Three Tips for Taking Young Kids Fishing

Balancing our heavy five-foot-diameter dipnet on my right shoulder, I plunged one foot at a time into the gooey mudflat.  It was low tide at the mouth of the Kenai River and the mudflats had already killed Ethan’s talking Finn McMissile and petered out Thomas.

Every step was a gamble.  I could fall flat on my face or sink so deep that I got stuck.  As I plunged into the ocean with all my strength, the net whipped in the current and nearly knocked me over.  Licking my lips, I tasted the spray of saltwater, the thrill of not knowing what was going to happen next.

The icy waters cooled my feverish excitement of being an Alaskan as I fought my net and tried to tame it against my ribs.  To my right in one deft move, a neighbor knocked a salmon out with his club and hung it on a string tied to his waist.

It was our third year dipnetting and still I felt like a novice.  Here are three tips that made this year’s fishing easier.

1. Bring the proper gear:  The shore is often littered with fish guts, seagull droppings, and puddles that kids can’t resist touching.  Last year, Kyra and Ethan were drenched and miserably cold five minutes after we started fishing.  So this year, I invested in waterproof jackets, pants, and gloves.  Check the label and make sure that it states the product is 100% waterproof and not just water-resistant.

   Bog boots or something comparable that stays warm down to -30° F keeps socks dry, toes warm, and shoes on! (My kids love any excuse to go barefoot.) Those easy-on pull handles also saved Ethan’s boot several times when it got stuck in the mudflats.
   
   Kid-sized camping chairs surprisingly act like an invisible leash.  Last year, Kyra and Ethan couldn’t climb into the adult-sized chairs easily, so they drifted and complained that they were tired, and eventually buried themselves in the wet sand.  We didn’t even bother bringing adult-sized chairs this year because we could squeeze our bottoms into their chairs if we really needed to rest.
   
   Finally, it’s all about the toys and snacks.  Supply them with easy snacks that they can open and dispose on their own and make sure they eat first before they start playing.  Check their pockets and make sure that they don’t sneak their favorite toy down to the beach.  They each have a set of waterproof beach safe toys that they only get to play with when we go fishing.

2. Engage your sidekick:  There’s something about the title “sidekick” that my kids love.  Maybe, it’s because lately Batman and Robin are their favorite bad guy fighting pair.  Or maybe, at this age, they want to feel like a member of the team.
   

   Kyra and Ethan help me entangle two fish from the net.

   Ethan was frustrated that he couldn’t fish and I had to keep a close eye on him because he kept trying to walk into the ocean like Dad.  His hands would get caked with mud and he would start to wail.  I asked Kyra to get a bucket of water to wash his hands and this evolved into their job.  They never tired of lugging buckets of water to our side so that we could clean tools or fish.

   Although Kyra can’t wait to cut fish, I told her she could start by helping me to vacuum seal them.  She took this job very seriously and knocked aside my hands if I hovered.

3. Create teachable moments:  The Alaska Sport Fishing Regulations guide came in handy when Thomas cleaned the salmon.   I taught Kyra about the five different salmon species found in Alaska and asked her to identify each salmon. She then tried to teach Ethan who was much more interested in swatting away the flies.
   
   With Ethan, I also played the “I spy with my little eye” game to review his numbers, colors, and alphabet.  But unlike his sister, Ethan runs away if he thinks he’s being tested or educated.

What lessons have you learned about fishing with young kids?

Don’t Tell the Kids

Clouds as sticky as cotton candy clung to the edge of jagged mountain peaks.  Silver lakes pocketed a bumpy green carpet of trees.  Rivers braided and twisted in the sun.

The two-and-half-hour flight to Katmai National Park showcased parts of Alaska I had never seen before and yet I couldn’t stop worrying about a friend’s warning: “Don’t tell the kids where you are going.  I still remember when my parents left me at home.”

By the time my brother died at age eighteen of the same disease that would claim my mother, my parents had taken us rafting, horseback riding, and caving in nearly all the national parks in the United States except for the ones in Alaska.  I remember a mother who carried me out of my bed and into the backseat of her car padded with pillows and blankets.  She never left home without me, a legacy I wanted to leave my kids.

After I became a parent, I started to realize how difficult this tradition was.  Inevitably, Alaska presented opportunities like fishing on the ocean or snowmachining that Thomas and I would rather enjoy together than leave one of us at home with the kids.

This summer, a relative of mine gifted me a thousand dollars towards fulfilling my mother’s request that I visit Alaska’s national parks for her.  Ten years ago, Thomas proposed to me in Denali.  We cruised Kenai Fjords on that trip.  When we moved to Eagle River seven years ago, we drove through Wrangell-St. Elias.

Since then, we’ve revisited these parks with the kids (See Peaks, Glaciers, and Kids) but gave up on seeing the parks off the road system due to cost and logistics.  Owners of lodges in these parks regretfully admit that their price point is high (some visitors spend up to $40,000) because their business only runs 90 days a year.

Fortunately, companies like Rust’s Flying Service offer one day trips to Katmai or Lake Clark from Anchorage.  Rust’s Flying Service has been operating since 1963 and yet none of my local friends knew that they could leave Anchorage at 8am, spend four hours at Katmai, then return to Anchorage by 6pm.

The first question our pilot, Virgil, asked us was, “Where are you from?” He took a step back when he heard our answer.  “Wow, locals! Yeah, we don’t see many of you.”

While there is no age restriction on these trips, I was surprised to learn that young kids usually don’t accompany parents to Katmai.  As soon as we stepped off our floatplane onto the banks of Naknek Lake in Katmai, we were sandwiched by two brown bears, approaching us from opposite directions.  The park ranger that welcomed our party instructed us to be quiet and never run, two behaviors my kids would’ve had a hard time with.

Interpretive Park Ranger Jacqi Terry who manned the bear-viewing platform with her boyfriend said that in three years working at Katmai, she’s only seen about 2% children.  She said that the young kids usually can’t endure the long wait for a spot on the platform, which only accommodates 40 visitors at a time.

 

The week I weighed whether to take the kids, a black bear visited our front yard every evening.  Kyra and Ethan jumped up and down on our deck and made so much noise that the bear usually scampered off.  If the bear ignored us, then the kids paid attention to it for only a few seconds.

Even though the kids seemed more excited about having a play date with their babysitter, I didn’t stop feeling like I had broken my mom’s legacy until I stood a few feet above a 1,000 pound brown bear, which ripped apart a salmon in seconds.  A shower of guts pelted my skin as the salmon stubbornly flopped its tail even though only bits of flesh hung onto its bones.

Photo credit Chi-Heng Lu.

For an hour, we enjoyed seven of the largest bears we’ve ever seen fishing at Brooks Falls.  Battle scars rippled over knotted muscles.  Sharp claws scratched their bellies.  Pink tongues flicked across their moist noses.  Deep throated growls earthquaked the platform that allowed us to taste this raw power of nature.

Photo credit Chi-Heng Lu.

Walking hand-in-hand on Falls Trail back to our floatplane, Thomas and I noted how we hadn’t seen any kids and how grateful we were that Rust’s Flying Service had encouraged us not to bring ours.

That evening after I paraphrased parts of Brown Bears of Brooks River by Ronald Squibb and Tamara Olson, Kyra pretended to be the brave yearling that dared to swat at Conan’s muzzle, halting the cub killer’s charge just long enough for Old Mom to intervene.  It was her favorite story because according to Kyra the Mommee bear saved the baby bear.

The kids counted fifteen bears in the photos and videos that we shared with them.  They rolled on the floor, held their stomachs, and laughed hysterically over the bear that scratched its armpit.

Photo credit Chi-Heng Lu.

Ethan fell asleep beneath the bear stuffed animal we brought home from Katmai, which Kyra proudly named “Diver,” one of the oldest and most dominant of all the male bears at Brooks Falls.

So far, the kids have not complained that we didn’t bring them along.

Rock Climbing to the Rescue – Part 2

About ten minutes into Kyra’s birthday party, the staff at Alaska Rock Gym equipped ten six-year-olds and one two-year-old with harness and climbing shoes.  Every kid, including Ethan, sat spellbound to the rock climbing wall where Carrie Barcom began her instruction: “This is not Bouncin’ Bears.”

She smiled reassuringly at the kids and repeated several times, “I know this is going to be really really hard, but please try not to run here.”

After some more safety procedures, Carrie rounded up three staff belayers and asked, “Who wants to go first?”

Without hesitation, four kids started to climb.  Kyra was one of them.  She had no expression on her face, as if she was simply executing a daily routine, like putting on socks.

All the parents looked in amazement at each other for none of these families had ever climbed before and yet, their kid seemed to handle the sport with ease.  First one up and first one down, Kyra landed on the mat and shrugged.

Remembering the first time I ever climbed and how worried I was about my performance, I showered her with praises.  Then, I asked her gently, “Did you have fun?”

She flashed me her trickster smile before joining her friends on the lower floor of the gym for more challenging routes.  With 6,000 square feet of climbing terrain in the Alaska Rock Gym, I lost track of the number of times Kyra climbed and swung her way down.

My attention was focused on Ethan.  At first, my little man could not wait to follow his sister up the wall.  With pudgy hands on his waist and his belly sticking out, his attitude seemed to say, Come on, what are we waiting for?

Ethan impatiently waits for Carrie Barcom to tie him in.

Ethan made it up about as far as Kyra and then he froze.  I noticed his lower lip drop and his head fold into his chest as he tried to hide the tears that dripped down his cheek.

Carrie said he did really well, but Ethan didn’t think so.  When he got down, he stuck his left forefinger in his mouth and stared at the floor, probably wishing he could bury his head like an ostrich.

Wrapping my arms around my son, I whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry.  You are just like me.”  In college, I rock climbed with a mountaineering club and nearly always felt like crying, baked under the sun with scraped knuckles, knees, and ego.

Siri said, “I believe that indoor climbing is a great way to not only gain strength and conditioning, but to also challenge yourself and overcome fears and inhibitions.  It is a great way for teens and adults to participate in not only the movement of climbing up the wall, but also the aspects of team and leadership through belaying and working with a partner.”

That afternoon, I witnessed Kyra’s friends and their parents conquering fears and inhibitions.  Many of the kids climbed just so they could leap wildly into the air and fling their limbs at gravity.  About mid-way through the party, most of the parents decided to give climbing a try too.  Carla, one of the belayers who has worked at the gym for the past five years, commented that rock climbing parties are more successful when the parents climb because then they realize that what they are asking their kids to do isn’t that easy.

When she said this to me, I wondered if I stopped rock climbing because I thought it was too hard.  After all, I never trained at a climbing gym.  I just threw myself on climbing trips and thought it would be a piece of cake.

At Kyra’s party, I climbed just long enough to get a photo of our family on the wall.  When the gym opened for regular business, I saw families trickling in and wondered whether I could convince mine to do the same.

Kyra and Ethan are having a ball with Mom and Dad on an indoor climbing wall. Photo Credit Lailing Green.

Relaxing on Kyra’s bed that evening, I tucked each kid on either side of me and asked them whether they liked rock climbing.  I worried that maybe I had inadvertently done what I swore I would never do to my kids: force them to do something I had failed at.

 

Driving her monster truck up and down my belly, Kyra did not say anything at first.  Then, she wrapped her whole body around mine and peppered my cheek with kisses.

“You are the best Mommee in the whole world.”

 

Ethan rubbed his nose against mine and said, “We love climbing!”

 

“You do?”

 

He nodded rapidly.  “I climb.  And then I cry.” He frowned, remembering that moment.  Then his eyes lit up, “And then I swing.  Daddee catch me.  My Daddee is strong!” He babbled on and on about how he wanted his birthday party at Alaska Rock Gym too until he fell asleep.

 

I slept pretty well that night, knowing that my kids were not too young for a rock climbing party and that they had gained confidence and surprisingly, so did I.  Confidence to rock climb again.  Confidence to throw kid parties that are not a bore for parents.  Confidence that I am not so bad at this parenting thing.

Rock Climbing to the Rescue – Part 1

I am happy to report that I survived Kyra’s sixth birthday.  For months now, it overshadowed other celebrations, like our wedding anniversary and my birthday, as we brainstormed ideas for the first party we’ve ever planned together.

She had had a whole school year of attending birthday parties for her classmates, so when May rolled around, she didn’t want her party to be at the same location as the others.  After days of research, I realized why parents did birthdays at Bouncin’ Bears or Blaine’s Art or Chuck E. Cheese’s.

Exasperated, I moved onto ordering a cake, hoping that some idea might be inspired by her theme.  When a cake designer asked her what she wanted, she tapped her chin with her forefinger as if she had pondered this important question at length, “How about Optimus Prime fighting Hulk, no wait.  Optimus fighting Wolverine and then I fly in on a dragon like Hiccup in How to Train Your Dragon!”

When Thomas and I told her she could only choose one theme, she negotiated hard, “Okay, what about Lightning McQueen?”

“No,” we both snapped.  Thomas hoped she would’ve outgrown Lightning McQueen and developed an interest in Princess stuff by now.  I was tired of throwing one more party for my kids on this theme.

Kyra giggled.  “Can Optimus Prime transform into a truck and drive to visit Hiccup and Night Fury?  And Hiccup will say, ‘My goodness, you are here!  Let’s fight dragons.’”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.  Thomas raised his eyebrows.

Ethan added, “And then, Buzz Lightyear came to save the day.”

One morning before the kids were up, an idea sparked.  At the Arctic Oasis Community Center, Kyra and Ethan often free climb a 30 foot horizontal boulder wall and drool over the teens scaling the 24 foot rock climbing wall.

I always tell them they are too little to climb, but after a conversation with Siri Moss, who opened Alaska Rock Gym in 1995 with three local climbers (her husband Charlie Sassara, J. Jay Brooks, Bruce Adams), I was delighted to discover that they have full body harnesses and climbing shoes that fit Ethan!

She said, “The belief that indoor climbing is a sport for everyone has been our over-riding philosophy from the very beginning.” Not only do they accommodate climbers who want their toddlers to start early, but they offer after-school, home school, and summer programs for kids and teens ages six to seventeen.

Carrie Barcom, Assistant Manager at Alaska Rock Gym, told me her kids started climbing here at age three and five.  Her husband, Mike, coaches the junior competition team. According to Siri, their kids grew up on the walls here and are now highly skilled climbers.  This past weekend, Carrie’s daughter placed ninth at the Sport Climbing Series National Championships. “Climbing has become a way of life for the Barcom family, and the gym provided the venue for it all to happen.”

What a great way I thought to get my kids away from screen time! Instead of their avatars climbing mountains on my iPhone while they grow fat on my couch, I imagined them developing into physically fit and strong individuals like Carrie and Siri climbing in Europe, the islands of Sardinia and Corsica, South America, Thailand, Mexico.

But before I got ahead of myself, I had to pitch the idea to Kyra.  I showed her several photos from Alaska Rock Gym’s web site and was about to lead with dragons scaling mountains and such, but before I even finished my sentence, she started to jump up and down and clap her hands.  “I love you Mommee.”

Ethan climbed onto my lap. Puffing his Superman “S” out on his chest, he pointed firmly at the photos of kids climbing and said, “I want to do this.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, glad that I had anticipated this problem and Alaska Rock Gym had offered a solution.

With this settled, all I had to do was figure out the darn theme.  Kyra was so thrilled with the rock climbing idea that she conceded to choosing one theme.  But after a week of taking Kyra and Ethan to at least ten party suppliers in town, we realized that Kyra might be the only kid in town interested in dragons.

So, we came home and I dug out a dragon stamp that I had bought years ago and engaged the kids in an art project.  While Thomas watched in amusement, I stamped the dragon onto a party favor bag.  Kyra sprinkled silver powder onto the stamped image.  Then, Ethan embossed the image with a heat gun.

With sweat trickling down the sides of my head, I said to Kyra, “Let this be a lesson to never give up on an idea.”

How did a kid’s birthday party become so complicated?  As our recent show American Kids pointed out, this may be the result of targeted marketing?  Tell me some obstacles you had to overcome in planning yours.

 

When You Know Your Kids are Alaskan

I woke on Sunday to the gentle staccato of rain against our tent.  A thrush trilled a greeting somewhere far away.  A squirrel answered.  Then, the wind worked its way through aspen and spruce, drum rolling the leaves, scattering dew, and rocked my sleeping family.

A big smile stretched across Kyra’s face, the only visible part of her body snug in her new 20 degree Fahrenheit sleeping bag, which she had waited months to test.  Ethan stroked my husband’s ear, rooting for comfort as he was too excited to sleep.

At 4 p.m. yesterday, I wasn’t even sure we were going to make the four hour drive to the Denali Outdoor Center (DOC) in Healy.  It was harder these days to squeeze in at least one camping trip per year. Maybe, it was due to the kid’s busy schedules or after having kids, camping just seemed like a lot of work.

Our gear alone could barely fit in our truck.  Plus, Ethan was still too young to raft or kayak or do a lot of the outdoor activities Alaska offers (very frustrating for outdoorsy parents, who don’t own these fancy toys).

Louise, co- owner of DOC, tried really hard to make an exception for Ethan on her Scenic Wilderness Raft Trip.  Unfortunately, their insurance company insisted on a five or older age limit.

Having guided since the eighties, Louise took her son on the water when he was four.  Now as a nine-year-old, he mountain bikes, rafts, and kayaks with them.  She raved about the benefits of taking young kids on adventure travel and encouraged us to rent a canoe and take the kids onto Otto Lake.

Why can’t we go rafting?

Even though, we did not get a chance to raft or canoe and we had to set up camp in a downpour, I’m glad we pushed ourselves to drive so far. For a July 4^th weekend, I was surprised that we had most of the lake-side walk-in camp sites all to ourselves.

As advertised, it certainly is the most private camp site you’ll find in Denali National Park.  I could hear no motorized vehicles or people milling about.  I could give my kids the backcountry wilderness camping experience I craved. And if I quieted my heart, I could even hear the lake lapping against the shore.

Kyra woke everyone around ten.  Fortunately, the rain had subsided enough for Thomas to build a fire and delight Kyra with s’mores.  She finished off the third bag of marshmallows I bought this summer and didn’t get a chance to roast due to weather.

By the time, the kids danced around the fire, tested our new cooking set, polished off a breakfast of freeze-dried lasagna and beef stroganoff, and helped us break camp, it was nearly 1pm.

While the kids made s’mores, these GSI insulated mugs with a sip-it lid kept our coffee warm and prevented spills.

We hurried across the street to Black Diamond Resort for our custom ATV side-by-side and Treasure Hunt Expedition and discovered to our dismay that we had missed our tour.

“Why can’t we go on the ATV?”  Kyra kept asking.  At first, I couldn’t answer her.  I had built up so much anticipation over the week, imagining the first-time my kids would ever get the chance to ride an ATV, that I felt crushed too.

Eventually, I snapped, “Next time, Mommy tells you to hurry up because you’re going to be late, and you dilly-dally and insist on throwing one more bottle of water onto the fire or complain ‘I don’t want to get dressed’ or ‘I’m busy playing with my cars,’ then you will miss your adventure and everybody’s sad.  Nobody’s going to wait around for “Princess Kyra!”

That squeezed a giggle out of Kyra.  Ten minutes later, she asked again, “So, we can’t go find treasures on the ATV?”

I sighed and said almost to myself, sometimes things in life don’t happen the way you planned it.

She stared at me with those big round eyes pooling with tears.

I looked at Thomas for help and he smiled and said softly to me, “I just set a low bar.  It’s Alaska!”  He reminded me about the time we spent lots of money on a king salmon fishing charter and came home with nothing.

Marilyn, the co-owner of Black Diamond, saved the day by getting us on their Horse Drawn Covered Wagon Adventure.  With a seven-year-old of her own, she offers plenty of kid-friendly activities, including miniature golf.  She built this unique golf course in 1995 with her sister on tundra with little topsoil and now employs over 70.

 

Kellen shows Ethan how to pet a Percheron horse. Ethan asks, “Ride horse?”

She said that this resort is mostly a hobby, but it’s a wonderful worldly experience for her daughter.  At the front desk, I chatted with Santana, a student from the University of Indies in Jamaica. On our Wagon Adventure, our guide Jan explained how he got here through a work study program from his Czech Republic University and Kellen from Massachusetts confided that he finished a job at a ski resort in Idaho, then flew up with some friends to Healy and got a tip about this job from a local bar.

After a ride on the covered wagon driver’s bench and a belly full of the juiciest barbeque chicken, salmon, ribs, and tri-tip steak, Kyra asked, “Now, do we get to go on the ATV?”

Hold on tight Kyra, here we go!

 

On our long drive home, I asked the family to tell me their favorite part of the weekend.  I cringed, hoping they wouldn’t bring up the ATV trip again.

Ethan blurted out, “The tent!”

Thomas said, “Sleep.”

Kyra chewed over her answer for a while, then whispered in my ear, “S’mores!”

What Does a Baby Bird Do?

Every day the kids wandered farther from our house collecting flowers for their journal until they started returning empty handed.

I knew that patience wasn’t an easy thing for a budding six-year-old and three-year-old, so I tried to redirect their energy.  “Kyra, how would you like to add birds to your flower book project?”

Her droopy shoulders perked up. “Okay, let’s go catch some birds.”

I laughed.  “We don’t collect birds like we collect flowers.  How would you like it if somebody took you away from your Mommy and Daddy and put you in a cage?”

“That would not be so good.”

In seven years of being an Alaskan resident, we never found the time to stroll the boardwalks of Potter Marsh that wind about 1550 feet from a parking lot over a rich habitat for birds.

As soon as we arrived, Kyra ran towards the bluff without pausing once to look for birds.  Ethan wrapped his fist around my pinky and pointed at anything that moved in the water or grass.   “What’s that, Mommee?” And if I didn’t respond right away, he’d decide “fish” or “duck.”

The ducks he found were actually a family of Canada geese with four goslings.  Peeking through the boardwalk fence, Ethan tracked the fuzzy gray babies as they wobbled in and out of the water. 

He studied them silently with no expression on his face.  I had time to photograph the geese and twist my long hair away from my neck so that the ocean breeze could make its way down my back.

Finally, he asked, “What do baby ducks do?”

The question caught me off guard and I heard myself ask him, “What do you do?”

He thought about it for a while, then responded, “Play.  Play with Lightning McQueen.”

Kyra was in a state of agitation by the time we caught up to her.  She wasn’t tall enough to reach the binoculars at the end of the boardwalk and I think she believed that that was the only way she could see a bird.  I lifted her up and after a few seconds of blinking, she complained, “Nothing.  I see nothing.”

“Patience, Kyra.”

She stomped her feet. “Patience.  What is patience?  I don’t know what patience is!” Then, she collapsed into a heap.

Christina Salmon, once told me how her son learned patience from bird hunting.  She said, “To sit quietly in a bird blind for hour s at a time requires a good imagination for a six-year-old boy!  You have to be alert, and watch the sky all evening, for a slim chance that a flock will fly overhead.”

Bird hunting wasn’t something we had access to, but bird watching, I realized, could offer me similar teachable moments.  Bending down to her eye level, I asked, “Kyra, would you like to see some baby birds?”

She squeezed some tears out of her eyes and nodded.

Ethan proudly guided his sister to the crowd admiring the goslings.  “See?  The ducks play the toys.”

Kyra laughed, tears still glistening on her cheek, “Baby ducks swim in the water and eat grass.  My answer is correct but Ethan’s is not correct.”

“Mine correct!” Ethan furrowed his eyebrows and pointed his index finger at his sister.  “Babies play toys. Buz Lightyear!”

A few days later, Kyra wanted to try Potter Marsh again with her dad.  We arrived at about the same time as the last visit, but I immediately noticed a dearth of birds and visitors.  Kyra didn’t seem to notice as she proudly announced that she found a bird. 

“Where Kyra?  Show me?”

She pointed at a bird painted on a sign.  Meanwhile, Ethan refused to walk.  Curled up in my arms, he would lift his head occasionally and whimper, “Where are the babies?”

Just as I was about to doubt whether my kids were too young for birding, blue metallic streaked across the gray skies.  A “cheerful series of liquid twitters” (according to my National Audubon Society Field Guide to Northern American Birds) sliced through the air polluted with a steady stream of gunfire sounds from the Rabbit Creek Shooting Park.

We identified it as a tree swallow. Both kids listened excitedly as I read from the field guide, “Tree swallows enjoy playing with a feather, which they drop and then retrieve as it floats in the air.”

Before returning home, the kids studied an arctic tern hunting for fish and counted 26 goslings in a crèche of five Canada geese families. 

Birding engaged the whole family.  Even Thomas downloaded a free app for identifying birds, which he said wasn’t very good.  At one point, Kyra and Ethan did beg daddy for his iPhone.  However, when Ethan pretends to be a gosling in my living room and Kyra peppers her journal with sketches of tree swallows, I’m hopeful that birdwatching might win their full attention someday.

Here are some of our favorite bird watching tools: 

• Backyard Bird Identifier from National Geographic has a simple four question quiz. 

• Bird Song Recordings from USGS entertained my kids for hours.  They both chose their favorite “chirp” as Ethan called it.

• The Birders Library recommends several Bird Apps for the iPhone.

The Inside/Outside Wars

This summer, I insisted upon a mandatory daily routine of getting outside.  At first, Kyra and Ethan couldn’t wait to race their Cozy Coupe, bikes, and scooters in our yard.  I proudly noted gear-tester talents manifesting on days that it rained.  A big smile broke across their faces when they remained dry while the world around them soaked.

Gear testers in training.

Kyra usually collected sticks, gifted me dandelions, and took Ethan on adventures.  Ethan enjoyed sitting on my lap on the deck and playing our “What’s that Sound” game.  Closing his eyes, he can now name every sound he hears accurately, including discerning the difference between a squirrel and a bird.

Lately though, I noticed that it’s harder to keep them outside for more than a few minutes.  Dandelions began to strap down their bikes and scooters the way the Lilliputians felled Gulliver while Kyra bargained, “If I go outside, how about I get to play with your phone?”

“No.”

“Okay, how about we get juice?  Ice cream?  Marshmallows?”

Ethan tried, “How about watch Superman? Sesame Street? Something edu cation?”  And when that didn’t work, they would complain, “The bugs will bite me” or “It’s too cold.”

Recalling the plan I outlined in Dandelion Killer to explore what’s outside our doorstep, one day, I tossed onto the living room floor a bunch of guidebooks on flowers and plants.

“Kyra, I have a summer project for you.”

“Cool Mommee.  What is it? What is it?”

Measuring the amount of gleam in her eye, I found the right words to get the leader of the pack on board.  “How would you like to pick flowers in our yard and make your own book?”

She looked at me suspiciously, “I can make my own book?”

While she browsed the guidebooks, I found a handmade journal I had bought at Alyeska’s Blueberry Festival and never figured out what to use it for.   Dangling this journal and a box of art supplies in front of Kyra, I said, “You can start by decorating the title page.”

Two seconds later, she was done. In crayon, she had scribbled the words, “Mommy and Kyra.”  She slapped on some Spiderman stickers and then handed the journal to Ethan, who honestly was much more interested in tattooing himself with markers.

“Kyra, I can barely read this.  Do you want to make it darker?  Maybe, add some flowers?”

She already slipped on her shoes and was halfway out the door. “Let’s pick the flowers first!”

Delicately negotiating her “now that I’m done with Kindergarten, I’m in charge” attitude, I explained that once we put the flowers in the book, we couldn’t open it for at least 24 hours.

“Alright,” she said, kicking off her shoes, “Very quickly, okay?”

Now, the title page was exciting enough to entice Ethan’s attention.

 He insisted on carrying the journal and Kyra grabbed a guidebook.  Outside, they ran up to the first flower they saw, my one and only California poppy that had bloomed overnight, and picked it.  I made a note to myself that I had to read them Eric Carle’s The Tiny Seed at bedtime and show them how to be nice to plants.

Then, they started to fight over who could put the poppy in the book.  “Kyra, since you picked the flower, do you mind letting Ethan press it?”

“Fine,” she huffed and puffed.

“Look, there’s some purple stuff growing along the driveway.  But, before you pick it, Kyra, do you think we should find it in your guidebook?”

“That’s a good idea, Mommee.  Okay, you help Ethan and I will find this purple flower.”

I did have to teach Kyra how to use the guidebook, but she was very proud to name the Bluebell.

As the sun warmed my face, I recognized that this was one of those rare moments where I think I got my parenting right.

Here are some other ideas on nature journals:

• Plant press, which I might try next.

• Printable Flower Journal.

• Kids Garden Journal.

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Peaks, Glaciers & Kids – Part III

A few hours after Kyra and Ethan negotiated Root Glacier with crampons, we sit down for a four-course dinner at McCarthy Lodge .   Neil Darish, the owner and reigning Alaska SBA Financial Champion of the Year, winks at me from across the room as I shush Kyra and Ethan, the only kids here tonight.  Darish convinced me to bring the kids, saying that that’s what sets their restaurant apart from other fine dining establishments.

“I can do anything I want,” Joshua Slaughter, the 33 year old executive chef (whose pedigree includes Thomas Keller’s Bouchon in Yountville, California, WD~50 in New York, and Ducca in San Francisco) confirms later after dinner, as he drives us back to Kennecott Glacier Lodge.  “Like tonight, I found out at 2pm that I had to create four completely different menus.  Besides the regular guests, I had your kids, vegetarian, and kosher, now that was a challenge.”

Chef Slaughter has a pretty awesome job.  He works only 120 days out of the year.  A workday starts at 6am.  He makes breakfast until 10a.m.; sometimes he hops on a Cessna to a local farm or some remote location to harvest raspberries, salmon berries, or morels, then returns at 2pm to prepare dinner.

As soon as the cheese pizza arrives, Kyra devours hers in one gulp without even admiring the artistic presentation of the finest meal that she has ever eaten.  Ethan is more interested in our lox.  Or maybe, he’s still sore from being carried down the glacier after he dipped his foot into a water slide.

As soon as the cheese pizza arrives, Kyra devours hers in one gulp without even admiring the artistic presentation of the finest meal that she has ever eaten. Ethan is more interested in our lox.

Both kids ignore their macaroni and cheese once they taste our seared halibut on a bed of kale and tomato bread pudding, drizzled in orange butter.

By the time, they consume our Copper River salmon balanced on potato gnocchi, encircled by a moat of carrot foam, I finish off their breaded chicken strips and fries, which I must say are the best I’ve ever had.

Darish laughs at our switch-a-roo and says that somehow Chef Slaughter magically manages to get picky kids to eat.  Later in his car, Chef Slaughter shares a secret with me.  The source of his magic is synesthesia, a gift where a person a smell a sound or hear a color. “I cook until the music sounds right,” Slaughter explains.

On Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, while the adults enjoy an up to 28-course tasting menu, Chef Slaughter entertains kids with an 18 course menu of edible crayons, upside-down ice creams, or a salad their parents have to make in their mouth.

Balsamic is absorbed through the root of an early season radish using a negative environment, then served on a copper spring. On a Facebook post, Darish writes, “The guest picks up the radish…turns the radish over and rubs the leaves in the oil — a 1-bite salad.”

Dessert is served nearly two hours after we start dinner.  Chef Slaughter takes his time to concoct the perfect chocolate pecan mousse for the kids.  He wows us with an apple tart on peach dust, accented with almond panna cotta.

Licking the last trace of mousse from her lips, Kyra holds her swollen tummy and says, “Oh, I’m sleepy.”  On her way back to the lodge, she passes out in the backseat of Chef Slaughter’s car.  After all, she has to save her energy for tomorrow’s job of earning a Wrangell-St. Elias Junior Ranger badge.

Ranger Beverly Goad asks Kyra and Ethan to raise their right hand and pledge to appreciate, respect, and protect all national parks.

Honestly, I’m still in shock that my kids dined with us at a restaurant listed in Food Wine Magazine  as one of 5 Top New Summer Destinations for 2011 and New York Grub Street as the #1 place in Alaska to dine.

Beef with mushroom, turned potato, peanut dust, demi & smoked salt. Photo Credit: Neil Darish.

Wild caught Copper River Red Salmon with carrot gel & carrot & chive ribbons. Photo Credit: Neil Darish.

That’s another reason why I love Alaska.  Daring visionaries like Neil Darish, Gaia Marrs, and Rich Kirkwood make it possible for families with young kids to enjoy a place as rare and remote as McCarthy-Kennecott.

Peaks, Glaciers & Kids – Part II

Ethan wakes as soon as we spot the toe of Root Glacier, a sticky mile and a half hike along the lateral moraine of Kennicott Glacier.  Eyebrows furrowed, he peeks at the glacier suspiciously from behind his sun, rain, and mosquito protection screen.  Kyra bounces excitedly ahead of our guide, Kate, who reminds me of the care free life I had before having kids.

Kyra orders, “Come on guys, let’s go.”

I wink at Thomas, relieved that we can finally hike this distance without carrying both kids.

Photo credit: Kate Schousen

Kate points at the moat running along Kennicott Glacier and says, “There are all these caves and under ice pathways people can explore at the end of the summer.  And once the deeper ones open up the surface water disappears and you can walk through the tunnels.”

Photo credit: Kate Schousen

The photo I had hoped to capture of the four of us encircled by swirls of blue ice is not going to happen.  I try not to display any disappointment on my face.  Tomorrow, we are driving back to Eagle River and this “Alaskan adventure,” which took us several years to plan, will be over.  Since we had kids, “Alaskan adventures” seem expensive, brief, and unpredictable.  With every step I take on this trail, I worry that things might go horribly wrong like the snowmachine trip we took in March where our truck slid on a patch of ice resulting in damages we are still paying for today.  See Love + eMotion: Hike, not Mush.

When Kate announces that it’s time to put on our crampons, Kyra starts to dance, “Oh yeah! Oh yeah!”

I did too when Gaia  first told me over the phone that they could outfit young kids with crampons.  Gaia, who rode in a bail bucket at the front of a raft at age two, understood my frustration that my kids are too young for adventure travel.  St. Elias Alpine Guides does not have an age limit for their glacier hikes, simply a guideline that young children can either hike for at least five miles or be carried by sure-footed parents.

Fortunately, Gaia had also paired us with Kate who believes that helping kids connect with nature is her job. “Having kid-sized crampons is a way to help kids do this. The earlier a person can experience nature and enjoy being in the wild, the more they will value all of the things that nature teaches: serenity, self-reliance, finding personal limits, recognizing the finite nature of life and the infinite cycle of nature. Showing kids how to use crampons also increases their responsibility and sense of autonomy.”

But the doubt that trickled into my belly early this morning had drowned my wild side.  I tighten my crampons nervously as Kate arms my children’s feet with steel daggers.

Kate says that Ethan is the youngest she's ever seen wearing crampons!

Kyra gets 10 spikes, because she had on Kahtoolas with extra short bars.  Ethan gets 4 because he had in-step crampons, designed to sit in the middle of an adult-sized foot.

Eyeing her crampons mischievously, Kyra asks, “Can I go anywhere I want?”

“Yes, there are no trails,” Kate says, “But you have to be careful.  Walk slowly.  Step up higher and step down harder.  More spikes in the ice, the safer you are. Also, walk like a cowboy or cowgirl.  And that’s all there is to it.  A little higher, stronger, and wider.”

“Follow me!” Kyra commands, then steps onto the glacier.  Grabbing her hand, Kate says to me, “I love her bold attitude.”

Kyra complains, “Hey, what about me?” She starts to do a dance routine, a bit of popping, a glide, and a swivel.

Together, they march up the glacier.  Ethan, seeing how easy his sister handled her crampons, waves off our anxious hands and runs up the glacier.

“Ethan’s pretty fast on those crampons, huh?” I say to Thomas.

Ethan corrects me, “I’m Superman!”

“No, I’m Superman.  You’re Buz Lightyear!” Kyra yells from the ridge.

When we all get to the top, Kate says, “Wow, Ethan, you’re the youngest person I have ever seen walk on a glacier!”

“Ethan’s pretty fast on those crampons, huh?” I say to Thomas.

Kyra complains, “Hey, what about me?”  She starts to do a dance routine, a bit of popping, a glide, and a swivel.

“You are so awesome!” Kate laughs.

“Kyra, please don’t kick yourself or your brother.”

“I won’t!” Kyra sighs.  Her dark sunglasses shield her eyes from me, but her tone suggests that she is doing a teenage “no duh Mom” eye roll.

After exploring blue pools and moulins, we had lunch beside a developing crevasse, where glacier melt shoots down like a water slide.

Kate hands us each a red Twizzler and explains that if we bit the ends off we could use them like straws.  Kyra sticks her head in the ravine and after a while complains, “It’s not working.”

Ethan demands a Twizzler too, but simply stands in the same spot sucking air.  After a few minutes, he says, “Mine’s not working either.”

The glacier water cools my insides and I down a whole pint before eating lunch.  I wish I could just lie down and take a nap and admire the view of Stairway Icefalls (according to Kate it’s the “second largest one in the world”) but the kids are rapidly adapting their jean ripping, dirt digging, rock throwing techniques to the melting glacier surface.

They stomp around with their crampons as if they are barefoot in a tub of grapes, making wine.  They seem completely at ease, balancing on their spikes, and stepping into blue icy pools of water which they measure with Kate’s ice pick.

Keeping a firm hold on her ice pick, Kate shakes her head in disbelief and says almost to herself, “I love this family.”

 

Peaks, Glaciers, & Kids – Part I

Tiptoeing out of my warm room, I slip onto the porch and brave a few daredevil mosquitos at 4:30 a.m., hoping that the other guests at Kennicott Glacier Lodge would still be in bed.

A large raven zips by, followed by a curious violet-green swallow.  In a nearby spruce, a veery trills a ripple sound. The first explorer to discover this area must’ve held his breath like me, enjoying a private moment with this view.   Now the largest national park in the United States, six times the size of Yellowstone, Wrangell-St. Elias contains nine of the sixteen highest peaks in North America and the nation’s largest system of glaciers, superlatives that seem inappropriate for exploration with young kids.

For Memorial Day weekend, even at this hour, I am pleasantly surprised that I can’t hear a whisper of human activity.  Apparently, this is a good time of the year for locals to enjoy McCarthy-Kennecott before the tourist season.  There is a relaxed attitude at play, where it is easy to erase from the scene the restored mine buildings painted in red with crisp white trimmings, the “No Parking” sign, the half-buried giant metal wheels that once crushed copper ore, even the windows that I peer through occasionally to check on my snoring family.

Kennicott Glacier sweeps down from 16, 390 foot Mt. Blackburn to carve this U-shaped valley.  Rocks and debris from the surrounding army of peaks and valley walls coat the jagged ice in shades of blacks, grays, and browns.

Barely visible against the white clouds in the north, Stairway Icefalls, a massive frozen cascade feeds Root Glacier.  St. Elias Alpine Guides co-owner, Gaia Marrs, suggested that it might be fun for Kyra and Ethan to hike with crampons on this glacier later today.

I am a firm believer that having kids should not change your life.  However, pacing the porch this morning, I worry that I am a bad mother for equipping my five-year-old and two-year-old, who crash into each other and do face plants every few steps, with crampons.

Yesterday, I didn’t see any other kids staying at the lodge.  I got the feeling from chatting with locals that parents with kids around the age of mine usually don’t vacation here.  It could be due to the eight hour drive from Anchorage with the last sixty miles rumored to be a 3 hour ordeal negotiating a graveled McCarthy Road sprinkled with washboard, potholes, and railroad spikes. A neighbor of mine who has a six-year-old and four-year-old twins thought that you still had to cross the Kennecott River by hand-operated cable tram.

So far, I am happy to report that our adventure to McCarthy-Kennecott offers a mother with young kids:

• Rest.  In 1997, a footbridge replaced the hand-operated cable tram allowing more visitors to access Kennecott and McCarthy.  However, most visitors stay put, since there are limited shuttles that run between Kennecott and McCarthy and it costs about $5 per person, one way.Last night, relaxing on lounge chairs just outside the lodge while my kids played nearby on a plastic adventure playset, I realized that nearly every day we are driving back and forth between Eagle River and Anchorage for school, swim, or ballet lessons.  We never really pause to enjoy our surroundings.  And even when we do, there’s always the rev of engines rushing by.On our porch in Eagle River, I often ask my kids to close their eyes and tell me what they hear.  Before they mention the river or a bird or squirrel, they answer “car” or “airplane.” Here, the birds and insects drown out everything but the soothing roar of National Creek and Kennicott River.

• Enrichment.  Out of more than 200 games on our iPhones, my kids spent most of McCarthy Road snapping photos of each other.“Smile,” Kyra ordered.“Say Cheese!” Ethan said.

  

  And when Ethan fell asleep, Kyra stared at the landscape speeding by and then quietly typed away on the Notes app.  When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “Mommee, I’m writing about our trip.  How do you spell Copper River?”

• Reflection.At Chitna before we started the McCarthy Road, we lost cellular service.  With no computer, television, phones, or Internet access in Kennecott, I could finally hear my own thoughts.  The kids didn’t bombard me with questions or demand that I play with them.  Nature occupied them with unlimited stimulation and, best of all, absorbed their squabbling.   They spent hours hopping after a Junco or battling each other with sticks or throwing rocks into the river.Being disconnected from the rest of the world also forces me to turn inward.  Without emails to check or phone calls to make, memories of my summer working at Glacier National Park return, reminding me that I had once thought rangers and expedition guides had tempered the best quality of life.  Most importantly, I found time to check-in with the wild part of myself that had to take a backseat when I became a mom and gave it some room to breathe.