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May 22, 1986 marked my first encounter with Alaska, namely Ketchikan. Ketchikan is a long, narrow city built along a steep shoreline. Half the city is climbing the hillside and the other half is on pilings in the water. It is picturesque with lots of character and is well kept. If you live and work in Ketchikan you are either into fish, timber, or tourists. At the time I arrived the NORDHAM of the Holland American Lines was discharging hordes of tourists into downtown Ketchikan for canned tours of the area. I watched the process for awhile. The average age of the tourists appeared to be about seventy.

I camped for the night in a very unique spot. It was the end of the road . . . literally! The road goes north from the city about sixteen miles and then comes to an end in a small campground. Beyond this point is wilderness. That was as far as civilization had gone and nobody lived beyond that point. Where I came from, civilization predominated and wilderness was the exception, but in this area it was the other way around.

The following day I did a good business with several galleries in town and I also met Dr. Phil and Katy Zeidner. Katy’s sister Jan was a customer of mine in Palo Alto and when she heard that I was planning a trip to Alaska she gave me her sister’s phone number and suggested I call when I got there. I’m glad I did. They were very pleasant and filled me in on what it is like to live there. They were deeply involved in community affairs, and pointed out that there are so few people and so many traditional community roles to play that you can just about play any part you want and nobody tries to stop you or compete with you. Katy compared Ketchikan to the cult movie The King of Hearts.

The Zeidners told me about an old fashioned melodrama that was an annual tradition. It was called The Fish Pirate’s Daughter. The play involves a number of naughty characters including a madam with a heart of gold and her entourage of “working girls.” It just so happened that the play was being presented that evening and they suggested that we meet at the Frontier Saloon, which doubled as the theater, take in the play, and then have dinner. That sounded good to me so we agreed to meet in the bar beforehand and have a drink.

Not having a whole lot to do for the rest of the day, I arrived at the rendezvous quite early and decided to pass the time nursing a drink at the bar. Since I was so early I was practically the only person there and I hadn’t been there long when in walked a gal dressed in a period costume who I assumed was participating in the play that evening.

Well, she spotted me right away, sashayed up in a seductive manner and confirmed that, yes, indeed, she was in the play as one of the “working girls.” Presumably she was testing her “character” on me. She was no spring chicken but she was attractive and wearing a generous amount of makeup. We had a lively and highly suggestive conversation, and I couldn’t help but be impressed by the ease with which she handled her “part.” In fact, as we continued to banter I began to wonder “Is this play-acting or is this real?” Finally, the conversation got around to where we were from and I said I was from the San Francisco Bay Area. “Oh,” she said, “I’m from Nevada. . . Winnemucca, Nevada.” She placed a slight emphasis on Winnemucca, and accompanied it with a knowing look.

“Ah yes, Winnemucca,” I replied, placing the same emphasis on the town’s name and doing my best to imitate her look. Now I was convinced she was an absolute natural for her part, extremely well cast.

By this time people were starting to arrive for the play and she had to go get ready. The Zeidners arrived and we enjoyed the play together. It was, as advertised, old fashioned and quite entertaining. Ms. Winnemucca appeared authentic in her small part. In past years Katy had played various parts in the production, but had decided to sit it out this year. Afterward we went to dinner in a restaurant that adjoined the Saloon. While we were eating I noticed Ms. Winnemucca making several accompanied trips up a staircase at the back of the restaurant. She was still “in character.”

The Battle of Moon Lake

June 8th found me at Moon Lake Wayside, near Tok, Alaska. I was finally getting into what Alaskans call “the interior” and many consider it the “real” Alaska. At 60 degrees N. it is about the same latitude as Oslo, Norway. It was a remote location, I couldn’t get a single station on the van’s radio, AM or FM.

It was quite warm, T-shirt weather, and the mosquitoes were out in force. There seemed to be more of them than in Southeast Alaska and they were hungrier. I put mosquito repellent on my list as a must for the next shopping stop. Thank goodness my van had screened windows, otherwise I would have been eaten alive.

At this point it didn’t get dark at all. There was an evening twilight that gradually turned into a morning twilight, and then another day began. It was hard to make yourself hit the sack when at 10:30 p.m. it looked like 5:30 p.m. outside. I had to laugh when I thought of all the ways I had planned to provide my own light:

the van’s DC system,

an AC light for when AC was available,

a battery operated lantern,

a propane lantern,

a kerosene lantern,

candles,

two flashlights,

and I didn’t need any of them! The Sun was doing an interesting number on both Georgia and me. However, logic, if nothing else, told me that eventually I must sleep. So at what seemed an appropriate time by my wrist watch, I entered my mosquito shelter and tried.

Moon Lake was a very pleasant spot, and interesting, with float planes taking off and landing right past my camping site. It was also free as are all State campgrounds in Alaska. I decided to stay two days.

“Damn! That’s the fourth one in a row!”

My van seemed to have sprung a mosquito leak. At first I thought they were just a few that got closed in when the door was shut. Every time I opened the door a few always got in, but this seemed like too many! They came at me one at a time. They waited until I was almost asleep then one would show up with its characteristic hummmm. It seemed as if they found some devious and obscure little entry and they were lined up there waiting to crawl through in single file.

I finally got up in the middle of the so-called night to see if I could spot their trick. The screens were covered with mosquitoes milling about like a convention of some industrial association debating how to gain entry to this vast new market. I really couldn’t see that they were making any progress in their deliberations. The answer must have been struck upon in some subcommittee and the news hadn’t hit the convention floor yet.

“Well, thank goodness for that!”

I really wasn’t getting bitten much because being rather large mosquitoes they were noisy and since it wasn’t dark they were sitting ducks for a well aimed slap. They were, however, fearless in their attack. Again and again they charged with fixed bayonets. Again and again my anti-aircraft knocked them out of the skies. As far as I could tell, I was winning the battle, but I wasn’t getting any sleep either. Their strategy became apparent. They would lose all the battles but win the war. Suddenly there were more. The subcommittee must have made its report to the full convention.

“And thick and fast they came at last

and more and more and more.”

Lewis Carrol, from The Walrus and the Carpenter

Finally, just when it looked like my fate was to be sucked dry, a miracle! A strong breeze sprang up accompanied by rain. The mosquito forces broke off their attack. With a sigh of relief, I drifted off to sleep.

I can almost feel sorry for them in a way. There are so many of them and so few of us to bite. I’m sure that many are born, live briefly, and die without ever getting a single meal. No wonder they are so voracious.

It’s interesting that we use the Spanish word almost exclusively to name these pests. In Spanish “mosca” is “fly” so “mosquito” is “little fly.” I couldn’t even think of the English equivalent, but Webster told me the English word is “midge.” I guess I had heard that.

Even Georgia was subject to mosquito attacks. They couldn’t get to her except where her fur was short around her face and ears. She walked around with a little cloud of mosquitoes dancing in front of her eyes. It reminded me of that character from Li’l Abner who always had a little cloud right above his head that rained in his face all the time. Georgia took a number out of action with a quick snap of her jaws. She also swung at them with her paws, but didn’t get good results that way.

In the morning I surveyed the battlefield. The dead soldiers of the mosquito army lay all about me. They were contorted into grotesque positions, evidence of agonizing deaths. A few still twitched now and then. An examination of my body revealed that their efforts hadn’t been entirely in vain. A few brave individuals got one last meal off an exposed extremity before they went off to mosquito heaven.

Then I made a telling discovery. The passenger’s side door was not closed completely! Human error strikes again!

etching                                                                                                           3×4

This print, created in 1981, represents the northern limit
of the images in this book. Much later a house was built
on the site, and the Candystick Gallery in Ferndale sold
a print from the edition to the owner of the property.

etching                                                                                                            3×4

Created at a very private spot on Irish Beach during a
weekend getaway in 1983.

pen and ink wash                                                                           7 1/2 x 9 1/2

The Point Cabrillo Lighthouse is the closest one to where
I now reside in Mendocino, and is just south of the site
where the Baltimore Clipper, FROLIC, was wrecked
during the gold rush era. Accomplished in 2006.

pen and ink                                                                                        8 1/2 x 12

This sketch was accomplished at Noyo Harbor near
Fort Bragg on July 1, 1981.

etching and drypoint                                                                  11 3/4 x 8 3/4

This plate was accomplished on a weekend getaway in
1981 with my friend Marine Wildlife (see page 7). At
the time I made this plate, I had no idea that I would
eventually end up a resident of the area. We moved to
Mendocino in 1994.

pen and ink                                                                                           8 1/2 x 10

This drawing was made looking south from Irish Beach
in 1983.