Alaska journal September 2001

And you look out at Cook Inlet where the cold pacific waters flow in and where it breaks off Knik Arm. A small body of water shimmering orange as the sun sets over the mountains, toward the northwest where the cloud cover is thick and gray all the way to the top and the sunlight buffers the snowy mountain chain and you smoke and drink and breathe in the Alaskan air— Anchorage, sitting on the banks of the marshy knik where geese and ducks feed and bathe in the shallows and a small squirrelly creature with cute little head and ears that are drawn back, pops his head out from a rock and stares at me for a good 8 seconds, at least and then he pops away and its nine o’clock at night and curious that the sun hasn’t set yet. Elderbeary Park is a small park across from 5th street and across from the Caribou Inn where we are staying…. And then I think of our plane descent, it’s amazing how bright the sun shines above the heavy cloud cover and you can see the mudflats gleam and the Borem Mountains begin to push themselves up into view as we tear into the clouds but back on the ground, in sparse anchorage you can only see the mountains stretched across the north— intermittently toward the west and it’s a comfy cool sixty degrees and yes I made it to Alaska…. And I get two weeks to see all that I can with my explorer Robin at my side.

And now I sit in a café by day/bar by night place for a couple of cups of coffee— somewhere on 4th street. Walked 12 and a half blocks down 5th street just to find a damn cup of coffee and I didn’t even find a gas station or convenient store— just gift shops, hotels, parking garages and, anyway, except for the clouds again it’s a beautiful day and I can still see the mountains and the further up the street I travel, to the east I can still see those mountains and they get bigger the closer I go. Anyway, Robin’s back at the Inn, hopefully in the shower because check out time is eleven and we have to catch a bus to Seward at 2:30 and on we go.


Seward. The bus driver calls bears big raccoons. We’re staying at the Taroka Inn. After having taken a two hours bus ride from Anchorage, ( after having walked and window shopped along 4th street) and a young kid from the Caribou Inn gives us a ride across town to the Seward bus terminal— a small almost hidden station more like an office space and the bus, unlike the Greyhound sized buses, this is used more like a shuttle bus for handicapped— it’s got two rows of seats, twenty all together but anyway, it’s September and the tourists are all but gone— on this ride are locals probably hitching a ride to work. I mean they’re locals all right— a waifish long haired man with a prosthetic arm, another man wearing a cap who’s voice is so hoarse from cigarettes and smoke and when he smiles he’s missing teeth and another huge quiet black man sits staring out the large window another guy dressed in flannels and jeans, unshaven and sleepy as if he just came from a pool game at the bar and another guy up front, studious, tidy with short hair wearing glasses and his flannel shirt is tucked in beneath his belt. He chews gum. He sits near the driver leaning forward and talking with him. He says he’s from Alaska but never been to Seward and the driver a fat jolly bald man with a booming voice flies down the Seward Highway buzzing around the slower vehicles— born in Seward and he likes to talk about the little towns we pass, the lakes where he fishes, the woods where he hunts, the rivers that he canoes and he’s kind of a smart aleck— "okay I knew there would be one wussy on this trip." He said that to a guy who wanted him to stop so he could take a piss. They all seem to know each other as they refer to each other by their first names— and Rocky, the driver, just talks away about life and things and the drive itself is simply incredible— the mountains the mudflats; the whole drive is just a scenic trip through raw rugged snow marked mountains on each side of the bus ( back in anchorage when I was looking out across Cook Inlet I didn’t realize that two bodies of water broke off from it; one, Knik Arm was where I sat and gazed and smoked; the other, Turnagain Arm, hugged the Seward Highway out from Anchorage) and so the first hour of the ride we watch Turnagain Arm— a muddy wide shallow river like a body of water that runs along the twisting chain of mountains— and after Turnagain, the waters disappear and the road just cuts through the terrain. The driver is a bear guide, used to be and he tells the guy next to him stories about black bears, brown bears, Kodiaks and Grizzlies. Seward he says is starting to show signs of black bears coming in at night to forage for food in the alleys, late at night. He says you’re not allowed to carry fire arms in town so you can’t shoot them but he says he’s thinking of getting a crossbow. One time, a friend, shot a two thousand pound brown bear that had sauntered into his yard— he told police that it was going to attack his dog but, he thinks it was just an excuse to shoot the biggest damn bear he ever laid eyes on. As we drive, passing warning signs staked along the road for heavy moose traffic and that 194 have been killed in this stretch of road. During piss break, robin says she’s scared of bears and Rocky says bears are just big raccoons. Eventually we arrive at Seward and the Taroka Inn. It’s a nice big two bed hotel room with kitchenette. Seward is a small harbor town. On one side of the road are the mountains and on the other, Resurrection Bay that at the moment harbors an ocean Princess cruise ship, tour boats (like the Kenai Star which we will board tomorrow), small fishing boats, giftshops, and restaurants and a little further south, a half mile or so is the local neighborhood, a small neighborhood. Taroka Inn is off 3rd street, really the corner of 3rd and Adams and is only a 20 minute walk back to the harbor where there’s everything we need to take care of ourselves for a couple of days— a Subway, a cool restaurant, a food mart, a gift shop (for our nephews) and further up the road, a stones throw from the inn, Yukon Liquors.

Seward was decimated in 1964 by the earthquake but then half hour after the quake, 30 foot waves battered the poor small coast. Damage was complete.


The boat trip was cool. Seven hours on the Gulf of Alaska, far from the Lower 48. A good day too. In the fifties, grey vault like sky, clouds cutting across the jagged tips of mountains and lingering as if volcanic heat were radiating from the mountainside. We walk down to the small boat harbor and across the street from it, there is a murky lagoon (waters edge is murky because of the silt from the mountains that drains down and makes it look dirty) and there are pine trees across from the lagoon and we see a Bald Eagle sitting on a branch— his white feathered head stuck out so much that he could be seen easily despite the green flora— even from 75 yards away but it was quite amazing seeing an eagle for the first time.

So it’s 9:30 am and we cross the street to our restaurant where just last night, I ordered a plate of "super nachos" with extra cheeses and extra jalapenos which much to painful surprise, they kicked my ass and I couldn’t finish it off— a heaping plate full of cheese and tomatoes and sour cream and salsa and jalapenos; but on this next morning, it’s a tasty shrimp omelette for me and onion/bacon omelette for robin. Hot sweet cup of coco; after we walk across parking lot to Subway to gets subs for later on the boat and then its off to the Major Marine office to get our tickets.

The first animal we saw, as we pulled out into Resurrection Bay was another Bald Eagle standing on a marker sticking out from the water, his feathers soaked, probably from a morning snack and dive into the bay and he gets annoyed by our gawking, camera flashing ways as the boat pulls up close and he spreads his wings and flys away like a pissed off king. The mountains to our right, over Seward are tall sheer drops with trees and bushes thickening on the mountainside while the mountains across from the bay are raw bare and snowcapped.

The first interesting thing we pass by is Bear Glacier— named after the bears that populate the area in the spring— it’s not what you would expect as it looks like two rivers that merged into each other, that merged in between a widened valley and then froze— it doesn’t look active but who knows? It doesn’t quite look like ice either as it is blue tinged throughout— you see patches of glaciers frozen high atop mountain pockets, frozen into the ice and mountain, on we go… and then a little passed Bear Glacier, almost out of the bay, a strange event occurs— the clouds break open and there’s blue sky and sunlight washing over formidable landscape— we hadn’t seen sunlight since Boston on Friday and today is Monday which ordinarily isn’t a long time but the gray gloom of Alaska is so complete it feels like you’ve been locked away in it for weeks.—

And when we get outside the bay, suddenly two playful Humpback whales (earlier we saw 2 sea otters floating, curling, and swimming on their backs) that were very cooperative and entertaining— one jumped out of the water and splashed down heavy for us— everyone was awed by them; they dove, they swam, they slapped their big white flippers on the water. Robin laughed saying one guy said to her that he had 22 pictures of the whales tail going under. Nearby, two porpoises raced quite fast passed the boat— so quick it was tough to follow them with my camcorder eye.

We passed into Aialik Bay heading to the featured attraction of the tour and on into Holgate Arm where chunks of ice bergs floated passed us, the air grew quite cold as we moved closer to Holgate glacier, what is known as a fjord glacier— there is an inactive glacier on our left, sheeted with ice and rock and unmoving— but the active is intense— a huge wall of sharded ice, groaning from pressure, cracking, chunks falling off its side and rolling down the face like an avalanch— in the middle of it near sea level, there’s a wide mouth, a cave of ice where tidewater comes pouring out in a constant rush like a waterfall; and the boat motor stops and we all listen, and watch for the next patch of ice to fall— sometimes you hear it groan or split somewhere but you can’t tell from where and then there’s silence… and then you guess its going to cave in to the right and then a swoosh of avalanching and breaking ice falls from the left side and splashes into the water. A harbor seal swims nearby, deciding not to hop upon an iceberg.

A little passed the half way point of the trip, Captain Dave brings us into the Chiswell islands, the southern most part of the trip, which consists of some round islands designated as wild life refuge— where we see the nesting grounds of the black legged Kittiwakes, hundreds nesting, nursing in the cliffs and cracks of the island rock— they look like the common seagulls found anywhere in the states but slightly smaller build. I hear the parks ranger say there’s a falcon nearby and the Kittiwakes scatter into the air like a cloud of white smoke. Puffins fill the water like hundreds of black and orange beaked rubber toys… and finally we come upon a group of resting sea lions groaning and moaning on the rocks at the base— brown skinned creatures flopping on the wet rocks— a picture perfect moment for everyone on the boat, a most memorable scene of sea lions talking barking bragging…

And back at Taroka, we’re pretty exhausted and relieved to be there.


(rain, rocky attitude, two backpackers at Whittier, high tide at Turnagain, white Beluga whales, soft rain in Anchorage, berry pickers along highway median to Seward)


And so we really lucked out— as we packed our bags this rainy morning, we feel lucky that the rain came after our cruise which it could have been a miserable cruise in the cold rain. As we ready ourselves to leave, the old bear guide Jack is supposed to pick us up at the inn between 9 and 9:15, suddenly at 830 while I’m in the bathroom he shows up early. Well, fortunately, he’s going to go do another quick pick-up and he’ll be right back, just enough time for us to get our stuff together— of course, I told him quite firmly that if he wanted us ready at 8:30, you or the office should have told us…. Anyway, the rain is quite heavy and relentless today and the bus windows are foggy and beads of rolling water. I wipe off the condensation so I can still look for wildlife and mountain views that I might have missed coming into Seward. Heading north again through Moose Pass and Rocky is quiet on the return ride. He doesn’t seem to have any listeners for his stories as these folks seem to be quiet tourists and contemplative backpackers. As we reach the junction of Whittier, two backpackers— French or French-Canadian ask Rocky to pull over because they are going to hike the road to Whittier. Rocky pulled over, wipers moving back and forth and says, “Good luck.” They walk off the bus and Rocky closes the door and we move on. “Good luck. They’re going to need it. It’s 19 miles to Whittier and then they have to catch a ride through the tunnel— three miles of it. There’s no other way. Nineteen miles in this. They’re going to need all the luck in the world,” Rocky said.
Turnagain is unrecognizable now— the mudflats and rocks all gone and filled up with tide water and the coast looks like a wide river, thirty to fifty feet deep maybe, of surging ocean and it’s so deep that two white Beluga whales swim alongside us in the glazed current— their white heads rising up… and down. It was Rocky who first saw them.
All in all it’s a nice return trip and we’re back in Anchorage where the rain has eased up a little, in fact it’s now a soft rain and very tolerable as we walk up and down 4th Street and 6th Street, shopping for knick knacks to take home. For some reason I remember seeing a family pulled over along the road to Seward who were out picking berries.

Ok the shuttle bus into Denali Park begins at 10:15 and ends at 9: pm that night so we were a little unprepared— food wise with just a few snacks— pop tarts, chips and candy. Anyway coming into Denali— dramatic colored landscapes filled the entire stretch of 85 miles through the terrain. The road is paved but once the bus enters the actual designated park it becomes rock and dirt. The first phase of the ride was the lower tundra, the wet tundra which was a mix of red brush and green pines sweeping along the valley floor and fresh snow capped mountains of the Alaskan range to the south and the outer range in the distance. Our road goes through and over some mountain rock and sand, dark reds and greys of mountain outcroppings and all around the leaves are in peak season and the autumn colors intensify the mood of the land. That also feels strange coming from Boston, still in the last stages of summer to Alaska where fall was everywhere. You add into the mix of reds, yellows, purples and gold leaves combined with the glinting sunlight off the peaks and trees— it’s all so amazing. We drive over glacier fed rivers— Sanctuary River and Teklanika River and wide expanses of pebbly streams across them. Suddenly we’re driving up another mountain, switch backing along steep cliffs. Sable Mountain. Polychrome Mountain. I look in the valley and can see Toklat River branching off into smaller veins in the rock and mud and more mountains jumbled across the landscape radiating rustic colors of rock, snow, sand and sky and sunlight and valleys rising and falling and glacier cuts. As we drive around Divide Mountain, the highway pass, Stony Dome and Stony Hill, it’s much cooler as we ascend to the highest point in the road and it’s so cool now the driver has turned the heat on. Windows close up. Jackets go on. The snowy peaks getting closer and bigger and the cliffs are steeper so the bus slows down carefully navigating onward. Then I can see the snow— not the general whiteness from afar but distinct windblown lines and I can almost feel the powdery thickness. As we leave the mountain road, the valleys level off and next we move on to the high tundra where the forests are clearly gone and it’s mostly brush. At Wonderlake (our destination), rain clouds pass over intermittently, strangely drenching the right side of the bus. Then rainbows, two magnificent rainbows over Wonderlake. On a clear day, this is the best vantage point to view Mount McKinley but the cloud cover is fairly thick up there and most of it is hidden but for its two massive peaks above the clouds. That’s okay. At this point the weather has been so cooperative, I can’t hold a grudge against nature— most people who come here don’t even get to see any of it due to extreme clouds. I’m grateful just to view its white murky bigness in the distance.
Now the first animal sightings along the road were three caribou feeding in the distant tundra and because of the great wide open spaces I regret not bringing binoculars. Instead I try to use the zoom lens on my camcorder but it’s too inconsistent and I shrug and leave it up to my eyesight. At Primrose Ridge the evergreens (taiga) thinned out and it revealed an impressive Grizzly Bear, maybe 500 pounds of him, which for Denali is big. Only the Grizzly’s near the salmon grounds reach the legendary 1300 pound monster size for the salmon have lots of protein and the bears grow bigger because of it. The bushy bear stood on all fours and picked at a berry bush. The next animal sighting was just after Polychrome Mountain— which personally was my animal sighting highlight and I was lucky enough to get it on video. A mother grizzly and her two cubs were feeding along the roadside and very peaceful, content and unbothered by the presence of a bus parked in the middle of the road and they were so close I heard them breathe and snort. Everyone sitting on the left side of the bus of course invades our side for pictures and videos and the bears well they just minded their own business and stayed just long enough so that everyone had their fair share of pictures. For me to see a live grizzly in the wild was a dream come true, magical, humbling. The bus driver told us that a mother grizzly, in this park, successfully fought off a larger male as she protected her cubs and how the same male, they speculated, chased down, killed and ate another female. Another time they watched a wolf chase down a Dall sheep (they are scattered throughout the park higher up in the mountains as a way to stay clear of predators and you can see them grazing) behind the bus parked on the road— as the wolf gained and it looked like all was lost for the sheep, at the last minute the sheep leapt up on the mountainside and was able to outrun the discouraged wolf along the rocky terrain. Next we saw red fox hunting along the tundra, nose down, tail slightly bent. Artic ground squirrels popped out here and there. At Wonderlake, me and Robin took a short hike to the lake as a full rainbow shone above us. The water was ice cold. I picked up a flat rock and put it in my pocket. Above us Golden Eagles with bright white patches beneath their wings circled over smaller birds as if they were harassing them from their nests. At Teklanika River I grabbed a handful of rocks from the riverbed. Near Sanctuary River Campground, only a couple of us witnessed it, a moose emerged from a trailhead at which point a grizzly appeared out of the blue and chased the moose back into the forest. The idea that Grizzly bears are all around you as you hike and wander alone is quite spooky.

All aboard white water rafting— 2 to 3 class rapids that flow down the Nenana river canyon. We are fitted for our body suits and it’s amazing how well they work even after I jumped into the river I was dry and comfortable when I climbed back aboard the raft. We’re given life jackets, helmet and an oar and as our river guide explains what to do if we fall in, it’s terrifying just thinking about it. But the raft is a pontoon type raft and very stable in the river. My right foot is hooked into a foot lock and body positioned just right along the side. The first two rapids my stomach falls into my throat but once I get the feel of the boat and the river, body position, and the way the waves react, it all becomes quite fun— soon enough I’m loving it up and down like a wet amusement park ride. Then there are quiet gentle lulls as you drift forward beneath amazing canyon walls and the whole time you look for sheep or eagles but there are only a few shaggy nests and gray silt bars along the banks and the water is grey too with murky sediment. After eleven miles of river and rain we exit the river in the town of Healy. As we drive away, off the roadside, two hunters are skinning and gutting a two year old moose— their first kill, one said, since they got their license to hunt five years ago.

Denali cabins, south of the park. Gift shops, lodges, hotels, the Smoke Shack and Lynx Creek Pizza. Mush Mountain.

And today, a late awakening. I’m writing and drinking coffee and eating a chocolate chip muffin and then I stroll outside into the cool but sunny day and make of fun of things in the gift shop and then walk up the road and wonder about an early supper at the Smoke Shack. Tomorrow we board the train to Fairbanks. Seems like everyone’s leaving Denali— since yesterday and into today and tomorrow. The summer is over. I can feel it in my bones and my thoughts. There’s no doubt and it’s always sad to see the summer slip away into oblivion and memory but at least, autumn takes away some of the sadness. The shops are closing for the season and selling their stuff for 50% off and cabins are closing and the workers— kids, maybe college students are returning home to the lower 48, getting back to their lives with friends and schooling. Very few tourists are left. Hardly anyone, really. I can feel winter approaching, the cold oncoming Alaskan winter. Though it rained outside the park yesterday, it also snowed at the Eielson Center. Visitors are boarding trains or lining up at gas stations. Soon it will be time for us as well. Time to turn northward and bust it for Fairbanks.

Reread Kerouac’s Lonesome Traveler last night. Beautiful American work. The guy may have been a bum but man, he could write. Anyway, in the morning frost coats the grass, the rooftops and walkways. Wayne Knight, the Seinfeld character, Newman is in Denali filming a commercial for ESPN— probably something for the upcoming football season. I’ll have to keep my eye out on the commercials when I get home. I haven’t thought about sports once since I’ve left— not football or the approaching baseball playoffs. At 10 this morning we are going on a short ranger lead hike. I’m afraid to go alone because a grizzly has been spotted around so I figure I can follow the ranger around and pick his mind about the local plant life. At 2:45 we have to be at the bus depot to catch our train.

In Fairbanks now reading my journal and thinking about yesterday, our last day in Denali when we went to the horseshoe lake trail, about 2 miles long— with the ranger and a small group and I was very brave in the company of others figuring if we were attacked by the grizzly, well I and Robin could at least outrun the others and not become snacks. Of course if I suddenly walked into a crowberry bush, with a snacking grizzly then damn I’d be bumming. In fact though, the only wildlife I saw was some scattered birds and beaver dams. However there were fresh animal tracks in the mud. At this point Robin and the group had moved on and I was alone studying the distinct prints. I lingered and filmed the prints until I thought what if it was the grizzly and now I’m all alone so at that point I bolted for the group. After matching the animal prints with animal prints from a coaster or napkin, I forget what, I determined that they had been fresh wolf tracks. They weren’t huge lumbering paws or thick hoof moose feet. It made sense too that it might be a shy wolf moving undetected through the area. Anyway, back with group I identified the white and black spruce and the quaking aspen and the willow bushes and pumpkin berries and an array of small wildflowers and mosses and lichens. The ranger points to the trees where moose have gnawed at the bark to eat during the sparse winters in the park. Beautiful, morning hike, cold and brisk and sunny and clear and perfect conditions to view Mount McKinley. At the cabin, we packed up our bags (during our stay we had to switch from room # 10 to room # 45— a bigger family sized cabin with a large porch and chairs because a water pipe under the sink had burst when we were out.). Soon we were on the free shuttle to the Denali depot and we were checking in our bags.

$21.70. Cab fare from the train depot to the north woods lodge in Fairbanks. That’s about a six or seven mile stretch. North Woods had no shuttle van or just didn’t want to bother picking us up so we took a cab. At least we had a rental car there waiting for us for the remainder of our Alaskan stay. After a quick stop at McDonalds, a liquor store and food shopping run, we buzzed back to the lodge and had a few drinks, watched a little TV and relaxed. Later, after Robin went to bed, I hung outside and smoked and drank and pet the lodge owner’s resident Alaskan husky (maleution) named, Bear. There are a couple of guys outside staring at a hissing campfire. Hostel resident, Matt from Australia. Another kid, an electrician who’s just traveling and thumbing and living as cheaply as possible. Matt started the fire hours ago and as I look around, the lights are all off and I’m pretty sure no one else will be stopping by and the woods are all dark and spooky and Bear sleeps now, snoring and the guys call it a night but I remain and stare up into the sky, looking for it. The sky is half cloudy to the north but clear and starry to the south. So at 2 am it’s lights out for me as well.

The next day we were diverted from the lodge to a cabin. Apparently a large group of Germans would be staying at the lodge, coming in from Brooks Mountain. It was a little walk up in the woods but very cozy with electricity, TV and wonderful view from the small deck. Anyway, doesn’t seem to be much to do in Fairbanks although it’s probably only half true as I’m a little worn down after twelve days on the road. We visited the University of Alaska museum and then the Alaskan Pipeline. At night we had drinks and smokes and waited for it again but it was a no show. But though it was a clear blue day, clouds had moved in by nightfall and so we went inside the cabin and played Boggle, ate potato chips and watched preseason Monday night football. And at one am with clouds hovering still over the sky we called it a night. Tomorrow night we would be in North Pole Alaska.
I woke up during the night and groggily noticed the TV was still on. The sound was turned off so I left it alone… woke up again and thought the TV was a window with cold frost all around the edges and a small flame in the middle was melting the frost but as I half propped my head up, trying to decide it was a real window or not I fell back on the pillow… at 9 am I woke again having to take a big piss and I slipped on my shoes and walked outside, jumped off the porch and pissed behind it. When I walked back in Robin was awake watching TV. She said the World Trade Center was on fire. We turned up the volume only to discover four airplanes had been hijacked by terrorists— two planes from Boston! And two of them had kamikazed into the towers, and one into the Pentagon and yet another in a remote field in Pennsylvania.
This saddened me greatly, angered me and put a huge metaphorical cloud over us and our return trip, which will be tomorrow but as of now the FAA has closed all airports and looks like we’ll be in Alaska for an extra night. My heart is sick as the details come out. I want all terrorists burned alive. I want to stamp on pictures of their god and spit and piss all over it. Osama bin Laden is the number one suspect. Get that fucker. So, I’m in a bad mood now and despite the fact that America has changed in the blink of an eye, our lives have to go on.
We drove to China Hot Springs— 60 miles east. The TV coverage is unbelievable and I can only remember the OJ trial being so front page, twenty four seven. It was a beautiful day, clear blue sky and the hills were alive with autumn color and the quiet is deep and undisturbed. We hiked the ridge trail behind the spring and the resort and it was steep and muddy and I’m guessing we’re close to the top as the tree tops round off under the sky and all I can think about is how my heart just isn’t into the hike. I can’t get the attack out of my mind. Robin is tired and cranky and wants to turn back but still, she leaves it up to me to continue or not but I just can’t gather up emotion to go on. I just want to go to the North Pole and get our room and relax.
On the drive passed Fairbanks were many parked cars and trucks (hunters) and RV’s along parts of the road. Just outside the North Pole city limits we happily discovered the Birch Tree Bed and Breakfast.

Finally. My first Aurora Borealis sighting. At about 10:30 pm, after the sun had completely abandoned the sky, ribbons of light came across the dark— at first the light kind of hangs there, like a rainbow, except that it is breathing in and out and then it divides into three, no four splinters of light and still breathing and the splinters grow larger, brighter and subdivide. They continue to swell and transform with each other until the yellowish green light is suddenly one again and you don’t know how it happened right before your eyes and as I crane my neck, I swear I can jump and grab the shifting light but then, as I’m planning to rob the sky, another beam of light appears, like a ghost and it cuts across the blackness. It’s light is like that of a lighthouse, burning diligently, spinning except that it’s light is changing all the time as if a solar breeze were shaping it and it curls, folds over and disappears, like smoke and then it reappears on the other side of the dark in the starry cloudless night. (I’d see another one the following night but not as intense) so anyway, its 2 am and the b&b is sleeping but the light dances on, disintegrates and mushrooms out like fireworks in slow motion and as I finally tear my gaze away from the sky, there is but a vapory band left and it is eerie and spooky and I half expect a space ship to land at my feet.

The next day was supposed to be our departure day but… we were supposed to fly from Fairbanks to Chicago at 6:25 but for the second day in a row, all flights are cancelled. So where does one retreat to in times of world turmoil, death and such hatred of humanity? The Santa Claus house, that’s where. Amazing how color and lights and Christmas music can soothe the savage beast. So we stop in to say hi to Santa and we posed for pictures with him and he wished our nieces and nephews a merry Christmas which I got on video. The street lights are painted red and white like candy canes and street names are Christmas related— Snowman Lane, St. Nicholas Drive and Santa Clause Lane.

Just found out we can’t leave no later than September 19th and that’s a full week beyond our original departure date. There are alternatives. Tomorrow, the 13th, we are going to the airport and try to catch a flight to Seattle, standby.

Man do I feel refreshed. We got into Seattle this morning about 430 am and saw Tom and his friend, Todd, a huge Kerouac reader, who we met at Fairbanks International. Somehow they got aboard the 3:00 flight, fellow standbys to Seattle. Tom said if we hadn’t given up, and gone back downstairs, we would have surely made it on the flight with them. We only gave up because the airline clerk told us there was no way we’d make that flight and that our best bet was to go downstairs and change our tickets yet again for standby to Chicago at 6:20 am. That explained why Tom never showed up again— he was already in Seattle. So stuck in Fairbanks still and tired, disgusted, confused, angry and restless… After the attack, the airports were closed on Tuesday, the attack and Wednesday (our departure day), Thursday and Friday, although the FAA gave permission for small planes to fly in and gather up hunters who were out in the bush. I was upset too because I couldn’t get any information except what I heard through ABC, NBC, OR CNN in cabs or restaurants. But no one said anything about how to reschedule our flight. I should have just called Alaskan Air but because the airport was closed, I figured the whole network was closed. Come Friday morning, after a restless sleep at the Birch Tree in North Pole, we arrived at the airport at 6:30 am. The 7:15 flight took about 10 stand-bys; myself, Robin, Tom and Todd were the last four and we figured to have good odds the rest of the day. But I was way wrong. A long day filibusting at the airport, trying to escape Alaska. The 11 am flight came and went. The 3:00. We remained. The airline clerk told me that there were only two cancellations and we were number 5 and 6 on the list. We saw Tom and Todd going upstairs to gate 4 to “hang around” as we were getting in line for stand-by on the 6:20pm. “See you guys at 9,” he said.

6:20 pm. Stranded with two gay men— the four of us ready to pounce on the first opening. I nickname them good gay and weird gay. Downstairs we waited in line to try our luck at the 1 am and if that fell through, there was a 6 and 7:15 to Seattle. The worst time for me was the wait from 7 through 10 pm as I huffed and puffed and cursed just about everyone that looked at me, especially the gay guys who I now saw as common enemy, both of them standing in our way to home. At one point as I was walking ahead of them to be the first stand-by check in, when they both decided to run passed me, deliberately, knowing full well where I was going. I so wanted to run after them and kick their feet out from under them. The 11:00 came around and our seating area just kept filling up— we started counting people, which didn’t help. People came and went to the lounge and CNN. I was certain there was no way we were going to make it. Robin was hopeful but I was an angry mess. At 12:45 Robin was huddled around a group of about 10 other stand-bys at a kiosk and they were trying to find out if they at least had a chance. Robin came to me very casual and said, “I don’t want to get your hopes up but she said there was twenty eight open seats.” That was the longest ten minute wait of our ordeal and I think I went through puberty all over again.
“Utley. Party of two.”
It felt like we won the lottery.

Saturday night in Seattle. We now have a confirmed flight to Boston tomorrow but who knows, things could change at the drop of a hat. I look up from my journal and have no idea what time it but we’re going to get a room and a six pack.

Home safe. Smooth flight but nerve racking, considering the tragedy. We left a rainy foggy Seattle but above the clouds, I finally got to see the entire Mount Rainier— its big clump of volcanic rock just busting to explode one day but the cascades and lakes and rivers quickly disappeared behind us. When we finally landed in Boston and the plane stopped, the passengers erupted in big applause and it was yet another surreal moment in an otherwise surreal ending of a vacation. I also suddenly felt very fortunate that we left on September 2nd and not on the 11th and man, how the world changed in the blink of an eye, forever. And as we approached our building that day, I couldn’t wait to hold our year old kitten, Zorro.