On Leaving Alaska

On Leaving Alaska

I’ve been in Alaska since July 29.  Today is September 3. and I’ve turned to the South and eventually to home.

I came to Alaska partly out of curiosity, partly seeking adventure, partly out of a sense that I was SUPPOSED to make this trip (religious folk call this a “leading”) and partly out of a need to take a look at myself and ask some questions.  My theme song, from the musical Paint Your Wagon, goes “where am I goin, I don’t know.  When will I get there, I ain’t certain.  What will I get I ain’t equipped to say.  But who gives a damn, we’re on our way.”

That about cov ers it.

I set some ground rules for the trip:

1. Have a list of things to see and do, but give yourself permission to drop any or all of them.  This is not about following an agenda or ticking items off on a list.   At all costs, avoid “if this is Tuesday it must be Belgium” syndrome.

2. Be adventurous, but pay some heed to physical safety.

3. Be open to the people and situations you meet. 

4. Don’t worry about having a “product” come out at the end of the trip.  (As it happens, that’s looking out for itself and will occur in due course).

5. Watch the budget, but if you have to spend money, spend it.

6. Make sure Ginger (my dog) doesn’t get ignored, endangered, or emprisoned.

What actually happened was that I talked to people – lots and lots of people.  I listened to their stories, found about about their lives, and then asked two questions. 

1.     What’s something around here that you think I’d like to photograph, not necessarily tourust stuff, but some spot that’s special to you?

2.     Who’s someone else I should talk to?

These questions opened amazing doors both photographically and adventure-wise.  Because I was free to follow up, and usually did, I made friends and saw sights that NEVER would have come my way.  Examples run from Devere in his isolated no-road village to the Russian village you can only reach by treating a tidal flat as a road.  And don’t forget the Dall sheep on the Atigun pass, the guy who builds yacht-quality motor homes for himself out of wood on truck chassis, the hard-talking breezy lass who pulls espresso in McCarthy, and the bush pilot who zipped me over the glaciers across from Homer.

The list is well over 35 people by now, and it’s still growing.

So what I’m feeling on departure is a mix.  I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish, and what was unclear at the start is solidifying into a book about all the people I’ve met and their environment.  I’ve certainly had adventures, including 4 flats (and a half, but that’s another story), catching salmon, catching a cold, going into lots of places where I had no idea if I’d ever get out.  I have put myself at some risk, but have  avoided most of the ranker stupidities I would have committed as a younger man.

I enjoy Alaskans.  They make eye contact, they say hello, they will help you if you’re in trouble.  They are self-sufficient to an incredible degree.  Very few Alaskans will blink at taking on a very large and difficult task, such as building a home from wood they’ve felled themselves, just because they haven’t done it before. They value privacy above everything except the late Ted Stevenson and Glenn Beck.  Politically they’re way too far right for me, but it hasn’t altogether curdled them.  In short, they’re craggy individualists, don’t always play well with others, and are a lot of fun to be with.

I will miss them.  I will miss the bracing climate, but not the summer heat and forest fire smoke of the Interior.  I won’t miss the nightly rains that have made camping a problem.  I will miss plenty of individuals, but I will NOT miss Alaska’s lousy and limited diet and worse cooking.  Hail to the exceptions, but the rule is abysmal.

I have tried to share this trip, warts and all, with a wide network.  I don’t think very many have stayed the course, but I appreciate everyone who has tuned in from tine to time.

I especially appreciate my Cincinnati-based cheering section and support net.  Bless you all!

My adventures are not over.  There’s the Cassiar highway, many gravel roads, and Yellowstone Park sans tourists, kids, and comforts, but just about 10 days away fron now.

After that, it’s home to wife and life as normal in an asphalt-covered , urbanized environment.  But I’ll pine for the gravel roads, coursing streams, and incredible air of Alaska.  I’ll miss it every day of my life.