About Jack & Barbra Donachy

Writers, photographers, food lovers, anglers, travelers and students of poetry

Shishmaref, Alaska on Sarichef Island

Posted on October 18, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

February 13, 2011: Flying into Shishmaref. Situated on the Seward Peninsula Near Bering Land Bridge National Preserve, Sarichef, the sandy barrier island upon which Shishmaref is located, is just 2.8 square miles and shrinking. The highest point above sea level is perhaps just over 20 feet. In the photo a frozen lagoon in the foreground and a frozen Chukchi Sea in the background surround this village of fewer than 600 Inupiat inhabitants. The nearby tundra provides wild berries, caribou, musk ox and moose. The seashore waters and a nearby river provide sea run char and salmon. Seals are also hunted and relied upon for subsistence. This is one of the few places in the world where one can reliably encounter McKay’s Buntings. For nine months from late August 2010 through May 2011 we made our home here. It was a fascinating introduction to Alaska.

Salmon with Creamy Fresh Dill Sauce: A Last Taste of Summer

Posted on October 13, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

This dish features a classic summertime herb along with garden vegetables and our favorite Autumn fish for a recipe to hold off winter for at least one more evening. While a California Chardonnay would pair well with the rich cream and Coho Salmon, we went with a Willamette Valley Pinot Gris, a lighter wine that let the dill shine.

Dill, dill, dill. What to do with dill? It’s not a seasoning I often use, but thanks to our friends up the Alaska Peninsula at The Farm Lodge in Port Alsworth, we found ourselves with an abundance of this pleasantly aromatic herb blooming in a glass jar on a windowsill. How about using it in a cream sauce to bring together fillets of freshly caught Chignik River Silver Salmon, farfalle pasta, and some of the last zucchini and summer squash we’re likely to see for awhile?

Salmon with Creamy Fresh Dill Sauce for Two

Ingredients

2 fresh wild salmon fillets, skin on, pin bones removed, rinsed and patted dry
2 cups farfalle pasta
1 cup or a little more diced fresh tomato
2 leaves of kale, cut away from the stem and cut into smaller pieces
1 cup or more yellow summer squash, sliced into circles and then cut into smaller pieces
1 cup or more zucchini, sliced into circles and cut into smaller pieces
1/2 cup carrot sliced julienne style
other fresh vegetables, as desired/available
3 or 4 cloves of garlic, sliced julienne style
1 shallot, sliced thin to make about 3/4 cup
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp butter
olive oil
sea salt
juice from 1/2 lemon
a loose 1/2 cup of dill leaves and flowers (or use a smaller quantity of dried dill)
sherry (or white wine)
black pepper
1 cup or more deepwater Alaska shrimp shelled, deveined and patted dry (optional)
1 tbsp corn starch mixed into 2 tbsp cold water

Directions

Prepare pasta.
Meanwhile…

Directions for the salmon

Turn on oven broiler and preheat heavy broiling pan on middle rack for the salmon. Nothing works better for this than seasoned cast iron.
Sprinkle the salmon with sea salt. Our favorite is large grain gray sea salt.
When the broiling pan is sizzling hot, pour on a little olive oil, place the salmon skin side down on the oil and broil for about 9 minutes.
Remove salmon from broiler, place on cutting board or plate and cover loosely with a bowl or foil to rest.

Directions for the cream sauce

Put some olive oil in a fairly large skillet or sauteuse pan over medium heat.
When the oil is hot, add kale, a little sea salt, and a tablespoon or two of sherry. Stir and sauté until kale just begins to wilt. Next, place in zucchini, summer squash and julienne carrots, which will not take as long to cook. Add a little more salt and sherry, stir and sauté until vegetables just begin to soften. At this point, add the cream and mix together.
Meanwhile, place butter in a separate skillet. When it’s hot, add shallots, a sprinkle of salt, and cook till they’re soft. Add garlic and a healthy splash of sherry, stir and cook till garlic begins to release its odor and soften. If you’re including shrimp, add them and a sprinkle of salt when you add the garlic. It takes only about 2 minutes to cook shrimp through.
Add the shallot mixture to the vegetables, a few grinds of black pepper, the lemon juice, mix together and taste. To thicken the cream sauce, slowly stir in the corn starch mixture. Serve immediately.

Place the pasta on large plates or in pasta bowls. Spoon on the vegetable cream sauce. Place the salmon on top, add a little more cream sauce and another grind of two of pepper. Garnish with fresh dill and pair with a chilled Willamette Valley Pinot Gris.

Alaska Wild Blueberry Skillet Pies

Posted on September 16, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

For us, late summer in Alaska means harvest time. This is the time of year for berry picking and fishing for Sockeyes and Silver Salmon in the Chignik River system. Only a short walk away from our home, there is a lovely patch of feral raspberries with plenty of ripe berries. And not so far away in the other direction is a place we call the blueberry bog, where, as you’ve already guessed, we can pick low bush blueberries to our hearts’ content.

Now that I’ve finally mastered the Buttery Flaky Pie Crust (a culinary goal checked off last winter), I am confident when Jack requests pie for dessert. Today’s request – Alaskan Wild Blueberry Pie. Jack and our houseguest Isabel knew what they had to do while I was busy teaching my students. Armed with bear spray and berry collecting containers, they hiked the mile or so to the bog. Their efforts were rewarded with fresh slices of pie topped with scoops of extra rich homemade vanilla ice cream.

Alaska Wild Blueberry Skillet Pies

(Makes 2 6-inch skillet pies)

Ingredients

1 double pie crust
3/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup cold water
5 cups fresh blueberries, divided
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Directions

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine sugar, cornstarch, salt and water until smooth. Add 3 cups blueberries. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 2 minutes or until thickened and bubbly.
Remove from the heat. Add butter, lemon juice and remaining berries; stir until butter is melted. Cool.
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.
Cut four circles out of of pie dough. Each dough circle should be about 1/2 inch larger than the mini skillet you’re using as your guide. Place the dough circle into the skillet, being careful not to stretch the dough. With a knife trim off any excess dough.
Ball up all of the extra dough and roll it out on a lightly floured surface. Cut out four more circles large enough to cover the top of a mini skillet.
Next, evenly divide the blueberry filling among the skillets. Top each with approximately 1/2 tablespoon of cubed, cold butter.
Cover each skillet with a piece of dough. Using your fingers, crimp the edge of dough all the way around to seal. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle lightly with sugar. Place skillets onto a cookie sheet for baking.
Bake for 35-40 minutes or until crust is golden and the filling is bubbly. (If the top crust starts to get brown before the inside is hot, cover with aluminum foil.)
Cool before serving. Top with ice cream.

First Silver of 2018

Posted on September 8, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Ocean-bright and full of fight, Barbra’s 12-pound Coho today is the first and only salmon we’ve put on the bank this year… so far.

In each our previous six years in Alaska, our fish for the coming months were long ago caught, cleaned, freezer-packed or smoked and canned and put away.

Not this year.

Like a lot of salmon runs around Alaska, here on the Chignik River its been a mere trickle of fish compared to other years. In fact, for a few weeks in July fishing was closed altogether. Still, we were confident upon returning from our bike trek in Hokkaido that we’d be able to get the couple of dozen or so fish we need.

That was nearly a month ago. Admittedly, it’s not like we’ve been hitting the water every day. But the few times we’ve been out, it’s been discouraging. When lots of salmon are around, so are bears, eagles and seals, and we can generally see lots of jumpers – salmon fresh from the sea and full of energy spontaneously leaping for whatever reasons salmon spontaneously leap. But it’s been eerily quiet; the usual eagle roosts have been empty.

Even in this down year, hundreds of thousands of Sockeyes ascended the river, and there will undoubtedly be thousands of Coho as well. It felt great to finally get one. Pasta with fresh salmon is on the menu tonight.

Raspberry Vanilla Custard Tart in a Swanky Almond Crust

Posted on August 25, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Sixty-six days on a bike, 1,300 miles pedaled, more miles walked, hiked, climbed, and canoed. Before we knew it, we were back home with thousands of photos and a lifetime of stories to prepare for publication. What better way to transition back from the world of bicycle trekking to our home in Chignik Lake than baking? I can’t think of one.

I arrived back home to my patiently waiting, full, lovely pantry. Translucent jars of raspberry jam caught my eye on from the shelf where they’d been stored. With this year’s fruit quickly ripening, it’s time to use up last year’s stores. What a great excuse to bake with one of my favorite flavors – raspberry. Jack “I-don’t-have-a-sweet-tooth” Donachy’s secret weakness is custard desserts. For no better reason than pure love (of custard and raspberry), this little baby was created. Wait… I’m not saying that little baby Jack was created just to eat custard. I’m saying that this dessert… never mind.

A crust infused with almonds. Then a creamy vanilla custard topped with a smooth, delicious layer of homemade jam – I prefer raspberry. I set it out to photograph, and it was gone in a flash.

For those of you following along, we will have plenty of photos and stories coming from our bicycle trek around Hokkaido. Jack is up to is elbows in the sorting and editing process as well as catching the last of Chignik Lake’s migratory birds before they head south. Stay tuned. For now, sit back and enjoy a slice, or two, of this delicious tart.

Raspberry Vanilla Custard Tart

Crust

Ingredients

1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup finely chopped almonds
3 tbsp granulated sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 tbsp cold water
generous pinch salt
1/4 cup cold unsalted butter

Directions

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, almonds, and sugar.
In a medium bowl, whisk egg yolks and water.
Grate butter into flour mixture. Toss butter so that it is fully coated. Use two sharp knives (I used steak knives) to chop the butter into smaller pea-sized pieces.
Pour egg mixture into flour mixture. Stir with fork until dough comes together. It should be shaggy looking. If it’s too dry add tiny amounts of cold water until it comes together.
Turn dough out into a 9-inch springform pan or tart pan with removable bottom.
Press dough into bottom of pan and up the sides of pan (about 1 inch) with fingertips.
Prick dough with fork. Freeze for 20 – 30 minutes.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Bake crust for 35 minutes. It will be golden brown when finished.
Let cool completely. You can store the crust at room temperature if it’s tightly wrapped in plastic.

Vanilla Custard Filling and Raspberry Topping

Ingredients

2 cups whole milk
1 tsp vanilla paste
4 large egg yolks
1/3 cup granulated sugar
4 tbsp cornstarch
pinch salt
3 tbsp unsalted butter
1/2 cup homemade raspberry jam (here’s a good recipe for quick jam)

Directions

Bring milk and vanilla to a simmer in a medium pot. Remove from heat.
While heating milk mixture, thoroughly whisk together egg, sugar, cornstarch and salt in a medium bowl.
Slowly, while whisking, pour milk mixture into egg mixture.
Pour custard back into the medium pot.
Continue whisking mixture over medium heat. Mixture should begin to bubble and become thick. Remove from heat.
Whisk in butter, one tablespoon at a time.
Transfer back to medium bowl. Cover with plastic wrap so that wrap is against surface of custard.
Cool completely in refrigerator.
To assemble, whisk cooled custard until smooth.
Pour custard into cooled crust.
Spread jam evenly on top of custard.
Serve immediately.

Recipe adapted from Bon Appétit Magazine.

Gray Heron, Hokkaido – wildlife notes

Posted on August 4, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Gray Heron, (aosagi), Abishiri campground, Hokkaido, Japan.

One of the reasons we chose Hokkaido for our first bicycle trek were the reports that wildlife viewing on this northern Japanese island can be quite good. We’ve not been disappointed. Almost every morning we’ve woken to the songs and calls of birds, and our rides this summer have taken us through mile upon mile of gently rolling farmland, forested hills, river valleys and along coastlines. To date we’ve identified over 60 species of birds and have encountered bears, deer, foxes, mink, seals, porpoises and small whales. Some of the highlights have included:

9 Brown Bears
over 20 Red Foxes
Dozens of Ezo Deer
32 Red-crowned Cranes
Over 20 White-tailed Eagles
2 Blakiston’s Fish Owls (and nighttime voices of other species of owls)
the world’s largest breeding colony of Rhinoceros Auklets
3 species of cuckoo
4 species of woodpecker
2 species of snakes
Ezo Red Squirrels (and Siberian Chipmunks)
Peregrine Falcons
Dall’s Porpoises
over 100 seals
more butterflies and moths – and more different kinds of butterflies and moths – than we’ve ever before seen anywhere

Wildflower viewing as well has been fantastic. When we return to Alaska, we’ll post more detailed articles about Hokkaido wildlife.

Thick-billed Crow’s Lucky Day

Posted on July 28, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Got ‘em!

A few days ago we were in Rausu, Hokkaido at a bed and breakfast where Blakiston’s Fish Owls can be seen. From head to toe and wing tip to wing tip, these are the world’s largest owls – and one of the rarest. We had hoped to get a look and maybe some photographs.

In the stream that flows in front of the property, the minshiku owners have created a small pool which they keep stocked with trout. Most nights this time of year a breeding pair of fish owls take turns showing up at the pool to forage for themselves and their chicks. We got some nice photos of both the female and the male owl which we’ll include in an article at a later date.

In addition to the owls, minks – a species introduced from America – are occasional nighttime visitors to the pool. In wintertime, bears follow spawning salmon up the stream. One afternoon I was watching the pool, camera in lap, when a Thick-billed Crow landed in a nearby tree. I knew right away what he had in mind, so I focused on the pool and waited. What I wasn’t prepared for was the short work he made of catching this trout.

Knee Deep in Trout and Char (somewhere in Hokkaido)

Posted on July 21, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Iwana (Dolly Varden Char) are one of Hokkaido’s most celebrated cold-water fish.

I have an incurable habit of looking into water for fish. It doesn’t matter what kind of water. At the beach I check the translucent prisms of waves for whatever might be cruising the surf. Coming upon pools on rivers during hikes I make efforts to position myself so that I’m looking into shade rather than glare so that I can maybe catch a glimpse of something with fins. I’ll even check out coin fountains in the off chance that a carp or even a goldfish might be swimming around. But bridges on quiet country roads crossing pretty little trout streams are especially inviting. There’s almost always a pool below the bridge, and if the water has a population of trout, there are often a few of them hanging out right there. No matter how hard-fished the water might be, it’s worth a look.

Yamame could literally be translated as “Mountain Girl” – a lovely name for a lovely fish. More commonly the stream-dwelling form of this species is called “Cherry Trout.” Similar to Cutthroat and Rainbow Trout of the Pacific Northwest, (to which yamame are related), some go to sea where they attain sizes measured in pounds and return to their natal rivers to spawn bright as polished chrome – Cherry Salmon.

And so there we were, mid-afternoon, straddling our bikes and leaning over the the concrete side of a bridge on a quiet road running through a mix of forest and farmland somewhere in Hokkaido. The water was perfectly clear, but the trout and char are so adeptly camouflaged to match the stony bottoms of these streams that unless one moves they are all but impossible to pick out.

One moved. As it rose to take something off the surface I could even see its spots. A char of some type. I hadn’t done any fishing yet in Hokkaido. This fish was telling me it was time I did.

I didn’t expect the fish to be large and they weren’t. But in the space of about two hours I covered a couple hundred yards of this silvery mountain stream and caught two dozen or so fish About half of them were iwana. The others were yamame. A few came to a parachute Adams – my favorite dry fly searching pattern. A lot more came to a pheasant tail nymph – my favorite nymph. A couple of overly eager types tried to eat the pea-sized orange strike indicator I was using.

A younger version of myself would have kept a few of these fish for the frying pan. But these days I fish for trout in part to simply confirm that they are present, and I wanted these fish to remain present. So Barbra took a couple of photos and I released everything to continue living out their lives in this silvery piece of water and light somewhere in Hokkaido.

There wasn’t a single human footprint along the banks, much less a path. Knee deep in a cold mountain stream full of trout and char – sitting on top of the world, legs hanging free.

Tunnels of Love – Light at the end of the Tunnel – Tunnel Vision: A Bicyclist’s Point of View

Posted on July 14, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

A kind snow tunnel – not too long, plenty of light, and just enough shoulder.

There is something about tunnels, sometimes dark and scary, sometimes magical and transformative.

When I was very young, my family drove around in a Volkswagen Beetle. I remember enjoying the magic of the immediate darkness of tunnels. The dark would be simultaneously met with the crackle of static on the radio as we lost reception. Then the heartbeat of yellow lights would blink into the windows from the dim tunnel lighting providing a rhythm to accompany the radio static. With a jolt from this world, the Beetle would be blasted back into the light and back into normal. It was fascinating to my young imagination.

Some welcome! Eighteen meters tall (almost 60 feet), the demon of Noboribetsu would be the perfect host to some of the tunnels we traversed.

Fast forward to our current bike trek in Hokkaido. Our ride has brought a whole new stream of consciousness to the tunnel. In recent years, hadn’t given much thought to these marvels of modern engineering, the exception being the time I drove our pickup while towing our fishing vessel Gillie through the unnervingly narrow tunnel that leads to the town of Whittier, Alaska. Steering wheel gripped tightly in my hands, I could feel the boat trailer sashaying back and forth on the slick railroad tracks that transversed the abyss. But that is another story.

The first “real” tunnel seemed long, but at just over a mile, it turned out to be merely average.

Our introduction to the tunnel by bicycle happened the very first day of our Hokkaido trek. It was a kind introduction as the tunnel was of the type designed to keep the heavy winter snowfalls off the road. Wrapped tight to a mountain pass, the tunnel’s outside wall featured a series of openings where sunlight poured in, giving the space a comfortable, open feeling. Moreover, there was a large enough shoulder to ensure safe passage even for our somewhat Rubinesque, trailer-towing bikes. Though several hundred meters in length, this first light-filled tunnel with its wide sidewalk was a breeze.

Our first “real” tunnel – dank, dark, cold, long and narrow – came later. We hugged the shoulder, our safety lights blinking, pedaling as fast as possible, worried that approaching vehicles wouldn’t see us in time. The amplified roar of oncoming traffic echoed and mixed with the odor of mold, grease, diesel and exhaust fumes and in that dark tube we experienced the paradox of simultaneously feeling that we we traveling very fast while making little progress. Jack found the energy in his legs to pull ahead, even while pulling the trailer. My nerves must have been apparent as a kind driver slowed behind me and escorted me to daylight.

At this point, I can’t believe how many tunnels we’ve gone through. The best tunnels have been the snow tunnels. They rank high because of the natural light and their relative brevity. On rare occasions, we’ve traveled through tunnels with a sidewalk separated by a safety railing. But even these tunnels can’t muffle the brain-rattling sounds of roaring trucks and screaming motorcycles, and there’s always the sense that you’ve got to concentrate on maintaining an unerringly straight course lest you pin yourself to some protrusion jutting out from the soot-stained tunnel wall.

One day, we had a relatively short ride from Yoichi to Otaru along Hokkaido’s southwest coast. The map showed tunnels…lots of tunnels…between the two towns and in fact the ride felt almost like a constant tunnel as even when we weren’t physically inside a tube we were psychologically preparing for one. This day featured our worst tunnel experience.

As usual, we were swallowed into the tunnel in question just as we had been swallowed into the semi-darkness and wet chill of previous tunnels. We rode on a sidewalk, which was just wide enough to handle our bike’s girth with panniers and the trailer. But perhaps a kilometer into the dimness and utterly without warning, the sidewalk shrunk to half its size. The next thing I knew, Jack’s front panniers hit the railings and he screeched to a stop. Escaping with a bloodied knuckle and a mouthful of expletives, we survived the tunnel by crowding into the flanks of our bikes and walking the remainder of the way, our shins absorbing a few pedal bites in the process, the experience bringing fresh gratitude for the light at the end of the tunnel!

After a wonderful two-days in the city of Otaru, we steeled our nerves for the ride up the coast. The ride would be beautiful. But there would be tunnels. Lots and some really long ones. Rattled from the most recent tunnel experience, at the first one we encountered we opted to push our bikes through on the very narrow sidewalk. Just wide enough to accommodate our bikes in this fashion, the sidewalk seemed to have been installed for maintenance workers rather than pedestrians. Our plan was for me to follow Jack closely and shout a warning if the outside trailer wheel got too close to the edge of the walk. Using this strategy was maybe safer, but it seemed like it took forever.

As we traveled up the coast, traffic grew lighter. We couldn’t stomach another long walk through another dark and deafening tunnel and the one we were now facing was truly a beast – two nearly adjoining tunnels spanning almost four miles. It was time to shore up our confidence and place some faith our fellow drivers. We strapped on headlamps and, as I was in the rear position, I added a couple of blinking lights to my rig and off we went.

Translation? Tunnel after tunnel after tunnel after tunnel!”

At some point, I had adopted a strategy of singing in the tunnels in order to drown out the deafening noises and to distract myself from my own nerves. I didn’t just sing. I sang at the top of my lungs. This turned out to work pretty well – once Jack didn’t take my singing noises as anguished cries for help. And so for most of four miles I belted out any song that came to mind.

Time to take in some sunshine, enjoy lunch, and scan for birds.

Once we had finally put the beast behind us, we pulled off the road for a rest and a celebratory lunch. Apparently you can burn some serious calories pedaling like a dervish while simultaneously singing at the top of your lungs!

Tinged with the unknown and eliciting perhaps mixed emotions of safety and danger, tunnels remain fascinating to me. For a little while, they take you out of the world in which you’ve been residing, close in around you, carry you along in a way that demands a kind of trust… and then deliver you to some newly lighted world on the other side.

A happy bear eating salmon at one end and light at the other. A perfect tunnel.

Agehachou – Asian Swallowtail Butterfly

Posted on July 8, 2018 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Almost surreal in it irredescence, this agehachou is one of the many stunning butterflies we’ve encountered on our Hokkaido bike trek.

We’re not lepidopterists, but it would be all but impossible not to notice the incredible beauty and diversity of the moths and butterflies – not to mention the amazing variety of caterpillars – we’ve been encountering on our bike trek around Hokkaido, Japan. If you find them early enough in the morning when they’re still warming up, you can sometimes sneak a decent photo. This agehachou (Asian swallowtail) is among the more stunning butterflies we’ve found, but it seems that all butterflies are beautiful. As the summer progresses and flowers change, different species are emerging. Today the paths were filled with nearly iridescent black caterpillars, leaving us wondering what form they’ll take as adults.