Proenneke Turns up the Heat at Twin Lakes

It’s been a pretty quiet month, that’s for sure!  Well, not quiet in terms of everyday life, but certainly in terms of my presence on these pages.  I’ll aim to do a bit better going forward.

Let’s check back in with Dick Proenneke, because if anyone knew about quiet and solitude, it was Dick.   As you know, he had begun building his own cabin and carving out a “retirement” existence on the shores of Twin Lakes, south and west of Anchorage, Alaska.  The summer of 1968 was super-busy, as it was spent completing his new home.

And then it was done, but there was still work to do.  Other than the few basics that Babe Alsworth brought in by plane (flour, salt, eggs, etc.), Dick had to fend for himself.  So there was hunting and hiking and chopping firewood for the chim…

Hmmm…Proenneke’s finished cabin didn’t have a chimney.  And now it was September, and the brutal cold of winter wasn’t all that far away, particularly in Alaska.  But if we’ve learned anything about our retiree, it’s that he planned ahead.  Part of his summer chores included gathering a pile of bigger rocks from the nearby stream, and ordering some bags of concrete mix that Babe flew in with the T-Craft.

And on September 6, 1968, Dick Proenneke began building his chimney.  The first step was to cut a hole in the rear of the house.  It was a bit sad, he thought, to cut up what he had so carefully laid in, but warmth in frigid temperatures (that approached -50°) was paramount.  And once the hole was cut, he was committed to finish.

As you might expect, the job was done before the cold arrived, and when it was -45° outside, the inside of the cabin, with the help of the fireplace, stayed a relatively balmy 40°.

But don’t take my word for it.  If you haven’t already, go buy the videos (I hear rumor that a 3rd video is in the works) or read the book.  You’ll get the full scoop.

Recommended Reading:  One Man’s Wilderness

Read Full Post »

Richard Proenneke Discovers the Bear Necessities

We watched a comedian some time ago on television and he joked about his fear of bears.  Before his first visit to Alaska, he discussed his concerns with a friend.  His friend told him not to worry, because “the bear is more afraid of you than you are of it.”  The comedian responded by saying, “I’m pretty sure the bear is wrong.”

And based on the tale that Richard Proenneke tells, I would have to agree with the comedian.

For Proenneke, July 2, 1969 was a day of celebration.  He had lost his axe the previous day, and that was a terrible loss.  He would write in his diary, “After all the miles we had traveled together, building everything, I hated the thought of losing it.  A man could no more afford to lose his axe out here than he could his wallet full of folding money in a strange city.”  All plans for the day were scrapped and the search was on.  He scoured the cabin, he retraced his steps over the last several days, which meant walking trails and digging through the brush.  His relentless search paid dividends, as he finally found the axe on the third search of his cabin.

As you may recall, Proenneke had come to Twin Lakes, Alaska the year before and carved out his own little existence, building his own cabin in the midst of fantastic surroundings and almost complete solitude.  Over time, he had augmented his in-ground cool-box with a stilted cache, where he put things out of the reach of the local wildlife, particularly bears, which rambled around his home in search of food.

Today he would see another bear, though not at all in the manner he desired.

Proenneke decided his celebration would be spent in the high country.  He left his camera and his rifle at home, not wanting the extra weight on what promised to be a day of strenuous exercise.  He paddled across the lake with just his binoculars and his sixty-power eyepiece and tripod.

He climbed up high, past the pesky insects, and watched bighorn sheep, moose, and even a brown bear with her cubs in the distance.  As the temperatures began to drop, he headed back down.  He had just broken out of the willows when he heard a crashing the trees to his right.

Richard turned, expecting to see a moose, but instead saw a huge brown bear charging at him just fifty feet away.  When yelling and waving his hands failed to stop the bear’s charge, he turned and fled, only to trip and fall on his back.  He penned in his diary, “…I started kicking at the great broad head as it burst through the willow leaves.  And then as he loomed over me, a strange thing happened.  The air whooshed out of him as he switched ends.  Off he went up the slope, bunching his huge bulk, climbing hard, and showering stones.  Not once did he look back.”

Proenneke believed the bear, at the last moment, caught the strange scent of human.  The bear probably saw Proenneke’s movement from a distance and charged, thinking it was dinner.  Just in time, the bear relented and left.  Richard continued his trip home, unable to think of anything but those few deadly seconds, and unable to stop shaking.  From now on, his rifle would be an automatic accessory for travel.

When he finally went to bed, he wrote, “I lay awake for a long time.  My mind kept returning to the bear.”

Recommended Reading:  One Man’s Wilderness

Read Full Post »

Richard Proenneke’s Retirement “Project”

“It was good to be back in the wilderness again, where everything seems at peace.  I was alone – just me and the animals.  It was a great feeling – free once more to plan and do as I pleased.  ‘Beyond’ was all around me.  My dream was a dream no longer.  I suppose I was here because this was something I had to do – not just dream about it but do it.  I suppose too I was here to test myself – not that I had never done it before, but this time it was to be a more thorough and lasting examination.  What was I capable of that I didn’t know yet?  Could I really enjoy my own company for an entire year? And was I equal to everything this wild land could throw at me?  I had seen its moods in late spring, summer, and early fall, but what about the winter?  Would I love the isolation then, with its bone-stabbing cold, its ghostly silence?  At age 51, I intended to find out.”

And with those words, I was introduced a couple of years ago to the world of Richard Proenneke (pronounced PREN-ick-ee).  Born in the southeast corner of Iowa in 1916, his greatest adventure wouldn’t begin for a half century.  He was (unlike me) very skilled with his hands.  His carpentry skills served him well in the Navy, and his ability as a mechanic and repairman made him the person people called when a fix was needed.  His skills were so in demand that, by the age of 51, he had socked enough money away to retire.

But his retirement would be very different than what many of us might imagine.

Dick Proenneke chucked civilization, with all its convenience and comfort, and headed for Twin Lakes, Alaska.  Located roughly 130 miles southwest of Anchorage, it may not seem at first blush to be “the middle of nowhere”, but it was.  There was no electricity, no running water, no gas lines, no grocery stores, and no neighbors (if you don’t count Spike Carrithers’ cabin situated on the upper lake).  There wasn’t even a road.  If anything or anybody got to Twin Lakes, it required walking over the mountains or an airplane with floats.  But this was the pristine setting Proenneke sought.

Proenneke first arrived in 1967, when he stayed long enough to cut down and trim the spruce trees he would use to build his cabin as well as select his cabin site.  He returned the following May to begin construction.  Not wanting to carry a bunch of luggage (remember, transportation was a tremendous issue), he brought only the most basic hand tools, and most of those without handles (for easier packing).  His first job was to fashion handles for the tools he would need.

And then he was ready.  Four days after his arrival, on May 25, 1968, Dick Proenneke made the first cuts in the first logs of what would eventually become his cabin.  Once completed, he would live in Alaska for more than a year, after which he returned home to visit family.  He would come back to his cabin in the spring of 1970 and would remain there, living mostly in complete solitude, until age and health issues forced him to leave in 1998, at the age of 82.  Proenneke has passed on, but the cabin remains, maintained with its owner’s care by the National Park Service.

One of the coolest things about Proenneke’s time in Alaska is that he filmed it and kept journals.  Those records have been turned into several videos and at least one book that chronicles his first year alone in the wilderness.  My wife got me the complete video set (and the book) this past Christmas and I’ve already watched the videos several times.  I found the book to be equally fascinating.  Public Television shows these videos on occasion, but it’s way better just to buy your own set.

For me, there’s something very intriguing about watching a man use his hands and his wits to solve a problem.  What makes it more compelling is the fact that this particular man did it in a place of such magnificent beauty, completely unaided by modern technology and helping hands.

Recommended Reading:  One Man’s Wilderness – A diary of Dick Proenneke’s first sixteen months in Alaska.

Read Full Post »

Japan Salvages Something from Midway Disaster

We’ll keep it brief this evening, as it’s the first night of baseball’s amateur draft, and I enjoy tracking that.

Out of the disaster that was the Midway campaign, the Japanese did manage some success up north in the Aleutians.  The Battle of Dutch Harbor (which we’ve talked about a couple of times) didn’t really accomplish a whole lot in terms of the actual engagements, but it tied down the U.S. forces stationed there so that an invasion force could approach the far western edge of the Aleutians.

Subsequent attacks on the island of Adak (between Dutch and the Japanese targets of Attu and Kiska) suppressed U.S. forces there such that Japan’s invasion force could make their landings.

Attu and Kiska are small islands sitting way out west in the Aleutians.  They are rugged, barren, and largely inhospitable.  But for the invaders, they provided a place to set up bases from which to patrol the northern Pacific.  A victory at Midway would have made the islands very important as protectors of Japan’s northern flanks.

But of course, Japan was shockingly defeated at Midway, which really made the Aleutians untenable.  Still, Admiral Yamamoto ordered their occupation, with two-fold reasoning in mind.  First, the bases could still provide value should the Americans decide to launch attacks against Japan from the north.  Second (and maybe more important), it would give the whole Midway campaign some marginal victory on which the Admiral’s hat could be hung.

And so, on June 7, 1942, Japanese forces landed on Attu (a day after they landed on Kiska).  And for a year, they would sit with little to do but dig trenches and emplacements in the unforgiving climate.  Back in Japan, the entire campaign was heralded as a huge victory for the Japanese.  In fact, the Japanese citizens would not learn the truth of Midway until after the war ended in 1945.

Read Full Post »

Japanese Fish for Targets at Dutch Harbor

The Battle of Dutch Harbor has generally occupied little more than a postscript in the affairs of the Second World War.  It’s pretty much an “oh-by-the-way” engagement when weighed against what was building around Midway.  And truth be told, it is a relatively minor encounter as they go.

Begun in the early morning of June 3, 1942, it involved a small Imperial Japanese fleet with a couple of light carriers (Ryujo and Junyo) and a handful of cruisers and destroyers…a pittance compared to the massive Midway armada.  Their job was to shoot stuff and blow stuff up and create enough havoc to cover for the invasion force that was making for Attu and Kiska, a pair islands farther down the Aleutian chain.

Facing the Japanese was an amalgamation of forces, including an Army regiment, some anti-aircraft batteries, and a handful of aircraft.  Of course, U.S. intelligence was aware that an attack might be coming, but no one was sure of exactly when or where it would fall.  So while the men had been on alert, the sounds of bombs falling and explosions at 4:30 in the morning was still a bit of a surprise.

The Japanese attacks were kind of on-again, off-again affairs throughout the day, but usually involved strafing runs at very low altitude, low enough that some soldiers claimed they could see the faces of the pilots at whom they were shooting.  Japanese fighters succeded in not doing much damage, though they did manage to bomb the barracks at Fort Mears, killing 25 servicemen.  As defenders, U.S. forces managed to keep the Japanese dodging enough that it prevented any serious damage, other than the attack at Fort Mears, and U.S. planes dispatched a couple of reconnaissance planes that got a little too close to the action.

So the first day of the battle saw a flurry of activity and a whole bunch of ammunition expended for not a ton of results.  But the Japanese were doing their job…keeping the American forces occupied as an invasion force made its way north.

Like I said, the Battle of Dutch Harbor sounds kind of ho-hum.  But it was very important for what happened on June 4th.  That action would provide the most memorable results and a huge windfall to American Navy pilots.

Read Full Post »

Alaska’s Bad Good Friday

The earthquake that rocked Alaska on March 27, 1964 needs no special introduction.  It is the most powerful earthquake recorded in the Northern Hemisphere.  Only two others, the great Chilean earthquake of 1960 and the 2004 quake off Sumatra (which caused that terrible tsunami), have approached or surpassed the Alaskan quake’s strength, which struck in the Prince William Sound area shortly after 5:30pm on Good Friday.

Geologists believe that earthquakes occuring along subduction zones tend to be more powerful than quakes along standard fault lines, because greater stresses build up as the upper plate passes over the lower.  The Alaskan quake was of that type and, while I wasn’t alive when it happened, the pictures show tremendous damage.

The land buckled and heaved during the 4-minute quake, permanently rising as much as 30′ (the Kodiak area) in places while dropping 10′ in others, creating new beachlines and opening fissures in the surface.  In the photo above, you can see how the beach areas of Middleton Island on the left slid nearly 12′ from its original level on the right.

Of course, the forces we are discussing here were astronomically stronger than any man-made structures.  Anchorage was heavily damaged, as were a good number of smaller cities and towns.  In fact, significant damage was reported over an area covering more than 50,000 square miles from a quake that was felt over more than half-a-million square miles.  Thousands of major aftershocks over the next 18 months served to terrorize an already stunned populace trying to put their lives, homes, and infrastructure back together.  But its effects were even more far-reaching.

The rapid shift along the plates triggered tsunamis that were detected throughout the Pacific Ocean and caused widespread damage.  While deaths from the quake itself (falling buildings, etc.) were incredibly few (10-15, depending on your source), 120 fatalities were caused by tsunamis.  Crescent City, on California’s northern coast, was particularly hard hit, where 14-foot waves were responsible for 11 deaths and millions of dollars of damage.

But the location of the Alaskan earthquake (well off the equator in the upper Northern Hemisphere) also caused the planet to wiggle, which means that the effects of the quake were seen worldwide.  Small tsumani waves were detected in Cuba, small boats were reportedly capsized off Louisiana’s coasts, and water oscillations were seen in Africa.

Here in the central United States, we occasionally mention the fabled “big one” that supposedly will someday strike the San Andreas Fault and knock the most heavily-populated parts of California into the Pacific, while simultaneously casting a wary glance in the direction of the New Madrid Fault, knowing we stand on shaky ground ourselves.  But I think a good number of us would like to believe that “the big one” has already come and gone, striking the Alaskan coast 46 years ago (as of this writing).

Time will tell if that belief stands up to the motion of the tectonic plates.

Read Full Post »

Alaskan Quake Packs Hawaiian Punch

It was only a couple of weeks ago that a massive earthquake struck just off the coast of Chile.  The early morning quake lasted an astounding 4 minutes and weighed in at an astonishing 8.8 on the Richter Scale.  Within a very short time, tsunami warnings were being posted all over the  Pacific Ocean.  Around noon the focus (at least for the U.S.) narrowed to the Hawaiian Islands, where the waves, which travel at high subsonic speeds, were scheduled to strike.  Estimates suggested waves of 8′, which would probably have done some significant damage.

My folks had come to visit for the weekend, and we turned on the TV to see what happened.  When nothing much came of it, the news reporters started fumbling around a bit, and for us it turned into a bit of comical farce.  Of course, some places along the Chilean coast were heavily damaged by tsunamis, but most of the Pacific (including Hawaii) was spared.

But that was not the case on March 9, 1957.  On that date, a huge earthquake struck the Andreanof Islands (on the southwest part of the Aleutian Islands) near Alaska.  Tsunami waves in the immediate area approached 70 feet, but as expected, those waves spread out through the Pacific Ocean and struck Hawaii.  And they were not the small “2010-style” waves.

Maximum wave heights were nearly 50′ on Kauai, more than 20′ on Oahu (from where the picture above was taken), 15′ on Molokai, and more than 10′ on Hawaii itself.  Damage was immense as hundreds of homes were destroyed, bridges and highways were washed out, and floodwaters washed through businesses and homes.

But miraculously, not a single Hawaiian (or visitor to the islands) was killed, though the damage was extensive, topping $5 million.

We’re familiar with flooding from dam breaks (and we talked about a couple of those, here and here, and the schedule calls for another in a couple days).  And even I know the terrible power of river- and stream-flooding first-hand (and it’s threatening us again as I write this).  But tsunamis are in a class all their own.  The volumes of water, the speed with which they strike, the total destruction and widespread death and calamity they can bring are on a scale most of us can’t grasp.

Well, in the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami which many of us have seen on video, maybe we can to a degree…and it’s very sobering.

Read Full Post »

Lituya Bay: Back-Broke Mountain

When the words “Lituya Bay” are mentioned (which, to be perfectly honest, doesn’t happen all that often), I think of those Old Milwaukee beer commercials from years past.  You remember the ones?  They go something like…

Lituya Bay and Milwaukee both mean something great to these guys.  Lituya Bay means Alaska, America’s wildest frontier.  Beauty, wildlife, fishing.  And Milwaukee means beer…cold, crisp, Old Milwaukee beer…

You get the idea…and yeah,  it’s pretty stupid.

In case you didn’t know, Lituya Bay is a small natural fjord (2 miles wide by 7 miles long) along the southeast coast of Alaska…right about here.  It serves mostly as a shelter and anchoring point for small fishing boats, but its relatively dramatic tides and high current speeds at the entrance give mariners some extra action when navigating.

Typically a quiet little harbor, Lituya Bay was never in an Old Milwaukee beer commercial.  But it was the sight of one of the most dramatic events in recorded geological history.  On the evening of July 9, 1958, a magnitude 7.7 earthquake shook the Fairweather Fault, which crosses our little harbor.  Earthquakes are not uncommon, but the results of this quake certainly were.

At the back of the harbor, 40 million cubic yards of mountain broke free and collapsed into the water, creating a huge tsunami.  As the water ripped through Lituya Bay, it spread out and got smaller, but its initial height is still the highest ever seen…516 meters.  That’s 1,720 feet high…a third of a mile.  For comparison, the World Trade Center’s North Tower (including antennas) stood 1,728 feet tall.  That’s a colossal wave!

Anyways, near the mouth of the Bay sat Howard Ulrich and his 7-year-old in their small fishing boat.  Having anchored just a couple hours before, they got the shock of their lives when the earthquake struck.  Two minutes later they got a second (and bigger) shock in the sound of a deafening crash and what looked to be a massive explosion at the head of the harbor.  Three minutes after that, the wave, still nearly 100 feet high, hit their boat, carried them out over the shore, then backwashed them into the middle of the harbor.  Miraculously, both survived.

The Lituya Bay tsunami stripped away the trees, vegetation, and even the dirt in its path, leaving bare rock in its wake.  Fifty years later, the effects of the landslide can still be seen in Lituya Bay, a stark reminder to the incredible power of water.

Recommended Reading: Geology.com website – This site has a great amount of detail and great photos of the Lituya Bay tsunami.

Read Full Post »