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From the editor: Eye-opening trip north teaches lessons

December 16th 2:29 pm | Carey Restino Print this article   Email this article   Create a Shortlink for this article

A few months ago, I thought I knew Alaska. I'd lived here more than half my life, after all. I'd had all the quintessential Alaska experience — I've driven the Alcan five times, had more dogs than children, shoveled myself out of my house, and I do an about-face when someone comes into the coffee shop wearing a tie. I also thought I knew Alaska as a journalist. I can spell XtraTuf without looking it up, have photographed duct tape costume contests, and know a rough history of the Permanent Fund Dividend.

But what's that saying about how the more you know, the more you don't?

I am here to say, I knew nothing.

This week, I traveled 600 miles from Homer to Northwest Alaska for the first time (not counting the hour I spent on the tarmac of Pruhdoe Bay a couple weeks ago before being turned back to Anchorage.) I arrived in Kotzebue in the wee hours of the morning, bleary-eyed, and was greeted by my enthusiastic and highly caffeinated host, Al Peacock. It was dark when I arrived, and a storm was brewing, so Al whisked me off to breakfast at the shiny new hotel in town. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I have rarely felt instantly at ease than I did at that point. After meeting Al's wife, Pat, we zoomed around the community, touring downtown, the hospital, visiting holiday craft sales, gawking at the prices in the grocery store, and being introduced to endless people whose names I will struggle to commit to memory.

Everywhere we went, people knew Al. He's a teacher, and peo- ple didn't just wave at him, or nod, like is often the case elsewhere. People of all ages stopped and talked to him like he was one of their best friends. It was hard to get anywhere, but on the other hand, it wasn't like we had to, real- ly. Surprisingly, people also recog- nized me from my picture in the paper. I've been a writer for a long time, and never had so many peo- ple know who I was. Lesson No. 1: Anonymity has no place here.

As we did all this, the storm worsened. It was literally a whirlwind adventure. At one point, I walked out of the post office, came around a corner and was hit with a wall of wind that nearly knocked me over. People wore goggles everywhere, and snowpants appeared to be pretty much mandatory. On the other hand, half the town seemed to be driving something other than a car, so snow-pants were a very good idea. Lesson No. 2: Cars are not mandatory, they are optional, as long as you dress right.

I don't know how hard the winds were blowing by this point - Al said there wasn't much snow coming down from the sky, it was all being kicked up from the ground or coming off the ice. But despite the weather, people were going about their business, perhaps with a bit more of a tilt to their walk, but no one was really grumbling about it either. In most places, a storm like that would have shut down the world. Here? Not so much. Lesson No 3. Weather is only as bad as your attitude toward it.

That night, the winds blew so hard, I could feel the Peacock's well-built house shake. I felt like I had landed on another planet, but at the same time, it was amazing to hear the forces of nature at work, winds zipping across ice-covered oceans and scouring tundra. In the morning, it was all over.

Morning, however, is relative. The sun comes up just slightly above the horizon around 12:30 p.m. this time of year. It dips down shortly there-after. But in that time, I was able to get out of town with a friend and see what lay beyond the narrow streets. Here's what I saw — space. For someone who has always lived among the trees and hills, zooming across the rolling expanse of the tundra was a liberating experience. It felt invigorating and terrifying all at the same time. Like most of Alaska, this was not a place you wanted to get lost. On the other hand, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face the whole time. Is there anything more freeing than being able to see for dozens of miles in all directions? Lesson No. 4: Space is good.

I was later treated to a wide range of foods I'd never eaten before — seal, berries in bear fat, caribou and whale. I enjoyed them all, much to my surprise. People back home had touted these foods as virtually inedible. To me, they tasted similar to the things I treasured — wholesome, nutritious and most of all, straight from the land and sea. Lesson No. 5: Don't believe everything you hear.

The rest of my visit was a whirlwind of events and activities. I saw things I'd never seen before, people wore different clothes, related to each other differently, had a different economy and a different view about their place in the environment. Through it all, I never was able to shake the sense that here I was seeing something completely different from anything I had ever seen before. It goes way beyond the town's obsession with airplane schedules (manic) or the speed at which snowplow drivers move (very fast). It goes to the root of the fact that the people living here chose to live in a place that is unique on such an extreme level that preconceived notions from outsiders like me have no place. I'm grateful for the lessons and experience and I can't wait to come back and see more.

 

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