Where I would love to be

At the beginning of every school year I start off my geography class with a lecture; “My Favorite Place.” It is all about my teen years in Girdwood Alaska. That is the small town that I lived from the age of 10 until I went to high school. Once in high school I only returned for summers and then I was working, so Girdwood has always carried a magical aroma of willow trees accented with the sound of wind in the leaves and the ever-present sound of the river flowing through the valley. It really is one of the best places I can remember and so when I search for pleasant memories or places that I have been. I begin my trip in Girdwood.

There is one place that rivals Girdwood. It shares the same space in my mind. It has similar smells. The air tasted the same. If I could be there now, I promise that I wouldn’t let any of the scents or sights escape me ever again. It has a simple name, Gavia Lake.

The lake is part of a wilderness area, known as the Swan Lake Canoe Chain, on the Kenai Peninsula two hours south of Girdwood if the traffic is good. During salmon runs, the traffic is rarely good, but more like a run on a freeway in LA. The highway has very few passing lanes, but that seldom stops much of the tourists or locals trying to beat the RV in front around the next corner. It seems that usually we made this drive after 10:00 at night, while the sun sank to the edge of the western horizon, but never took its light from the sky.

The lakes are only open for canoe or kayak traffic. There are no motors. There are no planes. To move across the lake it just takes a steady and rhythmic dip of the paddle. All you hear is the drops of water falling of the blade of the paddle back into the lake punctuated with the occasional cry of a loon or a larger splash of a jumping rainbow trout.

Gavia is the seventh or eighth lake in. There is an island at each end of the island. The smaller island was our choice of campsites until an eagle nested in one of its crags, then we began setting up our camp on the other larger island. The larger island wasn’t as choice. It was separated from the land by a marshy shallow channel.

Gavia Lake holds many memories for me. The first time we went out there, I thought I was going to die. There is one portage, I think it is between the second and third lake, it has a small creek running beside it; at that portage on our way out I remember sitting down on the high side of the trail and looking at the creek. I wanted to drink it all. I was dripping with sweat. I had never worked so hard, I was eleven, I think. Ray was carrying the canoe on his backpack while I carried paddles and lifejackets. I hated it. I never dreamed that I would love it.

Falling in love with the place didn’t take long. I am sure that my muscles were still sore, I met not have even had my shower yet, but I am sure that I began dreaming about the lake on our two hour drive home. I probably leaned my sweaty head against the window and watched the willow, spruce and birch trees run by the car and wished that I could smell those same trees next to the lake from the comfort of my little hammock.


If I were to return this early in the season, some of the lakes would still have ice covering the shores near the shady banks. Early one June, a bunch of guys went camping. Mike Hinsdale and I shared a canoe. We also shared the duty of swinging an axe to cut through the three inches of ice in one of the smaller lakes.

We were the first campers out there that year, but there were rarely a lot of campers out there. Over the fourth of July weekend there would be 20 cars or so at either of the trailheads, not too many when you know that there are 30 lakes connected by small creeks, channels and portages. If there were two campsites on a 300-acre lake, it was crowded.

The only Alaskan thunderstorm I remember hit us while we were crossing one of the last portages on our way out. We spent an hour under the canoes before we put back out onto the lake. We had 10 or 12 people under five canoes laying on backpacks, trying to stay dry and eating trail mix.

The last fight that Rick and I had was on that lake. I had borrowed a Super Duper lure from Ray. It was catching everything in the lake. Rick and I were sharing a canoe and I was casting very well. We were close to the small island and I just said. “Rick, watch this.” I knew that I was going to let the lure fly. I let it rip. We watched it fly. In mid flight Rick complimented my cast, “Nice cast!” It was then I knew that the lure was no longer attached to the line.

All I said to him was, “Shut up and paddle!” I paddled, but I never took my eyes from the center of the disappearing rings that the lure made as it plopped in the lake. We made it to the spot. The lure was visible 20 feet below. “Give me your rod!” I said. I don’t do well in pressure situations. I become demanding. Rick did and then he did his best to keep the canoe over the recovery site. It didn’t matter. Every time I would come near to snagging the prize lure, the canoe would shift.

I won’t go into the details of the fight. It was a good thing that I was wearing a life vest. It saved me from Rick’s blow with the paddle. Rick’s rod ended up next to the lure, guaranteeing that he would no longer demand we leave the mission before it was accomplished. That was probably precipitated the paddle bouncing off of my back. It is also a good thing that my brother John and Nancy were there to secure a swap of boats. They took Rick and recovered his rod. I stayed in my canoe and recovered the lure.

Rick’s rod wasn’t the only rod and reel to end up in the bottom of the lake. Rick once borrowed my set up for a weekend campout and the rod and reel didn’t come back with him. I can see a lure slipping a knot on a cast, but it is difficult for me to wrap my mind around how a rod and reel could slip out of someone’s hand on a cast. I don’t remember who pulled my rod and reel out of the lake, but I do remember it was a month after it went for the swim.

The reel lost its smooth action after that. I used Squeeze Parkay as a lubricant to try and loosen it up. It just became gummy. I still have that reel. It usually sits in the top drawer of my workbench.

One of the best guys to fish with was Terry. Doing almost everything with Terry was easy. His canoe was a short little aluminum Grumman. He bought it from Jim, Ray’s brother. One of the best evenings of fishing was with Terry, Zach and I. We grounded Terry’s canoe on a rock just west of the big island. The rock is only 4 inches below the waterline and it’s about the size of a Ford Econoline Van. That evening we hit a feeding frenzy. Every other cast we had a fish on. Over the course of a half an hour I don’t think that we spent more than five minutes without a fish on the line. Zach was a little kid, maybe three years old.

Jess was only out there once, when she was six months old, unless you count the trip a year earlier when she was in utero and Chrissy ate lemon drops nonstop to alleviate the morning & motion sickness. Whittney was fresh born when we moved from Alaska and only 2 weeks old when we would have gone out over the fourth of July; too young and too juicy. I am sure she would have attracted bears. It’s a shame that I never got to share this with them when they were kids. Although, I am sure that they would have died. They would have sat down next to some bubbling creek and wanted to drink it down. I don’t know if they would have ever found the love for the place that I found out there.

The last time we were there, we cached a shovel and a grill for the next summer. It probably isn’t something we should have done, being a wilderness area, but we returned every year. Who would have thought how life would change by the next year and two years after that, our little family would move from the state. I remember where they are. They are in a little cove, the size of a canoe about 50 yards from a campsite on the western shore. We used this campsite anytime there was another camp on the big island.

When I can’t sleep, I try to remember my fatigue returning home from one of the trips to Gavia Lake. Coated with sweat and mud, we would take dibs on the shower once we got home, but my real goal was to slip between a clean set of sheets and fall asleep in the comfort of bed. My muscles were sore, but I was happy. Sleep always came easily when we got back home.

When I think about the places that I miss, I realize it isn’t just the place, it’s the people I miss most.