slippery fish

So it was back to work at the National Park Service after my long weekend in Fairbanks, as Morgan, with whom I’d been working, was shipped out on assignment to help with media relations at the oil disaster at New Orleans, at the bottom of ‘the lower 48’. I’ve noticed Alaskans refer to the rest of America as ‘the lower 48’ with an air of friendly superiority! BP has a prominent presence in Anchorage including a sizeable high rise office block in midtown from where the company oversights oil and natural gas exploration and the operation of drilling rigs in the Cook Inlet and elsewhere interior in the state, with over 1500 local staff and a reported annual revenue of over $1billion!  

The very sweet Jen from the Anchorage Fire Department ably stepped into Morgan’s role as Regional Fire Communicator and over the week I got on with the tasks left for me. The number of fires increased at first with thunderstorms and lightning sweeping across the state but eventually the wet weather that seemed to perpetually hang over Anchorage became more widespread and the fire season evaporated – or to be precise was virtually rained out - for the moment.

As the week progressed I had many fascinating conversations with people working in the regional office centring on the myriad differences (and similarities) between the park services and more particularly the systems and the politics and jobs and the parks.

After presenting a brown bag talk with lots of photos of our parks and operations back at home, I met Dave, an ex-park superintendent who now works in the regional office on sustainable subsistence. I learn from Dave that subsistence is a fascinating and controversial set of concepts here. For example, every man, woman and child who has lived in Alaska for over 12 months have fishing and hunting rights including a yearly allowance of around 10 salmon per head. Most people here are passionate about subsistence rights, especially about fishing, and collect their share. I say collect advisedly – as they routinely gear up and wade into rivers to use huge dip nets with 1.5m radius to catch the salmons. 

Rivers are monitored as pulses of salmon make their final tortuous journey up-river to spawn.  Fishing is opened up when salmon populations are considered adequate. The hapless salmon then run the gauntlet of a range of challenges. First they have to get past the commercial fishery at sea and at the river mouth where the greatest tonnage is harvested; then past urban Alaskans that stock freezers-full of fish for the year; then they have to get by subsistence communities that rely on salmon as a major part of their yearly diet - smoking and canning the fish to get them through the low productivity of the rural winter; and then to pass beyond the bears that need to get a decent feed of salmon to help fatten them up to see them through their winter hibernation! Not surprisingly, it has happened that not enough salmon make it back to the spawning grounds and the fishery collapses for that year. 

    

 Some salmon have to swim thousands of kilometres and across country borders to get back to their spawning grounds. It is hard to imagine how authorities can guarantee sustainability and it is a complex and vexed question as to how to share this precious wild harvest equitably.

Jen from work, and her husband Wade and two black labs, Hank and June-Bug invited me to stay for a couple of nights at the end of the week and we ate a delicious feed of salmon from their freezer and a salad I prepared (that my mate Tri would be proud of) on the second night. Brody, a friend of theirs dropped around and had us all in stitches as he regaled us all his mad adventures on the Hoka Hey – a crazy race across America, circuitously weaving from one end of the country to the other that finished in Alaska, riding only Harley Davidson motorbikes. The race decrees that participants must sleep with their bike and never be more than 40 feet from it at any time! Sadly 3 Hoka Hey contestants crashed and lost their life this year, probably from dozing while riding, as the gruelling race necessitates long days and rough sleeping takes its toll over the 2 – 3 weeks while the race is underway in earnest. Participants have to submit to a polygraph test and drug testing to claim the $500,000 purse – which by the way, is yet to be announced despite the race having been over in early July.

For the weekend I arranged to visit Cathy, who I met last month on the ferry from Ketchikan, in Homer for a few days. Arriving in Homer I found it to be an eclectic little coastal town nestled on the shore of glistening Kachemak Bay, with a stunning view of three glaciers and active volcanos off in the distance. A narrow spit pierces the bay like a curved filleting knife, and hangs on impossibly despite the punishment of tide and wind and wave.  Fishing and arts characterise the resident population with scores of charter vessels and art galleries dotted along the spit as well as in town, providing ample opportunities for summer tourists to be parted from their cash.

 Grewingk Glacier

Homer is well renown for halibut fishing; the halibut being a crazy looking flat fish from the flounder family. When it is young it looks like any normal fish but after 6 months one eye somehow migrates to the other side so both eyes are on top. They can grow to enormous proportions and specimens weighing 300 odd kilograms have been recorded but on average they are more like 12 kgs. The flesh of a halibut is white and sweet and all Alaskans love this fish as much as they love their salmon.

Cathy’s beautiful home sits neatly opposite the spectacular Grewingk Glacier (that I learn is actually shrinkingk) on Kachemak Bay and is a wonderful lodging to use as a base for exploring Homer. At the farmers markets we paused and listened to a great bluegrass band before heading to the annual street fair where exceptional local arts and crafts and were on offer. I spent a few hours in the Alaska Islands and Ocean Visitor Centre learning about the Kachemak Bay Research Reserve and the near-shore and watershed research underway there. I studiously visited all the galleries and craft shops before I reluctantly left and returned to Anchorage and the promise of week in the beautiful and remote Lake Clark National Park...    

Christmas on the 4th of July

John Adams a drafter and signer of the Declaration of Independence and the second ever president, wrote to his wife Abigail of the 4th of July; ‘I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival… It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward.’

Clearly all Americans have taken this sentiment to heart and including those listed above, celebrations nowadays typically involve a BBQ. I experienced all of these on this day.

The festivities (recommended by Eric the jeweler) at Pioneer Park in Fairbanks were scheduled to start at lunchtime so I figured I would have enough time to drive to the North Pole first. - Not that North Pole - the Alaskan one. Huh? The Alaskan North Pole was once named Davis – when it was settled by white people in 1944.  In the 50’s a couple of entrepreneurs arrived at the somewhat nondescript locale and decided they could attract toy makers (?) and thence the gullible public by renaming the place ‘the North Pole’. No matter that it was about two and a half thousand kilometres short of the mark. Voila! Up sprang the perfect tourist trap!

I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker! The town is just off the side of the highway, heading south out of Fairbanks – a tiny settlement – referred to as a city by all accounts, even though there are probably no more than 3,000 people who live there. The streets are quaintly named to theme – St Nicholas Drive, Santa Claus Lane, Snowman Lane, and Kris Kringle Drive. Not surprisingly the light poles are painted like candy canes and Christmas decorations proliferate, especially on local businesses. It is all a little saccharine for me as I find Christmas decorations outside of December quite hard to stomach. I found the main tourist attraction – Santa’s House, which is essentially a gift shop with all manner of Christmas-alia. A huge Santa proudly marks the spot over an empty sleigh – a twee photo opportunity. I obliged a couple from Brisbane and they took my picture.

Apparently if you mail a letter to Santa, addressed, c/- the North Pole, it goes to the Alaskan North Pole, and I think if you put in a self-addressed stamped envelope they even write back. Inside Santa’s there’s a wall devoted to the last year’s crop of letters and they are delightful to read. Aside from the police car with ‘North Pole Police’ on it, the kids’ letters were the most entertaining part of the visit for me. One earnestly declares – ‘Santa Clause, I love you.’ So very sweet and probably a great bet if you have been playing up during the year!

Back in Fairbanks the majority of the local population and me congregated in Pioneer Park. Pioneer Park, formerly known as Alaskaland, has all manner of attractions in it: a land-lubbing paddle steamer, a native village, a gold rush town and an aviation museum. No time for all of that though, with the official 4th of July speeches, the brass band and gun salutes. Half a dozen marines, rifles pointed aloft, fired rounds in unison as each of the fifty states had their names and nicknames read out. 
Arkansas! – the natural state! – BANG!

Georgia! – the peach state! – BANG!

Nebraska! – the cornhusker state! – BANG!

Oregon! – the sooner state! – BANG! 
And on it went til they got to Alaska! – the last frontier! – BANG!

For me it was instructive and at the same time painfully percussive. I’ve never been a fan of firearms and this experience confirmed it 50 times over times 6. The rest of the audience enjoyed the 6-gun salute, as they clapped and cheered appreciatively after each round. Especially when Alaska was announced as the fiftieth state. After the Star Spangled Banner, the band played Alaska’s anthem called Alaska’s Flag.

Eight stars of gold on a field of blue

Alaska's flag. May it mean to you

The blue of the sea, the evening sky,

The mountain lakes, and the flow'rs nearby;

The gold of the early sourdough's dreams,

The precious gold of the hills and streams;

The brilliant stars in the northern sky,

The "Bear" the "Dipper" - and, shining high,

The great North Star with its steady light,

Over land and sea a beacon bright.

Alaska's flag - to Alaskans dear,

The simple flag of a last frontier.

Interestingly Alaska’s flag was designed by Benny Benson, a 13-year-old native Alaskan, in 1926. He entered and won the flag design contest, and the fortune of a $1000 scholarship and a wristwatch.

After the anthems and formalities were over I wandered over to a specially fenced area and patted dogs and chatted with their owners while I waited for the ‘dog pull’ to start. The dog pull was a competition divided in three weight classes, where the dogs use a harness to pull a cart across a line and weight is progressively added until a winner is declared. A wide range of breeds were represented and surprisingly the huskies didn’t win all the classes. Once the cart was too heavy some of the dogs just sat down while others sniffed the ground, some looking decidedly embarrassed, their owners wildly trying to coax them to keep pulling. The reindeer sausage sandwich I was eating, silently and unnoticed dripped reindeer fat and BBQ sauce down my front and I mistakenly thought I had a special connection as a friend to the dogs that nuzzled my chest. I was in fact a reindeer flavoured friend. Oh well.   

Later that evening back in my hotel the festivities were completed as I watched fireworks light up the sky.

The next morning before my flight back to Anchorage I made a dash to the Alaska University Museum of the North through the rain soaked streets. The Museum sits high on a ridge overlooking Fairbanks and boasts an eclectic collection dealing with the history, culture and nature of the state. Pioneer women are featured among the characters and their stories are all at once poignant, comical and courageous. For instance, Belinda Mulrooney arrived in the Klondike as a tender 25 year old and made good, building a hotel close to the mining action. Her business interests grew steadily until she unfortunately married Charles Eugene Carbonneau who squandered most of her fortune until she kicked him out and had to start again!

I lingered at the museum enjoying the art and stuffed animals a little too long and had to make a mad dash to hand in the hire car and get to the airport. Flying back to Anchorage, just the tip of Denali was visible through the clouds…elusive as ever...       

freezing Fairbanks

I was expecting Fairbanks to be colder than Anchorage since it is further north, so I packed warm clothing. To my absolute surprise it was significantly warmer, up around 22°C! I peeled off some layers after checking into my hotel and I headed into town for a meal at a restaurant Morgan from the NPS had recommended. The place was packed. One difference I have noticed about America from my last visit in 1996 is the inter-racial couples – something that was distinctly in the minority then. Maybe it’s just up north? Who knows, but it’s heartening that tolerance in this country appears to have significantly increased. The next morning I picked up the hire car and headed off for my next exciting adventure - driving on the wrong side of the road. Saturday morning in downtown Fairbanks was pretty quiet so I didn’t get into too much trouble. I parked and strolled around a few streets looking in windows. Most of the shops were aimed at tourists, selling carved antlers and walrus tusks and, penis bones or oosik as they are named by native Alaskan cultures. I must have been asleep in that part of my anatomy lecture, the baculum is a whole new concept as far as I am concerned! And apparently many species have them including seals, sea lions, polar bears even cats and dogs! Oh well, you learn something new everyday!

a carved walrus oosik

I was looking into the window of a jewellery shop when the lights in the cabinet suddenly came on. I was startled at first and thought maybe it was like the toilets that flush themselves here, or the automatic taps or the movement sensors on toy displays as you walk past them in Walmart. No, it was the guy who owned the shop turning on the cabinet lights, Eric who was hugely entertained by my surprised reaction. He invited me into the shop to check out the rest of his jewelry and I ended up staying and talking with him for nearly an hour. He proved to be a font of information about Fairbanks and told me all the places to visit, and where I should go to for the fourth of July celebrations on Sunday. He was also an amateur comedian – doing standup at open mikes in a local club, so he had me laughing at most of his homemade jokes. We talked about Australia, and he, along with most other people you talk to, intends to visit sometime. By the end of our chat he asked me to go golfing or for a ride on his Harley. I politely declined both offers – motorbikes and golf are pretty far down the entertainment list for me!   

Fairbanks is spread out broadly like a picnic blanket across a low flat bowl that rises slowly to mountains to the north with hills to the east and the west and marshes to the south. The Chena River runs through the town and Eric told me that it freezes solid in the winter, so much so that you can drive a car on it. The topography contributes enormously to the climatic variability as icy polar air drains from the north into the bowl in the winter and heat and sometimes smoke from fires accumulate here during the short warm summer. Temperature inversions are reputedly the biggest on earth and the climate is generally described as subarctic. Temperatures can get as low as -51°c (-60°F) Brrrrrrrrr. On the holiday weekend it felt almost monsoonal to me with rising heat and brooding dark skies giving way to thunderstorms that cooled everything down again.

I headed to the visitor centre. It was a new building of impressive architecture with surprisingly high ceilings in such a cool climate that gave the interior space a generous and expansive feel. Outside the gardens were filled with gaily-coloured blooms, as is the norm in all municipal and domestic gardens at this time of year. Alaskans do love gardening! Inside the display was fascinating. It covered the history and culture of the area along with the wild and beautiful country surrounding Fairbanks. Interestingly the interpretive signs were only in draft form – in some cases with examples of different layouts which I thought was a very clever way of getting the display open and accessible to visitors, instead of leaving it closed until it was all totally ready. In a section that addressed contemporary culture there was a large sign declaring ‘In winter we don’t hibernate – we celebrate!’ I guess it’s all about being acclimatized.

Next I went to the farmer’s markets and was sorely tempted by all the bounteous fresh produce with the warm sun on my back as I wandered around the stalls. Suddenly the heavens opened up and a downpour Darwin would be proud of ensued, so I raced off to the car, negotiated the wrong-sided mêlée in the carpark with finesse and drove off feeling quite accomplished to find some lunch. Cafés seem well hidden in Fairbanks so I ended up in a mall, on the outskirts of town and found a surprising good salad bar, in a supermarket of all places, that satisfied my hunger more than adequately.

The next morning it was the fourth of July. A big day of celebrations here, as you can imagine. Flags were flying proudly everywhere. People were only wearing red, white and blue.  I read the Sunday paper while eating in classic diner that the man in the hire car place had suggested. It was not unlike Arnold’s in Happy Days with booths and a jukebox sitting in the corner, pinafored waitresses refilling patrons’ coffee cups, the food stacked high on the plates, everything drowned in maple syrup. On the front page of the Fairbanks Daily News Miner was that oft-quoted line from the Declaration of Independence July 4, 1776…

‘We hold these truths to be self evident, That all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…’ The pursuit of happiness!  – How wonderful for the concept to be enshrined in a government missive!  

National Park Service - Alaskan style

Finally the day had arrived when I started work at the Alaska Region Office of the National Park Service (NPS). Of course there was administrivia that needed to be attended to first - a laminated identity card, a magnetic building key, and a log on for the computer system. To obtain those, I first needed to complete an online training course on my security responsibilities, and pass a test on the same with a score better than 80%. The course centred on protecting information and keeping a weather eye out for undesirables who would use social engineering to achieve their underhanded ends. Social engineering? – it was a new term for me although I suspect I’ve used it myself before. Currying favour? Eating humble pie? Buttering up? Oh no, that’s home engineering! I nervous as I took the test with so many acronyms to remember but was relieved to pass with an 87% test score.  

I began working with the very lovely Morgan, Alaska Region’s Fire Communication and Education Specialist and it’s busy. As you know it’s summer here and the tundra is on fire. Dry lightning is responsible for at least 90% of the 100’s of ignitions across the state. Smoke jumpers – firefighters that parachute onto the fire ground - abound. Morgan co-ordinates the information that keeps communities updated on the current fire situation as well as keeping the NPS and the other fire fighting authorities up to date with the suppression effort underway. One of my first jobs was to put together a female mannequin and dress her in the nomex firefighting uniform (sans knickers) to be included in the fire information display in the foyer of the NPS building. Victoria, as we dubbed her, is rather striking, with long eye lashes and a haughty expression that has attracted a lot of attention by staff.

I met Kevin, who works in the mailroom on the ground floor of the building on my first day. He is dry and laconic and his almost monotone delivery and his mustachioed visage put me in mind of Dustin Hoffman as Rainman. He had me laughing uproariously in the first few minutes with longwinded stories that twist and turn to demonstrate something he knows about Australia. On my second day he asked me with an absolutely deadpan expression if I had put a note in Victoria’s gloved hand asking him out for dinner. He told me that he was worried his girlfriend would find out he was being courted by an Australian firefighter. The entertainment has continued daily as every morning I check Victoria to make sure she hadn’t toppled over or met some misfortune overnight. It has been hilarious as someone (Kevin?) regularly changes her position or adjusts her pose or hand gestures.

As my first week progressed I learnt much about the differences between Australian firefighting and the American way: long tours of duty (14 days without a break – we do 3 on, 1 off, 3 on); the seasonally employed firefighters; smokejumpers; the use of scoopers – large planes that pick up water in a belly tank and heaps of other fascinating stuff.

At the end of the first week I realised that the 4^th of July - Independence Day celebrations – meant a long weekend.  So I decided to head to Fairbanks on a 3 day mission. I checked out the train fare and found it was double that of the airfare as well as being a 12 hour journey versus a short 50 minute hop in the Air Alaska 737. The construction of Alaska’s railway began in 1914 and was such a tough task in unforgiving conditions I think maybe they are still trying to pay for it? The short 467 mile (751 km) line was completed in 1923.  Apparently women were used on the rail gangs as men became a scarce commodity during the First World War. Skeptics among the work supervisors were concerned that the heavy work and the merciless environment would be too difficult for women, but they were soon silenced as the girls quickly earned a reputation as neat and fast workers – rarely missing as they heaved weighty hammers to drive the steel spikes that held the tracks in place.

I sat in a window seat hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive 20,320 feet (6,194 m) high Denali (aka Mt McKinley) as I flew northward, but high white rolling clouds as far as the eye could see, even the tallest of mountains in north America was obscured…

Juneau to Whittier to Anchorage

Sorry about the hiatus… but I’ve been busy…

So where was I? Oh yeah, back on the boat heading north through the last section of the inside passage. As we headed west from Juneau we passed the tiny community of Hoonah and fireworks were set off from what looked like a bar on the shore with a group of revelers waving good-naturedly as we sailed by. I sat in the ferry’s bar sipping vodka and tonic with Judy and Rick and Cathy and my other new friends Jocelyn and Dave, watching studiously for whales and other marine mammals.

Jocelyn works for the military and has just completed her Masters in hospital administration. Dave is her house husband with pretty strident right wing views that he’s happy to share with anyone who will listen. Interesting that the government had just paid for his wife’s study and yet he decries the Obama administration as socialist at best or communist at worst. Hmmm. They are moving back to Anchorage, Jocelyn’s hometown, to live with her parents, together with her uncle, Dave’s mother and their two young children. Quite a household!

Just as Dave started expousing the merits of Sarah Palin to the group, I spotted a pod of humpbacks out the window and we all ran onto the deck into the bracing breeze to watch the whales. Over the next hour or so I counted 23 humpbacks – many of them breeching. Dave caught one on his video and watching it back later he told me it was definitely a killer whale because it had some white on it’s belly. If only, I mentally lamented, still not having seen the seemingly illusive black fish.

As we reached the open water the rocking and rolling of the ship increased appreciably and so I took my leave and headed to bed. Lying down seemed to slightly ease the movement and I fell into a deep hypnotic sleep in my dark cubicle.

I woke with a start as we only had a short two hour stop scheduled in Yakatat and I was determined to make it ashore. I checked the time and with an hour to get organized I lurched down the hall past the beckoning sick bags to the women’s bathroom for a shower. Closing my eyes in the tiny cubicle while I washed my hair did nothing to improve my rising seasickness. The hot steam seemed to exacerbate the nausea and later in the café, an egg for breakfast seemed just too difficult to tackle. Finally we pulled up to the wharf at Yakatak and I was surprised to see that the place was tiny. No matter! I was glad to be on terra firma despite the freezing rain.

Yakatat

Umbrella aloft I marched with a purpose off the gangway and up the dirt road leading uphill from the dock. Past the general store, past the tiny timber office of the Borough of Yakatat, past the senior citizen’s centre to the top of the hill that I found to be punctuated by a pair of modest churches, separated by the formal division of a tarred section of road. Aside from a couple of half tumbled down timber dwellings, that was it for downtown Yakatat. I noticed a sign indicating a tsunami evacuation route and noted that the borough was doing a good job at risk management.

There was nothing for it, so I started back down the hill to the general store where I engaged the owner in a conversation that was quite stilted to begin. He had a hard time understanding me but we laughed together as we interpreted each other’s thick accents. I thought he had a thick accent anyway. Yakatat has a population of around 500 he told me – a thriving community. It’s actually the largest city in the whole of the USA - by area. That was the bit I couldn’t understand at first, but as we moved on to surfing we found a common language. Apparently Yakatat has an excellent swell that attracts practitioners of the sport from the world over. Also fascinatingly it’s home to the Hubbard Glacier that is one of the very few advancing glaciers left on the globe. I enjoyed a surprisingly good coffee with soy milk, no less, while sitting at a delightfully stationary table. He even let me use his wifi and check my emails. Wonderful!  Civilization in the back of beyond!

I lingered over my coffee so long that I panicked that the ferry would leave without me, so I hastily said my goodbyes and splashed back down the muddy road to the dock. I was relieved to see the ferry still held fast to the dock with its giant ropes as I passed a number of the ferry passengers with their dogs on leads enjoying the wet smells along the grassy verge of the road. On the journey passengers are allowed to bring pets with them so long as they are locked up securely in their vehicles on the bottom deck of the ship. Each morning and evening, pet exercise time was announced onboard and owners could take their animals for a quick lap of the bowels of the boat. I say bowels advisedly as the owners have to clean up after their pets during exercise time.

As we left Yakatat the swell increased, as did my green pallor. I retreated to my bed and read and dozed for most of the day, emerging occasionally to check I wasn’t missing too much scenery through the drizzling rain and low cloud. Finally in the evening I arose and headed downstairs for dinner. It was sweet that my new friends were all concerned at my disappearance for the day.

Early next morning we slid toward the dock at Whittier past the most magnificent snow clad mountain scenery. Whittier, a tiny town became important during the 2^nd world war since it had a deep port and was in close proximity to Anchorage. It was so important that the government spent an extraordinarily huge amount of money to tunnel through the mountain to gain rail access to the port for the war effort. Nowadays the 4km long one way tunnel tunnel is used alternately by trains and cars.

 Whittier Glacier

We arrived late into Whittier according to the schedule and the train I had booked back to Anchorage was long gone. I was standing on the side of the road pondering my next move when Rick and Judy pulled up next to me with their ram packed pick-up. Need a ride? Yes please!! So they squeezed me and my bag in the cab for the 45 minute run back into Anchorage.

 Whittier

Back in Anchorage I phoned the National Park Service – yes I was approved as a volunteer; work starts in the Alaska Region Office after the weekend! Woohoo!