GoPro: Hiking to a Dredge

It's finally here: My GoPro HD Hero2! Took it out for a practice run yesterday to snowshoe to one of the gold dredges just outside of town. Took some getting used to, and I still need to work on stabilization and composing my shots better, but it's not too bad, all things considered. 

It was about -8 degrees when we left, but got increasingly windier as we got closer to the dredge and dropped to about -20 with windchill. I was feeling pretty close to mild hypothermia in the dredge so I stopped filming once I couldn't press the buttons on the camera anymore (we did make it to the top of the dredge though!). Managed to get a couple more shots on the way back through a ground blizzard, which looked pretty spectacular in the sunlight!

Let There Be Light!

Today has been a very strange day. First, I had to get up at 3am(!) to be at work to Skype with a high school biology class in Pennsylvania, coincidentally not far from where I interned at Shaver's Creek last summer. It was a pretty cool experience, using an iPad to talk to a classroom of 26 students 4 time zones away. We Skyped with them for about 45 minutes, showing them our visitor center, telling them about our jobs with the NPS, and answering questions. They were supposed to be asking us about climate change and the arctic, but most were more interested in what it was like to live in Alaska!

At risk of sounding like an old person here, I'm gonna say it anyway: I could never have imagined using technology in this way, even 10 years ago! Though it's still an imperfect art, it was a good run-through for a first time remote classroom program.

Well as it was, I decided to stay at work and get stuff done in the wee hours of the morning so I could open the visitor center at 8am and then leave for the rest of the day by 1. I did end up getting a lot done, and although I felt like a zombie running on only a few hours of sleep, the morning passed quickly.

That was when I noticed the other strange thing about the day -- it was BRIGHT out! Like, real actual normal sunlight, not that sunset bogus we've had for the last 3 months. Okay, so maybe that's a little harsh, but I am impossibly happy to see how high the sun is in the sky (which still isn't that high). I wasn't even that annoyed when I realized it it was hitting me in the eye through the window when I got back to the bunkhouse. It's amazing how different everything looks and feels; it's a cloudless day and the world just seams brighter with the sun reflecting off the snow and the white mountains contrasting sharply with the vivid blue sky. Too bad it's freezing cold as death outside.

I hope it stays this nice, because that brings me to my other bit of good news: I finally got my GoPro camera! It works great, has everything I need and then some. Now I just need a way to get out to the mountains to test it out...

Things are finally starting to pick up pace all around, work-related and otherwise. Preparations for Iditarod are underway; final revisions to the visitor's guide are being completed; I'm applying for jobs like mad; working at the town Winter Fest this weekend; winter training begins in a few weeks; travel plans to visit Shishmaref and Serpentine are in the works; and so many more things I know I'm forgetting.

It's getting a little crazy, but I'm glad to be busy. I'm glad for the sunlight. And I'm so glad to be here (even though I'll also be glad to come home in a couple months!).

Life in the Bush

I have been intermittently aware over the last few months that I've failed to thoroughly described to you what it is really like to live in the Alaskan bush. Maybe you've gotten some idea if you've read enough of my posts, or if you remember some of my initial deer-in-the-headlights reactions when I first moved here 7 months ago.

But every so often, I am reminded that what has become daily routine and "normal" life for me was a totally foreign concept last year and still is for 99% of my friends and family.

The "beach"

If you think I'm living in the wild, think again. I mean, I am in some ways, because although Nome is home to over 3,500 people, it is literally surrounded by tens of millions of acres of nothing but tundra, mountains, and wilderness to the north, and the Bering Sea to the south. However, it's no Las Anchorage either: there is only one paved street, no stoplights, and no roads connecting Nome to the "outside" world. The only way to get in or out is by one of 3 Alaska Airline flights per day, weather permitting. These also bring in the cargo and supplies needed to run a functioning town. For local travel, bush planes offer daily services to the handful of villages around the Seward Peninsula and northwest Alaska, or in the winter you can snowmachine. But for all intents and purposes, Nome is in the middle of nowhere. Flying in at night, the moon is brighter than the twinkle of town lights, and it illuminates the landscape such that you can hardly even pick out Nome from the air.

Some weeks, cargo shipments don't come in because of the weather and we won't have very much fresh produce or meat, or sometimes they freeze on the way over and go bad before they can be sold. And if you plan on eating anything at all (which is often not in great condition by the time it gets here), get used to paying $3-6 per fresh fruit or vegetable,  $2-4 per canned good,  $5 for a loaf of bread, $10/lb for meat, or $5 for a box of cereal. If you eat out, expect to pay at least $12 for a sandwich, an order of Chinese food, or any hot meal, or $25+ for a pizza. The only chain restaurant in town is Subway (it doubles as the local movie theatre).

In the winter, the isolation of this place is much more obvious than it was in the summer. With the tourists and gold miners gone, we are down to just the locals. On any given day, I'll see a man riding a 4-wheeler down the road with a dead seal bouncing around on the back; a request for moose liver or whale meat on the local town listserve; a reindeer riding in the back of someone's truck; a mid-day drunken street fight being broken up by the state troopers downtown; dog mushers training along the road; or tiny children bundled up in their fur parkas, playing in the street totally unsupervised. The culture and customs have become surprisingly commonplace to me. From hearing the unhurried local dialects, to expecting the long, exaggerated stories when talking to someone, it all makes up the tapestry of life in the Alaskan bush for me now.

Old St. Joe's Town Square

Nome feels to exist in its own little bubble, sometimes seemingly forgotten by time and the outside world. Most of the local and regional news is provided by the radio station. Every hour on the hour, the weather is read out for every village in western Alaska. This is sometimes followed by a reading of local announcements ranging from "Doris of such-and-such village wishes her nephew a happy birthday," to "Jim, please drop off Betty's box at her home, 111 Blank St.," to "Play with and read to your children," to "Jesus loves you." A few times a day, traditional King Island drumming will come on, an eclectic playlist of any kind of music you can imagine, some national or world news, and a mock traffic report ("A car is driving down main street. Now it just parked. Sir, if you're listening, your headlights are still on."). Followed by another hourly reading of the weather.

There is so much more to say about Nome and rural Alaska. I could write an entire other post about the rural education system, the Inupiaq culture, and so on, but that will have to wait for another time. It's hard enough to even begin to accurately and sensitively describe the basics.

Holding a Flat Stanley from a student in CA
under the Iditarod finish line

So much of my perspective has changed in the 7 months (to the day!) that I've been here. I wonder how much more it will change in the next 2, and after that when I have returned to the lower-48?

January on the Tundra

January has been an interesting month so far. Work has been moderately busy with various publication-related projects, but otherwise relatively uneventful. The last couple weekends have been warm enough to bring on winter storms and thus great snowshoeing opportunities. 

Battling the blowing snow

Last weekend the wind was extremely strong, probably a steady 20-30mph with even higher gusts. Snowshoeing up a mountain proved to be a trying task, but great fun nonetheless.

Up we go!

Snownado

There were these snow tornadoes ("snownadoes" we dubbed them) that would come spinning up out of nowhere on the harsh wind. It was really cool, unless you got caught in the middle of one, in which case it was just cold and icy and you couldn't see anything for a few seconds.

The Kigluaik Mountain Range

Once we got to the top of the ridge, the view was spectacular. The Bering Sea far away to the south, and the Kigs range to the north. Even more incredible, when we crossed to windward side of the ridge, the wind was  driving at probably 60mph up over the mountaintop! It was strong enough to push me over, and I could lean against it with all my weight and my arms out and it would hold me up! Most amazing feeling in the world -- it felt almost as if I could just jump up and fly away on it (except that it probably would have just thrown me back against the rocks!). I wish I had gotten a picture of everyone leaning against the wind, but it was so cold and icy with blowing snow that I didn't want to risk taking the camera out.

Abandoned tour bus

The next day conditions were worse, so we took a lower-key excursion out closer to town. One of our friends knew of this abandoned tourist trap that hasn't been used in probably the last 5-10 years or so. There were broken down tour buses, gold panning troughs, a tourist train, and other such kitschy things

Abandoned building

Tourist trains

You know you live on the tundra when...

This weekend we're in yet another winter storm warning so I'm not sure if we'll make it out. The wind has been nearly constant all week, driving at a good 25ish mph -- so steadily that the icicles on buildings have frozen sideways!

Doodles of Summer Past

And finally to finish off, I thought I would include a little doodle I did the other day of the summer... Certainly not a masterpiece, but it was fun to reminisce and try to tie everything together in one picture.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

Hello (2013), Goodbye (2012)!

2012, what a year. A week before the 2012 New Year, I had only JUST seen snow on the ground for the first time in my life, and now I live in the arctic and trudge through it every day to work. A year ago this month, I was in Honduras, exploring Mayan ruins and snorkeling through the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef system for school. Just 2 months later I found myself in Iceland, doing volunteer work, hiking across lava fields, waterfalls, and glaciers. Two months after that, I graduated with two Bachelors of Arts degrees, high honors, and a bunch of awards. And after turning down 5 job offers, a month later I landed in bush Alaska where I now sit tooting my own horn because, hell, that was quite a year and it deserves a little shout-out! 

Perhaps I'll write a more reflective post on it later, once I have had more time to reflect. But for now I'm struggling just to keep my head above the flood of backlogged of photos and stories I keep accumulating from my winter adventures. 

After an unnaturally cold November, we went through an unnaturally warm December that brought with it many days of snow and cloudy weather. But at least the temperature was in the 20s and 30s, which felt like summer compared to the -25 degrees we experienced earlier. And of course, warmer weather and more snow means more of my favorite thing as of late: Sledding! 

Wheee!!

Sometimes it also means a face-full of snow...

Hello!

The weather over Christmas weekend was great. Warm, sunny, and snowy. Even got snow on Dec. 25th, making the dream of a "White Christmas" come true. My housemate and our friends spent pretty much every daylight hour snowshoeing and sledding outside of town.

After Christmas, the storms began. Real, honest-to-goodness tundra storms with 35mph blowing snow and whiteout conditions. Radio weather advisories warned not to go outside but as soon as it was light enough, out we went!

Snow blowing across the road -- blew the sea ice away!

Whiteout at the top of the mountain

It's hard to imagine a whiteout if you've never experienced it. Basically as we were hiking, it became literally impossible to differentiate the ground from the air, from up or down, left or right. Everything was just glowing white. You would put your foot out in front of you, and might encounter nothing, or plow right into a snowbank. It was probably one of the most disorienting experiences of my life; yet on the verge of panic the brightness makes the blindness seem somehow less confining.

My coworker trying to see the top of the mountain

Two things made the whiteout bearable: 1) we were on a mountain; even if you couldn't see where you were going, you could more or less feel the incline of the ground and make out some rocks every now and again, and 2) the weather improved as we made it to the top. By the time we reached the peak, although it was still blowing at about 30mph, we could see the pass below us and the mountains across from us.

Muskox huddling in the snow

Once we made it to the bottom, we spotted the local herd of muskox lounging on one of the hills. I hadn't seen them since the summer, so it was nice to know they're still around. 

Made it almost to the top, where the bare rocks begin

On New Years weekend, we braved the roads a little further and hiked up a higher mountain about 15 miles out of town. Still super windy, but much better conditions for hiking the steep peak (much steeper than it looks in the picture).

Taking a break at the top

And then came New Years. It didn't seem like as special a day as I feel like it normally would. It came with some sense of relief, some sense of stress, some sense of numbness, but mostly felt rather anticlimactic and not necessarily in a bad way. I shelled out $12 and went to go see The Hobbit in Nome's one and only little movie theatre (which you pay for and get in through a Subway restaurant), managed to stay awake until midnight, and walked downtown to watch the fireworks on the snowy beach amidst a slew of happily drunken Nomeites.

The fireworks

Boom.

Happy New Year!

January 1, 2013 dawned cold, gray, and windy, but my housemate and I drove out of town a little ways to snowshoe on the tundra for a while as the sun peeked through the clouds.

January 1, 2013

What does this year hold in store? Will it be just as much of a roller coaster as 2012? I can only hope so. Even with all the bad stuff and good stuff that happened, with some friends lost and new friends made, with weaknesses faced and inner strength found, I hope 2013 can be just as good, if not the beginning of new and even more wonderful things.