Busted Wires

I'm wired. Not from coffee, but there are wires everywhere in my life. Most everything I own requires a wire of some sort, and here I was, thinking I had simplified my life by going north. Not so much. My computer needs one, as does my camera's battery charger, and my external harddrives where I store my photographs. There are also wires running between all the aforementionned devices, and sometimes I think one goes into my head, just to mess things up. This makes things complicated when you don't have anywhere to plug said wires in, considering there's no electricity where we are. I used to think that was my biggest problem, concerning the wires. Until one day, xmas eve, the wire that decides what I look at on my computer screen decided to take a break and break. Now I have flimmering strings of LCD swimming across a screen that used to be my neatly organized desktop, and for the first time in a month I wish I was in proximity of an Apple Store with an overcrowded Genius Bar, and someone with an answer to my sick Mac.

Wilderness Reflections

Alaska offers a variety of wild animals, hence people call the bush they live in The Wilderness. I have been recently informed that I don't exactly live in the wilderness, since we have a kind of road that leads to our camp, but since it gets so cold the car won't start, the propane liquifies and the generator quits, I'd say it's still pretty wild. Sometimes when I visit our outhouse I feel as if something is watching me. Our outhouse is all of a shack with a hole in it, facing the woods, so the likelihood is there. Take into the fact that our friendly neighborhood trapper told us he saw wolf prints outside our gate (our driveway is a mile long, so it's still a bit down the road), it's enough to make your heart beat a little faster when the need to pee presents itself at five a.m. So there I was, at the outhouse, during the wee hours of the dark night, when my headlamp caught two eyes staring back at me somewhere beyond the spruce trees. Luckily for me I was already on the toilet, because you can imagine what I did next. Apparently wolves are more afraid of humans than we are them, but in my case I beg to differ. I was sure I was staring into the eyes of a serious throat-bite. But as it turns out, it was only Fred, the pet dog of our neighbor, taking his nightly stroll...

Minus Farenheit/Celcius, Whatever

What fun winter can be, huh? -40C/F. You know that's where they meet. Those two letters that essentially is trying to tell the same thing, but in impossibly different numbers, requiring a formula that no one in their right mind should have to remember. It's kind of like trying to remember all the numbers of Pi. In California I learned to tell the difference by that 100F was really hot, much more so than we'd ever get in Celsius Norway. In New York I learned that 90F plus 60% humidity was outright obnoxious, and those were the kind of days where you'd stay inside in front of your air conditioner. In Alaska the two have finally met. Celsius and Fahrenheit have become friends as far as I'm concerned, because here, the other day, the two joined forces on a big, red 40. It's the point where everything becomes very difficult; the propane liquifies, the generator quits, the car died about 20 degrees ago, and even the dogs take a day off. It was the kind of day when things get done, around the house, kennel and strangely enough it was a beautiful day to spend outside.

Another Blog on Bush Girls

We made a blog for the blog on the blog of the blog that is the blog. Or something along those lines. Regardless, we decided out here, in the wilderness, that emails are quite hard to respond to, and so we have created this communal blog for the both of us where you can hopefully read and see what we do. But, be warned, it's in Norwegian. It's not meant to be rude, it just was simpler that way. And out here simple is key. So here it is, us, in the wilderness: Hen E Det Sjø!

Showernet

I met a guy at the washeteria in the village who designs websites for a living. He was sitting there, in the shower, designing a website for a local pet supply store. Michael, the web designer, has no electricity at his house, nor does he have internet. So, being that the washeteria is the only place in town with these accomodations, he makes his living from a shower in Manley, Alaska. Which is funny, because that is precisely the reason we go to the washeteria. For electricity. And the world wide web.

Bush Knowledge

We need a radio. In fact, the whole title of this blog is about the radio which we don’t have. Apparently it costs a bunch, and you have to reinforce its antennas with foil, but on the next trip to town we will acquire a Bush Radio, if only to listen to other people’s chatter. I have been here five days now, and I can honestly say I’ve already learned a bunch. First of all, don’t stick your hand into a dog fight. No matter how many times you’ve done it before, just don’t. That one time you actually do happen to get bit, it kinda hurts, and you have to learn new, big words to describe what it is. Besides, it seriously inhibits your ability to carry buckets of water and other essentials. But if you do happen to get bit, you’ll want to look up Carol, the nurse, who does an amazing job with foolish hands going places they shouldn’t be. Secondly I’ve learned that running ten dogs on a four-wheeler is a lot harder than five on a sled. Especially when there’s snow involved, and the four-wheeler hardly has any breaks. It’s slippery. And fun.

In other news I made some awesome soup, which I am really proud of. It was made on a iron stove, powered by birch, and the meat got thawed next to some wet socks. Yum!

Laceration and Abbration

I am writing this with one hand. Because today I've learned two new words. Laceration and abbration. I have also gotten aquainted with my fat cells, as they came into light on my right hand. Sometimes breaking up a dogfight will render you with a lacerated hole going into an abbrational bruise. Carol, the vilage physician was nice enough to clean, sterilize and tape me back together with various 3M products, which will hopefully stick better than their Post-Its, as the gaping hole heals. My first 24 hours in Alaska already will leave me with a three cm scar that I can tell exciting tales from for a time to come, and I have also decided that typing with my left hand is hard. Today has been an eventful day, a precursor for an exciting next few months. Stay tuned, a picture will follow.

And just for logistical purposes, this photograph is obviously not taken by me. Credit for this one goes to Sigrid Ekran who can operate a Leica. Good job.

An empty room and no picture

There's an echo in my room, and the mice no longer have anywhere to hide. They dart, acting as if I don't notice, but I do. How could I not. People have called and asked if I'm standing in a cave. I'm not. There's just an echo. Because now it's empty, one stool remains to welcome whoever gets my oasis next. I am leaving in five minutes, and once I step out of this house I will per definition be a vagabond. I am keyless. I was going to write a list over what New York has taught me, which is a lot, and five minutes just won't do for that purpose. Instead you get this. A blurb about mice and empty rooms. And no picture. Stay tuned for Alaska! And maybe a list.

Snow

I really miss snow. Seriously, where is it? I met a man in Alaska who liked snow so much he’s getting his PhD in it. Just snow. I like snow, there are angles to be made, snowballs to be thrown, immaturity to embrace. Apparently it is a thing of the past, because today, outside my mother’s kitchen, there is a green lawn as the radio is playing Christmas songs. Let’s take a moment to miss the good old days, when Christmas was white. At the dawn of 30, I will start using the expression when I was young...

Brand New

The other day I sat on my camera. I’ve sat on many things in my life, once I sat on my napkin ring and flattened it completely. This would have been fine had it not been for it being a family heirloom and previous owners include something like my great-great-grand-goat or of the like. Which upset my folks. Regardless, I sat on my camera and broke the LCD screen, which makes the LCD screen look like it’s been on LSD, creating all kinds of swirly art where my exposures should be shown. It happened in an art gallery, just to make the picture perfect. Now it's practically useless, and this on the eve of one of my adventures, an inconvenience I could be without. However, as I ponder this predicament I’ve put myself in by sitting on my camera I’ve discovered that this camera, a little thing which nestles nicely in my pocket, has gotten a younger brother, which apparently don’t have all the flaws mine has. So, this is the question that only a poor person with no reasoning whatsoever will ask; did I sit on my camera so I could get the new, improved version? I think not, but yet I will.