It was Saturday, and we were off on our next big adventure. Friday night we had consulted our free guide book and, after consulting with a local part-time barista, decided to hike the Exit Glacier first thing in the morning. We were told that in order to make it to the ice field we would need good boots due to the large amounts of mud. We didn't think much of it until it rained pretty hard all night. What happens to mud when it rains? It seems to grow exponentially, which was the basis for questioning our plans.

After a premature wake-up "call" at 6am, John and I laid in our sleeping bags debating who would be the first to brave the cold and start the campfire. In order to stall a little longer, we discussed what fate might befall us should we attempt to brave the combination of ice, mud, and the 2 inches of rain from the night before that awaited us at our proposed destination. Neither of us felt like hiking through what awaited us so we decided we might have a more satisfying time driving the three hours to Homer, a "fisherman and artist community extraordinaire". I lost the campfire stalemate and without further ado, we toasted our banana bread bars and loaded up the car to see a town that the locals seemed to think was the next best thing to indoor plumbing.

While I drove, John perused our trusty guide to see what was available for exploring along the way. One thing about Alaska is that there's no shortage of wilderness, or of trails that take you into it. We decided on a trail to Russian Falls, first because it was the closest trail to us and second, because it just sounded darn interesting. We pulled into the park, paid our $6 tuition and parked the car in the Upper Falls lot. After a brief series of stretches and a change of shoes, we were on our way toward one of the biggest salmon spawning grounds in the area.

The hike itself was gorgeous. The well groomed trails took us deeper and deeper into the mountain where a rainbow of wildflowers welcomed us through flowing meadows. There were several times when one of us would slow to a stop simply to stand in awe of God’s creation… moments where you want so bad to take a picture but you know it won’t look anywhere near as inspiring.

We continued the 4-5 miles back to the falls where we saw the series of falls infiltrated by salmon. Sockeye salmon are one of the 5 types native to Alaska and turn from gray to bright red as they enter the river to spawn. There were so many in Russian Falls that they seemed to turned the entire river a bright red as they regained their strength to make it up the next series of small falls. We learned talking to some local fisherman that these salmon have been known to travel as far as the southern tip of South America, only to return a few years later to the exact same river in which they were born before spawning and fulfilling their life cycle.

Neither of us was ready to leave so we decided to take another tangent through the mountains in our never-ending quest for wildlife. There were signs posted throughout the park warning it was bear country, and we were even handed a brochure upon entering that gave helpful tips should we encounter a bear (like “Try not to show any fear”. Yeah, I'll keep that in mind.) After our disappointing moose “hunt” the day before, we had high hopes of encountering at least SOMETHING but once again were let down. It appeared we would have to be content with the grouse sharing our trail.

Back at the car we made a quick lunch and hit the road for our final destination, Homer. The Russian Falls had turned out to be everything we’d hoped for (minus the bear or moose spotting) and continued to grow our appreciation and love of the Alaska wild.