Northland News
November 2000
Dear Friends and Colleagues:
Summer came hard and lovely; autumn followed in glorious gold; then the fireweed puffed out at tips, and winter is upon us.
Seasons success quickly here in Alaska. It seems but a few weeks ago that we had 19 hours of sunlight, that big ole SUVs were patiently waiting for a string of little ducklings to cross the road before they rumbled by themselves, and that those "local" moose twins were but gawky adolescents (they're full-size yearlings now).
Midnight Sun
It was not all that long ago (somewhere in early September) that Barrow had two sunsets in one day (one at a little past midnight, then the second just a little before midnight on the same day), and now Barrow will not see the sun again for several months. Even here in the Anchorage area (where "daylight savings time" is even more ridiculous), we are "losing" about five and a half minutes of daylight each day. That means about 40 minutes a week, which translates to almost three hours a month. So now we're down to less than 9 hours of sunlight a day, and there are still another seven weeks to go till the "shortest" day of the year.
I finally figured out that that's one of the most enticing things about Alaska: its intensity. Anybody who knows me much at all knows that I am the epitome of intense <grin>. This place can out-intense me, which pushes me to the requisite humility.
Only in Alaska
I would like to share with you a few of the things I had forgotten about Alaska, which I am again enjoying. It's sorta like when I went Outside (as we call all the rest of the world) 14 years ago: I had forgotten about billboards (we don't have them up here), and buildings made out of brick (very few up here), and the fact that one couldn't just pull off the road and camp on "public" land in Washington, Oregon, or California (there's damb little "public" land down there, but lots up here).
For instance, my Honda minivan, which was of a respectable size in the Bay Area, is always getting lost in parking lots up here, where the preponderance of vehicles are pickup trucks and SUVs. And up here, those aren't just macho "toys"; they fit the landscape and the lifestyle. It also means that the parking spaces in shopping mall lots tend to be wider! I like that; fewer scraps on my cute little minivan.
And when I pull up to the drive-in window at the credit union to cash a check, I see the bowl of doggie treat bones near the teller's drawer. Not lollipops -- dog biscuits!
Alaska au Natural
Then there are the clouds. I have always liked to watch clouds. The Eastern seaboard has clouds; Arizona had clouds (complete with lightning); but most of California doesn't have clouds. Not big, white, fluffy clouds that move and shift across the sun or drift blackly across a full moon. I like seeing clouds again.
Because the Chugach Mountains form a backdrop for Anchorage, the clouds and weather move up against them and change the day's demeanor from hour to hour. Sunrises over the mountains are luscious; sunsets reflect back to turn the snowy peaks to pink powdered sugar (it's called "alpenglow"). Days have "texture" here.
When the snow first starts appearing on the mountains in the late autumn, it's referred to as "termination dust" -- a sign to construction workers that it's time to terminate the summer's frantic building spree and get things closed up for the coming winter. The "dust" that's sticking up there now is roughly down to the waistline of the mountain range (which is about 5,000-7,000 ft). We had about four inches of snow in Eagle River last week, but it melted. Now it's just getting cold (in the teens at night; the 30s during the day).
The other night, the sky was particularly dark (moon is all gone for now), and the stars sang loudly. Even just the 15 miles' distance from the lights of Anchorage means I can see the stars (and northern lights sometimes) so much more clearly here in Eagle River. Tonight it's more of a dark dull grey up there; I think it's going to snow tonight.
I mentioned fireweed. Fireweed got its name one of two ways, both valid. It is one of the first plants to reseed and revegetate a burned-over area after a wildland fire. It grows quickly, reaching from two to four feet in height in the summer. The stalk of blossoms blooms up the stem (think delphinium) in a rich magenta color. When the tips are finally in bloom, then the progression from bottom to top is puffy white, almost like a dandelion going to seed. It's said that when the last magenta blossoms bloom at the top, summer is about over. Then the stalk and leaves all turn a deep rich red; seen along the foothills, it looks as if the hillside were on fire. What a wonderful underpinning to the autumn gold of the birch and aspens!
Wildflowers in Alaska are wonderful. My yard "came" planted with numerous perennials in several rock gardens (rocks compliments of the fact that I live in a river valley, and the river runs from a glacier that once scoured the same valley). Mostly there were pinks. My gardening contribution won't show up much until next year; I've planted seeds from all the wildflowers I can find. I want the riotous orange and yellow of poppies, the rich blues of wild iris and forget-me-nots, the pinks of wild roses. I'll keep the front "lawn" mowed, but little by little, I'll let God take over the backyard. I "gave up" about three feet this summer, and was rewarded with a plethora of miniature violets and what look like little wild pansies. I added three raspberry bushes, which I fully expect to take over that section of what used to be lawn.
The local bears (mostly black) have pretty much tucked themselves in for the winter now, so I dare put the bird feeders up. Already I've been visited by juncos, black-capped chickadees, red-breasted nuthatches, a hairy woodpecker, and redpolls. Earlier in the year, I had regular robins and warblers making their homes in the trees of my yard. It's also entertainment for my cats Purrna and Kapika, who can watch and swish their tails from inside the house.
I've "gotten used to" the idea of having a hot tub on my back deck. And now that it gets dark fairly early, I've taken to skinny-dipping several nights a week. Kinda fun when it's snowing! Or just to lie back and watch the stars.
"Civilized" Alaska
As you can see, I revel in the "natural" part of living in Alaska. But there is the "civilized" side as well (although sometimes I think that's a misnomer; who decides the bears and the moose are wild and the humans are civilized?). We have a lot of very tense issues to vote on on November 7. Those of you in California (or who were there about 10-15 years ago) will know what I mean when I say we're got the Alaska version of Proposition 13 on the ballot. Yep, a tax cap. And I am one of those who is very much hoping it does NOT pass; too much shortsightedness at play there. There are also some very important issues relating to wildlife, which I care about directly with respect to 1) my living in Alaska, and 2) my job with Alaska Department of Fish & Game (ADF&G).
It's very different living in Alaska. As my son Mark and I were discussing, getting involved in politics up here at the statewide level is about like getting involved with politics in Oakland on a citywide scope. One can really get involved at that level -- except here the population of the entire state is less than the population of Oakland . . . yet those Alaskans are spread out over a landscape that is three times the size of Texas and has extraordinarily diverse cultural and environmental scenarios. In other words, it matters!
Alaska Natives
In my work with ADF&G, I've kind of taken on those aspects the involve working with Native communities and people. This reflects my interest, concerns, and experience (to some degree) in working in multicultural situations. As part of that, last weekend I went downtown to the convention center where the Alaska Federation of Natives was holding its week-long annual convention. I had an opportunity to watch some Tshimshian dancers (Indians from the Metlakatla area near Sitka). Very powerful! There were also some indigenous peoples from Hawaii, Tonga, and New Zealand attending and also presenting dances. Marvelous! As is not uncommon with indigenous peoples' dancing, both groups had, at one point, "invitational" or "challenge" dances to which others are invited to participate. I enjoyed watching the grey-haired men, the children, the middle-aged women . . . all coming up to join the dance. And it was pretty obvious who was Indian and who was Eskimo! The Eskimos tend to dance with their feet firmly planted on the ground, frequently in a crouched position, men with feet spread apart. They dance with their hands and their upper bodies as much as anything. The Indians (generally -- we have many tribes up here), on the other hand, tend to move around in a circle, to whirl, to lift and stamp their feet.
Professional Activities
Tomorrow (very early), I fly to Kodiak Island for a very long business day meeting with various government agencies (the Coast Guard, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, the Borough, the City, two state agencies, the Native regional corporation, and the tribal and city councils of the six Native villages in the area) about developing a bear-management plan for the Kodiak archipelago. It is supposed to be a one-day (albeit about 18 hours) visit. However, Kodiak, like the Aleutian Islands, is famous for its unpredictable and sometimes violent winter weather -- rain and wind -- a lot of it. I will be making many trips to Kodiak this winter, and I fully expect more than one of them to leave me stuck on the island for more than a few days before weather allows us to fly out again. But that's part of Alaska.
I have been getting back to being involved with Alaska Press Women, of which I have been a member since 1971. It's a good group of highly capable women and men who are professionally involved in communications. Right now, I'm "doing" the monthly newsletter for the group. I've worked on it in the past, but this is the first time I've set it up for Internet distribution rather than printed hard-copy. New lessons.
The Anchorage Opera season starts next month, with Figaro opening on the 17th. I also had series tickets to the chamber music offered over two weekend by the Sitka Autumn Classics -- (the name is a long story), which includes world-class musicians who come play in Alaska each year for the joy of it.
Trip to McCarthy
I took one "jaunt" out of town at the end of the summer. The intention was to go to McCarthy to look at some property being offered for sale by the University of Alaska. A friend and I drove his truck and camper out the McCarthy Road, which is basically the old roadbed of the Copper River and Northwestern Railroad that ran in the early part of the 20th century. The road was pretty rough, and finally we decided one washout was a little too scary (it had an 18-inch high "edge" on the opposite side of a swiftly flowing stream going across the road, and it was still raining). We turned back, and drove to Valdez instead, stopping at Worthington Glacier to enjoy the blue.
Turned out it was just as well we did turn back: that night, McCarthy Creek flooded, a huge mudslide shut down the road between McCarthy and Kennicott, and several more washouts closed the McCarthy Road. We would have been stuck, literally, in McCarthy till who knows when unless we hopped on mail plane a few days later and flew back to Anchorage -- sans truck.
Unfortunately, I didn't get to look at the property. But, then, nobody else got out there either. So, if it's still available next spring (14 acres, with a national park on one side), I'll look into buying it. Of course getting to it means the really slow drive (I kid you not: average speed is 10 miles per hour) from Chitina to McCarthy (which is about five hours from Anchorage), walking across two footbridges (spanning the two forks of the Kennicott River) with about a half-mile island between, then through the small town of McCarthy (population less than 35), across a very "temporary" (and currently missing) footbridge over McCarthy Creek, and then about another mile along a partially cleared section line. But that is God's country out there: the whole Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve, the backside of Canada's spectacular Kluane area. I am ever in awe when in that part of the country.
Visitors
If you've read this far, I guess you can tell I really love this land and am glad to be back. I must admit, however, I miss some people very much. You know who you are. I've been fortunate in that a couple of friends from Outside have visited: Joanne Horn from Lawrence Livermore National Lab, Nancy Voogd and family from the Bay Area, and Joan Cousins from Massachusetts (from the Kripalu days). And I'm hoping Norm Proctor and Dave Miller will be up here next summer to come to the Theatre Conference in Valdez with me (to see Norm's play performed and critiqued, I would hope!).
In the meantime, I have a coupon for a flight on Alaska Airlines from Anchorage to destination unknown in case I need a "quick fix" back Stateside. And the guest room's always available for any of my friends who want to see if all this stuff I write about is really real.
Till next time.
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