What I learned in Alaska

Here are a few random observations about living above the 58th parallel, with many thanks to my friends at Gastineau Guiding Company who shared this incredible adventure.

Wear rubber boots, preferably Xtratufs, they are suitable for all occasions. You can fold down the tops for a more stylish look; you can even pair them with a party dress. No one cares. Dressing in South East Alaska is all about the practical. And given that it rains or snows at least 230 days of the year, Xtratufs are your best solution. They help you get to like the rain. In fact, after a while, rain acts almost like an aphrodisiac: When the sun at last comes out, you fall in love all over again with living here, the views are so glorious. When the sun comes out, people forgive you for breaking appointments just to go climb a mountain -- if you wear your Xtratufs, that is.

Bald eagles have squeaky voices. Their high-pitched chirps are as common here as the cackle of a raven. I am told that Hollywood movie moguls found the sound too wimpy for the imposing national bird, so they dubbed the eagle for the more commanding call of a hawk. Roughly 30,000 bald eagles live in South East Alaska, their food sources are so plentiful. At low tide, they stand side by side on the mud flats fishing for mussels, clams and salmon. There is a Tlingit saying in Juneau, “When the tide is out, the table is set." And another: "If you haven’t seen a bald eagle today, you didn’t get out of bed.” Yes, I saw them every day on the treetops or the wetlands.

Native Alaskan eagle; contemporary American portrait; eagles feeding at the salmon run.

Bears are shy ... mostly.  Both brown and black ones melt into the forest, more intent on foraging for blueberry, salmonberry, huckleberry and bunchberry or fishing during the salmon run than in chasing you. Except for the trash bears. They are beasts of courage who hurl your trash can about and jump on it until stale pizza boxes burst forth. Regardless the type of bear, always carry bear spray. You never know what's around the next bush.    

Fresh halibut is fabulous. Alaska is known for wild salmon, but halibut, it's flesh sweet and firm, I think is so much more delicious. It makes excellent fish and chips. The very best in Juneau is made at The Sand Bar, a hangout the likes of which you would never want your daughter to go. The beer there is cheap, the patrons checkered and the fish crisp and juicy. But halibut or salmon are hard to find fresh. Most people fish for themselves and freeze the extra to get them through the long winter. If you don't fish and hunt, you aren't a true Alaskan.  

With apologies to Greg. I took him to the Sand Bar for halibut after we climbed Mt. McGinnis.

Get a boat.  When the water is calm and the whales breaching, there is nothing more glorious than floating between endless ranges of snow-capped mountains to watch the mammoths of the ocean feed and play. Getting out on the water is an essential part of life in South East Alaska, and a primary reason people live here. Better still, take a float plane to explore the truly wild and out-of-the-way places.

No halibut for Keith today; float plane takes us to Fortress of the Bears; Nick and Keith try to teach me to fish.

Mountains can intimidate. Rising almost vertically out of the water, they are on a different scale in Juneau. For months I was afraid to climb them. Roots, rocks, bogs and rivulets of water on the steepest of slopes imaginable trap your every step. The spiky devil’s club plant pierces your hands and bushes scratch your legs. But once I gained the strength to climb 4,000 vertical feet and break through to the tundra zone on Mount McGinnis where snowy peaks and glaciers were spread out before me, it was truly magnificent - a true mountain high that lasted for days. Mountains feed my spirit.

Donna, Carly, Michelle, Greg and me climbing Mt. McGinnis

Most Americans have lost touch with the earth. I came to Alaska to guide in the wilderness. What I hadn’t expected was cruise-ship guests for whom a one-mile wander in the rainforest would count as a risky adventure. So many people have become so urbanized that to walk without asphalt under foot is a step on the wild side. But once in a while a guest would hug me after a hike, eyes filled with joy and give thanks for opening her eyes. If I enabled just a few people to experience the awe and wonder I feel for the natural world, even in the rain, then my summer has been worthwhile. Now we must work to save it.

Raincoats aren’t waterproof. Not even Gortex ones. After three hours, they leak. You have to re-waterproof your gear regularly if you live here.  Or wear two raincoats at once.  But never carry an umbrella. That's a sure give-away that you are a tourist.  

Dropouts, odd balls and misfits are welcome. Ask how the old-timers got here and there's a good chance they got high in the '60s, lived on a commune and kept on rolling until they reached Alaska. Today is little different. Step away from the cruise-ship docks and diamond stores on South Franklin Street and Juneau is home to aspiring artists, musicians, van-life people who bed down beside the forest at night and the gender queer. As long as you need the wilderness to feel truly alive, you are welcome (even more so if you write bad poetry, sing and strum a guitar).  

I began writing this driving down the spine of the Rocky Mountains, slowly re-entering the other North America, where wild spaces are crowded and human intervention has reshaped the land. Silence in the lower 48, I notice, is rare. Unlike Alaska, you cannot hear the quiet heartbeat of the world for all our engines and electricity. We prioritize conquering and extracting from this beautiful land, we don't listen to it, and now we are paying the price.

I drive through swathes of forest that are blackened by wildfires. The skies are smokey, a red haze. I am hard pressed to find a glacier in Glacier National Park. The Great Plains are dusty expanses. Crops are dried up and withering in the fields.

Alaska is a vast natural space where I feel at once both small and wonderfully whole. It is a precious place in a precious world we must work hard to preserve.