The Great Green North (Alaska 1)

Greetings from the Great Green North

July 2009

This is a muskox, it will make more sense if you keep reading

Disclaimer:  This is long.  You know me and you knew it would be.  As such, please read it if you want when you want.  Logistics: I’ll be in Alaska until September 15th.  You can reach me at my cell (I’m four hours behind Eastern Time) or at 830 College Road, Fairbanks, AK, 99701.  At least this part was brief.

 Today marks the end of my first month in Alaska.  My time in the real “up north” has been marked by many firsts.  Let’s begin with the classic Alaskan firsts.  For the first time, I saw the sun go around, not down.  On my first day of work, I took my first whack at communicating with sled dogs via howling (I need to work on my low grunt).  Last night, I ate fresh caught Bristol Bay Salmon baked with teriyaki and pineapple given to me by a board member (still drooling).  I was surprised to catch my first glimpse of a moose when I nearly collided with it on my bike path.  (Since the incident I have honed my skills and now fancy myself a moose hunter.  My record is spotting 18 moose in a 24-hour period).  For the first time, I sustained mosquito bites on my upper ear, forehead, pinky finger, armpit, and bottom at the same time.



The inside of my cabin

Some first have been triumphant, like when I arm wrestled a grown man over the existence of climate change (victoriously, of course).  Others quirky and heartwarming, like getting radishes, instead of candy, tossed at me at a fourth of July parade.  Mostly, they have been plain silly, like my first time running a 10k at 10pm dressed as Pipi Longstockings.  Or crazy, like taunting a musk ox (think Cousin It meets a bull- and no dad, you can’t ride them).  A memorable one in this category was braving a cranky old man and his shotgun and swimming across a glacial mine drainage lake to climb the rusty abandoned dredge that floated like an island in the middle (still no discernible signs of diseases!)  Finally, there have been more subtle but awakening firsts, like the first time I saw the moon in nearly a month from a log cabin’s balcony overlooking the Cheena River at a friend's cabin.

Eating radishes at the 4th of july parade in Ester

Despite this array of firsts, I have wrestled my life down to something that resembles a schedule.  I wake up in the morning smiling and look out the window of my little log cabin at the endless sea of black spruce (they look like they would make superb dish-scrubbers), fireweed (delicious in jelly), alpine roses, and aspen trees (tall and thin with white bark and crisp leaves).  For the rest of this month, I have this cabin all to myself for free thanks to a house-sitting job.  It belongs to Janet and Torre, two biologists who work in the Arctic during the summer field season.  For August and September, I am living in another cabin and- get this- chopping wood for my rent.  I love housesitting because it gives me the chance to tromp around Alaska in lots of people’s muck boots- and its free!  I feed my husky for the summer, Tally, her breakfast and hop on my bike for a gloriously downhill (with one notable exception) 11ish mile ride to my office.  The office is really more of another home; my friends and I even slept there one night after getting back from a Frisbee tournament at 4am.  We have a big garden in front that is exploding with more yummy vegetables than we know what to do with.  I organize themed salad days in an attempt to conquer the endless lettuce, but it is a losing battle.

Janet and Torre's cabin

I love my job.  I am working at the Northern Alaskan Environmental Center (http://www.northern.org/) planning a road race called “run for the refuge”, conducting a multimedia project on “Why Alaskans value the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge,” figuring out the recycling scene in Fairbanks, and doing research (reading a lot of legislation) and fact finding on issues related to Arctic conservation. Somehow, I have placed myself in the epicenter of all the things I am passionate about.  The resources are endless, more than once I have walked across the office reading a book and nearly ran into the author, and then gotten to interview them or at least.  I have a stack of about 16 books on my desk and pretty much free reign, so I have spend my first month acting as a sponge, trying to absorb as much as I can.

  The thing that I love about work versus school, is that it ends.  When I leave the office, generally to ride to a coffee shop, our local waterfowl refuge: Creamer’s field, the jazzy local bookstore, University of Alaska-Fairbanks for frisbee, or the lake, I leave my work behind.  It’s a good thing too- my backpack is unusually heavy and the way home is nearly all uphill.  I have kept myself surprisingly busy, attending lectures on Alaska’s volcanoes, grassroots meetings on the state’s energy future, girl parties, two Frisbee games a week, freezing my butt off (literally) “floating” the Cheena River in homemade rafts on hot days, and lots of potluck bonfires.

One way to float the Chena- The Red Green Regatta

Through these activities, I have come to a realization: Alaskans have more fun.  Want proof? They don’t grow out of playing dress-up.  I first realized this as a participant of the midnight sun run, a 10k event celebrating the summer solstice and resulting 23 hours of sunlight.  I was astounded that despite my recently acquired hardcore biking skills, I was beaten by a man wearing a wedding dress, a mermaid, star wars style drones, three Sarah Palins (two were men), and the tooth fairy.  I did, however, manage to beat two playboy bunnies and a chain gang.

Adele and Quita decked out for the midnight sun run

 I thought that perhaps this mania was contained to Fairbanks, but discovered I was VERY wrong when I went to Anchorage for a weekend Frisbee tournament called the Great Alaskan Jamboree.  These people took costumes to a new level.  My favorite team was “Emcee Safety and the Caution Crew” themed.  Scratching your head?  This team was a hybrid of MC Hammer and an anal, safety obsessed, overprotective father on Prom night.  To play the part, they proudly donned an amazing array of hammer pants, neon skirts, construction hats, whistles, and bright orange vests.  They wielded caution tape and spray paint and put them to use, marking off slight dips in the fields and properly marking grave dangers like the beginning of their beer-bottle filled campsite.  They were classy about it, a member of the team wrote and recorded a rap to be their theme song, and they learned team dances to “You Can’t Touch This” and performed them frequently on the sidelines.  Another favorite was “Afternoon Affair,” a team that dressed super-preppy and carried with them potted plants, a linen-covered table of snacks, tea, and cigars, and had mandatory martinis at halftime.  My team was called “deep cuts” and we were emo themed (not Elmo, as my 50-year old co-worker assumed when I asked her if I could borrow some garb).  I painted everyone’s nails and eyes black and we kept the angsty theme rolling with cheers like “I hate my parents” and “screw everything” as well as a few that I can’t mention here.  The theme of the tournament party was Mardi Gras hick and I’ll leave that one to your imagination.

Emcee Safety sideline at the Great Alaskan Jamboree

 The thing that I wish I didn’t have to leave to your imagination is the scenery.  The closest I can come to describing it is that it really does look like those vintage national parks postcards, with construction paper blue sky, crisp coniferous trees, and fields of tundra painted with purple, pink, and yellow flowers.  On a hike to Angel rocks I asked a friend who spent time teaching in Native Alaskan villages, what the Athabascan word for wilderness was.  “They have no concept of wilderness,” she replied “only a concept of vastness and timelessness.”  These seem to do Alaska more justice.  The land is vast, larger than all but 17 of the world’s countries.  Enough said.  It is timeless in the sense that gazing across the rolling valleys out to the snow capped mountains one can experience an odd welling that this is somehow a land before time.  A land that transcends such trivial human constructs.  In Rodger Kaye’s words: “this landscape was meant to represent a vision for the future that transcended its boundaries.”  Despite its best efforts, time does not abide by norms here.  The midnight sun is like an extra dose of freedom, making possibilities seem endless.  I can go for a hike at 1 am if I please.  My first week here I woke up, got dressed, put on water for tea and was all ready to go to work until I checked my clock and saw that it was 3:00 am.  But just as the natives have no words to describe what we call “wilderness,” I know no words to describe the feeling I have when I crest the big hill on my morning ride and catch my first glimpse of the Alaska Range as I fly down into the valley.  Perhaps this is all that needs to be said- Alaska makes me happy.

I hope you’re finding a similar feeling on your summer adventures,

Jenna