Alaska, part 2. In which I encounter a ferocious bear.

On Sunday, I taught a dyeing class and encountered a ferocious bear. Both in Alaska.

I have some lovely pictures of the dyeing class, but I think the ferocious bear takes precedence. When was the last time we discussed ferocious bears? Like, never.

Plus, I almost died. Which is much more serious than saying I dyed.

Cordova has a road out of town. The road does not lead to another town as roads often do, but instead to a glacier.  People who live here call the road The Road. Most of The Road is not open after November 1st.

I was driving on The Road. Only a small portion of The Road is paved. You then drive for a very long time on The Road before actually arriving at Child's Glacier. This being remote Alaska, there are no signs on The Road that say, "Glacier 43 miles."

No encouragement. No, "You're almost there -- don't quit now!" No, "Next rest stop 5 miles -- you can hold it, you really can!"

If you didn't know better, you'd think you were on the road to nowhere. But really, it's The Road to The Glacier.

While on The Road, you drive through the massive Copper River Delta. The runoff from several glaciers has created braided fingers of fast moving, chalky blue water than spans more than 35 miles.

I borrowed this aerial photo to give you a better idea of the scale.

I was invited to a potluck at the picnic area by The Glacier, which you would have no idea existed unless you actually followed the road to see where it ended. 

It's a bit of a risky proposition. No houses, no businesses, no cell reception. What if your car breaks down? What if you are attacked by a ferocious bear? As you'll see, I soon found out exactly what happens.

So, I'm driving. I'm pulling over to take pictures periodically. This is part of the Copper River. I concluded that if you fell in, you would die.

It's cold and there's a fast current. And people-eating seals.

Usually my conclusions are correct. Sometimes not. But sometimes yes.

I had to stop to take a picture of Sheridan Glacier. Not The Glacier at the end of The Road. A different one.

I found all the bleached tree trunks littered about interesting. Clearly, they had been left there a long time ago when the river ran a different course. In 1964, this region had the largest earthquake ever recorded in North America, a 9.2 on the Richter scale. The earthquake caused a vertical shift of 40 feet in some places.

I concluded that this could also alter the course of a river. Several people told me that the fingers of the river change course regularly, and portions of The Road get washed out and have to be rebuilt.

I stopped to take some more pictures when I noticed several very large bones lying off to the side. I concluded that they were the bones of weary travelers whose cars had broken down on The Road.

Then I looked closer and decided that it was actually an entire moose leg. Femur, knee, lower leg, hoof. Like nearly as big as me.

Maybe bigger. Most things are big in Alaska.

As I continued on my drive, I spotted something in the distance. After ruling out a three-legged moose, a mountain goat, and a human-eating seal, I concluded that the dot on the horizon was a ferocious grizzly bear, with razor sharp claws and fangs the size of my head.

I slowed to a crawl, hoping that if I drove by quietly, the grizzly would not notice me.

As I got closer the grizzly -- who must have been protecting her triplet cubs -- reared up on her hind legs and roared so loudly that the windows of my vehicle shook from the vibration.

I stopped the car, uncertain of how to proceed. Clearly, the mother grizzly did not want me coming any closer.  I couldn't just turn around, as the river lies just off The Road, and there are not exactly friendly signs that say, "Next turnaround spot 7 yards!"

Suddenly, the grizzly charged at me.

I flinched. Her aim was clear: to render me immobile by maiming my limbs, followed by slowly being eaten to death by triplet grizzly cubs.

Again and again the bear charged at me, its breath so close I could smell the stench of half-digested salmon.

Since the only weapon I carried was a pair of jumper cables, I concluded that I would be unable to fight off my attacker.

My only choice was flight. I drove my car in reverse, slowly backing away from the bloodthirsty -- probably rabid, possibly schizophrenic -- mother grizzly.

She responded by disappearing into the underbrush to man her carefully concealed sniper rifle. All the better to shoot prey for her triplets. People don't travel The Road that often. Giant grizzlies have to eat while the eating is good.

I concluded that this near-miss with a ferocious bear was more than I could take. I needed to eat chocolate to steady my nerves and steel my resolve to ward off any future attacks.

My only hope was that potluck waiting for me at the end of The Road.

As I drove past the ferocious bear's outpost, I rolled down my window a crack and threw my "In Case of Emergency" skein of yarn out the window, as a sort of peace offering.

From the safety of my rearview mirror, I saw a lone paw slowly pull the yarn (Bellini on McClellan Fingering) from The Road and into the dense forest.

I concluded that the bear's cubs will at least have something warm and pretty to wear this fall.

And my conclusions are usually correct.

What are the morals of this story, you ask?

I'll tell you.

1. Everything in Alaska is big.

2. Bears will shoot you if given the chance.

3. Always carry a skein of In Case of Emergency yarn.

Alaska trip #1

I'm back in the studio today, after a week away in beautiful Alaska. Rather than write up a full report this morning, I'll share some pictures with you over the next few days.

Because I am a geography/history geek/weirdo, I'll start with some maps.

The town of Cordova is situated in a remarkable place. Glaciers, mountains, and ocean converge to form a temperate rainforest that is only accessible by air or by sea.

You can see the town of Cordova on the right-hand side of this map.

Tell people where you're headed and they first picture dogsleds and igloos, ptarmigans and tundra.

Instead, this is what you'd find. Many people here make their living as commercial fishermen, catching salmon and halibut.

Everyone in Cordova has a view of the mountains. These are not a couple of peaks far off in the distance, either. Every window has a view.

Because my visit was just after the summer solstice, there was 24 hours of daylight -- something I haven't experienced before. This picture was taken at 11:30 pm, outside the window of the cabin where I stayed.

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I live in northern Minnesota, and that we have more than our fair share of forest here. But the forest in this part of Alaska is nearly all old-growth conifer.

Because much of it has been set aside as protected, logging operations haven't clear cut the 200-year old trees. And the deciduous tree population here is sparse, which means that this region isn't peppered with barren poplar and birch six months of the year.

Translation: it's green year-round.

The fresh water lakes come from glacier runoff, and the color is right up my alley -- muted turquoises and teals.

Duty calls, but check back later for some more highlights.

I just flew in from Alaska

And boy are my arms tired.

Not from holding the plane aloft, but because the very act of sitting on an airplane is exhausting. Why? Why does sitting in a relatively motionless state make you feel like you've run a marathon?

Which laws of physics are at work here?

Actually, I am still on an airplane, but I'm currently over Montana and will be landing in my home state in less than an hour. After nearly a week away from home, I'm excited to see my little ones.

I've been in the town of Cordova, and I have one million pictures to show you of my trip.

When I'm done, you're going to be thinking to yourself,

"Mountains. I get it.

Uh huh. Lots of mountains.

Yep. Pretty.

Cute baby sea otter. Seen those at the zoo.

Oh look. More mountains."

But there's no way you could visit and not take one million mountain pictures.  You can't see bears eating salmon and not take one million pictures. You can't hike along opaque aqua glacial rivers and be ho-hum about it. One million it is.

After a few days to catch up in the studio, I'll be heading to another fun event: a trunk show in the Washington, DC area on the morning of July 4th.

I'll be at The Yarn Spot in Wheaton, MD. I know you have the day off, and I'd love to see you before you head out to a barbecue.

I'll be bringing with me four new, non-wool yarns that are amazingly wonderful.

As in, pick it up, snuggle it, name it George, take it home and snuggle it some more, amazingly wonderful.

Yes, I have only had four hours of sleep, why do you ask?

Pictures and a full report to follow after the sleeping off of the jet lag (four hours is not easily absorbed by an already sleep deprived person) and the kissing of the babies.

I don't know why, part 2

Remember this?

I created the Glimpse colorway in February, in honor of one of our customers who tragically lost her baby, Charlie. I wanted to give her -- and all of you, too -- a little piece of something to hold on to. A Glimpse of something better ahead, no matter how dark your current days are.

We decided to donate 20% of the purchase price of these skeins to Share, a non-profit organization that provides support for families who have lost an infant.

You can read more about it here, if you're so inclined.

We were overwhelmed by the response. In two weeks, 572 skeins of Glimpse were ordered.

Today, we sent in a check to Share, on behalf of all of you.

I added some of my own money to round up the final donation amount to $2,500.

The message reads: From members of the knitting community to families who have lost little ones too soon.

Charlie is loved and not forgotten, Shelley. Not by you, and not by any of us.

I hope seeing this colorway will help you remember that.

Knitters are some of the kindest, most generous people I know. Today, I am proud to be one of you.

New limited edition colorways

Available now at The Loopy Ewe.

Through the Looking Glass uses bright blue, olive green, deep coral, vintage gold, and strawberry pinks.

Strawberry Fields Forever is several shades of warm pink with accents of red. These shades look good on nearly everyone -- they make you look healthy, alive, and vibrant.

These are only available in limited quantities on Glenhaven Cashmerino Fingering, so grab yours while you can.

Click here for Through the Looking Glass, and here for Strawberry Fields Forever. You can also browse all of our other instock colorways using this link.

Interested in my inspiration for these colorways? See this photo.

Happy knitting!