Mud and Rain

Hi Everyone,

I assume about 3 of you are still reading my blog. So to catch you all up on what’s been going on… hum… I’ve been sitting around the chow hall drinking coffee; playing cards with all the teenagers who think I’m a cooler, older version of themselves and that I’m about 20-years-old; nursing a 3-week cold that’s developed into a dual ear infection; trying to find a new camera since mine committed suicide and refuses to close the lens or turn on anymore; and avoiding my birthday by not telling anyone at camp because who really wants to be sung to in front of strangers and eat a half-stale cake?

That’s about it. Most of the time we plan to go shooting, but then the stupid sky opens up and cries. Seriously, is summer in Nome really this wet or are the Nomites this year getting screwed out of their 3 months of sunshine? If so, that would really suck for them – 9 months of darkness and up to -60F to have 3 months of 30F and rain. And people live here willingly. I keep coming to town and I hardly ever see the same people twice. For a town of 2300, there sure are a lot of under 30-year-olds that pop up. Most of them were born here and choose not to leave. Maybe since this is what they’ve always known, they figure it’s safe to stay and not explore the rest of the world.

I met a young lady that was born here, went to College in Las Vegas for 4 years, and still came back to Nome to work fulltime. It must be something in the water, why else would you come back once you’ve escaped. We stopped by one of the tents scattered along the beach on the way back to Camp the other evening and chatted with an ex-camper who still comes to Nome to prospect ever year. He says he pays $200 a year to camp on the beach and that it’s peaceful.

Not sure living with a sand floor, using wet wood to heat your stove, and having the tundra as a toilet counts as peaceful, but him and about 30 other guys, they seem to think it’s heaven. He even convinced his wife to come up and stay in the tent. Most women I know are all for vacationing on a beach, but I don’t think that the cold, wet, and gloomy beach of Nome is what they had in mind.

Then again, I willingly came up here, but someone paid my way and I get to make a documentary on the crazy people that chose to pay to come to a wooden campsite in the middle of nowhere. I often wonder if some random person were to fly over Nome and down the coastline, when they’d come upon the camp, would they mutter, “who the hell lives out here?” or “hum, I’d like to stay there?” It’s a remote and strange sight to someone who doesn’t have a clue what GPA is.

One of the only adventures I went on lately was yesterday when the guys and I ATVed out to Creosos camp, about 12 miles on the ATv, but along a heavily mudded dirt road. 2 months ago the road was just dusty, but the lovely 18-day stretch of rain has created potholes and mud puddles that sallow ATVs. Everyone is always saying how so and so had to tow them out and I was a little worried about going on the journey because my boys like to drive really fast and I always feel the need to keep up with them so they don’t think that I’m “just a girl” and suck at ATVing – which I kind of do. Maybe I just have a self-preservation gene that kicks in and say, “slow the F**k down, that’s a 3 foot drop,” where as the boys see the same drop and go, “Weeeeeeee!!!!” as the skid all over the place.

Anyhow, driving through the mud turned out to be awesome. I didn’t get stuck and I got covered in mud from the back splashes of driving head first into numerous bogs. It was awesome. I was even tailgating a bit. I feel a lot more confident in driving along a crappy road now and I love being covered in slim, as long as I’m wearing my waterproof clothes.

That’s about all that I’ve done. I now in a coffee shot typing this blog after transversing the soft, ATV eating sand and petting rain. My goggles kept fogging up making it really hard to see, but taking them off just allowed the rain to pelted me and therefore squint. It was kind of a catch 22, but I made it, I’m now dry, enjoying a great cup of coffee and when I finish this blog in 2 sentences, I’m headed to the movie theater inside the Subway to watch Kungfu Panda 2 and eat dinner. Thanks for reading and have a great day!!!

The Bear Experience

It’s always nice to be joy riding back to camp after a pleasant day of internet surfing and shopping in town, when you happen to look up and spot a rather large, brown blur galloping across the sand 200 feet in front of you. As you slow down the ATV and your brain has a chance to process what you’re seeing, you piece together that a Mamma Grizzle bear is hauling ass up the beach embankment and disappearing into the Tundra. It‘s only natural that the first two words out of your mouth are, “F**k!” and a few seconds later, “F**k.”

Everyone at camp likes to tell tales of their bear encounters. They round a corner and see one on the Tundra or they have to sneak around it as it’s lounging by the river. They always sound like it’s no big deal when you run into a bear, just keep riding up wind and you’ll be fine intermixed with horror stories of friends and Nome locals getting their faces ripped off and their tongues eaten. One of the participants even joked to her husband that she wanted to bring a 22 pistol to camp and the husband was like, “why would you want that? I’m bringing the 357.” The wife replies, “so I can shoot you in the leg and get away.” Ah, true love.

About a month ago, there was a Mamma Grizzle and her 2-year-old cub playing at the Cripple River. We managed to capture some blurry imagines of them on camera, but we didn’t feel like getting too close. After that there’ve been sightings of the 2 bears up at Dredge Camp and out where prospectors metal detect. The bears haven’t come back towards main camp since…until 2 nights ago when the baby cub was spotted along the far shore of the Cripple, trying to fish the salmon. From where I was standing, Mamma wasn’t in sight. Not good considering how protective she is of her baby.

A crowd gathered to watch the cub play but then it moved into the Willows and we’d all thought it had run away. Not 5 minutes later, the cub prances out of the trees on the camp side of the Cripple, right at the entrance to where everyone drives across the river, 200 yards from where I was. Right behind baby, Mamma’s head pops up from the bushes; she’d been on our side of the river the whole time. The two of them start sniffing the air and then head up river through the Willows…or so we thought.

You might have seen from the previous pictures that I posted, John standing over a dead, headless 8-foot whale half buried in the sand. The whale washed ashore last Friday, 20 yards from the A-frame. Apparently Mamma Grizzle and her cub could smell an evening meal and came exploring. They rounded the corner of an outer placed Hooch and started towards the A-frame, the last anyone saw of them that evening.

When I went to breakfast the following morning, the crew asked me if I’d heard the gunshots. Mamma and baby had been back at the river fishing and the men had to fire over their heads to scare them off. I’d slept through the shots. Neither John, nor I thought of the bears again as we went into town to hang out for a few hours. It wasn’t until we were riding back to camp, speeding along the beach, I just happened to pay attention to my surroundings and Mamma Grizzle was galloping across the beach, up and over the tundra.

She’d been having a mid-afternoon snack of whale when the noise of our ATV’s frightened her into the Tundra. I stopped once I spotted her and turn to John, who barely realized there was a bear on the loose. “What do we do?” I asked. I had no idea if we were down wind from the bear or not and if we should play it safe and head back the way we’d come or continue the last mile to camp. John replies, “Just go and don’t stop.” I put the ATV in 5th gear (the highest) and sped along the rough terrain, alternating between watching the Tundra for Mamma and the giant, gravel speed bumps in front of me.

Surprisingly I wasn’t scared. My heart rate didn’t go up and my palms weren’t sweating. It was just a natural reaction of “F**k!” when I first spotted the bear and then driving by, hoping the thing didn’t come back. A little ways past the A-frame, the dead whale, and the bear, I spotted a lone prospector braving the cold weather. John and I stopped and when the guy wandered over to me, I told him to watch out because there was a bear and her cub feeding on a dead whale not a 5th of a mile from where he was standing. The guy looks at me and says, “Oh, that was a bear? I thought it was a dog.” Maybe I should have just kept going and let the moron get eaten.

I came back to camp to alert the staff that the bears are hanging out near the road to town, but no one seemed to mind. They just said not to get in the way of Mamma and her cub and you’ll be fine. Some of the prospectors were packed in a truck headed to town; instead of worrying, they all got out their cameras. It’s definitely a different breed of people out here.

Pictures Galore...Kinda

John and Beau filming Blake on a rainy day. We do work in crap weather.

The sun at Midnight - although it isn't really this dark here, just my camera taking liberties.

Finally, a picture of my hooch and it's sign.

Awesome sky over Nome right before the giant storm came.

Driving on the washed out beach.

My friend Sarah, whom I splattered in mud because she was right behind me when I got stuck in the mud.

Cute baby seal

John investigating the dead whale.

Rainy Days and Nasty Waves

I think people that have experienced a snow day can understand being trapped indoors, hanging by a fireplace and playing cards, but thinking about all the things they’d really like to do outside, but aren’t able to. That is kind of how it’s been at camp the last few days. It could be Mother Nature taking her revenge Nome or the Chaos Theory being applied to the most recent earthquake, but whatever the reason, the ocean is obliterating the beach. We’re essentially trapped between the Penny River and the Cripple River, a mile distance.

On the 4th of July we ATVed into town on a relatively smooth beach. Most of the annoying bumps were gone and the ride only had me jumping out of my seat 2 or 3 times. We filmed the 10 minute parade that primarily consisted of GPA members ATVing down the street throwing candy to all the kids intermixed with 2 school groups, a badly misplaced Santa Claus, and about all the fire trucks and police cars in the entire area. After the antagonizing slow string of off road vehicles completed the ¼ mile parade route, the street was turned into a bike racetrack. Ranging in age groups, kids would races 50-300 yards, full speed on their bikes across a finish line, mostly blocked my moronic viewers. I don’t know about you, but standing in the way of a 10-year-old intent on winning $5 is not too smart. The kid isn’t gonna play Chicken with you, he’ll run you over for the candy money without a second thought.

After filming this spectacle of stupidity, we had a relaxing lunch before heading back to camp, the first of the rain clouds hitting the coast. I have to say that I’m not a huge fan of racing along a rocky beach on an ATV at speeds of 40mph, but I’m especially not a fan of being pelted by icy raindrops at the same time. Those evil clouds ended up crying for 2 days, soaking anything in their path. There used to be about 150 feet distance between the ocean and the cliff face, but during the lovely rainstorm, the distance shrunk to 20 feet. All the hard work the GPA members spent digging in the sand to find pay layers were wiped out with the rough waves that filled in the holes with water and then sand.

I usually spend a vast amount of time in the Chow Hall sitting by the Wood Stove trying to keep warm, but since most people couldn’t prospect on the beach and many of them were too much of wimps to brave the weather and ATV to other camps, they all crowded into the Chow Hall, stealing my seat and chatting to everyone. My once semi-quiet, warm spot was being over run by most of the prospectors. People would come and stand right in front of me, blocking the heat and start up a conversation, regardless of my nose being buried in a book. I wanted to tell them to move, but sometimes they were dipping wet and I was dry from having not moved in several hours. It could have been considered rude.

The wind blew in and out of all the holes in the hooches, shaking buildings and rattling doors, it even blew the Hovel’s stovepipe off the roof – leaving the Boys without heat for 2 days. People were taking all the firewood faster then it was being cut, just throwing it in their wheel barrels as soon as it hit the ground. The waves rose higher and higher, turning an angry grey. They made great pictures, but essentially trapped everyone at camp. It wasn’t the best of a vacation for the recent arrivals to camp. They’d mostly come to beach mine and now they were stuck waiting out the storm.

Good thing that the majority of the people that come to Cripple River are interesting prospecting, but they’re also interesting in relaxing, meeting people, and just generally having a good time; making the best of any situation. Only a small percentage of the prospectors are diehards for gold. They spend 18-20 hours a day digging in the dirt and sluicing their concentrates. They don’t care to make friends, partake in any of the camp activities, or show up at meal times. They want to make back the money they spent on this trip and then some. So far I’ve only seen flower gold – minuscule dots of color that you have to constantly run through water to separate from the sand they’re mixed with. Not too promising and a hell of a lot of work to gather. I think they real spirit of the camp is in getting to know the volunteers and prospectors and the gold is just secondary. Maybe the diehards will realize this, maybe they won’t, but I guess, to each his/her own.

Today the rain has let up, but the beach is still very rough and the waves a tad angry. The trucks are able to make a relatively smooth ride to town, but it’s a bumpy and wet ride to town on the ATVs, you have to ride in and out of the waves, often over large stomps of driftwood. At least people are out of the Chow Hall and back to digging in the dirt or walking about searching for beach glass and enjoying the fresh air. No longer is it a “Snow Day”.

Em's Hooch

My very first fire.

So I have my own Hooch. When we all got back from our Klondike Adventure, Greg, Adam (our other cameraman who came to camp late and missed out on shooting the Klondike trip), Brandon, and Amber (Brandon’s girlfriend) all moved into the “Buzzard’s Roost”, while John and Beau got their own cabin, leaving me to be by myself. I love my own place, but the Roost has a TV, a shower, a running toilet, a full kitchen, and people who know how to start fires. The Hovel (what I named John and Beau’s hooch) was supposed to be my cabin, but when the boys saw that it had a running toilet, they claimed it and kicked me out. It’s pretty much the only thing that I miss from that hooch because at 3 am, it sucks to crawl out of your warm sleeping bag, find shoes and a jacket half awake in the dark and then walk 500 yards to an outhouse.

The plus side to my hooch is that it’s 100 yards from the Chow Hall, and coffee! I have neighbors that will watch my place (because I don’t have a lock) and make sure that everything is safe, and the best part…I have a sign with my name on the door. Why is this special, important? Most of the old timers, the people that have volunteered to work at camp for more than 2 years, most 15 years, all have signs on their hoochs. They’re given nicknames by other staff members for something they’ve done, usually something stupid, and then a sign appears on their hooch. It’s a sign of endearment.


A foggy evening.

Luckily I wasn’t given a sign for my little bath in the Baltic Sea the first week I was here, nope, it’s just a simple sign that says “Em’s”. When it was put up I wasn’t around, but Paul, made a point to let the boys know that he was tacking it up to my door. Greg and Adam have been to Cripple River for 4 years, Beau 2 years, and John is a newbee like me. None of them have signs, so when they saw mine they were slightly jealous. I wasn’t even around when it went up. I was the moron that strolled by one afternoon and actually looked at my door to say, “wow, I have a sign. Cool”. The Boys just down-casted their eyes and huffed.

Paul later told me he was the one that put it up, explained the importance of having a sign before being at the camp 2 years, how special I was, and then made me go on a treasure hunt to find the person who made me the sign. It turns out it was Diane, one of the old timer’s wife. She felt that if I was stuck working with the boys and living on my own, I deserved a sign. Plus she liked me and wanted to see the boy’s reactions to the sign. Hahaha.


About 10pm on the Cripple River

Over the first few days in my new hooch I kept ending up with presents on my front step or right inside the door. I found a bundle of kindling on the steps, I nearly tripped over a log of wood someone stuck right inside the door, my neighbor gave me his air mattress pump since the boys took mine, and Lisa handed me a blanket when I told her I was freezing at night. Things that have been handed to me: a bandana because a participant felt bad for me when I came back to camp and my face was covered in dirt; an air mattress, since mine deflates every night; a random rock; and a pack of wasabi peanuts since I mentioned at dinner I liked spicy food.

I’ve also received numerous offers for help in the shower (I’ve refused all, no need of a 70-year-old back washer), a few dates to the Friday Night party, and apparently my neighbor has become my pimp, saying it’s $10 for me to screw them – give me $10 and I walk away. Hehe. So far no one’s taken the bait, but I have got free beer. I’m still waiting for someone to give me some of his or her gold…it could happen.


Beach Highway to Camp with prospectors in foreground.

All in all, everyone is really nice. A little crooked, crude humor and rancid jokes from 60-80-year-olds, but it’s all in good fun and I think the old guys like me because I don’t back down, I’m hardly ever offended and I can make them blush just as much as they can attempt to make me blush. I started this trip thinking camp was boring and I would much rather be in the town of Nome, but now it’s the other way around. I can’t walk into the Chow Hall without someone stopping me to chat. I try to get in the food line, somewhat near the front, but it takes me a good 10 minutes to escape all the chatters and by then the line is wrapped around the hall. Oh well, at least people want to talk to me.

Until next time…


Adam, Greg, Me, and John taking a break from shooting.