Current mood:	giddy
Current music:	Jism - Awaarapan..Banjarapan

Homer - the story of a Greek who became an American
Homer is not Greek anymore, this time around he asked Zeus to turn him into a place, a small fishing hamlet in South Central Alaska to be exact. He was tired of being a Greek man, it involved too much talking and all that feta cheese was getting on his nerves, it was time to try some fish, halibut to be exact – the king of all fish, this side of the grille.

In the latest incarnation, Homer, Alaska is a beautiful city in the Kenai Peninsula,self proclaimed Halibut fishing capital of the world, nestled in the rolling hillocks overlooking Kachemak Bay with a long narrow wisp of land trailing off in to the sea, locally known as The Spit. Last weekend, a posse of six people including yours truly joined the thousands of Alaskans & un-Alaskans who pay yearly homage to Homer, come summer.

Beam Us Out Scotty: We managed to ‘beam’ ourselves out of Anchorage along with two other seemingly awake life forms in the back seat, propped up by coffee mugs at 0730 hrs Saturday morning. Force feeding these caffeine-based bipeds a diet of Roger Waters, Eminem, M.M.Kreem hindi songs (M.M.Kreem’s list of European fans increase by 2), peaches and muffins proved successful ‘cause by the time we stopped at a ‘scenic-view turnout’ overlooking the IRS volcanoes (not Internal Revenue Service, but the local name for a trio of volcanoes – Iliamna, Redoubt & Spurr), all four of us were wide awake and were busy striking cinematic poses in front of the faraway volcanoes, undaunted by their icy frowns.

Hanging Halibuts: A sad but stunning picture of five halibuts ‘hung to death’ on a wayside fishing charter business provoked an involuntary scream out of one of our companions. Our suspicion was, she was about to call PETA to stop the capital punishment of halibuts, when she ordered, “turn the car around, I want to get a picture with them,” Shots fired (out of the camera). Little did we realize that this was the first of the many fishing charter businesses with hanging halibut showpieces which we would pass on our way to Homer. Eight or ten such showstoppers followed in quick succession….well, halibuts come halibuts go, some go young some go old….


Palaces on wheels: Floating palaces of retirees and other adventurers from the lower 48 (the rest of US), tagging along their four wheelers at snail’s pace(read 50-60 mph), followed by a long string of impatient vehicles trailing behind them is an unmistakable feature of Alaskan summer. The overpopulation RVs did slow us down a bit at places where two lane narrowed down to one lane, but our driver, a ‘driven’ man by now, managed to cover the 250 miles to Homer in 3 hours flat, discounting the time consumed by the ‘photo-ops’.


Competitive Fishing: We finally rolled to a halt at Homer beach, there was more ‘fishy’ drama unfolding there. The fly-fishers at the beach were reeling in fish by tons. Not to be left behind by humans-with-rod-extensions, some naturally-gifted sea gulls were actively fishing the waters for their brunch when some affluent humans decided to take a motor yacht right thru’ their ‘fishing hole in the sea’. All that we - the poor unfortunate beachcombers could do was, stare back at the yachters lounging lazily with their cultivated airs of ‘vacation-nonchalence’ on the bow. It was time we headed to our bed and breakfast, our stationary yacht for the night.


At Captain Patties: But..not before we stopped at Captain Pattie’s for a sumptuous lunch. Mushrooms in some creamy white sauce stuffed with salmon and crab, heavenly clam chowder, fried oysters – all freshly caught from the Katchemak Bay. Food was so out of this world that we decided it warranted a return visit. Coming out of the restaurant a sign proclaimed that Captain Pattie’s has been Alaska’s No.1 seafood restaurant many years in a row..no wonder!


Head to B & B: An all contained cocoon up in the mountains, for a night – two bedrooms, living room, kitchen, restroom, a beautiful front lawn overlooking the Homer Spit and a note on the dining table welcoming the six of us – that was Aloha Bed & Breakfast.

Amidst the fireweed: Freshened after a shower, we headed down a small trail leading thru’ a flush of fireweed. Fireweed is a wild flower (a weed) purple in color, which blooms around mid summer and when it breaks in to cotton towards the end of summer, Alaskans count down six weeks to the beginning of another long winter. A photo in a forest of fireweed is a staple in all Alaskan summer scrap-books.The photo below has a stalk of purple fireweed, framing the view of the Spit.


Rest of the gang who left Anchorage six hours after we did, caught up with us at The Cups, a bohemian restaurant in downtown Homer. After dinner, we headed back to our rooms with the views, unloaded the alcohol cache, stepped up our BAL(blood alcohol level), started trading pumped-up stories about our previous trips to Homer. At 2 am we headed back to the Spit to Salty Dawg Saloon.

Salty Dawg is a famous saloon housed in an old lighthouse at the Homer Spit. It still retains the rowdy charm of seafaring, with its saw dust floor, walls papered with signed dollar bills and signed garments of the patrons. You get a free drink if you take off your dress(or a part of it, no, not your scarf), sign it and pin it on the walls or roof or girders or wherever there is space. Since our BALs were not up to that ‘promising range’ yet, we emerged out of the saloon with lighter wallets and clothes intact.


Six hours of sleep and a breakfast on the lawn later (thanks to a well loaded pantry and fridge provided by B&B owners), we took a Smokey Bay Air(an air taxi service) cessna to Seldovia, which is touted as Alaska’s best kept secret which roughly translates to 300+ friendly locals and a few old crabs. I got to see the Spit as birds see it.


Seldovia, by the sea: Seldovia has a very laid back European charm, colorful houses on stilts by the river edge, an old Russian church, a small boats harbor framed by a cove,


And hedge after hedge of berries. We began picking raspberries and stuffing our mouths like there was no tomorrow and followed the berry hedges to the center of the town. On the way we passed a water hole, where the salmon come to die after spawning. Bony carcasses dotted the river bed, those about to die were swimming around in circles – big, dark red and in some kind of daze. The dark gravel bed made the water look too dark to photograph and we left the salmon to continue their last dance peacefully.


Seldovia Harbor: We lounged around the harbor and the board walk, before our Australian pilot(he worked summers in Homer and when it was winter here he packed his bags to his native Australia which would then be basking in glorious summer shine, lucky guy!) picked us up for the 15 minute return flight to Homer. The Cessna reminded me of autorikshas in India – the same rickety, devil-may-care maneuverability assured that ‘am more at home in cessnas than in jet planes.


A final stop at Capt. Pattie's restaurant for a take out dinner, which we ate sitting on driftwood ‘tables’ at the beach and we were off to Anchorage, leaving Homer to the care of its artists (there is a thriving artists community in Homer), writers and halibuts. Homer, as you can see is well settled and enjoying his/its American odyssey.



Photos & Content © deepti2004