Winter Walk – Day 3

I wake up earlier than the sun rises these days, which is no hard feat considering the it doesn’t start getting light until after 9 a.m.  When I went out to the outhouse around this time, I was struck by how pretty and still my backyard was.  There was no barking from the neighbors’ dogs, no cars passing, no snowmachines or four-wheelers racing around.  It was quiet… and cold.  The thermometer read minus 20, which is cold enough that skin left uncovered begins to burn slightly after about ten minutes.

I had some work to do at home and waited until the sun came up to go for a walk around (on?) the lake. The skies were cloudy and the sun hidden, but the light was nice to see.

The cold came a few days ago and has apparently decided to stick around. In celebration, I decided to buy a new hat and mittens for myself – and a new set of booties for Sadie.

The booties were a necessity, I have to admit. I managed to come out of last winter with only three booties left (they are easy to lose when you are a dog who races around as roughly as she does).  Indeed – she alerted me to the drop of temperatures the other morning when I let her out in the morning only to have her return almost immediately and hopping on three legs.

No problems now.

The sky was so grey, I turned the photos into black and white.  Not that there was much of a difference.  I actually think it looks better in black and white, more old-timey, perhaps.

I love the way the snow balls up on the branches of black spruce trees.  I also love going around and smacking the branches just to watch the snow fall to the ground (even it it generally means I get covered). I guess it is the little kid in me.

This little cabin fascinates me. I like to think about who lived there once upon a time.  The roof and walls are completely caved in and rotting, but I’m not sure how long it has been abandoned.  Ten years? Fifty?  There is a little wooden bench up in the front that is basically just two posts with a board resting on top – most times I sit down, the board falls off.  The community canoe is laying on its belly to the right of the bench, covered in snow.  This summer it had a few leaks, which shortened the length of paddle time out in the lake.

A Winter Walk – Day 2

We’ve been lucky enough to get yet even more snow!

It is such a wonderful treat to wake up in the morning, look outside and see a fresh blanket of white powder everywhere. The morning was mostly cloudy, which means temperatures are a little warmer, but I would rather have cold and sun.  I think most people would.  I decided to wait out the clouds and see if they might dissolve into sunshine, which they did around 11 a.m. or noon.

Here is a picture of the front of my lovely cabin, bathed in noontime sunshine.  Shadows are long this time of year no matter what hour in the day.

We headed out to the street, which had just been cleared of snow a few hours before.  Soon after this picture was taken, a dog team came around the corner.  Sadie bravely held her ground.

The distance covered today was short because we spent quite a bit of time playing in the fresh powder!

Such joy! Such exuberance!  If I could approach each day the way Sadie approaches a snow drift, I would be the happiest person to ever walk this Earth.

Ah.  The lovely sun.  Thank you for showing yourself today!

A Winter Walk – Day 1

I certainly wasn’t expecting all the new snow today, but here it came, falling down like thousands of little feathers.  I took Sadie out for her daily walk – she was quite persistent about it, which is no surprise because I’ve been so busy and neglecting her lately.

I have decided to try a little experiment.  Let’s call it “7 Walks in 7 Days.”  I have been getting a little restless with the same routine every day, so hopefully this will motivate me to explore some new places – or at least places I haven’t visited in a while.  As most people in Fairbanks know, getting outside is particularly critical this time of year when our days have more hours of darkness than light.

All explorations begin from this cabana, which is this lovely abode here below (the outhouse is off to the right):

The snow is plentiful and fresh, but still light and fluffy enough that snowshoes are not required.

I chose this trail, which is my favorite in winter.  It is hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, this trail’s muskeg skin was exposed.  And not long before that, the entire trail didn’t exist because of a small series of ponds and a lake.  Now these are frozen and make for a very smooth walking path.

I like this picture because I hadn’t noticed these large spruce trees teetering over before.  I rarely come out this way during summer and early fall when the ground isn’t frozen.  During that time of year, this area is so boggy that XtraTufs don’t even help.

Spruce are such hardy trees – among the few species that are capable of surviving such inhospitable winter conditions.  Many people think they are ugly, but I think they are beautiful (in a gloomy way).

It is hard to believe I’ve explored this little lake by canoe.

White powder is this dog’s addiction.

By the time we reached the home stretch, a few skiers had already come out and blazed a small trail.  I saw one other person out walking with his dog – a dog that was shockingly more shy of stranger dogs than my own.

What a lovely day for a walk.  Maybe tomorrow the sun will come out.

3.20.2003

In honor of President Obama’s first visit to Alaska, I pulled out an essay I wrote six and a half years ago on the day following President Bush’s invasion of Iraq.  At the time, I was 24 years old and living with some wonderful roommates on 10th Street in Berkeley, Calif.  I edited it slightly, but the following is pretty much exactly what I wrote about how my friends and I marked that momentous day.  Sorry, no pictures.

***

I went to the protest yesterday in San Francisco, opting out from the early morning direct action in the Financial District because I was not only sleep deprived from just having gotten off the graveyard shift at the vegetable warehouse, but I wasn’t reconciled yet about what it all meant… about the right to close down a city.

I was reconciled in peaceful collective action, however, because truly so… how can we the people of this nation live a normal day when we are creating chaos and pain somewhere across the ocean?  For whomever, supporters of the war and anti-, I was dedicated to making people remember this day so that we would always know that daily life for others has ceased to exist.

We packed a lunch, my roommates, Justin, Tara, and I.  We set out by public transport and were slightly alarmed to find the activity quite disorganized – it was not the unified rally we were expecting.  Our first stop was the Civic Center and already the commercial vendors had established their space.

We wanted to march and so when the anarchists passed by we joined them.

I felt out of place in my flowered skirt and feminine frilled light blue tank top.  I was wearing platform Greek-style sandals (perfect protesting shoes, I swear), and was armed with just a camera.  These anarchists were dressed all in black and were waving flags.  Many had riot gear in tow or already poised; bandanas tied around noses and mouths made the crowd look particularly daunting.  We didn’t stay with them long – just to make a loop around the Civic Center.

A new front emerged from around the corner, armed with megaphones, giant banners that declared “no blood for oil,” “bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity,” and “aerospace engineers for peace.”

Protest organizers were wearing bright yellow vests with the single word “answer” written on the back. And so we marched.  We moved onto Market Street – the main street in downtown San Francisco – and were soon confronted by a line of police officers that felt we should not be allowed to march further.

The “answers” held hands in front of the police officers while people shouted for peace.

There was a man on a bike yelling at the cops to get a real job and a tall hippy with dreds who told the man to shut up and offered the cops a drink of water.

We moved our way up Market and found ourselves blocked in, trapped.  I looked into the faces of the police officers and wondered what they must have been thinking.  Already several hundred arrests had happened earlier that day and their tolerance must have been zero – fear of the masses does that to you.  Fear. . . and the knowledge that, if you were required to use it, your power could inflict so much pain.

I am not reconciled about the role of the cops, or the San Francisco City firefighters for that matter.  The SFFD had a presence there as well – it was not as overt, but it was definitely apparent as to which side they were representing.  I couldn’t help but wonder how easily people shift feelings – from compassionate devotion to and appreciation for the NYCFD after 9-11 to anger at the SFFD for being on the wrong side, truly a career in civil service is weighted with many conflicting issues.

But anyway, we were blocked and I think that was when the police realized that to contain a crowd is a mistake and they let us through… and we marched.

Damn, how we marched.  I don’t even know where we went but for the next two and a half hours we walked through the streets.  It was the most perfect part of the day.  The sun was shining; many of the cars that we overtook were honking in support.  Their engines shut off and the occupants inside with windows rolled down waving the peace sign.  Other trapped vehicles were angry, drivers and protesters erupting in minor skirmishes.  Mostly these were broken up by other protesters, shouting, “move on, if we stop they will divide us.”  It seemed to work although the protester anger perplexed me because we were marching against a war, right?  It seemed something was inherently wrong in being violent ourselves.  I asked one group of men that question.  They were shouting and swearing at a man who was flipping the crowd off from his perch on a balcony three floors up off the street.  These men next to me were livid, begging the man to come down and fight and “prove himself.”  Oh god.

And that is when I said, “please, this is about peace, sir.”

The man turned to look at me, seemingly a bit perplexed.

“I know,” he replied, “but sometimes it is just so hard.”

Then they stopped and we moved on.

There were many drummers, and Food Not Bombs brought white buckets of vegan grub for the hungry masses.  After all, many people had been on the streets since 7 a.m.  The trolley cars along the streets were stopped and some people used them as refuges for rest. Some trolley car drivers were wildly ringing their bells – much to the elation of the crowd.  Other drivers were merely sitting there.

I saw an unoccupied bell and started ringing madly – and the crowd roared.  A man jumped on next to me, smiling with his eyes aglow.

“Can I please please ring that bell? I’ve always wanted to do that!!”

We were at the Federal Building, which was good because we were tired.

There was a belly dancer in front of the Federal Building.  The pink unicyclist was practically everywhere, giggling and faux-charging people. Pukers for Peace vomited all around the Federal Building.  I laughed at the concept, but I don’t think that is an organization I will join.

It was a spectacle most certainly, but to say it was that and only that would be an oversimplification of what was going on there that day.  We each have our own method of self-expression after all, right?

The crowd was dispersing somewhat, but the one around the Federal Building was there for the press conference at 5 p.m.  The goal was to link arms around the building to prevent people from coming or going.  Tara, Justin, and I sat at the metal fence and ate our lunch.  It was getting colder, windier.  We thought maybe we would leave.

Then there was a call for assistance.  We were told to go to Market and Powell because the press conference had moved and we started heading there.  Then the police came and blocked everybody in the square.  People started getting angry at being enclosed… and the cops let us through.

And we continued marching.  Always marching.

Then came the idea that we would overtake the Bay Bridge.  Tara, Justin, and I were excited because that meant we could walk home to Berkeley.

The idea sounded plausible at the time; I guess maybe we were spoiled, we had come this far and if there were enough of us then they couldn’t stop us.  We were drunk on the idea of what we could all do together.

But then things started getting a little ugly.

A man in a Jeep got angry at being blocked in and tried to run over a few protesters.  Livid, the protesters threw something at his windshield and as I gazed at the spider web glass, I knew that this was getting bad.  We moved on.

There were more cops around.  They were in full riot gear now.  The crowd was massive and building, taking up several blocks.  We approached each of the three entrances to the Bay Bridge, one by one.  The first was peaceful, or relatively so.  Protesters, deterred by the police, simply turned and walked away.  We were somewhere in the middle of the crowd when a line of cops dash through an open clearing next to us – presumably on their way to head off protestors before they reached the second bridge entrance.

Fuck.  And then that one cop – the one who looked so young – he dropped his gun.

I watched the gun as it landed directly in my path.  I still see it vividly, in slow motion, that gun falling out of his hip holster.  Someone else saw it too and ran to it, picked it up.  My head was spinning wildly, trying to figure out where to go.  What could happen?  Certainly this was bad. The cop must have heard the shouts about the gun – strange how earlier, people were so angry with the cops, but now felt that this cop was the only person who should rightfully carry that weapon.  The cop turned around, the person who’d picked his gun up became afraid and dropped it, running off.  The cop looked more embarrassed than angry, picked up his weapon and kept running.

We got to the next entrance to the Bay Bridge.  I stood on a parked car so I could see what was happening.  God, they seemed so ominous those police officers, I wasn’t sure how to feel.  Cops on motorcycles tried to push through the crowd.  A protester’s banner was shoved into a cop’s face.  The banner said, “peace, not war.”  The cop swatted it away, hitting another man on the face.  Angry, the man pushed the cop and his bike over.

I was beginning to not like this.

This no longer seemed like a peaceful protest and we wanted to leave, but the crowd was so thick we could barely move except forward with everybody else.  We got to an intersection where there were more angry motorists and cops defending them.  Another skirmish.  I didn’t even know what it was about, but Tara was shaking next to me and people were yelling to sit down.  We sat, arms wrapped around each other, our little trio, it was all we could do.  Certainly if we sit then it won’t be construed as aggressive, right?

The march continued to the final entrance to the bridge.  Already the traffic was completely stopped and then, suddenly, a breakaway.  A few dozen peopled lunged onto the bridge and there were shouts.  We got pushed to the front and Tara, Justin, and I hid ourselves behind a car.  The cops pushed people away and there we were, between a car and a line of cops.

I leaned to help a woman to her feet as she stumbled and fell from the momentum.  I was shoved by one cop only to be pushed by another and soon I was on the ground, a dozen hands reaching down to pull me along with them so I wouldn’t get caught under the feet. I lost Tara and Justin.  And then Tara’s hand found mine and we stayed huddled for so long.  God, how did we get to this point?  And people were being arrested, journalists were shouting for names across the police line.  Protesters were yelling too, alternating between shouts of “cops for peace!” and “we don’t want a police state!”

We lost Justin.  He was the least strong, the brilliant, frail musician with stomach problems.  We figured his girlfriend would be mad at us when she found out we’d lost him, so we waited for him a long time.  But it was getting dark and we couldn’t find him anywhere.  He was wearing a nondescript dark gray hooded sweatshirt.  Fuck, we were worried.

It wouldn’t be until later that we’d find him, at home, with an icepack on his back and another on his thigh.  He’d been beat with a nightstick – struck just one and shoved just once and then hit the ground.  He said a very nice paramedic-in-training helped him and then escorted him to a BART station. He was shaken.

Since we had stayed so long waiting for Justin, the streets were not so full now.  The main part of the march was blocks ahead.  The cops were all behind us.  There were maybe sixty or seventy of them, marching in rows, and we were walking in front of them, arms linked, ready to go home.

And then suddenly, the cops rushed ahead and grabbed a kid with a backpack, pulling him to the ground.  The kid wasn’t so old, probably the same age as us. The few stragglers stopped and watched.  The kid’s friend sat down next to the few dozen police officers.  The kid totally blocked from view and when he finally emerged, he looked totally shaken.  I approached him.

“Are you okay? What was that all about?”

“I guess they thought I had rocks in my pack,” he said.  He didn’t seem at all angry.   He said he let them search, kept his mouth shut and they let him go.  But his face revealed what his words did not – he was afraid.  It was the kind of fear that comes from knowing what the other side might have done if the circumstance had been only slightly different.

When he then pulled the bandana tied around his neck up over his nose and mouth, I knew it wasn’t because he was afraid of being tear-gassed.

Now, as I write this a day later, I realize how profoundly yesterday’s intensity shook me.  At times it was peaceful, and at times it was violent, but now I am convinced more than ever that to live in a state of fear is no way to live under any circumstances.  And yet, there are people who live like that every day.

Last night, I could return to my safe home in Berkeley, drink a glass of red wine and fall slowly to sleep, only to emerge in the morning, brew a cup of coffee, pull out my laptop and write about the experience of a day.

I am truly living in luxury.

***

Tribute to the Unorganized Borough (with a capital “U”)

Perhaps it is the former reporter part of me, but I love listening to and reading transcripts of government meetings.  Often they can be quite boring, but sometimes wonderful gems of wisdom or colorful stories emerge and it makes the entire experience worth it.

I’ll always remember attending a city council meeting in Nevada City, Calif. at which a citizen’s request to cut down a tree in the historic district was being considered.  During public comment, one guy stood up and said, “I want to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. I want to speak for the tree.”  He then stood there, silent, for quite a while.  It was wonderful. I’m not sure if I incorporated it into the story I wrote about the meeting, but if I didn’t, I should have.

While doing some research this past week on the thrilling topic of Alaska borough and city territory annexation petitions, I came across a really lovely piece of prose that was spoken during a public hearing.  I think it captures a special old spirit in the state – only with the modern twist of romanticizing the unorganized borough.

I don’t know anything about the man who said it, but his name is Peter Caffall-Davis.  He is from Hyder, a small community east of Ketchikan near the Canadian border.   The following is just an excerpt of the testimony he gave in an attempt to prevent Hyder from being annexed into the Ketchikan Borough.  I like to call it “Tribute to the Unorganized Borough.”

What is The Last Frontier?  That’s something that’s on every single one of our license plates, we hear it every single day, and I’d like us to stop for a second and think, what does that word frontier mean?

It’s a place beyond.

We know what it is; we could use a lot of words to describe it. You could say wilderness, you can say a lot of things. But what does the word frontier really mean?  A place beyond.

And I have to then follow with, naturally, a place beyond what?

And I would declare to you that it is a place beyond the niceties of a highly structured and organized society; that, I think, is what The Last Frontier means.

And I would also say that the greatest embodiment of that is the unorganized borough. I really think the unorganized borough is The Last Frontier.

What would the people who choose to live in The Last Frontier — or unorganized borough — be like? And it’s not uncommon; we all know them, or we’ve been them, or we may want to do it again.

They’re self-sufficient; they’re self-reliant individuals.

They’re people who pride themselves in doing without; they have almost no goods and services coming from the state. Anyway, I would say these independent, self-reliant, hard-working folks of pioneer natures are underappreciated.

And there’s another thought that comes to mind: They’re thought of and referred to frequently as shirkers of their responsibility to the state because they don’t pay their fair share. And I say balderdash to that, but that’s not exactly the point I’m headed at right now.

Why should the rest of us in the state care if the unorganized borough is protected and that a piece of it still remains?

And it’s going back to my first point: We’re not going to keep dividing up the unorganized borough — what I call The Last Frontier — until there is none of that spirit of freedom left.

That simple life that Walden talks about, we all know exactly what it is in our hearts. And if we go about dividing up the unorganized borough until none of it exists anymore, we will have killed its spirit, and I would say we need to not do that.

And you, as Commissioners, have got an incredible opportunity, in this petition and in others going forward, not to just organize — which is great — but to also protect and preserve that spirit. It’s really important.

And I do not believe we should divide up the unorganized borough and force it to have highly structured systems that they don’t need and don’t want in remote and rural places; we need to keep that spirit of freedom alive.

One of the ways that I continue to hear the unorganized borough referred to is with a little u, a lowercase “u”; it’s almost used like a pejorative. And I’m tired of it, because the people who live out there really are defending our spirit, and our pioneer status, it needs to be protected.

My last comment on this first half of my opening statement is, what you are hearing, I declare, when you hear people say to you in all their petitions, “Don’t make us do this, don’t make us join this borough, don’t force us to do this.”

When these people are speaking to you, what you are actually hearing is the spirit of The Last Frontier, and it is crying out to you for protection and preservation.

And every single petition that includes forcing a little town or village into — through annexation or any other formation — against their will, that’s what you’re hearing, and I would ask you to try and remember that in your heart, and take it into account in every single petition that comes before you, because you know what that Last Frontier spirit is as good as I do. And I would like to see you also try and help protect it for the future and not completely wipe it out.

These are still, small voices that you hear.  Sometimes they’re loud. Sometimes they’re coordinated well, and that’s great. But many times they’re not, and many of them will never speak up at all; they just go quietly away and are never heard.

But this is the spirit of The Last Frontier that we’re talking about, at least in Meyers Chuck, and in Hyder, which I believe is being constructed and annexed today. And in my closing comments, I will talk a little more pointedly about two other issues, and that’s all I have.

Thank you.

Interlude

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary.

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.”

- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

(I took these photos in Craig the day before my dad died.  The passage in the center is from Thoreau’s Walden, a book that my dad had ordered online sometime last month.)

Sunday Shenanigans

Alaskans love to complain about the weather.

In Juneau, it’s too rainy or too hot. In Fairbanks, it’s too cold or too smoggy  or… too hot. But I have to admit, it IS hot, which means that being outside necessitates being close to water (preferably a body of water suitable for swimming).

Yesterday was a lovely Fairbanks Sunday, chock full of heat, water, dogs, people….  The morning was spent lazing around the cabin, eating blueberries and vanilla yogurt (my all-time favorite breakfast combination though a slice of sausage would have rounded it out nicely too).

Late morning, my neighbor, Diana, and I loaded up the dogs and headed to Pioneer Park for the annual Mutt March – a fundraiser for the shelter.  It was also Diana’s birthday (happy Birthday, Diana!).  There were probably a couple hundred dogs in attendance… and lots of water bowls filled with water and drool.

Between Diana and myself, we had three pooches – Sadie, Panda, and George. Here is Diana with the crew:

George is an older gentleman (14 I believe), but had a very active libido, which did not endear him to other dogs. Panda, a 13-year-old darling huskey girl was probably the hottest dog – and loudest panter – in the crowd. I’ve never seen such thick fur, but she made it to the end without any sudden detours to the shade like a few other beasts. Sadie was happiest when we reached the banks of the Chena and she beelined it to the water. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything different.

And here we are starting the 2.5 mile march. As you can see, there were loads of dogs:

Water quickly became critical.

And very enjoyable for the swimmers in the bunch:

After the march, it was naptime. I then went to the Beluga Nights concert on the lawn at UAF… But it was too hot to sit outside (even at 7 p.m.), so my friend Sam and I went down to the Tanana and went swimming for a few hours. Actually, it was less like swimming and more like playing in the mud and floating. And drinking beer… and worrying that my energetic little swimmer would get swept away in the currents.

Unfortunately, I left the camera behind for this excursion – next time I think I’ll remember to bring it.

All in all, I would say it was a pretty nice way to spend Sunday. Even if it was a little too hot (not that I’m complaining).

Going home again

Coming back to Alaska after any length of absence is always a bit of a shock, simultaneously serving as a reminder of why I love being here and why it is so hard to be so far away from family and friends. This time it has been particularly shocking, however, and if it weren’t for the hot weather (a few hours ago, I saw a thermometer that read 87 degrees) and days like today… spent fishing with my friend Brian… I think I’d maybe be back on the first flight to Colorado.

As most people out there already know, three weeks (and one day) ago, my dad died unexpectedly. He was too young and too full of curiosity and excitement about life to go… we already miss him terribly and I think my sisters, my mom, and I are still trying to understand the enormity of our loss. In the past weeks, however, I’ve had the good fortune of seeing so many people who knew my dad – several of them I already knew, many I did not. Best friends, colleagues, neighbors, cousins…  My dad wove a truly diverse life, and he will be remembered for it.

I was torn about whether to stay in my lovely home state of Colorado for the rest of the summer or returning North.  In many ways, it would have been an easy decision – Colorado is one of the prettiest places in the world during summer and Coloradoans are a special blend of city weekend warriors and midwestern friendly neighbors. But I decided to come back to Alaska.  I am now in Juneau, a place that isn’t even my home right now, but is as good a place as any to fly into.  It seems a veritable heat wave in Juneau, which takes some planning for outdoor adventure time.  I flew in Friday night, just in time to catch the midnight fireworks display over the Gastineau Channel with my friend Garold.  I left him downtown, driving out to my friend Emily’s sweet little cabin out the road, falling asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

I slept soundly. Actually, it was probably the best sleep I’ve had since mid-June and I woke up more than refreshed the next morning. Saturday I opted against journeying back downtown for the parade (though somewhat intrigued about whether Sarah Palin would show) and instead spent a wonderfully lazy morning drinking coffee and devouring my newest favorite book, The Alienist by Caleb Carr.

I couldn’t stand the idea of letting the rare, clear sunshiny Juneau day slip too much away, however, and so I hiked up to the top of Mt. Juneau… I think it is about a 2 or 3 mile hike up the 3,500 foot mountain. As I ascended, I spent a lot of time thinking about my parents last visit to Alaska about two years ago. I was living in Juneau then and we had a great time visiting bears on Admiralty Island, eating fish and chips at the Sandbar, and taking walks on the docks in the harbors around town.  My legs were hurting as I went up, but I was encouraged by the boundless energy of little Sadie, who often appears exhausted only to get a second (and third, fourth, and fifth) wind as soon as she hears the squeeking sound of a rock creature or the flapping wings of a bird in the bushes.

The view at the top was stunning and I sat on the north side of the peak for about fifteen minutes, looking up the channel and toward the rest of the state. Sadie rolled in the snow and chased some small creatures. I ate a Snickers and wished myself a very happy Fourth of July. It was perfect.

Today was another perfect day (though I doubt Brian would think so).  We went fishing for halibut and did catch one – rather small, but I’m not picky. It was a wonderful day on the water despite the choppy water and the (as it turned out) relatively minor mistake we made in hitting a hidden reef.

It was the kind of day my dad would have loved.  And I’m not quite sure why, but it makes me happy knowing I know that about him.

Juneau or bust

I’m boarding the ferry to Juneau in a few hours, getting ready to fall back in love with Southeast Alaska (as if I haven’t already during my few days hanging out in Haines).  I will be there for the next few weeks and am curious whether it’ll be the place that I end up returning to in a few months.  Big questions that I’m not read to answer yet.

So far the weather has been so pretty it is hard not to stare at the mountains around this sweet little fishing village.  I wish I had taken some photos, but sometimes it is nice to just have a pleasant memory.

Dalton Highway and Beyond

It was a great trip up the Dalton to Toolik. We made quick stops at Coldfoot and Wiseman and were blessed with an extra day in Toolik because of windy drifts.

A few photos will have to suffice. We made a brief stop in Coldfoot for breakfast all day.  A slew of truckers were already there. It was muddy, sunny and nice.

At the top of Atigun Pass, we were stalled for about three hours in the avalanche safety zone. An avalanche come down the mountain just in front of us and a truck was stuck.  The rest of us waited until DOT cleared the way. Our little van is on the right in the second row.

We arrived soon enough, enjoying a game of 80s Trivial Pursuit and waking up to yet another clear, sunny day.

Then the wind started to blow….

And the drifts piled up. We were stuck for a third night.

We watched movies, read books, played a game of Pictionary… and enjoyed the stunning surroundings.

And on the way home to Fairbanks, we made a slight detour to Wiseman.