Waterfront

Lonesome Dove

If you haven't heard, there's a mountain blowing it's top up here, about 100 miles south of Anchorage. Actually, I didn't know about it until Evan Scroggs filled me in a while ago from back in Boone. And then I forgot about it and had to be reminded again this week by another North Carolinian. The volcano is Mt. Redoubt; a 10,197 foot peak that's been active for quite a while now.

This photo of it going off was taken a few years ago, supposedly it's been too cloudy to get clear shots of it this time; but, yeah, you get the picture. Over the last four days Redoubt has sent ash as high as 60,000 feet in the air. Flights all over Alaska have been canceled, and the eruption is even disrupting international travel as far away as Europe. Surprisingly, we haven't seen hide nor hair of the volcano here in Sitka. There have been southeastern winds all week - providing the region with plenty of snow and ice courtesy of the Canadian Rockies, but no ash from Redoubt.

It's strange how, generally speaking, out of the loop Alaskans are. I mean, as far as world, national, and even state news goes, I don't have a clue about what's going on. There's no TV, static radio, a principally local newspaper, and two locations in the sphere of 100 miles I can pick up the Internet. Folks are more independently minded up here than any other place I've ever been. They just don't seem to pay attention all that much to what's going on "out there" - as long as it's not affecting them, of course. I don't really see this mindset as being a product of self-consumption as much as self-sufficiency though. In the paper, the other day, the cover article was on the announcement that Gov. Palin refuses to take any of the Obama bailout money. That very evening the bars were full with celebration; late into the night rounds were bought and toasts offered up. It was near as joyful as Alaska Day.

An interesting place this Alaska is. A lonesome dove.

Restlessness

Everyone is a bit restless up here.

A librarian, who obviously has had a long week, just exclaimed loudly that I need to put my apple back into my backpack or leave. Everyone in the building looked up from their reading with an inquisitive expression and raised eyebrow. I don't think I've been sitting here for 90 seconds, and the apple certainly hasn't been out of my bag for more than 15. I nearly laughed, but, by sheer grace, was able to nod apologetically and remove the apple from the tabletop. I guess the winter has been hard on her; she does have some sharp gray streaks piercing through her light brown hair. And her glasses are black and pointy. I'm sure somewhere black, pointy glasses connotate something ghastly negative.

These days I am doing a lot of fireman training.

Huh? That last sentence actually caught me off guard, but yes, it's an accurate statement. I have applied for, and am in the running for a job with a wildfire fighting crew up in Fairbanks.

Again, huh? Yes, i also thought the idea of treacherous wildfires burning through Alaska was about as science-fiction as Western winning in football, but(!), contrary to popular belief, the interior of "The Great Land" burns hot each and every year. In fact, the fire crews here in Alaska are regarded as the most elite in the nation and are frequently called down to the lower 48 during spells of intensified burning. My friend Brian is a long-time hotshot (premier firefighter), and this summer will be the crew boss for the "North Stars" - a crew that patrols the entire state and is on-call 24/7. This is the crew I'm in the running for. I'm up against about 300 other applicants, all of whom are vying for 25 spots. It helps that I know Brian, but, there's definitely no guarantee of making the cut. I should find out if I'm one of the chosen 25 in the next week or so.

Anyway, so I'm doing a lot of fireman training. Each day I walk over to the SJ gym and force myself to run and complete typical PT exercises (Sheldon Jackson College went bankrupt and is now closed down, but, the campus gym is normally available to the public for use). Yesterday I walked through the front door, signed in with receptionist - a heavier-set, dark haired woman - and gave the greeting of "good afternoon". As I turned to walk down the red-painted hallway to the locker room the woman, who we'll call Barbara (I don't actually know her name, but Barbara seems to fit), said firmly, "You're gonna want to take one of these here locks with you today".

I stopped, wheeled back around, and, because of the certainty in her voice, took the lock from Barbara's outstretched palm. I didn't really see why today entitled the need for a locker-lock, when every other day had not, and so I asked if there was any reason especial. She stood up tall, looked at me with her dark-brown eyes, pointed a pale finger towards nothing in particular and gave this reply:

"Well, ya see, it's all dem kids. It's spring break all over the village, and seems as though none of dem gots any place to go but here. Der folks don't wants em 'round the house, der ain't no work, and ya can't near go outdoors in the weather we're gettin'. It's brutal out der. So, all of dem bored, troublesome kids come here and do no good. I swear, near since sunup I've been wrastlin' boys out of the supply closet and girls bathroom. Lord have mercy, I'm over being tired of it, I'm near to callin' the authorities."

I nodded apologetically, just thankful she didn't mistake me for one of "dem" high schoolers. I asked what she thought would be a good remedy to the situation. Barbara turned and spat some caramel colored tobacco juice into a V8 can on her desk - out of a void in her mouth where a tooth used to reside, back in her "good years".

"Lock em up in the high school gym with 'nough water and venison to get though the week. And den give em one of dem electronic gaming pieces. That should do dem all right. The whole of Sitka could den dwell in peace and quiet, and I wouldn't 'ave to fret 'bout my toilet paper gettin' roll'd down the hallway der."

I nodded again, shaking my head like I knew something, and said "I hear ya". I then thanked her for the lock and proceeded down the red-painted hallway. Behind me Barbara was already yelling at some boy to "get down from dem rafters". I grinned ear to ear, happy to be stuck on an island like this one.

Threadbare

Day 72

Highliner

The rust stained tile beneath me harbors a temperamental puddle of water. A few remaining drips hang desperately from the forest green trim of my Kavu britches. The wet, shining trace of a pair of boots gives away my route through the room; somewhat similar to a Yosemite Sam treasure map I once had. My table is nestled deep in a corner, near the entrance; a red and black checker board is etched into it's surface. My back is against the salmon colored wall. There is a large, welcoming window two feet to my left; my green, weathered cruiser rests against the opposite side of the pane. I have a clear view of everyone in the cafe. A women is at the counter; it looks as though she has ordered a bagel and is awaiting some blend of hot brew. The barista hurries to and fro; pulling shots and steaming milk, all while making small talk and fingering the hair out of her eyes. Two other locals are immersed in the material behind the screens of their laptops; their eyes glazed, their minds frozen. A graying women sits alone at a table for two. A hardback novel rests in front of her; her eyes slowly move from left to right, down the page, and then back up again. Her aged fingers gracefully turn each beige colored leaf. Three women congregate gaily at a table near the cream and sugar, each one seems to stem from a different decade of the 20th century. Their skin tones and hair color each tell a separate tale; tales of an Alaskan homesteader, Iowa farmer, and California surfer. In the center of the room a couple sits nose to nose, fingers intertwined, eyes lost in the shades of blue and green of the other. The surrounding walls are covered in black and white photographs; all of Alaskan fishermen. The men and women in the photos each carry an icy stare. They are weathered similar to a miner's cabin; in tact on the outside, but empty and somber on the inside. I have seen this look once before, in a photograph of an ancient Sioux chief. He held himself with dignity, but his eyes told a story of brokenness and pain. Outside, the landscape is painted white from fresh precipitation. Tree branches hang low from the extra weight of snow and ice. The parking lot is a slushy mix of salt and dirtied snow; tread marks slash this way and that. Snow drops from the sky like pellets from a .12 gauge shotgun. The mountains are a faint ghost in the distance. The sun will not come out today, at least not until it's decline - when it's positioned low enough over the horizon to burn through the sopped-in air. My coffee mug has been emptied, my stomach is beginning to growl from it's own vacuity. A tacked up memo on the cash register boasts a fresh batch of salmon chowder. My fingers bounce erratically against the grain of the table; a product of caffeine I suppose.

Another day in Alaska inconspicuously trickles on.

Boarding

Here is a video my friend Aaron put together, check it out.

The Grind

My route into town everyday (the Cross Trail)

Teaching 1st grade

We're quite proud of our firehouse

Arrowhead and The Sisters

My friend Leopold

It has been snowing regularly over the past week. I can't really tell how much snow is on the ground, but, I figure we got around 8 inches last night, so that should tell you something about it's depth. Spring seems like a distant, foreign concept; they say that the ice doesn't break up until May and that we get snow each and every Easter Sunday. I guess I won't be shipping up my seersucker suit. The snow is thick, heavy, and always swirling; remarkably similar to a snowglobe in the hands of a five year old. I am subbing everyday; teaching subjects ranging from honors english at the high school to 1st grade art at the elementary school. Most weekends I am somewhere deep in the mountains, immersing myself in Alaska's continually reviving wilderness. Life is simple and slow here; but, all the same, it moves at an enjoyable pace. A trip through the woods to the grocery store is a two hour affair, and a trip into town requires nearly an entire day. Each evening the clouds break around dusk; allowing for a beautiful Pacific sunset. Every morning there is fresh snow resting on top of the precipitation from the previous day.

The coffee mug resting neatly in my weather-beaten, callused palm is warm and welcoming. The brew's sweet aroma and bitter taste brings back memories of home and hours spent in the local establishments; notably The Dripolator, Malaprops, Beanstalk, and Crossroads. I can't put a finger on when I began to appreciate coffee, but, I know for a fact Alaska would be a bleak place without it.

That's all I have to say.

Starrigavin

Bear Mountain Sweetness

I only have a few things to say about this trip. It was cold, windy, terrifying at times, and just plain ol' rough going getting up there. But, the summit of Bear was the most rewarding place I have ever been.

It's snowing outside. I've got to go make supper. Later y'all.

As I See It

Manfest

Yesterday a bunch of us boated out to the Chai-Chi Islands. We spent the entire day cutting and splitting wood, throwing axes into trees, shooting off fireworks (at each other, naturally), and roasting brats over an open fire. Basically, it was a good ol' fashioned Alaskan Manfest. The weather was perfect; sunny and 35. I couldn't have asked for much of a better day. I hope everyone down south is doing well, I miss you all.

Happy Birthday Mama! Congrats on your 39th! One more year 'till 40!