Cleared To Land

“Phouc Vinh tower Pig.”

“Pig! Phouc Vinh tower, welcome back, go ahead.”

“Phouc Vinh, Pig’s over the V-O-R for landing.”

“Pig, Phouc Vinh; runway your choice, cleared to land.”

“Thanks Phouc Vinh, I think we’ll shoot straight for P-O-L.”

That’s about how my last landing in Vietnam went. Routine, full of angst, knowing that I’d be leaving my buddies behind to figure out how to survive to follow me home. Plenty of guilt to go around for all.

Well, I’ve landed one last time on this journey called divorce. It is not over but I’m safe and sound in Homer. All that remains is finding a parking place. It was a rocky ride and there are still a few left behind to survive on their own. For that I am truly sorry because so many helped me so much that I can never repay you all. Without you I would not have survived. I accept the duty to repay and promise to help whenever and wherever I can.

Now a little about the last leg of the trip.

Storytelling.

I sure do my share of that. This site has lots of my stories. Most stored in the pages list, you are welcome to any of it. Most of it is work in progress.

I’ve always thought that I have one good compilation in me. It would be the story of how the lives of three young boys growing up in Southern California were affected by the draft and what that experience did to shape the rest of their adult lives.

If you included all the major decisions that the draft influenced, it would have to show at least minor affect to millions of lives in the 60’s and 70’s. I keep meeting men and women struggling to make sense of it all. My newest bumper sticker reads “ I’m already against the next war”.

But telling my stories has proven to be a little more than I can handle well. I will keep going back to the stories I’ve begun here and continue adding and editing, but I doubt that I will ever get it to a coherent, all inclusive tale. And that’s OK.

On this trip I have had occasion to meet some classic old timer Alaskans. I have found that it is far more interesting to listen rather that talk. My only regret is that I will forget far more than I remember. And that’s OK too. This was the first sailing of the 2017 season and there were almost no tourists. There were a couple of military families in the middle of a transfer; complete with little kids and dogs. There were “waste water maintenance” specialists complete with shiny new storm drain suction trucks. Fishermen with brand new, shrink wrapped boats for the next charter season. And young men out to make their fortune in the last frontier. The ferry had a jammed car deck but no where near a full contingent of foot passengers.

I met one man, a few years my junior, that was virtually bursting with experiences to share. A high school drop out that joined the Marines at 17 1/2 years old and listed quite a few accomplishments. Some of which were hard to believe. Many of his details were perhaps less than perfectly accurate but the stories were too good to mess with. Names were changed or forgotten to embellish the story I’m sure, but I was too busy enjoying living the story to care. They were all very close to my own tales.

Rather than trying to find the flaws in all the adventures, I found great pleasure listening and immersing myself in the the experience; like I would with a good book.

That, to me, is the measure of a good story. Can you lose yourself in the tale and feel it’s loss when it is over and you must return to the everyday.

When I got to Soldotna, I visited the riverbank where I will be fishing for reds this year.

Way more ice than usual. Totally destroyed most of the boardwalk and all of the cleaning tables. I’ll get more photos when the shore ice melts but it looks grim. Watch this space for the repair process.

This view is from the bridge over the river. The dark area is the snow and sand thrown from the bridge by the plows.

Once again, thank you all for getting me here. I know I can’t repay you enough, but I’ll try to pay it forward. A worthy goal, I think.