These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: October 4, 2000

12:22 to 16:22 (ALASKA TIME) THE TV ROOM OF THE DRIFTWOOD INN, HOMER, ALASKA.

Sorry to sound like a beer commercial, but it don't get much better than this.

Outside it's a yucky, cold, gray Alaska afternoon. Across the bay, snow is frosting the highest peaks. There's a little bit of wind and a little bit of rain and a lot of gloom. It's cold and miserable and definitely steelhead weather here in Homer, Alaska, and flailing for steelhead is where I would be if I wasn't inside the TV room of the Driftwood Inn and RV Park, watching the fantabulous San Francisco Baseball Giants playing the Unfortunate New York Baseball Mets in the bottom of the first inning, on the first step of what is going to be a Stairway to Winning the World Series.

You heard it here first, baby. The Giants are going all the way!!! High ground by nightfall!!!

Not only are the Giants going to win the World Series, they deserve to win the World Series. The Giants played great baseball this year, the way the 49ers used to play great football. Talent, muscle, skill, style, depth and sheer good luck. That's what the Giants have behind them. And God, too. And that is hard to beat.

I watched every Giants game I could before I left Tiburon. I saw a lot of them on my Mitsubishi 60-inch big screen TV with remote control and picture in picture, but also about a dozen games inside the classy, $600 million, fully-styling comfort of the fantabulous Pac Bell Park.

I saw many great Giant things, either in person or on the TV:

In person, I saw Barry Bonds hit his first home run into the drink during a pre-season game against the Yankees. First pitch. Kaboom! See ya. Reminded me of Mike Locatelli, who was sitting right next to me.

Halfway through the season, I saw Shawn Estes, the pitcher, hit a grand slam, get another RBI and pitch a shut out, all in the same game. Against who, I don't remember. That was on TV.

Almost in person, I saw a Cincinnati player named A. Boone take a fast ball right on the nose. I was up in the third deck, right behind home plate, with Karen Gallagher and Kalea-her-daughter. I looked away from the game for a minute and heard a really loud "Crack!" I thought, "Oh shit. Home run. Cincinnati." Then I looked and saw A Boone go down like a poached rhino. He hit the dirt and lay there for a long time, in what must have been excruciating pain, kicking his legs like a 10-year-old kid. A professionally-thrown, Major League fastball directly in the nose is a pain that would be hard to imagine. Just the sound of it was horrible enough. Even though the noise at home plate is amplified by a special mic, it was hard to believe that the "Crack" I heard was baseball on flesh. Horrible.

In person, I saw Armando Rios at the plate in the bottom of the ninth with two outs, with the Giants down by two. Everyone was hoping for the magic, and Rios did it, sailing a three-run homer over deep centerfield to win the game. Pac Bell Park went Ape Shit, and Rios went around the bases like a little kid, jumping up and landing on home plate with both feet, like a little kid. It was great. He was just so happy.

I went to the game the next night, just to get the carry-over good vibe, and ended up buying scalper tickets that put me eight seats behind home plate. I saw Barry Bonds launch another first-pitch homer into the drink, and it was an awesome thing from that close.

I once saw a fighter plane do an afterburner take-off from the deck of the U.S.S. Independence. I thought that was an awesome acceleration, and Barry Bonds' home run had that same character. I had an angle right down the first-base line, and that was the path that home run took. Kaboom! That thing went out of the park so fast and high, like an F4 doing an afterburner takeoff from the deck of an aircraft carrier.

At that same game, I saw Felix Rodriguez pitch relief, close enough to home plate to hear those fastballs sizzle as they came across. I'll put a professionally-thrown, 98 MPH, Major League fast ball right up there with tidal bores, Northern Lights and Orcas on the natural phenomenon list. Holy shit, Felix Rodriguez throws heat. That thing comes across the plate in a blur. I have no idea how anyone connects with one of those things.

Anyway, I saw all kinds of good Giants things from Pac Bell Park, live and on TV. (I even saw Bruce Vogen miss a foul ball by three inches. The closest I'd come to a Major League foul ball) I saw the Giants win games in every way imaginable, with a lot of good late-inning, backs against the wall, George W. Bush(see below), clutch stuff.

The only boring game I saw was when the Dodgers' Kevin Brown shut them down 8-1. Most of the time, even when the Giants lost, they lost well.

I knew a long time ago that the Giants had World Series stuff. Their starting lineup is great, and their second string is always stepping up and producing, whenever they are given the chance.

It's now the top of the third. Livan Hernandez is pitching and the Giants are up by one.

They're going all the way, baby. It's high ground by nightfall!!!!!

But that's what's happening right now. What happened yesterday?

My yesterday was pretty exciting. The highlight was either successfully jump-starting the van with one of the gizmos I bought in Lynwood, getting the "stuck in the mud and die" scoop on Turnagain Arm from a hillbilly at a smokehouse in Kenai, or watching the debate between Gore and Bush on TV. That's how exciting my yesterday was.

Yesterday I jump-started the van using a yellow emergency power supply thing I had bought in Lynnwood, Washington a hundred years ago. I had run the battery down while watching TV the night before, and so I had to climb on top of the van and bust the thing out. It worked, even though it hadn't been charged. Better living through technology.

Yesterday I drove a lot, all the way from Homer to Kenai, which is about like driving all the way from Salinas to Tiburon, but more scenic. I'll say it again, for the truly incredulous: The road out of Homer looks like Highway 101, after Point Dume and Zuma and County Line. Believe it or not..

I drove all that way wanting to fish for steelhead, but also wanting to buy some good flies, get some local info and maybe buy a pair of chest waders.

It was a cold, yucky day and I wasn't all that tempted to go fishing on the drive north. I bought some more gaudy steelhead flies at a local shop, but had to call Mastercard to get the money flowing on my credit card. There is a day or two lag time with transactions on that Wells Fargo Mastercard, and as it's the only card I have right now, I need it to work. One phone call got it flowing.

Anyway, bought some gaudy steelhead flies at a general store in Anchor River and then pushed on to the city of Kenai. There wasn't much happening there, and I don't think there ever is. While driving aimlessly around Kenai I stopped at a smokehouse to see what they had going. I bought some sausage and smoked salmon and got into a conversation with a guy who looked like a hillbilly but turned out to be pretty smart. He had seen my surfboard in the van and commented on it. I told him about the canceled Kamchatka trip and seeing the Turnagain Arm tidal bore, and said I might bring some guys next year to try and ride it.

He gave me the same warning everyone else did, "Be careful if you try that. People die out there on Turnagain Arm all the time. They get stuck with the tide coming in, and they die."

A number of people had said that about "getting stuck" in Turnagain Arm, and I thought that meant they got stranded on a sandbar when the tide came in, and drowned.

I said "Yeah, yeah, sure sure. You shoulda been here…." And then tried to explain the likes of Brock Little and Flea Virostko and the kinds of things they survive at Mavericks and Waimea Bay.

But this guy explained himself better.

"Getting stuck" means more than getting caught on a sandbar and overwhelmed by a two-foot tidal bore pushed by a 35-foot tide. "Getting stuck" means people actually getting sucked down and stuck deep in the mud, which is like quicksand, and they can't get themselves unstuck, even with machinery. The tide comes in and they drown. Or they panic and have a heart attack.

"They tried to get one woman out with a helicopter and nearly tore her in half," the smokehouse guy said. "She died."

That cast a different light over the whole operation. Getting stuck up to your waist in mud in the middle of a 35-foot flood tide is something we will try to avoid, if indeed we return next year to ride the Turnagain Arm tidal bore. I hope we do. It'll make CNN, for sure.

So, that was illuminating, and I did get some local knowledge out of this long drive to Kenai, although it was for a different locale.

I also went to the Kenai Peninsula visitor's center and bought some local maps and the goofiest Christmas present I've ever bought. Wonder who the victim will be? Probably pops. He's the kind of guy who will like a S_ _ _ _ _ _ A_ _ _ _ _ _ _ B_ _ _ (If you can guess this one, you get a cookie)

I gave a hitch-hiker a ride (good deed) who recommended I go to KMart to buy waders. What I really want is a good pair of Patagonia waders, which I was going to order before I left. Ayway, I didn't find a place in Kenai to buy waders, so I headed back to Homer.

On the way back to Homer, I saw a tackle store that was open. Turned out to be a supply house for commercial fishermen. They sold hip and knee waders for working on boats, so I bought a pair of knee waders for $15.

The guy at the desk was very helpful. He was returning a Tony Hawk Pro Skater videogame to the local video store. So I dropped a name. First time I've ever done that, "Hey, I know that dude," I said, and told him I had once given Tony Hawk's wife a piggy-back ride, dressed in a gorilla suit. He was impressed.

She's an ice-skater, so she was really light. It was for Wilson Hawk's birthday, by the way.

Across Cook Inlet, the sun was shining on the misty, snow-covered mountains and making them shine out like a shaft of gold when all around was darkness, as it has been doing over there for the last couple of days. It keeps looking like the weather is breaking up over there, but it continues not to break up over here. The weather was pretty gloomy on the ride back. It was cold and blustery and raining. It was steelhead weather so I fished the Anchor River again and saw another guy land a nice fish in the same place as two days ago, but I got nothing.

Maybe next year, if we go to Kamchatka, I'll come down here after and get serious about this steelhead thing. I'm gonna go fishing again after the game today and tomorrow, maybe. But I think it would be more fun to come here a little earlier in the year, when the weather is better. And maybe have someone to fish with. Flailing rivers in the cold is a lonely business. George? Interested? All is forgiven, darling.

Looking at the maps I bought in Kenai inspired this quote, which you have heard before: Alaska and the Pacific Northwest, done right, is a boat trip. A long boat trip, in a solid boat, with every high-tech navigation device known to man for those on watch, and every high-tech Computer and Internet and entertainment device known to man, for those who aren't.

The roads out to the coast are limited and lengthy, and all the places accessible by road look pretty much like California. There are a lot of lonely outposts scattered all through Alaska that are accessible only by boat, and I think that's where true, pioneer Alaska still exists. Or so I'm told.

The thing to do would be take a big, sturdy luxury yacht as far north as you can, maybe to the mouth of the Yukon, maybe all the way to Kamchatka, and then come back along the Aleutians, Kodiak, up Cook Inlet and a hundred other inlets, and then all the way down. Poking in here, looking there, taking the Novurania inflatable in to fish rivers that never get fished. Maybe finding surf on lonely beaches. Living on fresh halibut and salmon and clams and oysters. Watching every movie ever made on DVD, reading all those books you've been avoiding and listening to lots of Led Zeppelin.

That ain't workin'. That's the way you do it.

Most of the coast north of Washington is best accessed by private boat. It would be a trip to do it all the way, from Kamchatka to San Francisco. Give it a couple of years.

One of these days, maybe.

After flogging the Anchor River I jammed back to Homer, hoping to catch the Gore/Bush debate. I missed the live broadcast, but caught the replays. On the surface, a decent debate, even thought they didn't really have all that much to argue about.

George W. Bush isn't as dumb as everyone thinks he is. What I like about him is that he's the son of a president, but also kind of a screw-up. That profile on him in Vanity Fair described him as a possibly dyslexic under-achiever who doesn't really produce until his back is against the wall. Which is maybe why he screws up in the first place. He digs himself a deep hole, and then takes pride in climbing out of it. It's a confidence thing. I can relate to that.

I find it pretty amusing that the Republican candidate is the bigger flake: former alcoholic, drug user, draft-dodger, while the Democrat is seen as something of a stiff. But these guys are both southern politicians, and they do things differently down there. The Republicans act like Democrats, and vice versa. I've been to Texas. I've seen it in action.

Whatever. Bush actually looked like he had some wheels turning during the debate, when people questioned whether he had any wheels at all. Gore had an annoying habit of making sniffing and scoffing noises and pulling faces as Bush spoke, which was rude and undignified. Someone needs to straighten him out on that one.

Bush threw a little mud, and Gore was wise to resist going that route.

They really don't have all that much to argue about, that's the funny thing. All the tax stuff and numbers just go over everyones head. The truth is, America is so far ahead of the rest of the world, we're just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

That's why I don't worry about the debates or the election all that much. There might be some philosophical and moral questions: abortion rights, for example. But beyond that, there isn't too much difference between the candidates, and the U.S. of A. is laughing.

The Cold War is over, and the former Soviet Union is coughing up blood. Our economy is flying and even if it turns down quite a bit, it still will be flying.

That's why the Republicans are in trouble. People don't really want to vote Republican, they just do so out of fear of an outside threat, or economic worries. Neither of those things are a threat, and the Republicans are in trouble.

I've seen enough of the rest of the world to know that most of the rest of the world is in chaos. It doesn't really matter who wins, because the United States is a great big ship on a fairly steady course, and the President doesn't have all that much control over the tiller.

But Gore is going to win. Drew Kampion predicted this when I passed through his house on Whidbey. After driving through Northern California/Oregon/Washington Bush/Cheney country for several days, I wasn't sure.

Drew was certain though, and now I agree.

Al Gore is like the Giants. He deserves to be President. Through sheer experience, as a Congressman and as Vice President, he is definitely more qualified for the job than Gore, who is nearly the frontman/puppet that Reagan was. Smarter, maybe, but less charismatic. And Gore's experience and time behind the scenes makes him as qualified as anyone who has run for president in the past couple of decades.

Gore has lots of wheels turning. He paints himself as a bit of a stiff because he is smart enough to be very, very careful about what he says and how he displays himself. What's that line, "Better to be quiet and let people think you're a fool, than to speak up and prove it." Something like that. Gore is no dope.

Gore deserves to be president just for having to suffer being Clinton's Vice President for the last eight years. Imagine the cringe and duck factor in his position. The slime was flying everywhere, and Gore had to dodge it.

That job aged him. When you watch TV images of Gore before the elections eight years ago, he looks like a teenager. He doesn't look like a teenager now. Being Vice President aged Gore the way working at SURFER aged me.

Anyway, Gore should be president because the first fight he is going to jump into is the McCain/Feingold bill. Gore got in trouble and left himself open to scandal and criticism over campaign financing-hanging out with the Chinese and all that. Gore doesn't want to be in anyone's back pocket, he was just playing the game and bending the rules like everyone else. He wants to do away with that, and good on him. He vowed to jump into the McCain/Feingold fight first thing, if he's elected, the way Clinton jumped into socialized medicine. Clinton fell on his face, but I think Gore has a chance, especially if he teams up with McCain, a Republican.

If Gore wins that fight, if he successfully passes legislation for "federally funded elections" and takes Big Business and Big Money out of the equation, that will be as big or bigger a deal than anything Clinton passed. There isn't a lot of opportunity for the president to really change things anymore, but that could be Gore's big chance.

Gore is Pro Life, he's an environmentalist, he's a former pot smoker. He's a bit of a stiff and a hippy and a reformer, all at the same time. Gore's got it going on. He's going to win.

The Republicans are in big trouble. Bigger than the Mets. They should have run Colin Powell, but I think Powell is too smart to run for president. The presidency is for ambitious dopes with something to prove. To go from The Desert Fox and Colin of Arabia to the President would be a step down for Powell, but the Democrats are scared shitless by that guy: a black, Republican, war hero. A Republican that the New Yorker loves. Dangerous. They're lucky he's staying out of it.

(Yahoo! Bonds just got a triple. Derek Bell the right-fielder tripped and got hurt, the big oaf. Two to one Giants. God is on the Giants side', too. "And if God be with us, who can be against us?")

Anyway, that's all my political theory for now. One of these days I'll run my "Garth Brooks factor" up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes it.

But that's everything that's on my mind right now: Want to catch a steelhead. Want to watch the Giants win it all. Want to see Gore blow away Bush.

Now I'm going to watch the game and package up all the silly Alaska presents I bought for everyone today. Check your mailboxes soon, kiddies.

More game news: Ellis Burks. Three-run home run off the foul pole. Seeya. Five to one, Giants. They are immortal at home.

The Fed Ex lady just came with my ATM card, at the same time Felix Rodriguez relieved Livan Hernandez in the top of the eighth to douse the flame of a possible Mets comeback. Rodriguez is dangerous (see above).

The Giants are going all the way, baby. High ground by nightfall. ( I stole that line from Nick Nolte in Thin Red Line, in case you were wondering.)

Are you watching this? Have you seen all that? The Mets right-fielder tripping? Bill Mueller trapping that line drive and breaking his glove? That top of the ninth bunt hitting a rock on the third base line and staying fair? You think that's chance? Accident? Who do you think is pulling all those strings? That's right. It's God. "And if God be with us, who could be against us?" (I stole that line from Saving Private Ryan.)

The Giants are going all the way baby. High fall by groundnight.

You heard it here first, over and over again.