowing profusely. Driving down the highway was like crossing the galaxy with Han Solo after Chewy kicks in the hyperdrive, and all the stars turn to lines and start zooming past. This is a great effect to observe for a second or two on television, but let me tell you it is the most mindfucky thing in the world if you trying to look out for moose in it for hours. I went pretty much the whole 300 miles at about 45 miles an hour. I had to stop three times to make sure Sancho got all the peeing he needed done. I was really worried he was going to start pooping everywhere because I gave him some bacon this morning, but he did very well and now he is playing his face off in the backyard with two of his doggy chums.

I think the time has come to declare the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award. It has been a race to the finish as Germany, Denmark, and Ecuador appeared out of nowhere. South Africa has been coming on strong. The winner is........ (Bum badda bum bum BUM)

NEW ZEALAND!!!!

 

with Uganda coming in second and South Africa a very close third. Congratulations New Zealand! Since I now know that it was Xavier operating undercover in the Southern Hemisphere, the final addition to the prize vat is a bottle of Crown and a jug of apple juice. I am so proud of all the nations that showed their true hermity stripes.

Well, folks, its been a blast. Thanks for reading! I got 2000 hits over the course of the month, which I think shows some dedicated readership. All the comments especially I read with the greatest appreciation and contentment. I'll be seeing you....

The Atoms Start Flying Apart!

Well, dear readers, I have decided that the world is falling apart. Whatever it is that holds the cosmos together in its loose alliance has abandoned us, and the world is now coming to a close. The Apocalyptic wind that shipwrecked poor Tim has for the most part abated, but the temperature remains above freezing. My sister always tells the tale of driving the McCarthy road when she was sixteen, fresh out of sophomore year, (maybe junior year, who knows? I was probably still in junior high and seriously considering the social ramifications of wearing sweat pants instead of jeans, so I didn't have time to remember) on the hunt for a car of her own. The winning candidate was the 1990 blue and rust colored F150 that was sitting at the cabin and had to be returned to Anchorage. The way she tells it, the road was made out of Teflon, and horrible gargoyles were holding it up at a 45 degree angle so that she would slide off one side into the mouth of a tremendous Leviathan named Walter, who would devour both Stump and her unshiny F150 without remorse.

I always thought she was nuts, but now I understand. I am about to face the same sort of conditions on the morrow, when I sally forth into the unknown in hopes of reaching civilization, grocery stores, and ultimately, an airport. Grass is showing in the fields, the road looks like a speed skating rink, and Skylar has withered into the most horrifically decrepit thing you could possibly imagine. I have to get out of here, dear readers, before I am devoured whole!

I got to feeling nostalgic today, it being my last full day of hermitage and all. I went for a walk (and I do mean walk. No snowshoes, no skis, no snow, no worries. This place looks like the colony in Aliens after Sigourney Weaver torches the whole thing with a flame thrower, and then the whole shebang goes up in a nuclear explosion) with Sancho, and it really was pretty nice. I ended up walking around in a T shirt and watching the sunset, which I have to say is pretty damn strange for Alaska in February. The rest of my day has been consumed by repeat usages of the dishwasher and washing machine. I have to eliminate all evidence that I let Sancho sleep on the bed. Golly, I hope my parents don't find out (wink, wink). By the way, parents, if Sancho does jump on the bed, don't be too harsh. I was the enabler. Here is a series of photos about depicting the world falling to pieces.

I call this one "Reflections of Sancho"

I call this one "Hopes of Sancho"

This one is "Windward Spring, or Septic System Summertime"

This one is called "T-Shirt Sunset"

And this last one is "Holy Crap That Road Looks Slippery But the Surroundings Look Quite Nice"

New Zealand looks poised to claim victory in the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award. Who could possibly challenge them?

ARRRRGH THE WIND! WHY MUST IT HAUNT ME SO?

Well, the weather decided to go absolutely batshit insane again. The Wicked Wind of the East returned in full force, raising the temperature to 42 degrees. It is blowing harder than any wind I have ever experienced out here. It has knocked everything down that used to be standing and moved everything that isn't tied down with steel cables to some other place. The windmill has been so loud all day that it sounds like an 18 wheeler A HALF MILE DOWN THE ROAD. How do I know that the windmill is that audible a half mile down the road? I will tell you later. Skylar is in absolutely terrible condition, and I am worried that he just might fall apart. His weight is way down and he generally has a really unhealthy, pockmarked aspect to him that is a cause for concern. If you need any further confirmation about how hard the wind is blowing, then observe this bird nest.

"Oh, wow, Hermit, did you have to climb a tree for that nest?" NO! I did not have to climb a tree! Know why? The nest got blown out of the tree! It was just resting in the middle of the god damn road! At least it didn't rain. OH WAIT. There was torrential downpours last night. When I woke up this morning I was pretty sure the house was cruising across the Pacific on moderately heavy seas in search of giant squid or something, because the windows were covered in spray. I couldn't even see outside most of the ground floor.

I was resigned to waste my day. Have the heavens ever granted a greater excuse for sloth that when they choose to rain on top of snow? There is absolutely NO reason to go outside. So I didn't. I decided I was going to turn in a sub par blog entry without any pictures, drink Irish whiskey until I couldn't hear the windmill thrumming away inside my mind, maybe watch a Jackie Chan movie, and pack it in. But then, dear readers, there was a knock on the door.

I just about flipped my shit. I was tempted to sprint to the bedroom and grab the 50 cal before I answered the door, but I didn't and you know why not? It wasn't because I wasn't convinced the person on the other side was going to kill me, but because I wanted to answer the door in a timely fashion. I am so conditioned to answer the door promptly I will throw all personal personal safety to the wind. I would let Ted Bundy in before getting the gun so he wouldn't have to wait. Ahhh, the things this hermitage has taught me.

So instead of grabbing some weapons I called out "Who is it?" and a voice replied "Tim Nelson". I thought, oh, great, Tim Nelson, and opened the door. He was already inside before I realized that I have no idea who Tim Nelson is. Good thing that Tim Nelson is a really nice guy, one of my neighbors (about 25 miles away) and that his car was stuck a half mile down the road, where he had been hearing an 18 wheeler despite the fact he knew there was no such thing on the McCarthy road (it was the windmill). So we went to rescue Tim's car. The road, it turns out, is like an ice rink with a swimming pool on top of it. Driving on it was like trying to drive on a submerged iceberg. So we put on the chains, and then we had to go through the whole rigamarole of attaching the winch (see Wenchy Winches if you are interested in a more detailed description of this onerous task), and pulling out Tim's car. It worked, eventually, but the problem was the road was tilted and so slippery that every time I pulled him out, his car would just slide right back off the road while at a standstill. Physics teachers could use the road today to demonstrate a perfectly frictionless surface. I saw Sancho fall down while standing still. I recognize that he is a clumsy dog, but usually he can stand up without falling on his face. Not today. No sirree. I swear to god a kitchen table would lose its legs if you tried to put it on that road. I am starting to wonder if I will make it out of this hermitage, or if I will be forever doomed to falling on my face over and over again on a frictionless surface until the end of time. Tim got turned around and headed to the neighbors to spend the night, having decided that he wasn't going to make it home. I didn't bring a camera along to document the action, so I only have this picture of my hand to prove that Tim does in fact exist, and that tire chains are dirty.

Status quo on the MAoENMHA, although Australia is all of a sudden looking like it wants to play the game. Is it too late? Only time will tell.

Hermit FAQ II: Revelations

Another beautiful day in hermitdom. I spent most of the afternoon arranging my airfare back to Salt Lake City, my chosen post-hermit location. Though the thought of ending my run as a hermit is a difficult one, I feel that it must be explored. Come with me, and we will delve into the nature of post-hermit, what it means for the post-hermit personally, what connections it my have to archetypal post-hermit characters, what others can expect from a post-hermit, and how awkward a post-hermit can be.  

Because you are so used to relieving yourself whenever the need strikes, do you think you will accidentally pee in public? 
 This is a tough question. I sincerely hope I do not pee in public, but I have started having these nightmares where I walk into the woods a little ways and start peeing, and there is a urinating tree (see the Hermitage Safety Guide and Urinating Trees entry if you are confused) right next to me, and we sort of look over at each other and nod in that way that says "Hey, man, I'm peeing, and its not that weird because you are also peeing" but then I realize that the urinating tree is in fact the checkout clerk in a Mormon grocery store, and they are not nodding in the way that the urinating tree was nodding, but have a horrible look on their face that says "Holy crapola, you crazy platypus, you are peeing on my checkout counter!" So hopefully this isn't one of those "predict the future" type dreams I usually have, because I hear Mormons are not huge fans of public urination. 

How will you reassert yourself publicly as a social human?
 Hmmm, this is something I'm worried about. When Buttons and Lemington came out I felt like talking was significantly harder than it should be. I am socially rusty, and I am going to have to get back into the swing of starting and holding conversations. I am a great conversationalist, I can prattle on for hours about any old thing like wood stove hot tubs, the difference between heating oil and diesel, the nature of urinating trees, how much oil goes in a generator, and Sancho's beard hair. I figure that is plenty of stuff to entertain anybody for hours, so my problem will be starting conversations, not keeping them going. First, I am going to dress to the nines every day. I am gonna wear my Beyonce jacket and my Minotaur hat everywhere I go. People like to talk to beautiful strangers, and I think the machete will really give me an air of mystery that people on the streets will find impossible to resist. At parties, when the jacket and hat might be inappropriate, I think I will bring some firearms, and whenever I'm not getting enough attention, I'll just fire off a little "Hey, talk to me" salute at the ceiling, so people won't forget that I'm around. People like to be inclusive, it's just that sometimes they need a reminder. 

What will Sancho do without you? 

He will be wildly and inconsolably distraught for anywhere between 15 minutes and a couple of hours, and then he will realize there is another dog to play with and exercise himself into a catatonic stupor.  Or maybe he will drink hemlock. Hopefully not. 


Are you seeking a new hermitage? Where?
 I do have my own apartment in SLC, and that counts as hermitage in many places, but does not fit my own strict definition. The problem I have been running into is the difficulty of hermiting and making money at the same time. Even Anthony of Egypt didn't adequately contribute to his 401k before he had to retire from hermiting on account of the horrible carpal tunnel/blindness/gangrene fiasco he went through. I must venture into society, ready to conquer the best job that pays any amount above minimum wage and doesn't require handling feces with my bare hands. Actually, I would probably take minimum wage. And handle feces. College degrees aren't worth much anymore, it turns out.

Are you in the habit of talking to yourself, and if so, will you stop?
I mostly talk to Sancho. We have long conversations about all kinds of important things that can go on for hours. He never says anything, so I guess it is sort of like talking to myself. What will I talk to when I'm not hanging out with Sancho anymore? Oh wait, I know. The answer is humans.


What's the first thing you will eat when you get back to civilization? Either a Cheesy Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell or a Big Mac from McDonald's. Both of those fine eating establishments are represented in Palmer, and I will have to decide once I get there. 

 Can we follow you by blog onto your next adventure?
 Yeah, I guess. I could write up little reports every day: "Wow, turned in ANOTHER job application. Got rejected for the feces handling position at McDonald's again. Maybe it will snow?" Nah, maybe that's a bad idea. The chances of my next adventure being blogworthy are pretty small. 



What's the loudest noise you ever heard in hermitude? Probably nothing like the noise of traffic in the big city. What's the worst stink you ever smelled in hermitude? Probably nothing like the mighty stink of the big city. Please address how you plan on coming to terms with these surely jarring assaults on your tender hermit senses and if you plan on using meditation as a tool, or perhaps enlisting the services of a life coach?
Wow, this is one helluva question. I almost feel like it is somebody bragging about how awesome their city is. Well I got news for you, bragging question asker, you are WRONG. The loudest noise I heard? How about the soul crushing rush of blood in my ears? When it's the only thing you can hear, you hear it loud, and it can drive a man crazy! It just grows and swells until the noise is the size of a tsunami of garbage trucks roaring down the valley, and you want to kneel and scream, but you can't escape it, it is part of you, and just when you have had it a minute longer than you can bear, and your feeble little mind has turned to tapioca pudding, an owl will hoot, break the spell, and save what remains of your soul. 
   Have you ever smelled the putrid cloud that comes out of Sancho's beard after he has been gnawing on shit patties? When he exhales, it smells like...a tsunami of garbage trucks rolling down the valley, and then he farts and sticks his nose a little closer, and you want to vomit, partially because you are so disgusted, but mostly because right now vomit would smell so much better than all the odors the dog is giving off, and you contemplate how long it would take to find some hemlock and drink it, but the fart dissipates and Sancho moves away, interested in something else, and your will to survive returns.
   So NO, I won't need a life coach. The real question is: Can the "Big City" handle a post-hermit? Unlikely. But maybe I could look into the life coach thing as a possible career field. Sounds way better than feces handling at McDonald's.


In the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award, New Zealand still has a commanding lead, but South Africa is creeping up on a complacent looking Uganda. Only a few days left people!
 

Existential Hermit Doubts, Snow and Sun

Back to my normal hermit routine today. Sancho is happily pawing his way through the glass door again in honor of something, but it definitely isn't a plea to open the door. I've tried four times already and he just fixes me with his best puppy dog stare and stands very still, hoping that whatever he wants to happen will now magically happen.

The temperature is cold again, about 10 below zero. There has been this strange cold weather snow falling that is super light and thin, and it builds up in really interesting ways. The whole area is back to winter wonderland status. There is a hefty layer of frost built up on all the trees and anything else that has a surface. Here is a wind chime that resides on the back porch.

The day that Buttons and Lemington took off the clouds were very low and very oppressive, but by the end of the day the sun was starting to peek through the mist. 

Yesterday and today have both been almost offensively sunny. The sun is all the way above the mountains to the south, and shining like a demon doused in gasoline. It evokes the craziest emotions in me, things like "hope" and "joy". After all the darkish days I didn't even remember what a nice sunny day looked like.

I have gone for some skis and some snowmachine rides in the hopes of tiring out the dog, but I think that he is getting to be in better shape because what used to work no longer does. Maybe it's just the disappearance of Maggie the Tormentress, because Sancho keeps insisting that the keyboard of my laptop is the very best place in the world to use as a platform for chewing his tennis ball, an activity he was only ever vaguely interested in before her visit.

I am struck by how soon my hermitage must come to a close. I am beginning to be racked by those social doubts that every hermit must face when they return to society. Must I shower every week? Do I have to wear clothing all the time? What do you mean I can't wear a 50 caliber revolver everywhere I go?

What should I do, dear readers? I hope that you will ask me questions about my impending return to civilization so that I can deepen my understanding.

Status Quo on the MAoENMHA. Scoot your roots!

The Visitation Saga Part 3: The Food

Maggie was fun to watch, if not fun for Sancho to experience, and the the adventures were most definitely adventurous, but what really pulled the whole experience together was the food. Both Buttons and Lemington are great cooks, and they used their skills to maximum. It was an occasion for feasting and celebration because, as we all know, Wednesday was the day nearest and dearest to most of our hearts: Australia Day. I have mentioned that Lemington is Australian, and in honor of celebrating Australia Day, I ate some Vegemite. Buttons has called to my attention that in past episodes of Temporary Hermit I made the statement "Vegemite? I'm not touching that shit." It is time to retract that statement and issue an apology, as I found Vegemite to be somewhat decent tasting.

I don't know if the traditional Australia Day feasting is done with fish and chips or shepherd's pie, but it could be either or both, as we had both of those things, and I was generally stuffing my face for three straight days so I don't recall which day is actually Australia Day. This wasn't any half assed fish and chips, either. Homemade beer batter, Alaskan cod, fries made on the spot, homemade tartar sauce. It was epic. This is what the cooking process looked like for the fish and chips dinner, as depicted by a time lapse made by Buttons. It clearly shows me working my butt off while those two loafers sipped booze and waited for the food to show up.

The fish and chips were good. They were, in fact delicious. The sheperd's pie, though, made fish and chips look like toe jam from a catfish farmer. I know what the image of shepherd's pie is. It's something like ground meat stuff cooked with some frozen vegetables underneath some potatoes. Whoopidy frickin doo. But THIS shepherd's pie was made from lamb and duck! The crust was made from scratch, the potatoes had all sort of crazy stuff in them I can't even hope to describe, the vegetables were baked in duck fat, gravy from scratch, and some crazy kind of stock that took all day to boil with a whole bunch of random stuff in it! Observe...

You can imagine what this has done to a poor hermitly soul used to canned vegetarian chile and an occasional plate of couscous and lentils to spice things up. I feel like a Bushman who just got handed a Coke bottle, only to have it taken away again. The horrible fickleness of the universe is almost too much to bear. The really great news is that I don't have to bear it yet, because they made two pies and left me a whole one, so I am still eating duck and lamb tastiness. In addition we had Lemington (Lemington's namesake), an Australian cake that is pretty much normal cake with fruit and whip cream, always a positive. Am I convincing you that these meals were good? I feel like I need to be grasping someone by the shoulders and shaking them furiously to make them understand how good the food was. It has also revolutionized my ideas about what hospitality should be. Traditionally, guests come over, the hosts cook, clean, and entertain. On this occasion, however, Buttons and Lemington came over, brought the food, cooked the food, cleaned the kitchen, and washed the dishes. Perfect! It was like I got attacked by a catering service intent on making me fatter. Its the best!

Your humble hermit has just investigated how much time is left to hermitize, and the answer is very little. This means that the race for the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award is on its last legs. I predict ending my hermitage on the 2nd of February, maybe the 3rd. I will therefore declare the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award on the 3rd. New Zealand is still ahead, but there is time for a challenge! Rise up, mighty nations, and hermit like never before!

The Visitation Saga Part 2: The Adventures

Since Buttons and Lemington took time off work and chose to spend it schlepping themselves all the way out here, we had to do something fun. No wood chopping, stick hauling, snow shoveling or dirt raking for them. So we decided at some point that we would fill the hot tub and heat it up, a task we never quite managed to finish (although Buttons did decide he would take a dip anyway at 85 degrees. It didn't last very long). Even though our dreams of hot tubbing never came to fruition, we managed to get some solid adventuring done.

The first day we went up the Crystalline Hills trail, the same one Stump and I explored when she was out here. Here is Lemington enjoying her time next to the frozen waterfall.

We started a little late and the day was a bit gray, but Buttons got some pictures from the top anyways. Here is the view of the valley.

If it seems to you that I am rushing the description of our activities on the first day, then you are right. The second day was way cooler. We decided that Kennicott would be our goal, and that we would take it by storm with style and flair. Kennicott, for those of you out of the loop, is an abandoned copper mine. Finished around 1910, it operated until about 1940 before being shut down. It was then abandoned and left to rot, which it has in some places, but most of the buildings are still standing. It is 4 1/2 miles from McCarthy, maybe about 5 miles from the footbridge. By the time we got going in the morning, it was too late to ski that far, so we loaded up the snowmachine and a sled onto a trailer and drove on out.

I have been to Kennicott many times, but never in the winter. It is in the national park, so in the summertime there are all sorts of people saying silly things like "Hey, man, this is an abandoned mine. You can't run around in here" or "The floors are rotten. If you stand on them they will fall apart, and you will get eaten by goblins". But the park is pretty much a nonfunctioning entity in the winter, and a completely nonfunctioning one in Kennicott. It was open season for exploration. First up was the power building. It took some supreme ninja skillz to get in, but it had concrete floors, and concrete doesn't rot, so I felt pretty good. Buttons once again steps to the front of the class for show and tell.

The outside:

The inside:

The ground floor:

After conquering the power building we moved outside and had tea and scones. I'm not kidding either. Lemington is from Australia (she has been living in a world of eternal summer for years!), and even though she had never been on a snowmachine before this day, she intuitively grasped what the expedition needed to maximize both style and flair: it was afternoon tea, and she was oh so right. After our tea break we moved to the hospital, which is situated right next to National Creek, a cantankerous little water source that chooses to flood sometimes. This means that the hospital is almost completely full of river rocks, and walking down the hallway is like being inside that hallway in Willy Wonka's candy factory that gets smaller and smaller the further you go. There is a photo of this phenomenon that's a little out of focus, but whatever. Take us away, Buttons...

The hospital does not have concrete floors. In this photo you see a plank angled downwards. It is serving as the replacement for the top half of the staircase, which has completely fallen down. I took this to mean, "Whoa, maybe the second floor is sketchy. I'm going outside." Buttons, on the other hand, thought "Hey, wow! Some swell guy put a plank here for me to walk up!" He said the second floor was scary.

The way back was a little eventful, as Maggie the Tormentress got tired and had to be held in the sled by Buttons. Sancho made it the whole way by himself, but I thought he looked pretty exhausted. My dad has since informed me that he took Sancho on a 30 mile ATV chase last summer, so maybe Sancho was just faking it.

Tomorrow I will return with the final segment of The Visitation Saga, starring Lemington and Buttons. I close with a picture of the mill building.