Farewell Alaska

Sunshine-

Relentless in rising you are, though ever changing in time.

You bless this land with your presence though often it is all or none.

When the world turns its back to you, it is I who suffer a great loss, and when the world is content to make amends, we know others must endure the same fate.

There is hardly middle ground for northern life....

How do you choose which days you will shine and to which you will hide?

When do you feel the urge to rise with beauty... and to fall with grace?

When the first rays of light stretch and crawl over the land, chasing away and devouring the shadows of night that have dwelt so long, you are but a comfort and warmth to me amongst the violent raid on morning.

I see you crest the horizon with commanding presence that allows no eye to wander nor cheek to turn.

Slowly your glow warms and softens the face... that I smile to receive this gift.

I turn my head and look back to see where dawn has not yet been, and where the battle lines of night must soon give way.

How do you choose to shine with brilliance and blinding force or to cloak yourself behind the heavens? I say you are missed dearly when the clouds are jealous and possessive.

I must plead for their mercy and pray for their kindness that I see your light once again.

You came quite slowly from around the bend, that I notice the moment you are not, and the moment you are.

Quickly you race through my day, moving in the motion you always do, I admire your failure to stray.

I take little notice of your daily travels and give little credit to the effort it requires. The times I notice most are when you are no longer there. And though I gaze upon my own life, worries and troubles for the duration we are together, I do not take you for granted.

Late afternoon is a burden that lay heavy on my soul. Golden and sweet is this time with you but the hour to let go draws near.

What I saw of you first, I must part with first as well. you have done me much good this day my friend, surely this will not be our last.

And as your light is filtered to my eye, perhaps you were this beautiful all the while, only now my eyes may see you whole. As I cling to this last moment of your light, the memories we share I will harbor deep inside for the day you do not shine.

Your strength and might will not be forgotten and the fight you fought will not be in vain. For all you have done this day, proudly you shall rest and concede to the darkness of shadows that overcome.

How do you choose which days you will shine and to which you will hide?

When do you feel the urge to rise with beauty... and to fall with grace?

I have thoroughly enjoyed my time spent up here, with few days living in doubt. I have great anticipation for tomorrow because a good deal of my adventure still awaits. There was a period of time that was necessary to settle in to the lifestyle when I first arrived, and after building somewhat of a routine, I am about to have everything turned upside down when I enter the real world. There will be a need to have patience and although I can choose to be quiet, the world around me will be shouting.
The noise is what I think will bother me most.

Sitting by the fire late at night, watching the stars appear and feel the warmth of flame, That is probably my most memorable of times. Reflecting on encounters with animals, woodcutting, exploring and fishing will be very fond memories but as people say, all things must come to an end.

This is the last of my writing on Alaska. It's been very good to me and hopefully I will return some day. Great places like this seem to pull at me and I can't stay away for too long. Whether or not I caretake again, this has been simply amazing to experience and I feel very strongly that it will be up for consideration in years to come. The winter of 2010/11 has been one of the best.

Alaska-

May you forever prey upon a wandering soul, sharing your wisdom and showing no mercy.

The blood, sweat and tears that you have taken from me, or that I have willingly offered, will remain a sacrifice upon your mountains and beneath your waters, a testament to my gratefulness.

All the mothers who have lost their loved ones to you, they know there will be no return, for you have caught their eye, pierced their heart and entered their blood always to remain.

May you forever hide your worldly treasures from the greedy and proud, reward a man as you always have with your natural beauty at the end of an honest days work.

Continue to prey upon sons and daughters who search for a better land and a richer life.

Be relentless and all consuming. Be plentiful and gracious with your provision of the seasons and allow the suffering of the good hearted along with the bad.

Be not fair nor kind to your captured souls. Be not merciful or forgiving of their humble lives but remain as you always have, wild and unpredictable, rough and beautiful.

Allow us to see all that you will, and speak to us in the fierce winds that scale the mountain tops and flatten the tundra below. Enslaved to you I am, not wishing to know a better place nor having a desire to dream of a better land.

I am yours.

The Trip

A slight hint of smoke flavored the air throughout the cabin as the crackle of fire and the sizzle of eggs added to the sensation of a perfect morning. I stopped and thought how much I am going to miss times like these. Within the cabin walls that have kept me from the winter chill, the walls that I have seen for so long and have grown to be fond of, its going to be tough to leave the comfort and simplicity of a little cabin.

The feeling of a perfect morning, hearing the eggs cook over a fire started yesterday when I awoke and started my journey to Dillingham. The temperature was ten below and frost was forming from the moisture of each breath on the front side of my collar. I had packed semi lightly to make the trip which I anticipated to take around ten hours. A sledge hammer, shovel, a bag of rope, extra gas and a Rubbermaid container for groceries sat atop two sheets of plywood that covered various holes and cracks from another adventure gone sour.

Making my way through the woods, cold air sharp on my freshly shaved face, losing feeling in my lips and cheeks, nose and ears as quickly as I could take notice. Turning quickly left and right, climbing hills and braking down the back side, over bridges that span still flowing creeks and periodically cruising across open meadows. The snow is truth and cannot hide evidence of others being around. Tracks of small field mice sized creatures to the moose that wander with clumsy hooves, there is no concealing them. I appreciate that the forest documents the paths traveled, the cache's of food stored and uncovered, the fact that it forgets everything with a new snowfall.  A soft moldable and decorative form of frozen water, snow is trustworthy because it will not lie.
The sun began to softly touch the mountain tops, revealing the jagged impurities that are the foundation of a mountains beauty. Dodging tree branches and trees themselves, the most painful part of my journey is the alder bush. If words could describe how much pain a little branch creates as it whips back in your frozen face, in particular the lips then I would gladly write them, however I cannot find the words.

I met up with the caretakers of the other lodge nearby and we headed out across the lake towards town. No sooner did we get a mile out in the lake, cruising at a fairly good speed, I glanced back to just check on things in the trailer and to my astonishment there was no trailer in tow. I turned around and lost sight of my riding partner, and looking back, there was no sight of my supplies either. I rode a ways back and found my sled and all its contents sprawled out all over the ice and much worse for the wear. The pin holding my trailer to the machine had bounced out and the trailer tongue had dug into the ice flipping it who knows how high in the air sending the contents crashing back down.
My partner eventually realized I was no longer around, and came to my aid and helped reconfigure a way to keep my mangled trailer attached to the machine. Now by the time I had arrived in the village, the only thing left was my Rubbermaid container with the gas can in it and the plywood bottom. Somewhere along the way, a bag of rope, shovel and sledge hammer were treasures for whoever would find them. Later that day on our way back, we recovered everything except the hammer.


We drove from Aleknagik to Dillingham over icy roads that were moderately plowed. Forty five minutes later, we began to enter the city, catching glimpses of the bay and giant chunks of ice floating in and out with the tide. Massive boats for the summer salmon season littered almost every front yard and vacant lot in this rusty small seaside community. Wild dogs ran about, chasing cars and barking, living a hard life in the winter months unloved and neglected. Equal in disregard, the natives with mental or physical, handicaps, often both, wandered the streets murmuring to themselves or whoever would listen. Put off by their odor, appearance and behavior, it was sad to recall these people who have very little going for them. I could not help but overhear an elderly women who was very confused and possibly under some sort of intoxication claiming her wallet was missing. More than anything she seemed to just want someone to listen. With the heavy accent of native tongue on the English language, she was the face of so many in her condition for the city of Dillingham.

I spent over two hours watching people while I waited for the other caretaker to get his dental work completed. I saw many classic and stereotypical examples of a small bush community, cut off from the seemingly civilized world. I was happy to be headed back to the lodge at the end of the day.
I was also quite happy to have made some rather much needed or desired food purchases.
Fresh fruit- oranges, bananas, strawberries, Asian pears, kiwi's
Fresh vegetables- zucchini, yellow squash, lettuce, carrots, avocados
Misc. Odwalla drinks, smoked oysters, eggs, a box of Ferrero Rocher, yogurt, cream cheese and Pringles.

That was how I had an amazing breakfast over the fire with some fruit and yogurt on the side. It was a much anticipated trip, and a great treat for being without nearly six months.

I'll be coming out to greet the world with arms.... either wide open or closed shut, but I've got two weeks to decide. Until then, I'm soaking up the good life, shoveling snow off the dining cabin roof, which has accumulated a solid three feet and must weigh quite a bit. I'll also be cleaning up my bad habits of leaving dirty dishes and unswept floors in preparation for departure. There isn't much else to do but wait, take pictures and take notice of the small things. The fox has started a bad habit of his own, coming around just after dusk and barking at my door for food. I have been keeping salmon skins and bread handy to throw out in response to his asking.
Tonight an eagle swooped just across the river and perched mid tree. Scratching his eyes, shaking his feathers, glaring at the water for potential supper, and eyeing a few ducks in the distance. A group of otters will occasionally play in front of my cabin, swimming across the lake to play in the snow and roll around, jumping up and down and sliding down their iced over tracks.

I have taken several more walk through's of the cabins around camp, making banana bread to use up my frozen supplies, fishing out crystallized salt from a fish sauce bottle and just snapping pictures whenever the mood strikes.

Almost Mexico

It was hard to sleep that night, anticipation and anxiety were in the air as I waited for sunrise and then a bit longer until late morning. I had been invited over to my nearest neighbors lodge for a late breakfast before heading out across almost 20 miles of ice near three feet thick.
Morning eventually came, and for the first time being up here, punctuality was important. I am still running on the time prior to daylight savings, which is PST and no one else is doing the same. I guessed it might take forty five minutes to get from my lodge to the theirs, through the forest alongside the river and then across lake inlets, a few islands and a straight shot to their front door. I made it in thirty.

Flavors, I almost had forgotten what watermelon, strawberries, and fresh banana's tasted like. We had scrambled eggs and chorizo, tortillas and fresh fruit. Without exaggerating much, it was the best.
Half of the reason I had gone was over and we suited up for a long bumpy ride across Lake Aleknagik. Almost halfway, is a massive pressure ridge where the lake is split in two, or at least the shelves of ice that lay upon it are. Crossing over the massive crack and slight (two foot) bump, you can see down to the water surface or at least within inches. Many areas throughout the lake are dangerous for snowmobiles, due to the lack of snow and black ice condition. It not only can turn your world upside down in a hurry, its very creepy to see, knowing that the black is water below that seems bottomless.

Making our way into the village of Aleknagik, where there is nothing more than a school, health clinic and post office, we stopped for a visit. I met the Park Ranger, and a man at the post office who is the clerk/carrier/postmaster all wrapped up in one.
My day had now been doubled for seeing people, from two to four and although it was refreshing to interact with others, I was beginning to feel flustered and the desire to be alone again.
We didn't stay long before setting back across the never ending washboard lake, and by the time we had arrived on the far end, I had a brain freeze like no other and not to mention a head full of loose screws.

I had envisioned this day for some time, the day I would get to eat fresh produce. I brought with me that morning a small quantity of trading goods that they said would be helpful and that I had an abundance of.
Chips, quinoa, raisins, nuts, soy milk, tortillas, cheese, cranberries and a few other things. In return, were my requests which consisted of fresh produce and salsa. I had fruit, canned and fresh, two varieties of lettuce, spinach, broccoli/carrot/snow pea medley, a cucumber, BBQ sauce, salad dressing and some pineapple. Months of waiting and wanting, craving and sadness over no fresh goods and now, I could feast.
We parted ways in the late afternoon and I left with the same anxiety I had that morning, only this time it was to sink my teeth into the can of tropical fruit mix and open up the jar of salsa which I absolutely pigged out on when I got settled in back home. There was no stopping me.
During the rush to get back, somewhere along the way I had lost the top of my container in which all the food was being stored. Quickly turning around, I regrettably picked a bad spot and became stuck in feet of snow and alder bushes. I dug and heaved, pulled and pushed finally freeing the machine. Over these last few months of riding, the hundreds of pounds the machine weighs has seemed considerably lighter by feel, after freeing it from so many unfortunate wrong turns.
About a half of a mile back, there was the lid, laying in my tracks. No further incidents occurred as I pulled up to the lodge and unloaded my sled bearing priceless treasures. Pulling the food out, the gas cans, snowshoes, ropes and shovels.... make that only one shovel, the other was.....probably not far beyond where my lid was.
Days later.... Today, I finally made it back out to rescue my best of three broken snow shovels... and I finally found it at the bottom of the lower lake turnoff, two miles from my lodge and within sight of my neighbors.

So I have increasingly been in the bomb shelter/air raid mode as I hear engines in the distance. Generally that mode is getting myself decent in attire, arming myself to lock and load status and a quick tidy up of the cabin in case I remember how to be hospitable and invite people in for tea. There were seven people total today, in two different groups that ventured within sight to do a little ice fishing. I'm glad they were out on the ice, because I haven't been willing to be the first in these particular areas. I still see no reason to go, being that not one fish was seen pulled up and much effort was made. They looked cold if anything, and rightly so,watching the sun go down and temperatures drop. It was forty one this morning in my cabin because someone forgot to turn on the heater. Outside it was twelve below and calm as it could be. I saw low forties the other day with full sun and no breeze. The past seven or eight days have been hardly anything different than what you might expect in Mexico, sunny and blue sky.