alaska, klondike, klondike highway, skagway

The Roads of Baja

There is a strong draw, felt by a number of nomads, to explore the wild spaces rarely visited by “tourists”. One reason is the lack of transportation capable of handling the washed out, wash board dirt roads found in these areas. Another, the urge to stay in the familiar, attached to cell phones, TV and the comforts of the brick and mortar of a home. When we tell some of our journeys, they all gasp and wonder where we ever got the need to wander.

There is a pull to the desert that has enveloped Chris and I. A need for open spaces, a dry climate and room to roam freely, sometimes without seeing another soul for days. The chance meetings often turn into deep conversations and a fire side chat recounting trials and tribulations of life on the road. We share our stories, sometimes harrowing and unbelievable. Perhaps it’s a draw to face death at every turn, or perhaps the thrill of adventure and to push the envelope beyond the comfort level of the normal human. This takes us to today, four and a half years of being free and able to travel at will, one with our surroundings.

In February of 2021, we hooked up with a caravan of three, Chris and I and two other gals, and crossed the border into Baja Mexico, for the first time. There’s a call we lean towards and freely give into, that paves the way for our wander lust. Baja seemed like the great western frontier that we needed to explore and conquer. Armed with only our cell phones and a good translation app, Garmin GPS, and a competent van, we set out to explore a country unknown to us; a 1,000 mile journey full of new flora and fauna, animals and sea life. I found it so inspiring that I wrote a book while traveling through Baja for 3 months. Fast forward to January 2025 and here we are again.

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It’s been a tough 2 years emotionally. After loosing our corgi Gandaulf, we sold our first van and all the toys we had accumulated during our travels and set out to travel around the world. Seven months traveling around Europe and another four months in SE Asia, Indonesia, and Malaysia, then back to the States where we purchased another van to complete the Canada/Alaska trip we missed out on during our two and a half years living on the road.

Alaska and western Canada is another frontier of sorts. Not like the desert but just as grand and open. The roads in each very similar; pot holed and delaminated. The punishing washboard roads in dire need of repair, are enough to put any van build or truck to the test. there would be whole days of traveling 3-400 miles and never cross another vehicle. We were never sure if the paved sections of the roads were better than the dirt roads, both held their own dangers. The grandeur of the Alaskan and Yukon outbacks are hard to match, even in the deserts of the south western USA. Still, the desire to revisit Baja California, Mexico and the desert was strong.

Today, January 6, 2025, I’m writing you while enjoying coffee and the warm sun of La Paz, Baja California Sur, surrounded by fellow travelers. We’ve traveled 1350km so far, with another 300km to go. The roads to this point have been narrow two lane highways, with little to no safety lane and often no shoulders. There are times when we must come to a complete stop to walk the van through deep potholes and slow to a crawl when passing trucks come barreling around blind corners. There are constant signs of accidents, both with roadside crosses and mangled guardrails, straightened out or completely ripped from the supports and trailing off into deep ravens as if pointing to the site of a wayward vehicle leaving the road and plummeting to its end. Often times, there will be stretches of road that have carcasses of dead cows, horses or the unidentifiable remains of some unfortunate animal, usually struck at night by a speedy semi, as they come to the flat roads to sleep. It’s a constant reminder that it only takes a second of misfortune to end a life.

So our nomadic wandering continues with so much more to see and experience. We may be absent but we are always present where ever we find ourselves. Living in the moment, sometimes with no set direction but forward. Always savoring the newness of each destination and rolling with whatever may come our way.

Universal Being

As we drive down the long,

lonely, thin road…

My gaze transfixed on the horizon.

Eyes gazing at all before me

The golds of the aspen

The blood orange of alder

The reds of the fireweed

Accented against the tall green conifers

Making a patchwork quilt of the mountain sides.

The beauty is palpable

My heart leaps with joy

My mind solidly fixed in the emptiness of this vast land

The turquoise and aqua green braids of water

Glacier milk

Green rivers

Cool clear streams

Shimmering lakes

The pulsing life blood…water.

The glaciers hold still and fast to the craggy folds

Slowly receding back into the hollow canyons.

The icy blue fingers relenquishing their grip.

Water cascading down

Wisps of white showers

Pooling and spilling over the deep crevasses cut into solid stone.

The roar deafening.

A cahcaufony of sounds

The shrill chatters of the squirrel

Titter of the titmouse

Squawk of grey jays

Call of the raven

Piercing cry of the eagle

Whisper of the wind

Rush of the stream.

The sun…

streaming down from the most stunning blue sky.

Warming

Inviting

Soothing

Clouds hanging free

Heavy black

Wispy white

Outlined in gold and chartreuse as the sun exits and night slips in behind.

Hews of purple

blue and green

paint the sky

A vast inky black sky

awash with stars

Galaxies

Nebulas

Planets

Endlessness.

I drift off to sleep

Part of this natural world

Part of the intricacy of life

Rapid Changes

Today I woke up to 41 degrees in the van…who knows what it is outside. With everything we need in our little capsule of steel and rubber, there’s no big rush to go outside and find out.

The sun is making its way into the sky, creeping slowly from behind the snow capped peeks, but has yet to shine on the opposing peeks across the river valley.

Our camp last night was right beside the Matanuska River, surrounded by Alders, sporting their new yellow fall colors, Drayas, also in showy white tops, and Fireweed that has lost its towers of red flowers and turned to tangled white silky seedpods. The mountains surrounding this valley are topped with snow from the thunder storms 2 nights ago, accenting the harsh, craggy peeks.

Yesterday, we drove up from Ninilchik to the Russian River Ferry crossing and joined the throngs of fisher people hoping to catch a nice coho salmon, or at least hook into one of the giant red sockeye on the Kenai River. These fish are huge! As your standing in the water, these fish are lined up, heading upstream. Every now and then, one will breech the surface slowly or jump out of the river all together. With your concentration on your line and indicator, this is quite alarming at first, but soon becomes the norm and you settle in to the rhythm of casting.

It’s time to begin our month long procession east then south, out of Alaska, into Canada, and finally, the lower 48. Time to say good-bye to the wildness of this beautiful land, where it is easy to forget your worries, clear your mind, and refresh your inner most being. To the fresh, crisp, cool air, the bears, moose, squirrels, seagulls ravens and bald eagles, all etched firmly into my mind, a sorrowful good-bye. A fond farewell to the mountains and glaciers, turquoise rivers and milky white glacial streams and waterfalls, thousands of lakes and fiords. To leave behind the thousands of miles of pot-holed, wavy, and frost heaved roads of dirt and tar.

Although the journey has not ended just yet…we’ve traveled almost 6,000 miles since Salt Lake City. We’ve driven on almost every road in Alaska, been from the Continental divide (Antigun Pass) to Lands End (Homer). We’ve traveled by ferry along the Inside Passage between Juneau, Skagway and Haines. Took a wild ride down the Tatshinini and Alsek Rivers, played with icebergs and bergy-bits. We’ve had our share of bear encounters, some too close for comfort. I’d say it’s been a wild and encompassing ride for sure with still more to come.

The Wilds of The Alaska Frontier

The clouds, like ghostly apparitions, glide across the mountain tops, getting stuck in the rocky crevasses and at mid-mountain, the tops of black spruce groves. White gashes of the snow fields and silent glaciers, creep across the mountain passes, carving deep scars into the ancient Arctic tundra. The tree stands dot the sides of the hill in a spattering of greens, yellows and reds, as the fall closes in. A hint of chill hangs heavy in the air tonight. It’s gonna be a cold one, clear skies and a light breeze from the NW. The lake stands still as glass, reflecting the grandeur of the surrounding alders, willow and poplars. All is silent and eerily still.

It’s been a week of travel from the Antigun Pass of the Dalton Highway above the Arctic Circle. We took a side trip to Chena Hotsprings for my birthday, before heading south down the Parks Highway. Denali, or more correctly, Mount McKinley, was playing peek-a-boo with those of us that hunkered down for the night in the makeshift view point parking lot campground for a night of boon-docking. The sun is starting to actually go down now at a more reasonable hour. The long days of the mid-nite sun, have gone for the summer, and the march towards the winter darkness has begun.

The weather has been, well typical Alaskan. In any given week, at least two days will have sun, two will be cloudy and three will be wet. The wet days are usually drizzly and overcast, which both ignites the colors and makes for flat lighting, muting the contrasts. Good trade. Sometimes these are prime wildlife spotting days, since a lot of the visiting humans hunker down and stay dry. Bears, both black and brown, love to forage for the blueberries and raspberries that are covering the hills and road sides. Moose are a rare sighting in any weather, so the fact that we saw one was almost a miracle. The fish don’t much care if it’s raining, bright in sunshine and clouds, we caught our fair share of the Arctic Grayling. Porcupines waddle across vast empty ribbons of highway minding their own business. Ground squirrels and prairie dogs scamper about the puddles and dig in the soft black soil. It’s a struggle for survival that we have had the good fortune to observe while here.

The salmon run has begun in most of the streams and rivers. These mighty titans of the fish world, fight with every ounce of life they have left to make sure the population survives. Their bleached bodies, still sporting the deep red color of the end of life, struggling upstream in shallow creeks and streams or their corpses lie rotting on the sides of these rivers and streams, providing nutrients and sustenance for opportunistic predators and scavengers like the raven and gulls. Even the majestic eagle makes a showing at this feast. In the way of the salmon’s final goal…stands humans and the grizzly bear. Both worthy foes.

We’ve seen the landscape change. Not just the beginning of autumn’s colorful show, but the craggy mountains, smooth rolling hills, flat Arctic tundra and massive lakes and rivers, glaciers and gigantic snow fields. We’ve floated down a river, through an iceberg choked lake and seen temperate maritime weather. We’ve flown over 12,000 feet in a seaplane through the snow laden Fairweather Mountain peaks. We’ve seen thick subarctic boreal forest and sparse arctic tundras, vast inlets, bays and fiords. The wildness is everywhere.

The Dalton Highway, Alaska

A trip to Alaska is a once in a lifetime thing…especially if you drive there.

We set out almost 2 months ago from Salt Lake City, UT…and hit the road for the long 2500 mile journey to Skagway, Alaska. Since, we’ve hit a good deal of Eastern British Columbia, The Southern Yukon Territory, and have made our way to Fairbanks, Alaska and up to the Antigun Pass on The Dalton Highway. Over 3500 miles covered.

I must say that the Dalton Highway, or the Haul Road, has been the most technical driving we’ve done. On a dry clear day, the road is just a dusty mess, rocks flying from passing vehicles, and deep pot holes. Now let’s add in road construction where they thoroughly soak the road with water and grade the road. Our once dusty road, becomes a swampy mess with mud showers for the van as semi trucks blast through the now water filled pot holes. By the time we reached Yukon Crossing, the van was covered in grey brown mud half way up the sides. The running board were piled an inch thick with mud and gravel. The back of the van was covered in mud and made it difficult to open the doors without becoming covered yourself.

The first night, we camped at Mile 60 BLM Campground and slept well. The next day was more of the same road conditions, but the landscape has changed dramatically. We had gone from huge Alder trees and thick, lush green forests to scrubby conifers, aspens and birch trees. Soon we reached the Arctic Circle, 66.33 degrees latitude…the goal we set out to accomplish. We pulled into the BLM Campground and settled in feeling very satisfied at our achievement.

The next morning, blue skies and sunshine, beckoned us to venture the next 60 miles to Coldfoot, a small town of about 125 people living a sustenance life off the land. It’s the last stop for gas and food before heading into the Arctic Tundra and the North Slope Mountains, Perdue Bay and Deadhorse, big oil mining towns and the beginning of the Trans-Alaskan pipeline. We buttoned up the van, cleaned off the windows and set out north for Coldfoot.

Just outside of Coldfoot, is an Interagency Visitors Center with the most helpful rangers who will answer all your questions on road conditions, weather and wild life sightings, mainly grizzly, Dahl sheep and Muskox. They also encouraged us to drive to the Antigun Pass, another 50 miles further north, and another notch in the ‘been there, done that’ belt. We were given a weather forecast for both Coldfoot and Antigun Pass, told the driving etiquette, and again, encouraged to explore further north.

The next morning, fog hung heavy in the treetops, but the skies were wanting to part so we made the decision to make the drive. I didn’t have much faith that the weather would clear with rain and snow in the forecast, and I was not getting my hopes up for a great photo day, but we packed up and bit the bullet, and we were on the road.

“The first 30 miles are paved,” one of the rangers told us the night before. Yes, indeed the road seemed like it was better than the last 200 we had driven…until…One thing I can tell you is, I’m not sure which is better, paved or unpaved?

Paved roads seem to sluff off on the sides where the permafrost has begun to melt, leaving no substrate to hold the tarmac in place. Second, the frost heaves are accented by skid marks as the drivers before had slammed on the brakes as they were launched into the air. Next are the potholes, they seem to grow in size as each passing semi bounces through them, some covering almost the entire road.

Dirt roads, well they have their issues and advantages as well. Rocks are by far the worst part of a dirt road. The Dalton Highway is renowned for breaking windshields. Second would have to be the mud, thick grayish mud, resembling concrete. The rain turns this into a slurry mess, coating everything it touches in a casing of grey slop, making entering the van nearly impossible without gloves or wiping handles and the edges of the doors with a rag. The dust, on dry days, is a fine powder that infiltrates rubber door seals, mechanical objects begin to squeak, and everything becomes covered in a light coating of white dust. The potholes are much more numerous and often times lined up just perfectly that there’s no choice but to slow to a crawl and step through each one. The best thing about a dirt road though, is it can be graded and potholes filled and compacted. This was witnessed by us both north bound and south as the crews watered and graded.

The day we decided to do the Antigun Pass, the weather didn’t hold and it rained most of the way. The first 30 miles of paved road was a pacifier for the last 20+ miles of muddy dirt road. I can’t imagine how we could’ve managed without the BFG KO2 tires on the van. At times the road was a soupy mess of mud as slick as snot. We made it to the top of Antigun Pass, covered thick in heavy clouds and rain, we jumped out of the van and took some photos and turned around for the decent back into Coldfoot.

Bug Nets and Bug Spray

It’s one thing everyone knows about Alaska, there are mosquitoes and all sorts of things that want to suck your blood. I’m here to tell you it can go either way…one day swarmed, the next not a single mozie. There are 22 different types of mosquitoes in this region of the world. These vicious little bugs come in all shapes and sizes and if we add in little black and brown biting flies, well the game is on!

It goes like this…you find a camp spot, look out or just go for a hike, you step out into one of the three climate zones here…wet and sprinkles, dry and overcast, or sun shine and warm, within a minute the dinner bell has rung, humans are on the menu. Within 5 minutes you feel like you are crawling with bugs as these little and not so little insects begin to swarm in dizzying numbers, attacking any exposed skin. The largest mosquitoes don’t bother to find skin. Their little saws-all proboscis can scissor its way through a couple layers.

Soon the constant buzzing and slapping and scratching becomes maddening. Out comes the bug spray, at least a 100 DEET as nothing else even phases these little buggers. You feel slightly more invincible. Crack open a beer and settle in to enjoy the beautiful vistas. Suddenly, like an advancing army, another swarm envelopes you. You stand up, looking like a broken windmill, slapping and swatting at unseen foes. Now you run inside, making sure you were not followed by any marauding insect, and search high and low for the ultimate of all weapons in your bug arsenal…the dreaded head net.

Now, you’re prepared to vanquish your foe, or at least hide from their relentless pursuit of your tasty life blood. After an afternoon of respite from the incidious torment, it’s time for dinner. Hmm…head net or no head net…that is the question. The big plate of freshly prepared food looks delicious…so you slowly remove the net from your head and begin enjoying your food…until…floomp…you inhale a bug. Then one lands in your drink, another has taken to trying to molest your juicy steak with its proboscis. You feel your blood pressure rising and wish for rain. Ahhh…welcome to Alaska.

A Myriad of Emotions

We’ve just returned from an amazing Canada/Alaska River trip down the Tatshashini and Alsek Rivers, down into Alsek Lake and take out at Dry Bay. The whole trip took 13 days plus travel time of another 13 days to Haines, Alaska.

Although the river trip was not on our bucket list, traveling around western Canada and Alaska was. The river trip became the catalyst for this new chapter in our adventure.

As we sat in Bali, melting from the oppressive humidity, we realized our travel in the blazing sun, and blazing kindness of its people, needed to come to an end. We had covered much of SE Asia in a 4 month period: countries like Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Korea, Indonesia, and Malaysia. It was an other-worldly experience, and touched both of us deeply…but our bodies were screaming for a break from the heat.

We found ourselves thinking of very cold places, Antarctica, Iceland, Alaska, Patagonia. Big dreams of cooler temps, zero humidity, even some of our old haunts just didn’t excite us. When Chris saw the Facebook post from Bio-Bio River Expeditions, for a trip down the beautiful Tatshashini/Alsek Rivers. Pictures of rafts floating around stunning blue icebergs grabbed both of us by our sweaty hands and led us down the rabbit hole. This was it!

So we set off on planning to see if we could make this happen. We picked up a Sprinter Revel Van, outfitted it for the arduous trip, bought the necessary clothing and secured a seat for us on the trip.

The drama began with seeing the expensive nature of this undertaking. We bought the van because renting a van or RV was exorbitant. Then came my tummy health issue, then the breakdown of the van as we set out. We made it to Skagway, caught the ferry to Haines and settled in a few days before the trip and one more hiccup, Chris broke her tooth and needed an emergency appointment with the only dentist in town. All that was now water under the bridge, no pun intended, as we suited up in supplied dry suits and met our group.

The next morning was glorious, sun shinning, smiles all around. An amazing feeling of joy and a bit of trepidation hit me as we stood on the river bank, red dry tops, blue dry pants and insulated black and brown mud boots, red life jackets cinched up tight. Within an hour or so, we came to our first splashy wave trains, one finding its way into my dry suit, chilling me and reminding me to hold on.

Camp was always beautiful and we scrabbled to find a level, clear area for our tents. After a few days, the tents became a pain in the ass! They were short and squatty, making entering and exiting very difficult without crawling on hands and knees across wet, rocky ground. The sleeping bags were warm and cozy…bonus!

There is just so much running through my mind when I think of the days on the river itself. Once in a while we were asked to paddle, sometimes to help propel the rafts, other times just to stave off the cold chills of the cold rain and biting winds blowing downstream. We all looked like a blue rubber basket of Easter eggs, as we curled up in tight balls to conserve heat. Some days presented with sun and a promise of grand vistas and windless travel. These days would take your breath away as around each river bend, new wonders appeared. It was somewhat difficult to figure out how to layer under the dry suits, but no matter when we left shore, dressed like small children going out to make snowmen, we soon were adding or removing layers…from hot to cold and back to hot if you were lucky, but little in between.

Camp life was usually pleasant, except when the mosquitoes would swarm. The weekend before we arrived at Purple Haze camp, there had been 6” of rain in a 24 hour period, probably why we had wind and rain further upstream. This rain awakened the veracious insects. Black flies and mosquitos topped the ticket. These tiny, or not so tiny in the case of some mosquitoes, will drive you mad! We were lucky that only a few camps seemed to be utterly infested with the biting menaces, and happy they were only one night stays. Everyone adorned head-nets and deet was the preferred perfume of the evenings meal. Dessert was passed on as we all ran for the shelter of our squatty little tents and played the game of smash the rouge mosquito that found its way into the tent, it only takes one of these little bastards to drive you batty.

Alaska has its beauty and also is a harsh environment. It is not for the faint of heart. True Alaskan wilderness is not forgiving and should be entered with caution and care. On the last day, we found out that our pilot had gone missing with 2 others the day before. Due to the search, no plane was coming to get us. These were seasoned veterans of this Alaska wilderness and its small communities that depended on their services. Tragedy and grief is not an emotion I thought I’d experience on this trip.

I can’t tell you if I was ready for the myriad of emotions I went through but in the end…it was an experience of a lifetime and one that will be remembered. Alaska is wild, natural, stunningly beautiful, incredibly demanding and deadly.

A Tragedy

We are flying at 12000’ above the ice choked mountain tops of Glacier Bay, Alaska. Whenever the clouds part, we all crane our necks looking for a small airplane. The search continues today for the missing pilot and we have become part of the search, as anyone flying today.

We found out the rest of the story today from our taxi driver, Jax. She explained how loved and revered these 3 people were, an integral part of the community here in SE Alaska. Samuel, or Sam, was a seasoned pilot that loved the community and flying. Tanya and Hans, also in the missing plane, were also stand up members of the community. Hans provided air transportation to rafting companies, anglers, hunters and commuting people to other bigger cities around SE Alaska.

According to our taxi driver, the three had just attended a wedding in Haines and were on their way back to Yukatat when the plane went missing off radar around the Fairweather Range, a location of vast mountains and glaciers, rugged and beautiful.

Sam used to play Uncle Sam in Haines’ 4th of July parade. Hans and Tanya had been together forever and were integral members of this small tight knit community. The admiration and sadness, coming through Jax’s voice as she recanted memories. The entire atmosphere of Juneau, Haines, Yukatat and Dry Bay, has grown solemn as the search was called off due to bad weather. Planes have been grounded as a fog and rain blanket the coastal area again.

This weekend is the county fair in Haines. I’m sure that the revelry will be quelled by the loss of these three.

Knob Island: Last Camp

We’ve reached the end of our journey…Alsek lake. As we awoke yesterday morning, we busily broke camp, had breakfast and shoved off around 10:30am. We were glad to be out of “Purple Haze” camp due to the swarms of veracious mosquitoes that drove everybody mad. Dinner was a disaster! Dessert sat un-eaten as we all took refuge in our tents.

The sun broke out, in all its glory, the next morning and we all changed out of our layers and put on shorts and tank tops, for about 2 hours we soaked up the sun and stared at the ice capped mountains surrounding camp once again. 360 degrees of the most serene beauty one could imagine. Just when you think it can’t get any more stunning, the bar gets raised.

In the beginning of our trip, we encountered small burgie-bits. We had finally found glaciers! It was called Walker Glacier but you can no longer walk to or on it since it has receded and left a huge lake of little icebergs and a lot of tangled trees and muck, sticky, gooey muck. But today we’ve hit the mother load…Alsek Lake!

We spent all day watching the icebergs roll and calve. We even got to row the rafts around the icebergs floating in the bay. These things were massive and apparently can roll without notice. The tops that were exposed most of the time was the bluest blue you can imagine. As the sun shined through they would glow like a blue sapphire. The ones that rolled usually expose a rocky grey muddy bottom that has been dragged through the bottom of the lake.

A glacier is an amazing thing. It can be blue or grey or white. Usually are thick and fill a deep crevice at the top of the mountains. Some come all the way down to the lakes and rivers; others have receded high into the mountain valley and formed formidable cliffs of ice.

The lake was in constant motion and we watched the icebergs as they journeyed their way, crashing into one another, creating deep thunderous scrapping sounds. It was quite eerie. Had the lake in front of our camp not been clogged with heavy berges, the waves set off by the turning and crashing into each other could have swamped the camp. Huge piles of logs marked the high water line, and we were told to set our tents up above the debris line.

Our last morning, we woke up to a thick layer of fog for our 4am wake up. We hurried to get out of camp and to Dry Bay for our flight extraction from there to Yukatat. We floated for about 2 hours in the fog with visibility under 50’. Arriving we disassemble the three rafts and broke down all the gear. A family with ATVs and trailers came to picked up the colorful piles of dry bags and coolers, paddles and oar frames.

We all hurried about up and down the rocky beach, carrying whatever we could carry. Then hopped on the trailer and were taken to the airport, a gravel runway between a clearing of alders.

Arriving at the bush airport, we were told that the pilot that was coming to get us and his wife went out with a friend in his plane and had gone missing. Our pilot was not going to be able to pick us up nor was anyone else in the small village of Dry Bay. All pilots were running search and rescue.

So here we sit at the bush pilot airport. We will probably miss our flight to Juneau tonight.

Alaska

I hear an eagles shrill cry

I look up and see…

Hanging there in the azure blue sky,

The silhouette of this massive bird gliding effortlessly…

Climbing ever higher on the warm thermal currents.

I close my eyes tightly.

I enter a dream where

I see through his eyes the massive ribbons of chalky water, coursing through the stoney river corridors.

I look up into the heavens

Following the outline of the massive jagged mountains that cut the sky.

Thick grey clouds cling to the peeks, draping over the ridges like a blanket.

Suddenly, like an angel from heaven, the sun bursts through the clouds in brilliant shards of light…

Electrifying the mountain side and deep shades of verdant green making the veins of snow glisten like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

As the eagle comes to rest on a tall tree, I can see through X-ray like eyes.

Huge salmon coursing upstream on a death march to spawn.

Huge black and brown bears sitting in the river, look like children bobbing for apples, filling their bellies with these suicidal fish.

I can feel the strength of the eagle as he spreads his wings and flexes his talons then release…

Falling,

Radar like precision.

Attack…

Enter the water…

Grab,

Recover.

The fish now thrashing in the grip of his talons.

Rising,

high into the trees.

I smile.

Satisfaction…

I open my eyes to all the wonders I see, and dream of those I cannot… and beyond that… all is left to the imagination.