One potato, two potato, three no more

Imagine being an old guy and stuck in your ways. Then imagine losing a favorite food. When the new Fred Meyer opned here a couple of years ago they stopped carrying several of my favorites including Betty Crocker Instant Mashed Potatoes, the only kind I've ever liked. I found them at an Alaska-based warehouse store but it was an extra 10 miles round trip to get there. Then imagine my disappointment when I went there last week to buy my winter supply and they had only two boxes in the display and I picked up both. I stopped there later in the week to find they were not only out of it, two other brands filled their usual space, I actually expressed my disappointment loudly enough it turned some heads in aisle.
So for a few days I plotted and thought about it and when I went out yesterday to shop for most of my winter's food I had picked out three other stores to try. The last on the list made my journey almost 150 miles round trip, but still no Betty Crocker.
I thought maybe I could substitute for my favorite with an off brand for the winter, and hope for new supplies next spring but that didn't sound enjoyable. I mean who wants to be stuck in the Bush with the wrong brand of instant mashed potatoes?
But then driving home and turning the problem over in my mind it came up that Amazon carries some groceries. So I checked them out this morning. They had the exact one sold in packages of four and not much more than it costs in a store around here, so I ordered a box, hoping it would arrive before I head for the East Pole. Here it is eight hours later and Amazon has notified me my package will arrive Sunday December 1, five days from now and certainly in time. And there's this, I had enough credit card points so the whole thing is free.
Honestly I don't care much from Amazon. I don't like the fact that the company and its owner don't pay taxes and I don't like what they do to local merchants. But, damn, something as simple as Betty Crocker Instant Mashed Potatoes and local supermarkets (mostly large regional chains) can't be bothered carrying the product?
Now if I could get the locals to carry the yogurt I like, the frozen yogurt I like, the frozen quiches I like and the dish wand sponges I like, I wouldn't have to go to Amazon and live with all this guilt.
Oh, wait, I am going to the East Pole with at least one of the things I like and can't find around here any more. The guilt will fade at least until the next time I have to go to Amazon.
UPDATE: The order from Amazon arrived Nov. 29, four days!

My life in Alaska

The natural cathedral

     
The question comes up now and then, "Do you believe in God." I have a tough time with that because I don't believe in a magic man in the clouds who looks over us all. It just defies logic and science too much. There are also the wars that have been fought and are still being fought in the name of some god people have chosen to worship in an organized religion.
     Then there's the idea that the ruling and monied classes keep the poor people poor by promising a wonderful reward after they die. All I can say is good luck with that.
     However I do experience a spirituality that is founded in nature, not in a supreme being, but I have never been able to explain it well. The following quote from Richard Nelson who produced the "Encounters" series and who died recently sums it up nicely from a Koyukon teaching:

“I’ve often thought of the forest as a living cathedral, but this might diminish what it truly is. If I have understood Koyukon teachings, the forest is not merely an expression or representation of sacredness, nor a place to invoke the sacred; the forest is sacredness itself. Nature is not merely created by God; nature is God. Whoever moves within the forest can partake directly of sacredness, experience sacredness with his entire body, breathe sacredness and contain it within himself, drink the sacred water as a living communion, bury his feet in sacredness, touch the living branch and feel the sacredness, open his eyes and witness the burning beauty of sacredness”

A memory of Richard Nelson
Find episodes of "Encounters" here

Up a creek

I love how sometimes a thread of comments on a facebook post will wander off into a completely unexpected direction and take on a life of their own. What follows here is a string of posts by my friend Joe May added to a post showing game-camera video of various animals crossing a creek on a log. Incidentally following this period in his life Joe went on the run the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race several times, winning it in 1980.

 In the early 70's trapping season opened Oct. 20 in this valley. There was always enough snow or accumulated frost to run a small team that could be rigged single file ahead of a narrow toboggan for the bridges. Several faster flowing creeks hadn't frozen enough to bear the weight of team and sled and had a convenient log, or one dropped deliberately in the right place (there were NEVER two trees in the right place to make a wider bridge). It took coaxing to cross initially but for the dogs it became a game in time. A high wire balancing act of the finest kind, not always successful, but maybe nine out of ten crossings with dry feet. I would give anything for a video of some of those episodes: dogs, sled and human in the creek splashing and scrambling to get out, with a campfire and tea on the far side to dry out.
Good memories. All the discomfort of a wet ass and cold feet.have long faded from memory.

I once had a nasty overflow creek on a trapline. To cross it, on memorable occasions, I pre-gathered a pile of dry firewood, twigs, and bark atop the sled bag, tied my boots, pants, and long johns around my neck, stripped down to one pair of socks, grabbed the leaders' neckline, and hauled ass for the far side, sometimes knee and once belly deep. That may sound extreme, but you see, for ten minutes of discomfort I had the creek behind me, dry clothes on, a hot fire, tea heating, and I was fit to go to work drying dogs and harness. Provided you're not in the water very long, even at -30F, it isn't threatening until you come out, with or without wet clothes. The trick is to plan ahead to prevent a protracted wetting.

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Note the sled had no brake and it was steep hill country. That made the "downs" a lot more iffy than the "ups," especially at night with a half-dead two-cell, carbon battery flashlight that took one hand off the handlebar. A thrill most modern mushers will likely never experience.
That's a .41 mag hanging on the handlebar— in October the bears up there were still out and about.

Imagine if you will coming down steep hills, with no way to brake, often ass over teakettle, with a hodge-podge of stuff in the sled. I had no mentor or how-to book until I found a copy of George Attla's "Training and Racing Sled Dogs." It was literally a self-taught exercise from which I importantly learned how not to do things. I gleaned so much from George's words. The learning experience actually gave me an advantage over other mushers during races who hadn't had the opportunity to make those mistakes and learn from them — yet.

— Joe May

George Attla "Training and Racing Sled Dogs