Northland News
February 2001
Dear Friends and Colleagues:
I do not want to see the whole winter (or what there was of it!) go by without sending you another missive from the Northland. I was "detained," however, by major shoulder surgery in mid-December . . . then all the catch-up.
Coming and Going of the "Midnight Sun"
The sunlight is gaining on us again . . . at the rate of almost six minutes a day. Once the solstice has passed (with only a little more than four hours of daylight on December 21), the rate of gain increases daily until the equinox (next month), then the gain decreases gradually until the summer solstice (in June, when there's only about four hours of darkness). Today the sun rose at 8:09 a.m. and set at 6:16 p.m, for a total of 10 hours, 6 minutes, and 47 hours of daylight, a gain of 5 minutes and 44 seconds over yesterday.
All that may seem a tad trivial, but when the amount of sunlight in a day increases three-quarters of an hour in just a week, it's hard not to notice it. Of course, most of the fuss is made over areas north of the Arctic Circle that do not see any sunlight for days (or weeks or months) at a time in the winter. For your enjoyment, here's a little tidbit that appeared on January 24 with a subtitle "Barrow Journal" and a dateline of North Slope, Alaska:
Thanks to the precision of the universe, every year about this time, the sun (865,000 miles in diameter) pops above the horizon. It reappeared here Tuesday [January 23] at 2:58 p.m. for the first time since November 18, an absence of more than two months.
It's not that people here don't appreciate the sun's return. We do. But the local response is nothing like what is imagined in the Lower 48 [you in those states "down" there].
Officials with the National Weather Service here say they get the same early morning calls every year from reporters and disc jockeys in the Lower 48 wanting to know about parades and festivals marking the return of the sun. Sorry, there are none.
One year, two Los Angeles morning disc jockeys came to town to broadcast the return of the sun. They drove all over looking for the sun but were thwarted by heavy cloud cover.
One year a mail-order catalog for upscale T-shirts and outdoor gear had an ad for a Barrow Sun T-shirt, with a caption describing how the 5,000 residents parade down Main Street to welcome back the sun. Never mind that there is no Main Street [in Barrow].
Second-grade teach Jill Exe of Ipalook Elementary School remembers a persistent producer from a public radio station in the Midwest. 'She kept asking about celebrations, and she wanted me to get my students outside for long periods to do stuff,' Exe said. 'She didn't seem to know that is really cold out there for outdoor activities [today's high in Barrow was -7 degrees F].'
Exe said she did manage a compromise where her students came in about 45 minutes early and sang 'Mr. Sun' for the radio producer and her show.
So much for the return of the sun. This, too, shall pass. Happens every time.
Snowfall
Many of you are probably wondering how come the Lower 48 got winter -- in spades . . . or shovels -- this year, and much of Alaska seemed to skip it. Well, we're wondering, too. Seems there's a scientific (or at least meteorological) "truth" that the more severe the winter Outside (another name we call where you folks "out" there live), the milder it is up here, and vice versa. This winter, which usually starts before Hallowe'en, we almost didn't have any snow for Thanksgiving. And what little we got for that occasion either melted or was washed away by rain in a few days. In fact, with the melting and raining during the day, then freezing at night, what we got to start the winter was a helluva thick coat of glare ice -- everywhere.
The first "real" snowfall of the season came on December 18, just as my brother Ross (who had been here to assist me post-surgery) was getting ready to fly back to Sacramento. He managed to run my snowblower and clear the eight inches of white stuff off my driveway ere he left. A week later, the eight inches of snow has become yet another three inches of ice. Good thing my driveway is flat; a friend of mine who lives up the road and has a fairly steep driveway ended up sliding backwards down his driveway, past his own house, and out into his backyard. Tow trucks did a pretty good business that week.
In early February, just days after having to cancel the World Championship Sled Dog Races in Anchorage (a part of the annual week-long Fur Rendezvous celebration that's been going on since before I was a kid here in 1953) for lack of snow, we got our second major snowfall. About 14 inches here in Eagle River. I almost didn't get out of my driveway; made the mistake of stopping at the end of it to retrieve the newspaper, then couldn't get moving again. But it was a lot more "fun" when I got home that afternoon: the snowplows had cleaned the main drag (Eagle River Road) and left all of us "bermed" in. If you've never seen a snow berm, it's a pile of heavy snow that blocks the end of the driveway. This one was about four feet wide and about two feet deep and a lot more than my still-recuperating shoulder could shovel. Pickup trucks with snow plows did a pretty good business that day . . . and the next several.
Last Saturday, Anchorage finally got its first below-zero temperatures this year . . . about minus 3 degrees F. Today the temps soared into the 40s! We're hoping the snow lasts through next week because Anchorage is hosting the World Special Olympics. There's already talk of either importing or "making" snow if too much melts. So much for winter in Alaska.
One of my Northland News readers says I should talk more about the wildlife. Okay.
Ravens
Today was quite breezy . . . actually downright windy. And the ravens were having a blast! It's no wonder this big, black corvid is called "the trickster" by Alaska Natives. Ravens seem to always be having some sort of joke on us humans. They are really quite interesting birds. It is said one knows winter is coming when the seagulls, who have been dining at the local landfills, leave town and the ravens arrive to take over. We have a fairly good crop, so there are plenty of opportunities to watch their antics, even if it's nothing more than one "playing" with its food -- an errant french fry in a McDonalds package that got dumped in a parking lot.
Ravens do a sort of "gang roost" at night. When the day turns to dusk, they gather in groups of 20+ ravens, then head for some unknown place back in the foothills of the Chugach Mountain. No one really knows where they roost back there, just that they all do . . . thousands of them. Hey, I mean it! I work for the Alaska Department of Fish & Game, and biologists there have tried tracking them by radiotelemetry and other means, but somehow Raven always outsmarts 'em, and the roosting place is never found.
One of the preliminary gathering places for ravens heading for the nightly roost is right along Eagle River, which I cross on my way home from the office every day. I see them fly in in twos or threes, tumbling and playing in the air, then joining up with another pair or trio of birds until about 18-20 of them are swirling (and, I swear, laughing) in the air. Then they suddenly all start heading east toward the head of the river valley . . . and another small gathering starts to form.
Magpies
There's another corvid that shows up a lot in winter: the magpie. It has very striking white streaks down its long, black tail and can be very protective of its "space." So protective, in fact, that these devilish birds have been known to attack the unwary cross-country skier. This year some well-intentioned (?) citizen proposed to the Alaska Board of Game that there be an open hunting season on magpies to keep them from decimating songbird populations and to provide young people with an opportunity to hunt small prey in town. The board meets next week; wonder if its members will be able to keep a straight face when this proposal comes up.
Eagles
The other major scavenger that's seen a lot during winter (at least in some parts of Alaska) is the bald eagle. I just returned from a four-day business trip to the Emerald Isle of Kodiak. It was uncommonly clear and sunny and beautiful, with the blue of the water vying for intensity with the green of the Sitka spruce. And among the deep green spruce boughs were great globs of pure white . . . the heads of many, many bald eagles sitting in the trees waiting for some commercial fisherman to serve the next meal. At one point, I counted about 35 bald eagles in a small clump of spruce. Bald eagles may be few and far between in the Lower 48, but we tend to get a bit blasé about them up here
I was in Kodiak working with a public planning process to develop a management plan for brown bears on the Kodiak archipelago. Unfortunately, I cannot report having seen any of those monster bears -- except the stuffed ones in hotel, airport, and restaurant lobbies all over town.
Kodiak Wildlife
There are no moose on Kodiak Island. In fact, even the Roosevelt elk, the Sitka white-tailed deer, the feral reindeer, and the mountain goats (the other large land mammals now resident on the island) were introduced to the island by Russians and Americans during the past couple of centuries. The whole idea of "introduced species," with both benefits and drawbacks, plays a part in any wildlife management plan on Kodiak. Interestingly enough, even the Sitka spruce were not originally native to the island: they apparently "immigrated" several hundred years ago from the mainland. Kodiak is said to have the farthest north "rain forest" in the world; it's also said that the Sitka spruce slowly will keep moving west along the island, at the rate of about 50 feet every 100 years. Right now, most of the southwestern end of the island has no spruce . . . just grasses, sedges, and shrubs.
If you want to take a look at some of what I'm working on with this Kodiak project, take a look at http://www.state.ak.us/adfg/wildlife/geninfo/planning/kodiakbb.htm
Moose
I started to say something about moose, of which there are none on Kodiak. There are plenty in the Anchorage bowl (Anchorage has mountains or water on all sides, thus sort of sitting in a bowl, which originally was prime moose habitat). When we finally get some snow, the moose move down out of the mountains, where the snow is deeper, and come to town to munch on folks' ornamental trees (they love mountain ash) or the tender ends of young birch trees.
I see several moose each week just driving to and from work. When we got the big snow a couple of weeks ago, and I was stopped at the traffic light behind three other cars at a semi-major intersection on the way to the office, to my right, less than 10 feet away, was a moose nonchalantly chomping away at birch tips. And when I was headed to the airport on my way to Kodiak last Tuesday, a cow moose and her now-not-so-small twin calves were standing beside International Airport Road (a four-laner) calmly watching the traffic go by.
It's very much a pleasure to live in a community in which wildlife is a regular part. And each season brings different critters at different stages of their lives in different areas and situations. But some wild animal is never far away. That's part of what drew me back here.
Winter Scenario
One of the things I like about evening in Alaska is the alpenglow. This is the phenomenon whereby the setting sun bathes the powered-sugar Chugach mountains to the east in a pink glow that outshines the sunset itself.
Another thing about those snow-covered mountains, something I had forgotten: they glow in the dark. Yes, really! When the sky has already turned navy blue-black, the mountains seem to glow with an unearthly white light from within. And this is even when the moon has not yet risen. Fantastic! And when there is a full moon, the trees cast deep shadows on the snow. When I wake up at night to go to the bathroom and happen to look out on a full-moon night, I cannot help but start to recite, "The moon on the crest of a new-fallen snow gave the mumble-mumble of midday to objects below." (Sorry, don't remember all the words . . . but I'm usually half asleep anyway.)
Songbirds
Back to the birds. I have a bird feeder on the railing of my balcony (off the family/TV room) and another hanging from a birch that I can see from my downstairs home-office window. While I was recuperating from surgery, I used to go into the family room at daybreak (it was happening at about 10:15 a.m. at that time) and, with my cats Purrna and Kapika, watch the birds arrive to feed on black sunflower seeds. For the cats, it is almost like TV.
Mostly it's black-capped chickadees that come to my balcony feeder. But the other feeder attracts a wider range of avians. The chickadees usually land right on the feeder, while the juncos and redpolls prefer picking up seeds that have fallen to the ground. For a couple of weeks, three or four colorful pine grosbeaks were making regular visits. I think I could easily "lose" several hours a day watching the birds. And these are only the ones who stick around for winter (and, yes, we do have eagles along Eagle River, although most of them hang out at the Eagle River Fire Station where they get regular garbage handouts).
Grandmotherhood Approaching!
A few social notes: for Christmas, my daughter Danika sent me a book titled Funny, You Don't Look Like a Grandmother. Yup, Danika is expecting her daughter at the end of June. I'm going to Seattle to hang out with Danika at the beginning of April -- the last chance for a mother-daughter time before it becomes mother-daughter-granddaughter. Then, after the baby is born, I'll spend a spell in Seattle helping out. I find it a bit disconcerting to discover how stereotypically grandmotherish I have become! I've already sewn up two crib blankets and ten receiving blankets, plus three maternity tops for Danika!
Professional Life
And a professional note: when the Kodiak bear-management plan goes out for five months of public review (that long because nobody will be around all summer to work on it!) around the first week of May, I will be glad to return to freelancing full-time from my home office. I have been able to network, primarily through Alaska Press Women, and have been having to turn down lots of editing and desktop publishing opportunities. And there are books at Indiana University Press that surely have my name on them for editing! Plus, I plan to work with my daughter-in-law Carol (Kent's wife) writing a series of articles about her work and lifestyle in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts. Of course, I also hope to spend time enjoying Alaska's brief, but intense, summer.
Guests
Speaking of summer, I've often encouraged my friends to come visit, and I'm pleased that two visits from Outsiders are planned for this summer. Eileen Obser, mother of my friend and editing colleague Jeff Obser, is coming from New York on June 1. We plan to do a few things together so I get to take a mini-vacation while playing travel hostess. Then, at the end of August, my good friends Norm Proctor and Dave Miller, from the Presbyterian Church in Chinatown, San Francisco, will be here for a couple of weeks. Again, we'll do some things together so I get to show off "my" state and its critters. I look forward to hosting all my guests and giving them a "home" base (literally) from which to enjoy Alaska.
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