“You’re not Forrest Gump are you?”
At the Yukon’s Buckshot Betty’s restaurant, just 20 miles east of the Alaska border, the waitress, who had also seem me walking, apparently thought I really was a Forrest Gump.
Just six miles east of Beaver Creek a bald eagle sat patiently on his perch high atop a scraggy pine tree. His snow white head cap glistened against the back drop of the snow capped mountains. Two tourists on bicycles stopped and snapped photos. Unfazed the eagle did not move but continued to focus his razor sharp eyes on a few unseen fish in a sparkling mountain pond 100 feet below his stalking branch.
There were many more bear tracks. Like humans they too have a reason to cross the road.
“You’re not Forrest Gump are you?”