Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Animal Farm

We went to Animal Farm. It isn’t exactly Animal Farm in that there are no Napoleons or Snowballs, and the animals don't speak human. It's an animal sanctuary for animals in need of general sanctions. As it were, these creatures of the wild got themselves into a bit of trouble, and lost the ability to care for themselves, hence a non-profit stepped in and saved them from Darwins rule. There’s the three legged moose and the orphaned caribou, the clipped-wing bald eagle and a whole array of other animals whose wild ways were cut short by fate. Now these disillusioned, disenfranchised, distraught, displaced and overall dissed creatures can live out their years in a beneficial environment close to their old one. We, on the other hand, can get the true wilderness experience without even exiting our car. Which is optional on the 1.5 mile stroll that is the park.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Roadtrip Droppings


We went roading and tripping. A common fact is that there are no toilets in cars, but there are toilets in various forms all across the state. As noted before the outhouse is a very interesting structure that can be found in most places, thus save a poor bottom from the itchings of raw leaves. The town of Girdwood, a place were we went tripping, has a rule about outhouses which says that you simply can’t have them anymore. Unless you were grandfathered in, which means something of the like that your grandfather set up an outhouse once upon a time that for some miraculous reason is still standing. Not really, but it sounds nice. Anyway, as it were, we stayed in a yurt, which had no outhouse nor plumbing, as a yurt is a fancy tent of sorts. But fear not, bum, there’s a new invention in town. The incinerating toilet. Which will reduce your excrement to a teaspoon of ash. By way of heat. Our host described it as a similar process to cooking your droppings in a pan on the stove. Which makes me wonder how they came up with all this in the first place.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Freaky Fairbanks

Icefog. February, Fairbanks. -40˚C/F.

First time I came to this town I wondered why anyone would live here. Nestled in a valley, there’s ice-fog in the winter and smog in the summer, with mountains barely visible on the horizon. On a good day. But once I got to know Fairbanks with all its quirks and charm I found it’s inner beauty. It’s a town with personality. It’s where you’ll sit next to a one-legged lady who got the missing leg shot off one night stumbling drunk down a village street when another drunk thought she was a moose. It’s where you’ll happily bounce down the sidewalk while walking your dog and someone will yell from the window of a passing car: Get a yard! It’s where crazy is embraced and normal is shunned, where crazy is considered normal. It’s where all corporations have been delegated to one side of town, contained, so as not to spill into the lives of liberals. It’s where the grocery store has everything you need, from milk to firearms to armchairs. It’s where you’ll meet the old man who used to smuggle weapons during WWII, who had to get smuggled to Alaska when a crazy lady set fire to everywhere he lived.
Fairbanks has personality. It’s the place that fills in the gaps.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Framilends

When you travel around on extended flimsy whims there’s a lack of normalcy in your daily life. A certain stability of family is missing, and although you are greeted with the most welcoming arms, you will always feel that there’s an emptiness in your life. Along comes amazing. People who act as your substitute family, people you can return to and never feel the lesser for it. People who has already accepted your quirky flaws, people who will even appreciate those. People who’ll have a bed made ready and waiting. People who’ll open their door when they’re not home, let you know where the key is, and even expect you to be there when they get home. This is family. It’s where you can open the fridge and find food, sleep in a bed and rest good, make a fool of yourself and wake up sans paranoia, and overall believe that they’ll love you nonetheless. My fortune is the greatest in that I have people just like this, whose homes I feel warm in and presence I crave. This is my family, these are my friends. It’s when the lines blur between friends and family and you end up with framilends.

Friday, April 4, 2008

Are You Lost?

I came to Kotzebue nearly three weeks ago. My plan was to stay a few days, visit with some friends, and return to coffee shops and latte. Again, that was three weeks ago. Since then I’ve learned loads about shoveling snow, caught an unlikely number of fish, mushed some dogs, and learned some words I’ll most likely forget within the week. So it’s no surprise that new people I don’t know start the conversation with ‘are you lost?’ because Kotzebue isn’t exactly the navel of the world.

I contemplate this, yes, I am perhaps a bit lost since I am in the middle of nowhere for no other apparent reason than to be in the middle of nowhere. But no, I’m not because when in doubt, make pictures, which is what I did. Only when I’m on the arctic highway driving a snogo outside town I can’t help but wonder if I’m not just a tad bit lost after all.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Turning 30

I did it, made it past the three-oh landmark that is the halfway point to retirement. Or something like that. Regardless, I have now exited my roaring 20s and entered into what is supposed to be the ripe old age of maturity. What can I say about it so far... I have learned more in the past two weeks from a couple of eskimos than I would have staring at New York Times, Google and Wikipedia all day. My favorite muscle in my hand has returned, if only for now; this year has taught me that it will leave as soon as my fingers start pounding the keyboard again, it’s a muscle that only comes with gripping things like a shovel, hammer or axe. I’ve also learned in no particular order how to maunouver a snowmachine/snogo/ snowscooter/ that-thing-that-travels- on-snow, fish under the ice, dig holes, face my fears, drive dogs, scoop their crap, speak about half a dozen words in eskimo, endure cold, colder and coldest, go without shower, telephone, internet, running water, electricity, lattes and other modern conveniences for weeks on end, sow fur things, appreciate wool, and laugh at just about anything that goes wrong.

Mostly I learned that instincts are present to be followed, and a little spontaneous behavior never hurts. I also learned that turning 30 is totally a mental thing, because I feel no different than before. On the contrary, I think it made me younger.

Photo taken by LuLu Nelson on the Kobuk Lake outside Kotzebue. It’s a Sheefish.

Broken Bearings

In front of Nome lies the Bering Sea, vast and scary. All the streets in Nome dead ends in it, with a perfect sign just begging the question ‘where to now?’ Nome is the end of the road, last call. The shoreline is where my great grandfather once stood searching for the perfect piece of gold, further out lies Russia and a roaring sea that will claim lives every year. At present the water is frozen for miles out, and besides the Nome National Forest; discarded Christmas trees planted in the ice for an otherwise treeless town, there is nothing but ice, ice, ice as far as you can see. The Bearing Sea is the perfect place for philosophic reflection, long walks, snow angles, spinning around in circles, making lists, shrieking loudly to the tunes from an ipod, and, well, other memorable things. As I leave my 20s in a town built on dreams of fortunes from gold, I realize I struck it last year when I stood on the Bering ice and decided it was time for a change.