March 30, 1995

Greetings with more Notes From North Pole,

I keep hearing the words of an old song, “when it’s springtime in Alaska, it’s forty below”. The calendar says spring is here, so at each cold spell (anything below -30°F), Alaskans tell one another (hopefully), “this will probably be our last real one”. Since these comments started March 1st, (we know that this is not the official start of spring, but Alaskans need a jump start on wishing the winter over) we have gone through a few before the real “last real one”.

The most recent cold spell (-46°F) did provide me with an opportunity to make a scientific observation. I have heard that the body physically adjusts to climatic extremes. When the temperature drops below minus forty, I wear insulated bibs and a heavy parka, over my warmest arctic duds. When it warmed up (Alaska standards) to above minus thirty, I switched to a lighter parka (rated to -50°F), no bibs, but still wore the same stocking cap, felt insulated boots and gloves. At the lower temperatures my hands and feet stayed warm with the extra-heavy gear. While at the warmer temperature, my feet got very cold and my hands went numb. I am told that this is the body reacting to the increased cold it feels with the lighter clothing (Alaska standards). It simply shuts down part of the blood flow to the extremities and keeps the body core warm (interesting, but uncomfortable).

I have become quite adept at gauging temperatures without a thermometer. For instance, anything above +10°F feels warm, the snow starts to squeek at 0°F, bare skin feels like its burning at -10°F, nose hairs start to freeze at -20°F, deep breaths result in coughing at about -30°F, and everybody disappears into the nearest warm haven at anything in excess of -40°F.

Temperatures and snow are not the only extremes in the land of the midnite sun. Recently my Chief Ranger was on a snow machine, following another Chief Ranger (Northwest Alaska Areas) through a white out. For those who celebrated spring at the appropriate time, in a white out the world simply disappears. There are no points of reference on which the eyes can focus. Distance becomes meaningless. You might be looking out 10', 100', 1,000' or greater. The feeling this creates is akin to vertigo. Up and down are about the only thing you are sure of.

Anyway, these two were running only a few feet apart and Jan was worrying about running over the lead Ranger when the machine ahead disappeared. Being of reasonably sound mind (if this were really true, what was he doing out there), Jan stopped his machine and looked at what appeared to be a flat, white, snow covered plain. The lead ranger and his snow machine were gone! After a minute of confusion, Jan slowly walked forward and then jumped back from a 30' cliff that suddenly appeared. Looking over the edge he could see his friend’s snow machine on the river below. The white out kept their vision from focusing and they could not see the drop-off. Sheer luck, lots of winter clothing, and the ice breaking as the snow machine hit the river kept the rider from being seriously injured (although he was unable to sit down for 4 or 5 days). I think I will stop and set up camp rather than run through a white out.

Weather, bears and moose are not the only trials of living in the Interior. Recently the mail returned a permit (technically required last October) from one of the subsistence users who lives out in Yukon-Charley. I had put it in the mail (air mail) to him last September (general delivery Eagle Post Office). Just before freeze up a trapper took it (canoe) down river to his cabin. One of the contestants of the Yukon Quest (it follows the route of the historic dog sled mail trail) agreed to take it (dog sled) on down to a cabin at the mouth of the Kandik River. The permittee picked it up (snowshoe) over a month ago. A few weeks ago, he ran into a trapper on the Yukon who would soon be headed downriver (snow machine) for supplies. A week ago he posted it (surface mail) in Circle. It took it 7 months to travel (air, canoe, dog sled, snowshoe, snow machine, surface) a 630 mile circle. I got it yesterday. Unfortunately, he forgot to sign it!!!

I guess, considering the problems of daily life, it is understandable that Alaskans take a backseat to no one when it comes to Xenophobia, even outstripping Texans. Often (daily) this manifests itself in relatively harmless ways (referring to the rest of the world as “outside” or to the other states as the “lower 48"). Now and then (monthly) it becomes serious (trying to explain why rural Alaska needs parcel postal rates below those of other states). Sometime (annually) it takes on a darker visage (length of time in Alaska is listed as a qualification for public office seekers). Occasionally (not often enough) those of us who maintain some touch of mental stability (come to think of it this is occasional also) are rewarded by pure comedy.

Dog mushing is acknowledged as the State’s Official Sporting Event. Hockey is OK, but everyone knows that this is really a Canadian activity. Skiing is wonderful, but that’s Colorado’s (forgive me Utah, but you are 2nd best) claim to fame. In Alaska, we are driven to be “different”, we require something that allows us to look down our collective noses at “Outsiders”, an event that sets us apart from the herd. Driving a bunch of semi-tame dogs, controlled only by voice, in temperatures of 50 below, at breakneck speeds over treacherous terrain, on thousand-mile trips through the wilderness, with tales of frozen noses, now that’s truly heroic, that’s Alaskan! This year’s events stood the challenge of Alaska. All were finished in times that did not just break previous records-they shattered them.

But, Alaskans have gone into mourning, there is no joy in Mudville (it’s close to breakup-the mud season) for Mighty Casey had struck out. “Outsiders” (any non-resident) claimed all of our sacred events (in record time).

It was sad enough when a Canadian unseated our best in the Yukon Quest (forget about the next word) International Sled Dog Race. But, as was pointed out, he was almost a citizen (lives only 400 miles from Alaska). Our transgression could be absolved, return to grace was assured, hope was not abandoned, this was only the first race of the season. However, our humility turned to shame when Montanans and Minnesotans (from the “lower 48"!!!) triumphed over our noble Alaskans (a few were even natives) in every major event. What to do? There have been several suggestions, most of which seem pretty drastic. Someone would surely invoke the constitution if we required a change of citizenship and swearing of allegiance to Alaska. Likewise handicapping fell short, how could we justify “Outside” dog drivers having to run in front of the team for a thousand miles? I don’t know how far it will go, but one possibility does offer hope. We could require a quarantine on imported dogs. Making it long enough to allow these competitors to be considered naturalized Alaskans. The dogs could be listed as contestants (they do it with horses) rather than the drivers (jockeys). We dream of arising like Phoenix, but more than likely we will simply have to accept our humanity. Believe it or not, there are those Alaskans who do not follow the dogs. A leader of one of our tourism groups admitted this failure and allowed that the only thing she knew about dogs was, “they have four legs, one in each corner”.

Diana seems to have a real knack for describing our assigned areas. She kept reminding me that Arizona (relatively new to the Union) was still a teenager. Indiana (an older state) had nothing to offer, it could be neither loved nor hated, it was like mashed potatoes, no salt, no butter, no gravy. Then, she described Alaska (a recent entry to the nation) as still being in the “terrible twos”. Very appropriate, but I hope she continues to say it quietly and not too often. Simple excommunication may not be the preferred punishment for heresy on the last frontier.

And so, once again, it is time to end this epistle from Paul.