Wes Warner's Memorial Day - July 23, 2011

Wes's Salmon Carving at the Fish Camp

Friends and family met at Wes's Fish Camp, his home on the Kenai River, to remember and celebrate his life, They came from Arizona, Idaho, Mississippi, Nevada, North Carolina, and Alaska.

Our new Winnebago Class C

Mary and I drove our new RV on it maiden voyage. It was a brand new 2007 model... but it was new to us.  Pogo, our young dog made her fisrt camping trip with us.

Mary and Pogo at Wes' s Fish Camp

Carla & Frances Ann Prepare food

There was a hugh run of Red Salmon up the river, so the river was packed with fish in the channel and people on the banks pulling them out. Lots caught at Wes's fish camp that weekend.

Paul and Pete Warner share a memory.

Ernie Warner flew in from Coeur d' Alene, ID

Warren and Wendy Hagman came in from Henderson, NV

Paul Warner flew in from Seattle to make friends with Pogo

Pete Warner talks to his cousin, Sean Waterman, from Arizona.

Frances Waterman came from Arizona with his two sons.

Friends and Family gather to share memories.

Waitning for the start of the Memorial Service.

Fishing was great on the Kenai - the Reds were running.

 

At five the group gathered for the Memorial to Wes.  Warren Hagman read  The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service,  Wes's favorite Alaska poem.

Warren reads The Cremation of Sam McGee

The launch to spread Wes's ashed.

Scott Waterman of Arizona pays his respect.

Carla Warner gives Wes's sshes to the Kenai.

In Memory of Wes Warner.

Wes We'll Miss You.

Wes on the Kenai River

Bob Evans & Wes Warner visiting, 1987

Bob Evans came home one day in 1975 to inform us that he was buying a condo in Mount Vernon Estates in mid-town, and would be moving. That was the beginning of the end of our bachelor household. Wes had met Carla Clayton a year earlier and the two would marry within a couple years. So our trio broke up and I became the sole owner of the house.

Wes, Carla, and Frances, visiting in 1994

Wes went into business with two other guys, obtained a NAPA auto parts franchise, and opened their first store on the Old Seward Highway. Over the years the business expanded to include stores in several towns around the State.

Joe & Moonshine visiting Wes in 2007

Wes and Carla had a girl, Frances, and in 1992 they moved to a log home on the Kenai River off Funny River Road near Soldotna. Wes managed the NAPA store in Soldotna for several years before retiring. They went to Mississippi each winter, but Wes never missed coming back to Funny River every summer.

Mary visiting Wes on Kenai River in 2007

We continued to get together over the years. Mary and I stopped by to visit Wes nearly every season. More than once we parked our travel trailer behind his house, over-looking the Kenai River, and spent a few leisure days fishing and visiting while sitting at the fire pit near the river’s bank.

Joe at the firepit at Wes's place, Kenai River, 2007 

On one occasion I picked him up at the airport on his spring return from Mississippi when his flight leg to Kenai had an extra long layover. He came back to Anchorage only one time that I remember. That was in 2003. He drove up intending to spend a few days looking around town to see how much it had changed. He stayed two nights - couldn’t stand the bustle of the big city any longer.

Joe, Moonshine & Wes on Wendys Way, 2003

Mary, our dog Moonshine, and I spent three or four nights with Wes in 2007. Moonshine was forever transfixed by the resident squirrel living in the tree next to the house, but the main event that visit was Mary’s decision to fish for salmon. A run of Sockeyes filled the river, and she, after twenty years of distaining the fish, had discovered “blackened salmon” and couldn’t seem to get enough of it. We went to Soldotna and got her a license, but she gave up the sport before getting a line wet. I caught the first one, clubbed it over the head to send it to fish heaven, and Mary decided, then-and-there, the sport was to violent for her. However, she had no qualms in continuing to consume the abused creatures.

Moonshine visits squirrel at Wes's, 2007

View of Kenai River from our Trailer, 2007

In 2009 we stopped by for an afternoon to introduce Wes to my nephew and grandnephew, Lee and Daulton, who were making their first visit to Alaska from the flatlands of Indiana. Mary and I were giving them a whirlwind tour in seven days, and I wanted them to meet Wes.

Joe with a Red Salmon, 2007

I went down by myself for the last visit of 2010. The summer had been miserable with constant rain - a record of more than thirty consecutive days. A break in the weather finally came in September. I had a pleasant stay with Wes and his son Pete. Pete fixed a freshly caught Silver Salmon the first night and we had steaks the next.

Wes at Funny River, 2007

I called Wes several times over that winter. We invited him and Pete for Thanksgiving, but the drive was, I think, more than he could handle. We talked to him right after New Years - invited him again.

The ladder to the fishing hole at Wes's, 2007

Pete called to report the sad news the first of April. I knew Wes had felt poorly for a couple of years. I’d ask him how he was feeling, and he’d say, “Not so good”. He didn’t sleep well, had trouble walking, couldn’t even get down the ladder to fish anymore. Several times he said something like, “I don’t know why I’m still around!”. Wes “Crossed the Bar” on March 31, 2011. He was one of the nicest guys I ever knew, and the first friend I made in Alaska. I’ll miss him.
GO TO: Wes's Memorial Day

Buying A House and other Adventures with Wes

Home on Wendys Way, Ahchorage, AK 1970

I returned to Indiana in the fall of 1968 to work on a graduate degree in education, and headed back over the ALCAN the following August. In December, Bob Evans, our new roommate, found a beautiful, four bedroom home to rent on Wendys Way. The place belonged to some old friends of his, Don and Gladys Beattie. It was on the west end of town off Northernlights Blvd., and near the International Airport. We moved on December 19, 1969. Bob, Wes and I pooled our money and jointly bought it in the fall of 1971.

Wes Warner on back porch of Wendys Way, 1970

In the spring of 1970, Wes joined me, Dan Wilson, Jim Sumner, three teachers at West High, on an early spring fishing trip. Someone had the idea that we could get some grayling out of Crescent lake on the Kenai Peninsula. The lake sat in the mountains nestled in a crook of the bigger S-shaped Kenai Lake that lay below. The six mile hike into the lake was mainly uphill. Our trek started on a warm May day with hints of spring in the air, but as the trail gradually climbed into higher country we ran into snow that became deeper with elevation. No one had anticipated the depths we found, waist deep in places.

Wes and his first big Salmon

The five trudged laboriously onward. Several avalanches thundered ominously, unseen and distant. We came to the lake a few hours later, wet and tired. To add insult to injury, it was still frozen. The ice had yet to go out. No fishing that day. We held up in a Forest Service cabin for a hour or so - built a fire and someone made a watery, tasteless soup. Then we trudged back over the trail. The misadventure led Wes to refer and count all future outing that Dan Wilson and I were involved with as “Fiasco Number One”, “Fiasco Number Two” , etc.

A friend, Bob Evans, and Wes Warner, Winter, 1970

Wes Warner, Turnagain Pass, 1970

We had a number of adventures over the years. The three of us bought snow machines shortly after moving. Wes and I went out nearly every weekend over the next three or four winters. Bob often accompanied us, but it was rare for Wes and I to miss. Sometimes several others would go along.

Wes Turnagain Pass, Alaska, 1970

Wes Warner & Larry Robidue, Lake Louise, 1971

Hatcher Pass was our favorite area. We accessed it from either the Palmer or the Willow end. Once we went to the top of Mount Baldy from the Willow side and explored the wreckage of a Military transport that had crashed in the 1950’s. Old abandoned mines were accessible from the Palmer side. We visited several perched on the sides of mountains. One mine was located four or five miles up a valley on the Palmer side. The mine had not been in operation for several years, but a cabin with basic furnishings still stood in fairly good condition. We went in to it several times one winter. I remember a steel cable crossed the path as we came into the mine area. We could not reach up and touch it on our first trip in. We road over it on the last.

Wes Warner & Bob Evans, Mt. Baldy, Hacher Pass, 1971

We made excursions to Lake Louise, and Juneau Lake on the Resurrection Trail, among others, but Turnagain Pass was our other favorite place to snow machine. Wes and I went there on our first trip out of town. I recently purchased a pair of Air force mukluks, blue canvas boots that reached half up my calves. They had thin rubber soles with thick wool liners, and were so light it was like wearing house slippers. I remember wiggling my toes in them on our way to the pass that morning wondering how they could possibly keep my feet warm in such cold weather. We spent most of the day on our machines exploring, stopping once to take each others pictures in front of backdrop of snow covered spruce trees. We had so much fun we both, like kids with new toys, could hardly wait for the next weekend to come. I never worried about the mukluks after that first trip.

Staging Area at Hatcher Pass, Willow side, 1971

A half-dozen of us went to Turnagain Pass on another occasion. We worked our way up to a bench at the mountain base and were spread out, maneuvering through widely spaced trees. I would, now and then, catch a glimpse of one of the other riders off to my side. We were in deep snow. The boughs of the trees were heavily laden with snow, but there was none at their bases. I went too close to one and slid into the hole, an inverted cone of empty space, around its base. It took me nearly an hour to work my way out. I shut off the engine at one point and heard nothing but absolute silence, and knew I had to get out of it on my own. Wes and I purchased snowshoes after that and carried them strapped to our machine. The snow was too deep to walk through, and you could go further on a machine in twenty minutes that you could walk all day - even in snowshoes.

Wes riding on Oil Well Road near Ninilchik, AK, 1971

We bought Honda motorcycles at the start of the 1970 summer. All three cycles were small, not the macho Harley Hog type, but better for running on the back county trails. Bob’s was the smallest, a Honda 90. We teased him saying it looked more like a girlie bike. It was a low geared vehicle with a large platform on top of the rear wheel - a good work horse for carrying things. Mine was orange, with a 100cc engine. Wes had the largest with an emerald green 125cc machine.

Wes on beach near Ninilchik, AK, 1971

Our two cycles were the classic dirt-bike variety with a gap between fenders and tires, but they had little power. We tried hill climbing a couple times. Other bikers, with bigger machines, could easily beat the hills, but ours repeatedly petered out before reaching the top.

Joe Buckingham on his Honda 100, Ninilchik, AK, 1971

One weekend the two of us went south on the Kenai to the Ninilchik area. We road miles along the beaches, feeling free and exuberant, as we leaned into curves, and carved “figure-eights“ in the wet sand. Later that weekend we explored the fifteen miles to the end of Oil Well Road (off of which I’d staked my Open-to-Entry land claim) where it ended at a circular pad. A large diameter, “well-head” pipe rose vertically from the center. It was a bit eerie - we had finally come to the end of the road - fifteen miles through wilderness, no fences, no houses, no poles, no nothing…and then it suddenly ended.
GO TO: Wes on the Kenai

My First Year in Alaska, Wes Warner - Part 3

The Christmas of 1967 was especially difficult for Wes. He told me that he had married the prettiest girl in school, thought it was a happy union, but surprisingly found it to be illusion. He dropped everything and came to Alaska after they broke up. One morose evening he told me that he considered his life to be over. That thought proved to be false; life had just taken a new direction for him.

 Bill Smith, Tim, & Wes Warner, Big Lake, AK, Septermer, 1967
Four of us had driven north to Big Lake the preceding September. That had been the extent of our exploration till May when Wes and I took an impromptu trip to Homer and Kachemak Bay. During the summer we tried our hand at fishing, but often found the streams to be “sterile” - our way of justifying fishless returns. We had yet to learn the ways of fishing in Alaska; that waters could be full of fish at certain times of the year and empty at others.

    

Wes Warner fishing the Sisitna River, AK 1968

One weekend, while fishing down on the Kenai, we decided to try the Lower Russian Lake. We’d heard that it had some nice Rainbow trout. It was a bit late on a Sunday afternoon, after another fruitless day without fish. We started up the three mile-long trail with nothing but fishing poles in hand. I don‘t remember much about the trek other than it was a nice sunny day, and we walked along at a brisk pace. It probably took a hour to walk in; we fished for no more than an hour, and then walked back out - shows how determined and desperate fishermen can get.

Joe Buckingham with Pink Salmon on the Sussitna River, Ak, 1968

Mom and Dad drove the Alcan the following summer, 1968. They arrived in mid -June and stayed several weeks. We flew up to Kotzebue and Nome on Alaska Airlines during the Solstice. Mom and I were having a beer at the local saloon in Nome when I went out to take a photo of Main Street at midnight. Later the three of us walked an ice field at Portage Glacier, drove a very rough road to Lake Louise, and then fished for Red Salmon on the Russian River. They had a memorable time, and reluctantly headed back in July.

Mom and Dad at signpost in Nome, AK, 1968

Dad and Mom left their small travel trailer with me to sell as they did not wish to tow it back to Indiana. I sold it to a couple, that had just arrived in Alaska. I remember they were in their forties, had just obtain jobs in the boom town of Kenai, and were excited about starting a new life. The price was $900 dollars, they paid $300 down and were to make two monthly payments of equal size. The next payment did not arrive as promised, so I had to drive down to Kenai to look them up. I found his wife working as a waitress in a popular bar, and she went and got him. His arm was in a cast. He had a accident shortly after beginning work, and they were up against it. The trailer was in a local park, and his mother was living with them.

Mom and Dad on Snow field, Poertage Glazier, 1968

Dad with Red Salmon catch, Kenia Peninsula, AK, 1968

Mom with her first Red Salmon, Russian River, AK, 1968

I had borrowed Bill Smith’s truck and driven the hundred and sixty miles to Kenai thinking I might be taking it back with me, but I didn’t have the heart to put them in the street. I had a potential sale lined up with a contractor in Anchorage, but told the guy I didn’t want to do that if he would make the two final installments. I gave him another month. I did not tell him I was heading back to Indiana in a couple weeks. Both payments arrived on time.
GO TO: Buying a House and other adventrues with Wes, Part 4

Fear and Foolishness - Part 3

Those fears are the type that had build slowly and I had time to think and wonder about the situation I’d gotten myself into. Other times things happened so fast that I didn’t have time to think about them. I just reacted. Instinct took over, hormones flowed, my heart rate and blood pressure went sky high, and I didn’t know whether to fight or run. Something like that happened to me in the summer of 1965 while I was in Canada on a fishing trip.

I drove up into northern Manitoba by myself and spent six weeks, first at Reed Lake on Canadian Highway 39, and then further north over a newly finished gravel road (Canadian Highway 6) that ended in the mining town of Thompson. Some years later the road was extended even further toward Hudson Bay. I camped 35 miles west of Thompson on a cleared area that had been used by the crew while they were constructing the road. A new bridge spanned the rapids that cascaded from Setting Lake into another big lake. The rapids were named Pisew Falls. The site was beautiful with lakes on both sides of the road., I spent two weeks there, seldom seeing another human being. I had no boat so I fished off the shore, and would catch a Walleye each morning to have for dinner that night.

Pisew Falls, Setting Lake, Manitoba

 One day I went to explore along the lake. Much of the shore was edged by giant boulders jetting out into the water, and it was easy walking, with open views for the first half mile. I came to a place where I had to cut inland to move around a small cove with steep walls. I went through a thicket of brush, turned back toward the lake, and was swinging my leg over a fallen log when I heard a loud screech off to my right. What happened next could not have spanned more than two or three seconds, but time expands for these events because too much happens to adequately fit into a normal time-space continuum.

I saw a wildcat crossing the ground out of the corner of my eye. It was closing fast. In an instant I had backed over the log, picked up a sizable stick, and was still backing up when I got a better look at my assailant. It wasn’t a wildcat after all, but an big owl. I remember a thought flicking through my mind - that the ground was an odd place to find an owl, but it was screeching bloody murder and still coming at me so I continued my retreat.


I raised my weapon ready for defense. I was also contemplating the possibility of abandoning the field of battle and plunging into the lake when I got my first real look at my adversary. It was a chicken…a damn chicken. I knew there was nothing to fear, and now realize that it was probably a ptarmigan, but at that particular time I was not much into bird identification. I was a sweating bag of nerves, and the bird seemed prepared to fight to the death. It was now circling, crouched close to the ground with its wings held out, making it look bigger and more menacing. I still had the stick in my hand and half heartedly through it in the direction of the bird, and then withdrew. I climbed a small knoll behind and sat on top in the cool breeze. I could hear the bird below screeching and thrashing about in victory for several more minutes. Sometimes experience doesn’t help.
THE END