Logbook entry: Barrow to Anchorage, Anchorage to Wasilla - when wonderful work gets in the way of wonderful work

While I was most definitely ready to see my wife, children and grandchildren again, I was not at all ready to leave Barrow or the Arctic Slope. I just didn't want to go. "How come?" Bob, the waiter at Pepe's asked as I paid for my breakfast, just before I went to the airport to catch my plane.

"Whales are coming," I said, "and I am going to miss them."

He looked at me with a perplexed expression. "They'll be back," he said.

Soon I was at the airport. I went through the usual hassle of getting through security with my cameras, computer even as I had to grip my pants so they wouldn't fall down as my belt passed through the X-ray. I then followed Norman to Alaska Airlines Flight 55, Barrow to Anchorage, non-stop.

As we flew over the Arctic Slope, the stewardesses readied no-charge soft drinks, juice, coffee, and pretzel packs, as well as for-purchase alcoholic beverages and snack boxes for the high lifers among us. I ordered cran-raspberry juice and coffee.

The coffee and cran-raspberry go well together, but combine oddly with the pretzel snack bag. As usual, I longed for the flights of old when they served full meals at no extra charge. Again, I thought about the now defunct Wein Air and how they used to give all adult passengers a small bottle of wine, which I tended not to drink but to take home instead. For a time, I had pretty good collection of little bottles of wine.

I don't know what happened to them. Maybe they are stored away somewhere, growing more valuable with each passing year.

Or maybe somebody got into them, drank them all and then staggered about shooting holes in the wall.

As we were passing over the northern flanks of the Brooks Range, I looked down and saw a dahl bighorn ram casting a giant shadow down the mountainside. See it? Right there, in the middle?

Maybe it was just the mountain, casting a ram shadow upon itself. Still, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a real bighorn standing somewhere on that ridge, peering down into the shadow.

Next marker - the Yukon River. I thought of the reality TV show "Yukon Men," filmed a bit downriver from here in the Tanana area. I didn't want to think about the reality show, but I did. I wanted to think of other things, but I didn't.

If I have my choice of seats and I book a flight going north, I always choose an "A" window. Going south, I choose an "F" window. I do this to get the best view of Denali possible, should the mountain be out.

I got my "F" window on this south-bound flight, but the pilot suprised me and took a different route than any flight I had ever been on before. As we approached the Alaska Range, everything looked different than normal. I kept scanning the mountains in the distance, searching for Denali, but I could not see Denali.

Then, suddenly, the lower and middle reaches of a giant mountain began to appear beneath the wing. "Oh!" I thought. "We are going to fly almost right over the top of Denali! This will be good!"

But, as the wing moved forward and the mountain came fully into view, I saw it was not Denali at all, but Foraker. Instead of passing by 50 or so miles to the east of Denali as usual, the plane flew between it and Foraker,

Damnit! I should have taken the "A" seat. What a view of Denali an "A" seat would have provided!

And yet... to see Foraker like this, even if it is 3000 feet shorter than Denali, is pretty special. It's kind of hard to let loose with too many "damnits!" when you get to see something like this, even though you know that on the other side of the plane there is a view even more grand..

The pilot never said one word. Some pilots alert you to look out this side of the plane or that side of the plane to see this or that, but this pilot said nothing. This pilot was absolutely silent.

I called Margie as soon as I entered the Anchorage terminal. She told me she had just reached the far end of town. This meant I would have to wait for her, but if she hit all the lights right, maybe the wait would not be too bad. The main set of lights are on Fifth Avenue and they tend to be the best timed set of lights I have ever encountered anywhere.

You might hit the first one red, but once it turns green, each following light tends to turn green just as you draw near and so you pass through downtown Anchorage pretty quickly.

Yet, the last time I had passed through Anchorage with Margie, we hit every single light red, it took a long time and we were late for the birthday party. Yet, in the past 32 years or so, I could not remember another incident like that, so the odds seemed good Margie would hit those lights green and my wait would be short.

I got my bags and took a seat on a circular bench. The temperature was 34 degrees (1 C). It felt incredibly warm. I laid my parka on the bench and began to look for the red Ford Escape.

Look! Up there in the highest windows of the train station! Is that the reflection of the red Ford Escape? Is that Margie coming to pick me up? After just a few minutes?

No. It was a taxi-cab. Twenty minutes later, I still waited. After I spend a couple of hours on a jet, I don't want to wait for my ride.

I was going slightly nuts when I heard a woman say, "Hey, Puppy! C'mon, Puppy. There will be food for you at home. I know you are hungry. C'mon Puppy! Good Puppy! Let's go home, Puppy, let's go home. Good Puppy!"

I looked up and saw this woman leading her young daughter on a leash.

I wondered what would ever prompt anyone to name their daughter, "Puppy?"*

Finally, after about half-an-hour, long after all the other waiting Barrow passengers had been picked up, Margie appeared. Every light had been red, she told me, plus she had gotten into a crazy pack of trucks - on icy roads.

I sure hope they have not messed up the timing of those 5th Avenue street lights. I hope it is just coinicidence that the only two times this has happened to us in the last 32 years just happens to be the last two times.

What if someone decided to improve the traffic flow on Fifth Avenue, retimed the lights and messed it all up?

I sure hope they didn't. I hope I am just being paranoid.

I wanted Margie to drive so I could be completely free to take pictures, but her experience with the lights and the pack of trucks had left her frazzled. So I drove.

Soon, we were on Sixth Avenue, where I saw bowhead whales in the J.C. Penney's mural. For a long time, I had imagined that this spring, I would be back out with the whalers, either in Point Hope, Point Lay, Wainwright or Barrow, but there are two reasons this is not going to happen.

First, deadlines. I must get this Kivgiq Uiñiq together no later than early to mid-May. I feel like I still have three months of work ahead of me on this Uiñiq, so it will be a challenge to get it done in a month - but I absolutely must. If I am on the ice, I won't get it done. Once it is done, I must also complete the first phase of the history project I am doing for the school district by June 30 and this will take a great deal of work and time.

I have no time to do anything else. Once again, my work gets in the way of my work. But after the nightmare of last year, I am so grateful to have this work.

Second - my belly - the big surprise hernia my surgeon left me with, the one he says he will fix with a third surgery after I have spent a year regaining my strength back. I fear what might happen if I were to subject the hernia to the rigors of spring whaling.

Yet, I keep toying with scenarios in which I might complete this Uiñiq in record time, zip back to the north, get in maybe just two or three days of whaling without tearing my hernia apart, still meet all my deadlines and get all my work done. Yet, realistically, I know this is not at all likely.

"Just get everything done you need to do now and take care of yourself," Jana told me. "There is always next year. You can go out on the ice next year."

So that is how I am trying to think, but it is kind of hard as I am finally becoming aware of the speed with which the years are flying by. Old age looms before me. Once it strikes, I am not likely to get out into that rugged, cold, environment of broken sea ice for any length of time at all.

Three more seasons.

Lord, please grant me the strength to get through this time and then give me three more seasons on the ice - just three more seasons. I believe that will be enough for me to accomplish what I must accomplish. 

You see the influence the Iñupiat have on me? I am not a religious man. Quite the opposite. Yet, here I am, pleading to the Lord for help. This spirituality is not a new thing for the Iñupiat. It was not brought to them by the missionaries. They already had it. How could they live and survive out in this magnificent, harsh, land, sea and icescape and not find such deep spirituality?

Today, the most common way to express it is through Christianity and the Lord of the Bible and it is a sincere and deep expression, even as it is an expression the Iñupiat have carried since time immemorial.

And now here I am, pleading to the Lord to help me through this unpleasant period of my life, to give me the strength to accomplish what I must do in this most important and critical time for the Arctic - even as I must put the photographic aspect of my work on hold through this spring whaling season.

And here is Margie this morning, going out to sweep the new snow off the car so she can drive off and run some errands. Yes, it hurt to leave the Slope and return to Wasilla. But it is so good to be here with her. I enjoy being with this woman. We are not the ideal husband and wife by any means, but we are the best of friends. We love and like each other despite our many failings. We enjoy being together. So I am glad to be back in Wasilla, just to spend a bit of time with her.

Come Monday, she will return to Anchorage to babysit and I will basically be alone here with the cats.

So I should be able to get quite a bit of work done then.

That is how I work best - when I am alone in this office, with Jim the black cat, who at this very moment sits between my keyboard and my monitor. It is good to have him there. He is such a big help to me.

I just heard Margie knock on my wall. The spaghetti is done. I had better go in and eat. I'll post this later.

*I might have taken some creative liberty with Puppy.

Comments

[Nancy]

First, you made me laugh out loud. I am sure you would truly remember it if "somebody got into them, drank them all and then staggered about shooting holes in the wall."

Second, if you didn't take too many liberties with the puppy story, it would make it so much easier on a little one to play being a puppy instead of rebelling against the leash to keep her/him safe yet allowing them to walk beside them.

Last -- me thinks you are far more spiritual than you would ever admit to. And I have myself banged up against "If you want to make God laugh, tell him YOUR plans." In any event, I would expect that S/He has many things left for you to do in your lifetime.

I am at the point in my life when I get up every morning, grateful that S/He has given me another day to be productive in. AND I don't consider myself religious either.....

Sending big hugs to both you and Margie -- she takes care of so many many things for both you and your family!

[debby]

I am religious myself, and I believe that not all of us use the same words, but most have us worship something bigger than ourselves. In the worship there is gratitude, and in the gratitude there is an awareness of what I call God. You might call him something different. It's pretty simple really, and as humans, we keep wanting to turn it into something more complicated. "We must all believe this, or we must all believe that..." I cannot help but believe, in my own heart, that God will sort us out later, but until then, I'll keep being grateful. Until then, I will worship.

I think that you do too.

[Suji]

My prayers to the Lord, almighty whoever is listening.. not just 3 seasons ... but many many more too...