A lot has happened since my blog post back in December 2020. I last wrote you while navigating the depths of the pandemic and the horrific landslides in Haines in December, 2020. The good news is that 2022 was a strong year for us. It has been quite a journey from 2020 to today for RGA and I want to share a few stories about the twists and turns with you.
The Covid-19 pandemic wreaked havoc on our tour business. In 2020, we were totally shut down. Although I am generally a hopeful person, it was tough. At first, I cried a lot and listened to opera. I belted out some sad opera arias (accompanied by Pavarotti on You Tube). I spent time on the piano channeling my inner Elton John. I modified the old gospel tune “Oh Happy Day” and replaced the words “Oh, happy day” with “Covid-19.” (Try it, they fit perfectly.) I dusted off my guitar and put together a medley combining the Talking Heads, Ritchie Havens and REM. What I lacked in technique, I made up for in enthusiasm.
Instead of heading into town for work, I stayed out at our Mosquito Lake house. I spent hours canoeing on the lake. One afternoon, a trumpeter swan landed right in front of my canoe and slowly swam in front of me, gently honking. I quietly paddled behind it at a respectful distance. I made my way back to the house and gushed to my wife, Edie, “I was just visited by a spirit guardian. A trumpeter swan landed right in front of my canoe and slowly swam and honked as I followed. This must be a sign that all will be well after this pandemic ends!”
Edie, sharing my excitement, asked “Isn’t this the time of year that the swans’ eggs hatch? Do you think the swan was luring you away from its nest?”
Spirit guardian or not, this was an exciting prospect. Perhaps the swans would hatch some chicks and we could watch them grow over the summer.
The next day, there were no signs of the swans. I felt bad, thinking that perhaps my canoeing had scared them off the nest and caused the eggs to fail. As daylight began to wane, I saw the two swans exit the reeds along the edge of the lake followed by six fluffy bundles of feathers. My heart soared. I looked forward to being able to follow the progress of the little family of swans through the summer.
But canoeing in the lake was not going to pay the bills…and the bills were piling up. We had to figure something out quickly. Reluctantly, we put our Mosquito Lake house and Swan View cabins up for sale.
A few days later, the young bank manager in Haines called with some news.
“The government is starting a Payroll Protection Program so you can keep your employees on the payroll.”
“But most of my employees are guides and there’s no one to guide,” I lamented.
I wanted to do something useful with that money–not just hand it out. I looked out over the lake and saw the family of swans swimming peacefully through the pond lilies. They seemed so calm and carefree; why didn’t I feel that way?
I turned away from the lake and looked at our yard. Out by the kayak rack, there was an old canoe trailer peaking out of the tall grass. For years, I had dreamed of building a “tiny house” on that trailer. But I was so busy running RGA that I had never made the time to do it. The trailer sat unused in the grass year after year.
I called the banker to ask “What if I used the PPP money to bring back some of my employees to build a tiny house on a trailer? Then I could use the Tiny House for guide housing if, um, when the pandemic ends. Might that work?”
“I don’t see why that wouldn’t qualify,” he responded.
Some of my employees are skilled builders. I called them up and we hauled the trailer out of the grass. Week after week we worked together to build the Tiny House. I’m no skilled carpenter, but after three weeks on the job I could confidently cut a four-foot straight line through a piece of plywood. That was a major accomplishment for me. Walls went up, then the rafters, and we worked to sheath the roof, knowing that the fall rains would soon come.
In late August, we were surprised to hear that our house and Swan View Cabins had sold and the new owners wanted to move in by December 1st. We knew it would be impossible for us to haul the Tiny House off the property once the snow fell. Despite the fact that the Tiny House was not nearly finished, we had to move it in a few short weeks.
Snow falls early in Alaska. Traditionally in Haines, the first snow hits the ground and sticks just after Halloween. Right on schedule, the temperature dropped, clouds built up, and we knew it was going to snow hard on November 1st. The day before the first blizzard, we hooked the Tiny House to the truck to haul it up the driveway and into town. It was a tense moment. Would the truck haul the full weight of the Tiny House and be able to climb up our steep, gravel driveway?
I jumped in the driver’s seat and hit the gas. The truck pulled the Tiny House easily up the driveway. I accelerated a bit and headed up the road. I began to relax my tight grip on the steering wheel. There were a few curves and two small hills before the intersection of the Mosquito Lake Road and the main road to Haines. The old truck performed like a champion and I effortlessly ascended the two hills. I relaxed a bit more. I accelerated a bit more.
We hit a bumpy stretch of road. The trailer jerked and I heard a booming sound. I thought a tire had exploded and whipped around in my seat to look.
It was not a blown tire. The trailer had completely disengaged from the hitch and snapped the safety chain. The trailer and Tiny House were about to crash into the back of the truck!
I frantically accelerated to put some distance between us. The trailer hitch dug down into the asphalt, then lurched up. A quick glance at the rear view mirror and I saw, to my dismay, that the trailer was crossing the road. It barrelled towards a steep gulley. At the bottom of the gulley, a fast-flowing stream runs down a series of rapids towards Mosquito Lake. There is no guard rail there. I knew if the Tiny House dropped into that gulley, it would all be over.
I looked back again. The weight of the Tiny House pulled the trailer down and the tongue dug deeply into the pavement. That was enough to slow it down. The Tiny House crept towards the edge of the gulley…..then stopped.
I was flushed from a sharp jolt of adrenaline as I jumped out of the truck. The Tiny House was not damaged nor was it blocking the road. We were safe, but what had happened? I’d hauled that trailer many times with a variety of vehicles over the last few years with no problems. I scratched my head and looked everything over carefully. I looked at the trailer ball and hitch, then looked again.
Then it dawned on me. The ball and hitch were different sizes. Just slightly different sizes, but different enough to make a difference. I’d never had an issue before, but the combination of the bumpy ride and the heavy load had put enough stress to pull the ball off the hitch. The Tiny House was so heavy that it severed the safety chain and off it went.
A bit stunned, we headed back to town, bought the correct-sized ball, and drove back up the road. We reconnected the trailer to the truck and hauled The Tiny House to town without incident. We parked it by our office, tacked some tarpaper on the plywood roof and closed it up for the winter.
The summer of 2021 was another dismal season for RGA. The one bright spot was the Tiny House project. We spent the entire summer working on it. The image you see here is from late spring 2022. The Tiny House was nearing completion and you can see a cruise ship in the background. The ships had returned to Alaska and our tour business was busy again. This past September, I moved the Tiny House to Skagway with hopes of using it for employee housing. Then I ran into some roadblocks….but that’s another story!
For now, from the entire Ordonez/Granger family and all the team here at Rainbow Glacier Adventures, we wish you all the best this holiday season and into the New Year.
Joe
