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My flight out of Boston’s Logan was at 5:45 am, bound for Seattle, which had me headed out of my place at around 3:30 am. I figured that things would be pretty quiet that early. Not so much, but no big deal.






I checked my bags through to Anchorage.

The flight to Seattle went off fine, and I passed the couple hours I had there until my next leg. Watching some of the locals in and just outside of the AP helped pass the time. All colors of the rainbow were represented in the hair--and sexual preferences-- of many under age 40. Bearded, manbun wearing effeminates in pajamas with backpacks with teddy bears hanging out the back paraded about. Plenty of fishing tackle clipped to faces. And of course, tattoos on just about all of them. I was glad to be only transiting the place, though many years ago I confess enjoying some fun times there.

Closing in on the AP, I glanced out the window. Nope, not on the east coast anymore.




SD picked me up at the AP in Anchorage. We loaded gear quickly and headed for his home base. As has become a tradition for me, I’d hauled some fresh north Atlantic seafood and a couple of bottles of spirits as small tokens of thanks for my host. SD had one of his lady friends over later, and we enjoyed some bugs and New England clam chowdah that evening. And yes, that is how it’s properly spelled.