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littlepawz · 2 years

Photo

Momma bear takes a break in the tree while letting her youngsters burn off some energy...and then it’s time to head home for dinner :) These adorable photos were captured by my favourite Alaskan nature photographer Amy Bragg

#bears #black bears #bear cubs #bear cubs playing #bear climbing tree #life in Alaska #nature photos #Amy Bragg photography #cutest bear cubs #bears wrestling #triplet bear cubs #awww #nature #beauty

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it-is-bugs · 1 year

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I live in a small enough town that multiple people will respond to a request on FB to take a package to the post office from an assisted living home resident. Like me.

Naturally she didn’t reply to my offer so naturally I drove to the home and they just totally let me in and hunted the oldie down for me. She gave me a $20 bill against my protests and explained it was a birthday present for her grandson. He was going to a concert and she was sending him 25 one dollar bills inside a pizza box as a joke so he could get refreshments. If that’s not too pure and good for this world nothing is. 😭

#life in alaska #spread some good karma #why didn’t I have a grandma like that?

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angrylesbianstereotype · 2 years

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Mike and Jesse’s relationship makes me insane bc it’s the perfect encapsulation of the tragicomic elements that make Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul so absurdly ingenious. Like this deadly dead-eyed professional hitman only becomes a father figure to this grown adult meth cook because his boss strong-arms him into the Very Serious Drug-Related Business of babysitting said meth cook and building his sense of self-esteem through the power of gold star stickers. And Mike is such a quintessential professional that he gets stuck in character and genuinely comes to love Jesse as his own becoming his least problematic and most influential father figure in the series. But also. Mike is doomed to watch young men reminiscent of his murdered child get chewed up and spit out by a world that holds their innocence in contempt, is killed in an attempt to save Jesse from this fate, and dies believing he failed to do so

#a rollicking good time :((#i wish you could see him living his best life in alaska #i wish you could have stayed long enough to watch him grow and thrive #oh and also save him from labor trafficking #jesse pinkman #mike ehrmantraut #breaking bad #brba #better call saul #bcs #el camino

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without-ado · 2 years

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Moon Jellies l Alaska

#moon jellies #sea #ocean #nature #alaska #sea animals #marine life #animal #underwater #water #jellyfish

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perfectfeelings · 5 months

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If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

John Green; Looking for Alaska

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downfalldestiny · 7 months

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If everything around you seems dark, look again.

You may be the light 🐻 !.

#Dark #Mood #Vibes #Bear #Alaska #Finland #Beauty #Quote #downfalldestiny #downfall #life #magic destinations #magical world #magic moments

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charminglyantiquated · 3 months

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So, I’m seriously looking into getting into tall ship sailing (waiting on follow-up from an interview rn) and I’m wondering for getting into it more long-term -

what do people do after sailing tall ships? Like, it’s a pretty physical job, and I’d assume there’s a point where your joints just can’t keep up with it.

Are there other jobs in the industry that people move to? I’m not really keen on the idea of moving up in the ship’s hierarchy- admin and being someone’s boss both aren’t really my thing. Do people retrain in completely different careers? Go back to whatever they were doing before they started sailing?

Anyway, I know your sample size might not be super large so I’d appreciate anything. Thanks a bunch!

This is hard to answer directly - on the one hand sailing tall ships is such a niche industry that there are limited pathways for straightforward advancement. But on the other hand, it overlaps with such a large number of other industries, and requires such a jack of all trades skillset - tourism, carpentry, history and preservation, hospitality, marine electronics, etc. etc. etc. - that there's a lot of ways forward for what I guess I'd call lateral advancement: moving to another job which uses most of the same skills. So there's no one answer, but if it helps, here's some things my tall ship deckhand friends have ended up doing, after no longer deckhanding tallships:

Get a captain's license and keep sailing. Captains often have it a bit easier physically (balanced out by the mental stress lol), and are paid better. Owning your own boat is optional; plenty of companies hire captains by the season to sail the boat, while the management of the company is dealt with by the actual owners. (This is what I did! I don't have the sail-hauling arms I did as a deckhand, but my knees and bank account are both in better shape).

Bosun, first mate, engineer, some other specialized non-captain crew member, usually involves licensing or other education that's useful down the road if you switch to an adjacent career

Racing yachts

Captain for hire on private vessels

Outward bound guide, other wilderness education programs

Harbor cruises, lobster tour guides, and other motor-powered tourist boats, both as captain and as crew - you have the patter and the safety skills but you don't want to deal with the hassle of sails

Water taxis, ferries and other passenger vessels

Lobstering, fishing, aquaculture, tugboats, other non-tourist waterfront industries

Marine surveyor, marine electrician, other specialized technician

Working in a shipyard - good fit for all the fit-out skills of sanding, painting, varnishing, covering and uncovering the boat

Cruise ship hostess

Train conductor (the passion for the early 1900s carried over well)

Working at a a museum focused on local maritime history

Tour guide for local buses, walking tours, etc

Boatbuilder (IYRS, Wooden Boat School)

Teaching the captain's license courses (nota bene: there were obviously some other steps between deckhand and teacher, notably ten years of being a captain in between. But this is what they settled into when they decided sailing was too physically taxing, so I want to include it).

Carpentry, house painting

Designing and selling custom made van-homes (apart from the technical skills, living on board a ship helps familiarize making use of every square inch of space)

Sailmaker

Of course there's other friends who went on to try something completely new and unrelated - I think because so many of the people who start sailing tall ships are here for something completely new in the first place, that's not an intimidating prospect so much as an exciting one. But many of them did make use of tall ship skills even when moving on from tall ships, so I hope the above list is helpful in giving a broad sense of what can follow!

#schooner bum life #i am probably forgetting some tbh #for fun. some unrelated post-sailing jobs:#artist #dog mushing in alaska #cheese making #sword maker #chocolatier #orchestra conductor #model #looking at that i think there's probably also something to be said for the confidence it takes #to pursue something you find interesting #even if it means starting from scratch #the same leap of faith that gets you on a tall ship can take you somewhere else

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pangeen · 11 months

Video

“ Billowy Crystal ” // © Pat Webster

Music: Shakey Graves - Family and Genus

#Alaska #fjords #United States #nature #sea #ocean #marine life #jellyfish #crystal jellyfish #4K #8K #12K #fpv #underwaterphotography #reels #aesthetics #wanderlust #explore #follow #discover

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quotefeeling · 5 months

Quote

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

John Green; Looking for Alaska

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perfectquote · 1 month

Quote

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

John Green; Looking for Alaska

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it-is-bugs · 2 years

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Totem poles are a finite art form. The cedar will decay and reform. Some detail from a pole that I pass daily and yet haven’t stopped to appreciate.

A halibut fishing hook with river otters perched on the weight side. A halibut is diving to take the hook but an octopus lurks…to take the prize?

#life in alaska

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perfeqt · 1 month

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If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.

John Green; Looking for Alaska

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madsmilfelsen · 6 days

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Every Dog Has Its Day— (rated m for drugs and alcohol and oh homicide + 1,7k) I had about 17 things I was supposed to do this morning and wrote this instead— a brief prelude to the LOST DOGS series on ao3

tag: first impression, bar setting, murder a bit more than implied but off page, sugar known old man fucker

Rust isn’t one to chase tail, so he knew the women who spur his attraction were trouble. The double take pains him, stomach curdling at the sight he finds. She’s young enough that he’ll get over this as soon as they exchange words, likely any minute since he’s the only goddamn bartender in what feels like all of Soldotna. Maybe she was underage and he could kick her out. He wants to return to numbness as quickly as possible even if he needed to make a reason for her to get. A shot of whiskey doesn’t help none so he reminds himself to card her.

Winter kept her covered, her carhartt jacket zipped mostly up, black hair tucked in the collar. She didn’t come here with the intention to stay. In the first half hour, she doesn’t drink much at all. Nurses one old fashioned ordered and delivered by two friends she didn’t look all that friendly with. She absently stirs her drink like she’s nervously guarding it. He told himself he was only paying attention for that reason, to ensure her drink stayed clean.

Staying behind the safety of the bar, Rust isn’t close enough to eavesdrop but their faces were tense in conversation. They sat at an awkward table with poor lighting, the pendent over the pool table hardly reaching them, stained glass reds and blues in the shine of her hair. The girl rolled her eyes like she was being reprimanded by someone she didn’t respect in the first place. Rust didn’t take the two men across from her seriously either. Young bucks, didn’t tip, the shorter one talked under his breath when he ordered a beer earlier, distracting the girl from whatever the other man was saying. He thinks she tells him the shut the fuck up.

Cash is pushed across the table and she looks put out when she pockets it. Rust assumes this is what it looks like it is, but she doesn’t leave with them. Whatever transaction that occurred is of some different nature that makes her scan the room with a sigh. Her gaze lands on Rust briefly and lingers as he closed a tab, dismissing him in a smooth slide when he glances up as if she never looked at him at all. The corner of her mouth quirks in frustration, she bites down on her thumb nail about it.

“Phone’s busted, I gotta ask around,” she says over her shoulder when she hops down and walks to the door.

“How long are we supposed to wait here?” one calls after her.

“Twenty minutes, an hour, what’s it matter to you lazy fucks?” she says crassly with a shrug, voice a little husky and smoke scratched but she doesn’t bother raising it when she pauses by the door. “Tip your bartender.”

Rust pours himself another shot, nearly spilling it when outside the girl is smiling, wide and genuine. The whiskey in his mouth barely registers when he throws it back. She’s been stopped by a regular, Jack, who drinks bourbon neat, four fingers.

“She even old enough to be in here?” he asks Jack when the man sits down at the bar, accepting the glass and ashtray Rust passes to him.

“Your job to card not mine,” he replies with a blatant disregard of someone nearing retirement, that exact apathy is only reason Rust ever hoped to live to his fifties.

“She avoided the bar.”

Jack seems to look at Rust for the first time ever in a new light and laughs, “I bet she did. Don’t worry, that was my niece. I bought her first legal shot four— fuck, two?— years ago. Bailed me and her dad out enough times to owe her at much,” he tells Rust then frowns, “Kid is usually too smart to be seen in places like this.”

“With those two in the corner there,” Rust says with a nod.

“Explains why she was trying to score coke off me,” Jack says after he looks over his shoulder then assesses the rest of the patrons in the Back Bush. “Shit, I’m surprised she didn’t find any here.”

“Slow night,” Rust explains away. “Surprise she didn’t get any off you.”

“Too old to be doin’ that shit if I’m fishing in the morning.”

“Yeah, where at?”

“Skilak. Good lakers in there, takes a little more work. Want to come?”

“Nah. Workin’ til five then sleepin’ til five,” he lies, unwilling to be on the ice recreationally.

“Cheers to that, brother,” he says, clinking his glass of bourbon to Rust’s next shot of whiskey he can’t seem to down fast enough.

His sigh rasps his throat raw when she returns later with snowflakes in her hair. An unlit cigarette she got from someone outside hanging from her lip makes him pat his pockets for his lighter. Rust asks Jack as he’s cashing out, “What’s your niece’s name?”

“Who, Sugar there?”

“Yeah, what’s her name?”

“Sugar,” Jack repeats seriously.

“You fuckin’ with me?”

“Honest to God, Rust. Hey Sugar, get over here, put a drink on my tab while you got the chance.”

“You headed out?” she asks after kissing his cheek.

“It’s damn near two am, girl, how are you this perky?”

“By learning how to nap in your hunting blind, old man,” she says, playfully pushing her shoulder against his. “Um, could I just get a beer? Kölsch if you’ve got it— you got a light Uncle?”

She smiles when Rust already has his zippo open, her cheeks hallow a little but he’s smart enough to not meet her eyes that he feels on his face. Sugar catches Jack’s knowing grin and coughs as if she forgot her uncle was sitting next to her. Her cheeks get a little red and Rust is desperate for his cue to exit stage right.

“Stay out of trouble, kid,” Jack says, clapping her roughly on the shoulder.

“Like you ever taught me to do that,” she retorts behind Rust’s back as he retrieves her beer.

Jack and the other two boys are gone and she’s sitting alone when he returns from the fridge in the back room with a six pack to put in the front chiller.

Sugar smells like fucking juniper, skin like Yellow Label Alaga syrup that he remembers the taste from the tender age of two. His chin jerks up at the touch of wood smoke and vanilla as she gathers her endless hair in a fist, a silky curtain she pulls out of her collar catching on the rough edges of her jacket.

“Hi,” she says, smile purposely small when he puts a cracked can in front of her.

“You want a glass?” he asks gruffly which somehow only makes her grin bigger.

She shakes her head, takes a sip. Rust leans against the shelves of alcohol, still not far enough when she looks a little too interested over the bottom of her beer.

“I’m told you’re Sugar.”

“Yeah. You looking for something?” she asks, expression dimming a bit as if she assumes his interest in her ended with what she could do for him. Which it should, he tells himself and successfully thinks, more firmly, it does— then terribly; hell, why not. He could use the sleep.

“Quaaludes, anything barbital. I ain’t all that picky.”

She gives him the same confused look he always gets requesting blues, but Sugar seems like she sleeps through the night just fine.

“Beer is the cheapest downer there is,” Sugar points out, chewing on a nail. She’s got good hygiene, hands probably clean enough to eat out of, but still a bad habit is a bad habit, especially one that makes her bottom lip even fuller. His jaw aches. “I guess, I’ve got weed out in my truck, but ludes?” She sucks her teeth. “Hell, I’d have to drive to Homer.”

“I’ll pay you for gas,” he says. Fuck, he’d pay her to drive to Fairbanks just to have her gone longer. The door opens, thankfully pulling his attention up and over her head. Sugar doesn’t look away from him and gives a sleepy hum that tightens his gut. A decisions seems to be made with a small tilt of her head.

“You workin’ til five or are you on the early shift?”

“Five,” he replies, popping the top off a bottle for a costumer who raised his beer up and walks away.

“Gimme your address,” she says when he comes back reluctantly.

He really does not want to do that but rips a receipt in half anyhow to pen a map down for his unmarked turnoff. Sugar folds it between two fingers and gives a salute.

“See you at sunrise,” she promises and fucking winks at him.

Probably the worst thing a high functioning alcoholic can tell themself is that they know how to drive hammered. It’s a little after five in the morning, the two miles between the Back Bush and his drive way empty even of moose.

The solar panel is covered in snow so Rust is temporarily without electricity when he chose to shovel an extra parking spot rather than climbing on his roof. His watch beeps at him but it’s the sudden static of his scanner breaking with a first responsing officer saying 10-79 which brings him out of the root cellar. The light of his kerosene lantern waning over the boxes of evidence he squirreled into the state before he pushes the trap door shut. Rust kicks the rug back into place when the 11-1 is repeated by the operator requesting backup. Routine information follows; six shots reported by a neighbor, a heed of caution for traffic stops. A second later an ambulance requested in a panic— the officer, probably a kid fresh out of the academy, voice cracking and shaken enough to abandon codes, telling them to get some fucking paramedics for the girl chained up in the basement. Rust turns the machine off, whiskey sloshing in his stomach, shoulders too tired to hold him upright much longer. Men in blue got paperwork tonight, he doesn’t envy them much all these years later.

He adds a log to his fire to counter the open door so Rust could hear the girl— woman, Sugar— pull up. The heat hikes up enough for him to shrug off his shirt before pouring himself a daycap. Through the crack with a wisp off a cool breeze, the sunrise creeps over the mountains, headlights even brighter before the engine outside is killed. Rust opens the door when the girl hops out of her truck, stumbling in the snow. In the dim dawn, she looks pallid and doesn’t seem like she can speak when he nods for her to step down into the cabin. There’s a dark bruise on her throat and her breath wheezes a little.

Rust doesn’t even notice the drugs she passes to him. He can smell her sweat and fear when she roughly unzips her jacket and rips it off. She doesn’t look scared to be here, in his home, but something spooked her tonight. The black wool shirt she’s wearing tight and damp as her lungs trip toward shallow hyperventilation. Maybe he was mistaken, though he knows he wasn’t, he recognized what was on her skin before he steps closer to confirm when her back is still to him. His mind swims in whiskey, surfacing only when he knew for sure— Sugar smells like gunpowder.

Huh. What have you been up to, girl?

#lost dogs #rust cohle #sure the middle picture is the wrong season and probably glenn allen but i’m working off vibes here #not posting this to ao3 because tomororw is already stressing me out so this is just a lil something something for me :)#tomorrow i’m not retyping all that lmao #the thing about being a young woman in Alaska is that you should have old men in your life who take you hunting and fishing #it’s necessary #personally I had Alphonse and Wes and Gary and Craig (I’m still in love with Craig)

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