Finding Meekin’s Lodge

As told by Barb, Kathy and Pam Meekin; recorded by Kathy-

If there was one downside to growing up in Alaska it was that we were a looonnngg way from any relatives – about 4,300 miles to our closest family in New Jersey; another 300-500 to our Florida relatives.

A few times when we were young, the family went the full distance for a visit. The usual itinerary was to fly to Seattle and take a train to Detroit (or fly to Detroit), pick up a car eventually intended for Dad’s lot, drive to New Jersey to see all those relatives, and then, sometimes, down to Florida to see Aunts Dot Ryan, Isabelle Rydberg and Isabelle Meekins, and their families. Then Dad would drive all the way back across the states to the Canadian border and up the still mostly gravel Alcan Highway.

On this day, we were almost home – a little more than 100 miles to go. Mom and Dad were hoping to make it all the way to Anchorage but we didn’t make the time they hoped. As it grew later and later, they became quite worried about where we would spend the night. They set their sights on making it to Palmer, which was only 50 miles away.

Just outside of Sheep Mountain, they came around a curve and saw a sign for Meekin’s Log Cabin Camp (it would later be known as Meekin’s Lodge).  Our family name is Meekins (with an ‘s’), so upon seeing this, Dad just had to stop and meet this poor-spelling relative. He said, “Well, I guess this is where we’ll spend the night.”

Austin Meekin and his wife Dorothy (Dot for short)  grew up in Wisconsin, and traveled north after the war with the intention of opening a dude ranch in Canada but just kept going until they saw the Sheep Mountain area, fell in love with it and decided to settle there.

In the summer of ’46 they lived in a homestead up on the mountain and  filed for a Trade and Manufacturing Site (part of the homestead act for business sites) on the adjoining lot, where they eventually built their lodge and in ’47 or ’48 began a business guiding hunters into the surrounding wilderness for moose, bear or sheep and Dot was responsible for the dining room, upkeep of their cottages available for rent to clients or travelers as well as the care, feeding and schooling of their (eventual) six kids.

Dad and Austin hit it off immediately, despite begin polar opposites politically, the two men share a common loyalty to the states, both having served during the war; Austin in the army and Dad in the Marines. Both came to Alaska right after the war, fell in love with the place, owned their own businesses and had a passel of kids.

Barb’s story 

Over the years, our two families became good friends. There would be five siblings in my family; so there was someone of nearly the same age in the Meekins clan for every child in the Meekin family– except Mark, Austin’s youngest. He was small for his age and always seemed to be the odd guy out.

Our family visited the lodge each summer or fall, ride the horses Austin kept for hunts, play in the woods and just have fun. Pam, Austin’s oldest and I especially hit it. During hunting season, Dot needed some extra help at the lodge and for several years she invited me to stay for a couple of weeks during that time to help out around the lodge and reconnect with my friend Pam.

Late one summer afternoon as we all returned from exploring the woods behind the lodge, we realized that Mark was once again not with the group. Being the youngest – he was four or five at the time, he often couldn’t keep up with us bigger kids or he’d get distracted watching some natural wonder like a bee collecting pollen and get left behind. But he would eventually show up. So, this day seemed no different until it got to be past dinnertime and still no Mark. Dot was now worried. She sent all of us back out to scour the area to find him.

We looked everywhere: along the trail we had used that day, in the lodge, in the barn, even in the rental cottages. No Mark. Thanks to Alaska’s long summer days, we were able to keep searching well past dinner time and almost to bedtime when finally, we saw a disheveled Mark emerging out of the forest. His clothes were covered with dirt, his shirt was torn, he had leaves and twigs in his hair and his face and hands were filthy.  It looked like he had fallen and rolled down a hill.

When we asked where he had been, his reply was unbelievable. “I was snatched by a Bald Eagle,” he said straight faced. The older boys began to laugh. But Dot did not. Mark wasn’t the most imaginative kid and it was unlike him to make up a story like that, even though it was unbelievable.

Trying to reassure him, Dot told him that he was not in trouble and they he didn’t have to make up a story like that; she  just want to know what kept him.

He insisted that he didn’t make it up; that an eagle had snatched him. He said he was in a clearing up the trail and the eagle swooped down and grabbed him by the shoulders. He told us that he was flying very high and described in great detail, the view of the lodge, the river and the highway from high above.

Although Mark was was little guy, he still weighed about 30-40 pounds. I had seen Eagles swoop down and grab salmon out of a river, but those are fish weighing 15-20 pounds. It seemed highly improbably that an Eagle could fly away carrying an extra 35 pounds.

When one of his disbelieving brothers asked how he got away. He told us the eagle dropped him right before putting him in its nest. He said he landed in a tree and it took him a while to get down. It did seem likely the eagle would drop its over-sized load, I thought, and how incredibly fortunate that Mark landed in a tree! But Mark had no talon marks on his shoulders or any other visible proof of this tale and the whole notion of him being carried aloft was just not believable. Still, he refused to budge from his story, so eventually we just let it go.

Some years later, I was traveling on the Mitkof Highway near Petersburg when an eagle flew into my windshield. The bird took quite a blow and landed on the side of the road. Still dazed, the eagle got up and just stood on the ground trying to get its wits about it. I stopped my car and got out to see if it had been injured. I was only about ten feet away from the bird and what struck me immediately was how big it was. Standing on the ground, it was easily 4 feet tall. With that height, its wing span was probably eight feet.

I remembered Mark’s story and was pretty sure a bird this size probably could pick up and fly away with a 35-pound fish – but a 35-pound kid? I wondered.

Kathy’s Story

In the summer of 1973, I invited my boyfriend, Armen, to come to Alaska to visit. We had met earlier that spring when we both worked at Mazzi’s Sicilian Restaurant in Eugene while attending the University of Oregon. As it happened, Dad was going hunting with Austin Meekin while Armen was in town and invited the two of us to come along. Little did we know that on this trip Armen would make a significant first impression on my dad, leaving an indelible positive opinion of the man I would marry that would define their relationship for years to come.

Back home in Syria, Armen’s experience “hunting” really amounted to target practice, shooting small birds and rodents. He was quite handy with a rifle, but had never experienced the thrill of big game hunting. So, when Dad invited him on a moose hunt, Armen jumped at the chance.

It’s a long, three-hour drive from Anchorage to Meekin’s lodge and we made small talk all along the way. We stopped just before we got to the lodge to “sight in” the rifles. We got out of the car and as Dad opened the trunk to get the rifles, he asked Armen, “Want some dope?”

Armen was shocked! Was Kathy’s dad really inviting him to share a joint? Did he hear the question right? He looked at me with surprise and confusion – his eyes seemed to asked, “How do I answer that question?”

At that moment, Dad realized his jargon had tripped up Armen and he laughed, ” Oh, you thought I meant…” I chimed in, “He means mosquito repellent; mosquito dope,” I said. We all laughed but Armen and I knew he had by being slow to respond  he had given the “correct” response; and that scored a point with my Dad.

We made our way to a gravel area and set up some targets against an embankment. Dad turned to Armen and asked if he had ever shot a rifle before. Down playing his experience, Armen said, “A couple of times.” Dad proceeded to tell him all about the rifle, how to load it, how to hold it to make sure it did not accidentally fire, how to aim it and what to expect when it fired. Armen listened intently and played the part of a novice quite convincingly.

They set up some targets and Dad fired from 100 feet away. His shots were all on the target, but at first little high and as he adjusted, a little low. Armen stood a little farther back from the targets and hugged the gun tightly, carefully taking aim. Bullseye! Dad let out a little grunt as if to say, “beginner’s luck.” Armen fired again. Bullseye! This time dad turned and looked at Armen as if to make sure it wasn’t someone else was firing.

“I think I”m getting the hang of this,” Armen said.

When Armen hit the last two bullseyes, Dad was amazed. It just never occurred to him that Armen might actually have experience shooting a rifle. As we packed up the rifles, Dad said, “You’re not a bad shot.”

Whether Dad was on to him or not, the shooting skill Armen demonstrated that day clearly earned Dad’s respect and, I might add, Dad’s approval to be my husband.