Thurrrrrsday aaaafternooon

Thursday afternoons are when I usually do my running around, grocery shopping, errands and such. That usually involves multiple stops for school buses here and there along about a 20 mile route one way. Thinking that part would be easier this week given that it's spring break i embarked today on what was supposed to be a trip less stressful than usual. Silly me. I HAD TO STOP FOR THREE DIFFERENT MOOSE WHO WANTED TO CROSS THE ROAD. The last one stood straddling the yellow line for a while before she figured out where she wanted to go. At least there were no calves around to worry about. They will be showing up soon.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave

Talking last night at work about how the time of day we drive home is when police are watching every car for that little indication a driver is drunk, the wavering in a lane, failure to dim lights, turn signal staying on forever, driving too slowly. We also came up with the idea that for us, most likely the same police officers are on duty every night and they might get to recognize our cars and after a while realize we are commuters and are regulars going home from work, so probably not drunk.

So, with that in mind: while driving home last night I had a battle with a piece of gum. Nicotine gum might just have saved my life. I quit smoking Jan. 10, 2004, but since have chewed the gum regularly. Every once in a while, I get a piece that seems softer than usual and those pieces tend to stick to teeth and almost anything else they touch. Such a piece exposed itself last night during the journey. I first noticed it when it clung to my teeth. Pretty soon it was stuck and stretching between upper and lower teeth and threatening to cement my mouth closed. It took forever digging to extract it from my mouth and it came out with long strings still attached to teeth. With some finger digging, I finally removed the whole piece, but then it was stuck to my fingers.

I kept rolling it between my thumb in forefinger trying to get a hard ball that I could dispose of but it wouldn’t harden. I finally produced something symmetrical and lowered the window but when I threw it, the gum adhered to my fingers. With several more rolls and wrist snaps I finally flung it overboard, I thought. Minutes later with my hand at the top of the wheel I noticed a lump on my thumbnail and on closer inspection realized it was the ball of gum.

Here we go again. I tried to lift it off with my other hand but only part of it came with me. Now I had a string of gum connecting both hands and the more I tried to pull it off one, the more stuck to the other and pretty soon I had something of a spider web of nicotine gum connecting both hands and the strings only lengthened when I tried to pull my hands apart. Eventually of course, some stuck to the steering wheel and it was at that point I realized all the time I had been wrestling this gum I had been kind of weaving back and forth in my lane,

Now I was doing the very thing I had worried a policeman would pull me over for. I felt like Br’er Rabbit and the tar baby if anyone remembers that reference (It is one movie that will probably never come out of the fabled Disney vault). And how would you explain to a cop who thought you were driving drunk that it was all about a piece of gum? I slowed down, got the gum under as much control as I could and because I was only about a mile from my exit, drove on without fighting it any more, both hands at the top of the wheel as close together as possible to prevent the web from spreading any more. Once off the main highway I pulled over to the side, found my roll of paper towel and stepped out. It took several minutes to get all the gum off my hands and then the steering wheel and then the gearshift. With most of it gone, I thought, I went on down the blue highway, of course chewing a new piece of gum. Who knows if I got it all, I will probably still find some when I get in it to go to work today. I know there was still some gum and paper towel on my fingers when I got home.

On the way, I passed three police cars stopped with their lights flashing. In their headlights I saw they had a woman standing and she had been handcuffed. I wanted to shout “blame it on the gum,” but chose the wiser course and went on home.

Oh, btw

The Chocolate President is still in charge of the Ivory Coast. And OMG, chocolate supplies are held up meaning the supply of chocolate Easter eggs is seriously threatened.

A mystery probably solved

The answer to those small pointed shoeprints knocked on the door yesterday. I looked out the window and a Suburban had pulled into the yard, one with wide tires that probably made those mysterious ones a few weeks ago. I rushed to put some clothing on and went to the door. Two women stood there, one off the porch right where those mysterious footprints had been; I couldn't help but think of backup from a police show, the one standing back with a hand on her gun. Both were probably in their 40s very well dressed and perfectly made up. Would I like to hear good words from the Bible? Yeah lord. I liked the mystery better. They reminded me of a similar meeting at my door in Cleveland years ago when i was more of a hothead. Those women were wearing fur coats and had a little girl with them. When I told them I had my own set of beliefs they tried to engage me by asking what they were. I didn't feel like going any further and said part of my beliefs involved not killing animals so I could look pretty. They rushed off and that was that. With these mystery Christians I was more polite and simply said no thank you and started to close the door. They left peacefully. Now the only question that remains is do Christians sneak around in the dark setting off motion detector lights?

The last airplane on skis

As the red and white Cessna 180 hit the first bit of turbulence from the updraft along the last mountain massif, its pilot looked past the snow-covered mountains, past the white and a panic began to grow in his stomach. The world stretched out in front of him brown, the brown before the green of the spring burst he’d hoped he would outrun, but he saw no welcoming patches of white anywhere in front of him. He leaned to glance out the side window and look down, skis, they were still there, that hadn’t changed. He sensed more than heard movement in the tiny cargo bay but when he looked all he saw was a bundle of fur where the wolf slept under its medicine. The biologist had told him he had at least three hours before the sedative wore off and the animal came out of it. He looked at his watch and then turned again to the country passing below him, searching franticly for that patch of white or a still-frozen lake that would offer him a place to put the airplane down. None of it provided him with even a sliver of confidence, not like the confidence he’d felt when he told the supplier he wouldn’t need the skis with wheels and saved himself a little money ...

A bit of background: Every year as warmer spring-like weather releases the snow, I will notice a small airplane or two with skis, flying over and apparently looking for a place to land. The same happens in the fall when everything freezes overnight and there is that last airplane on floats. Airborne with no place to land. Thought it might be fun to explore that adventure.

A man for all seasons

Yesterday Facebook informed me that two friends are having birthdays this week. One of them is going to be 23, the other is going to be 72. I fall somewhere between them, not saying where. This situation comes up on a day of a Super Moon and on the vernal equinox. Not looking for any specific meaning, I'm just sayin'.

We do it for the stories we can tell

The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race generates so many stories. While there are lots of people around to report them, some of the best never reach the point of publication. This is one such. It came up the other night when I was reminded of it while telling stories of covering the race as a writer. This one could be filed under flying as well as sled dog racing, or even dumb things journalists do. Choose your place.

We were flying from Golovin to Nome in a Cessna 206, the pilot, two television news people and myself. For the most part we flew through a gray out; that’s like a white out only gray with some precipitation in it. Picking out landmarks from the air proved difficult in the flat light and to add to the difficulty, the pilot, good as he was had never flown Alaska’s Seward Peninsula before. He flew low attempting to follow the beach line or at least the sporadic line of exposed driftwood sticking above the snow at the high tide line. The pilot handed his chart to the fellow in the other front seat, whom I will not name because he has since reached national network exposure and recognition for news reports.

He rotated the map a couple of times, a sure sign of a person unfamiliar with navigation. To the right of a westbound airplane, there is land and some low mountains, to the left, the Bering Sea, sometimes covered with ice. There are three promontories to be passed on the way from east to west before reaching Nome. Mushers driving dog teams go up and over them, people flying airplanes go around them.

Realizing the fellow with the chart was not to be trusted and from my boating experience having some knowledge of navigation, I watched the shoreline, too, and kept track of those promontories. First came Bluff and then Topkok and we flew on westward. Visibility degenerated to virtually nothing. On the approach to Nome from the east, once the airplane passes Cape Nome, the largest and last of those promontories, the pilot has to turn toward land more to the northwest. When the fellow supposedly navigating told the pilot we had passed Cape Nome he turned to the northwest thinking he was heading for the Nome airport.

At this point I was pretty sure we had not passed Cape Nome, which is a significant mountain that rises directly out of the sea. Not wanting to correct a pilot which is a horrible breach of any kind of professional etiquette you can think of, I held my tongue hoping we would see it in time and all would be fine. However, visibility worsened still more.

The time came when I couldn’t stand it any more. I was sitting directly behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He lifted his earphone off his ear and I told him I was pretty sure we had NOT passed Cape Nome.

He did what I have heard pilots do when given adjustments by air traffic controllers, that is perform the maneuver immediately without question. I had just barely finished the sentence when he laid the airplane almost on its side in a hard left turn heading out to sea where nothing would stand in our way.

In short order Cape Nome slid by us, it seemed reaching to touch the landing wheels. As it turned out we had been within a mile of that severe snow-covered rock face almost invisible in the gray out, and flying straight at it at a speed of about 100 miles an hour. Do the math for how long it takes an airplane to fly one mile at 100 mph. Simply, whew, that was close. If I hadn’t said something we might have flown straight into it without ever seeing it.

Not too much farther along, the city of Nome came into view and we made our landing. After I had retrieved my gear from the cargo area, I happened to catch the eye of the pilot. We stood for a moment looking into each other’s eyes, nothing said, but the understanding passing between us that we had just survived a very close call. I am not sure the other two passengers even realized it.

That was the last flight in a small airplane I ever took on the Seward Peninsula. Every one of the flights up there had involved some kind of adventure like this one and I am just as happy if I have to in the future to take a boat or a trail.

Diversity? I don’t think so.

So, the company I work for allows employees one day a year to celebrate their diversity. Loosely based off the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday it supposedly allows employees to take a day to celebrate whatever their ethnicity or religion honors to recognize their particular brand of diversification. Given the life I have lived, that I am living, and the one I want to live, it seems to me every day is a diversity day. Being a Jones which means ethnicity is not an option and not being particularly religious, choosing a day has been a bit difficult. As the natural order of things is what brings out what spirituality I may possess, I usually look at the solstices or the equinoxes, planning if asked to answer that I am a Druid and pray to Stonehenge at the passing of each of the events in the solar year. I usually prefer the Spring Equinox as that is when weather is perfect for dancing around the East Pole. Such was the case this year and for some time I have been planning a spring expotition to the Pole to celebrate my diversity over a three-day weekend. However, as I write this I already should have been there by now, warming up the cabin. But something so undiverse as a cold has prevented that trip. I NEVER get sick, that also is my diversity, but here I am laid up writing about diversity instead of out there being diverse. It is the clear, warm days and clear cold nights that make this time of year at the Pole special, but I woke up today to a snowstorm, so there is some satisfaction that I am not missing my special Equinox weather. So, my lack of diversity is celebrated with a common cold and asking what exactly is diverse about a snowstorm in Alaska in March.

There goes the neighborhood

Often there have been bald eagles perched in trees along the river. But they are moving closer. About a week ago there was one in a tree near the little creek i cross before i get to the blue highway. Then today two more, this time even closer, just around the corner from the house. Now, what are they finding this far from their normal perches. Haven't seen many hares this winter. Maybe some smaller neighborhood pets are disappearing. I looked carefully but neither was wearing woman-sized cowboy boots.

I saw the light, no more darkness, no more night

Drove home under northern lights last night, getting better and better is i passed out from under the canopy of light over the city. Along the blue highway in several places people had stopped and were out of their vehicles looking at the sky. Just a slice of perfectly colored cantaloupe moon low in the southwestern sky under the green and yellow rays of aurora.

Patience and persistence

One mystery solved, sort of. Stopping on the bridge of a starry night …So the light on the river showed again only this time I stopped and gave it a good long look despite the fact I had forgotten the binoculars. Sure enough, it was a strobe. I had thought it might be going on and off as trees passed between us, but no, it was definitely intermittent. It seemed small enough to be an emergency signal from on the river ice but that's because it was farther away than I thought. So once I realized this I had to think through what it could be and came to one conclusion. About 10 or 12 miles away in the direction of the light there's a small but controlled airstrip. Because of the distance the light had seemed closer to the ground than it was. So, most likely that light is a beacon for pilots seeking that little airstrip in the dark. With that one taken care of all that remains are the mystery mushers, footprints, strange lights and pixie dust.... The plot is thinning.

Just for proof: This is what i found about the airport on the Internet. I believe the light I am seeing is under the "Lights" heading but i never saw any green.

Birchwood Airport Operations

Airport use: Open to the public
Activation date: 10/1949
Sectional chart: ANCHORAGE
Control tower: no
ARTCC: ANCHORAGE CENTER
FSS: KENAI FLIGHT SERVICE STATION [800-478-3576]
NOTAMs facility: BCV (NOTAM-D service available)
Attendance: APR-AUG 0800-1800, SEP-MAR 0800-1700
Wind indicator: yes
Segmented circle: yes
Lights: DUSK-DAWN
ACTVT MIRL RY 01L/19R & VASI RY 19R - CTAF.
Beacon: white-green (lighted land airport)


View Larger Map

MAP EXPLANATION: Reduce the size one or two clicks then move the map until the "A": is in the lower left hand corner. That's Birchwood Airport. Now if you look toward the upper right, find the words "Knik River." That is actually where the bridge that i saw the light from is and it shows the line of sight to the light. Isn't this all just fascinating? Sending away now for my Sherlock Holmes deerslayer hat and a Meerschaum pipe.

It's quiet out there. Yeah, too quiet.

It has come to this: It is 9 p.m. in the newsroom of the largest daily morning newspaper in Alaska. It is dead quiet and only two of us are here.

As if there were need for another reminder

In the almost six years I have lived in the shadow of this mountain I never seen a dog team around here. Today after watching the start of the iditarod, I headed for work and even before I got to the curve at the end of my road there went a team. Then, as I made the turn another passed. My first reaction was, boy, did you guys miss the trail. The Iditarod started 50 miles west of here and headed off in the opposite direction, so that was highly unlikely. These sleds were loaded, though, the old kind of long basket sled and it sure looked like these two fellows were on more than a day trip. They both waved as I slowed down so as not to spook their dogs and then they disappeared into the woods on one of the trials heading toward the river. Another mystery?

Well, if that wasn't one, another did pop up. Last night and again tonight as I crossed the bridge over the river, to the south of me there was a bright light quite a way downriver. It looked strong enough to be a strobe. Last night I had wondered if I should go check to see if someone might be stranded on the ice. I was glad to see it again tonight so there is some other answer. I will try to remember binoculars tomorrow and look for it if it is there tomorrow night. Add them to the list for sure... there may be a story here yet.

Just for balance

Don't you know. Realized it got a little heavy around here with a lot less Alaska and a lot more, well, other stuff. But, in my defense, there are interesting things outside Alaska. But, these two pictures are to bring us all back on task, subject and focus. Plus the real Iditarod starts today so there is that return to the subject.

And for the record, here is an Iditarod story. One time in the late 80s during an Iditarod race, I returned to the East Pole after some time away. I had heard a public radio station started in the area and while I was getting things in order, I found it on the radio and tuned it up. Then I went about the business of moving in again, keeping the fire going, hooking up the propane, unpacking, sweeping out the place. Radio was having some kind of a radio reader program and I didn't pay that much attention. It was barely in my consciousness as i was lost in thought putzing around my home. Still, every once in while something said on the radio sounded vaguely familiar and it stopped me for a minute, but nothing ever registered.

Finally a particular phrase caught my ear and I stopped to listen to the last half of what was a long paragraph and realized this sounded awfully familiar. I listened more intently and recognized every word and that was when the realization came over me. The first thing I heard on KTNA radio was someone reading MY book. WOW. Talk about a rush.

So anyway welcome back to Alaska with Attitude. The pictures are simply gratuitous.

and even better

OK, I promise... no more Lady Gaga on here.... back to Alaska and those mysteries

This story just keeps getting better and better

If you need an explanation for this picture, scroll down to the video of the little girl playing the piano.(Downloaded from Facebook)

Curiouser and curiouser

High winds, a clear sky and faded northern lights made for an ethereal drive home and a new perspective on a lingering mystery. Yes, another. Just think if these could be strung together we might have another Lake of the Coherees on our hands. (Obscure literary reference). Along the road in several areas there are serious guard rails for keeping errant drivers on the road instead of off in the pucker brush. And here and there are the wounds where they have done there job. But one of those dents in the horizontal corrugation is puzzling. It makes sense that metal bent by a vehicle leaving the road would be bent and crimped away from it, concave from the road side if you will. However one lengthy bend is convex from the road side as if some sort of vehicle came roaring up the bank and hit the rail from the off-road side. It is bent toward the road and at the top of a fairly long and steep embankment that rises out of a muskeg sort of swampy area. Now how did that happen? And for that matter how is it related to pixie dust, strange footprints left by a woman or a small cowboy and lights coming on for no apparent reason. Looking now for a rabbit hole. Perhaps a looking glass will provide that insightful perspective.