Anchorage, a trip down memory lane

I recently traveled to Anchorage for the state school counseling conference.  It was my first time back in 12 years.   Growing up in Bethel, Anchorage was our big city, a special place for us Bush kids, with all the people, cars, stoplights, restaurants, hotels.  "Grandma!" my brother exclaimed on the phone on a visit to Anchorage as young children.  "This hotel is so nice!  It has flush toilets and everything!".   Back then, I  puzzled over the men I saw wearing suits in downtown Anchorage  "There are a lot of Mormons here!"  I told my mom.  In my world, only Mormon Missionaries dressed up.

Indeed, the counseling conference was full of school counselors with the tell-tale signs of Bush life.  They were the ones dressed in hiking boots, jeans, puffy jackets or fleece.  I know what this is like, having been an itinerant social worker to 6 Yupik villages.  Back then, my wardrobe was best suited for stuffing myself into small 4 to 8 seater bush planes and keeping myself warm and dry as I walked between the landing strip and schools, schlepping my overnight bag and sleeping bag.   I went years without wearing a skirt.  Forget about fixing my hair --mostly it was static-ey from wearing a warm hat so much.   Itinerant folks and people who live in rural Alaska deal with the challenges of extreme weather, travel, isolation, running water,  lack of access to things such as fresh produce and dairy.  Not surprisingly, the turnover at these schools is high.

"You look very nice," a professionally dressed older women at my table tells me.  "Where do you live?"   I tell her Metlakatla and she looks surprised.  "But you look so urban!"  she exclaims.  Talk about a back-handed compliment.  "Thank you.  I think."  I responded.  The divide between rural and urban Alaska is big in so many ways.  She managed to come off like a snob, and take a swipe at bush Alaskans all at once.

Counselors fresh out of graduate school and new to Alaska were the most fun to talk to --the adventure of it all burned bright in their eyes.  For my part, life in Metlakatla is easy and comfortable in comparison.  "Alaska light,"  I think of it.   We have paved roads, a nice supermarket with fresh produce and reasonably priced goods (compared to the rest of rural Alaska), and, very importantly, flush toilets.  Not sure I could live with a honey bucket again.

The School Conference itself was well done, similar in quality to the last three state conferences in Colorado.  I mentioned this to the president, a counselor from Haines.  "Do you know Corey and Matthew?"  she asked me, referring to former Colorado school counseling presidents.  Not personally, but I did.  "It probably seems similar to the Colorado conference because we've worked a lot with Corey and Matthew".  The counseling world is small, apparently.

Apart from the conference, I visited Robin Reich and her family, and Sharon and Dan Boyette.  I spent A LOT of time as a child playing at their home, and it was great fun reminiscing.  On Friday I drove out to Wasilla to spend the evening with Jaci and Steve Murray and the kids.   Between Washington, Oregon, New Mexico, Colorado and Alaska,  Jaci and I have found ways to visit each other in the years since high school.  

As pleased as I was to reconnect with my roots,  I was happy that we didn't live in Anchorage.  Cities are not my thing, and Anchorage traffic is especially annoying.  (Not nearly as bad as Denver though).

Traveling home, I was on the milk-run to Ketchikan, with stops in Sitka and Juneau.  I wasn't happy about all time spent waiting around, taking off and landing, but at least we were graced with clear views of  wooded islands, glaciers, tiny inlets, occasional homesteads.   Whale spotter that I am, I saw a few spouting whales from above, the dark outlines of their bodies just below the surface. SouthEast Alaska is stunning, and I felt blessed to be there.

Thanksgiving!

Where do folks far from home spend turkey day in Metlakatla Alaska?  Answer:  at a potluck with a small crowd of teachers.  Lots of food, conversation, and games, late into the evening.   Naturally, it was cold and rainy, but we were toasty, warm, and happy.

I hope your Thanksgiving was as fun as our was and that Christmas season treats you well.  Happy December!  As always, I'll keep my eyes peeled for whales.

While on a run one day. . .

     Metlakatla is a great place to go for a run.  Within minutes out my front door, I am running on a road beside the ocean, on my way to a trail that winds through dense old-growth trees as it hugs the coast. By the time I get to the trail, I am warmed up and into the running groove, pleased with myself that I made the effort to get there.
     I say "make the effort"  because after three months, I've realized that Metlakatla is also a terrible place to run.  Wind, rain, and the ever shorter days have dealt a serious blow to my motivation.   Plus the last thing I want to do after work is exercise.
     Last Saturday was a clear, slightly chilly day, perfect to hit the trail.  Except that I really, really didn't want to go.  Uh oh, this is getting bad, I thought.  I made it out the door with a little urging from Luis.
      I considered my motivation problem as I ran through the forest.  The next local race  --a half marathon in Ketchikan--  isn't until May, too far in the future to get me serious about running right now.   Looking at my watch, I decided to push myself a little harder so the second half of the run would be faster than the first.
     Coming out of the trees, I saw an older man standing next to the road peering at the ocean.  He said something as I ran by.  "Excuse me?"  I stopped running.
      "Whales".  He pointed.
"Whales?"  Whoa! I thought.  Is this the moment I've been waiting for these last three months?  The man had a tiny pair of binoculars --what luck!--  and we spent the next 15 minutes pointing out whale tails and spray from blow holes.  There appeared to be two whales, a mother and her baby, probably Humpbacks, he said.  Earlier in the day,  he had seen a whole pod of whales, spectacular as they breached.
      I eventually continued my run, but stopped again to talk with friends who were strolling by.  I happily told them all about my whale spotting.

I don't have the answer to my dwindling motivation to run.  I don't think seeing whales has solved the problem.  But the moment was sweet, and long awaited.  I'm a whale spotter!  And I have running to thank for it.  (plus an old man and a pair of 'noc).

My favorite run.

My favorite run.

I was running on this road when I stopped to whale watch.  On the right side is the cemetery.  Graveyard with a view. 

Dock full of fish nets.  This was the dock we jumped off this summer with the local kids.

The red-roofed building is Leask Market, the only place in town to get groceries. It's open from 10 to 6 during the week, and 11 to 5 on weekends.

Teen Center.  

Richard Johnson Elementary School.

The students cut out their handprints, wrote a message on them, and pasted them here.  Very cool visual for Red Ribbon Week.

The entrance of our new, colorful school.

Lots of room!  I love my office!

Lucas and friend on their bikes.  There are boats parked on the streets EVERYWHERE!

Main Street

Parking lot, Metlakatla style.

Fishing is serious business around here.

Something to do.

Picture taken after a hard rain.

Oldest church in town.

Dude, you have a totem pole coming out of your head.

Maite explores at low tide.

Metlakatla specializes in spectacular rainbows.

The Long House.  Traditional Tsimshian dance groups practice regularly here.  We attended an event here last month.

We scored some halibut!  

It's official.

 Good spot to rest.

Our freezer is a gold mine

The Silver salmon made their last big push last week, heading their way towards the island and up the rivers to spawn.  The town was busy with their fishing polls and fish cutting knives.  Luis went fishing three times in three days  -twice from the shore and once from a boat.  We were also the grateful recipients of 16 salmon  --there was such abundance that people were giving them away. Coho salmon  (Silvers)  are not as large as King salmon, but at 20-30 pounds each they are plenty hefty.   Luis and I spent hours cleaning and cutting fish (he more than I).  It was a jump backwards into old memories of sticky fish blood, clinging scales, ubiquitous flies, the frustration of the knife not being sharp enough. Where's an ulu when you need one?  Our friend Nick's extra freezer is now in out mudroom, stuffed with frozen fillets.

We wouldn't be getting the full range of salmon pleasure if we didn't smoke some of the bounty.  Luis and two friends lit the small smokehouse in our backyard and spread out the chunks.  We've been feeding alder chips to the fire (embers) for a week now. Last night we ripped our teeth into the first batch of smoked Coho.  Yum.

 Luis soaked the fish eggs in brine and jarred them.  He breaks open the Saltines and fish eggs every chance he gets.  I've eaten some of the caviar, but the slimy texture makes it hard for me to love.  A staff member at the school where I work left smoked salmon eggs in the teacher's lounge the other day.  The eggs were chewy, smoky, and stuck to my teeth, but I found the texture easier to handle than fresh ones.  The same staff member also left dried salmon strips in the conference room, which I nibbled on while I drank coffee.  I hadn't eaten dried salmon strips since my Alaskan sister-in law showed up with strips and seal oil the last time she was in Fort Collins.  It pleased me to think that we were probably the only ones eating seal oil in Fort Collins that evening.

Silver salmon eggs.  We learned that Pink salmon eggs make better caviar.

I can't forget to mention the scores of crabs, fresh from the crab pots.  Luis, Mark, and Nick (two teachers) pulled over 20 crabs out of Mark's crab pots the other day and boiled them in a huge pot on our back porch.  We covered the table in white butcher paper, and sat down together to crack them open and dig out the meat.   That and fresh French bread made a unique, fun and picturesque meal.

Crab feast before things got messy

Food  --how to get it and how to cook it, is a big topic around here.   Clearly, fish will be one of our staples.  We have around 90 pounds of cut fish so far  --imagine the cost of that in a Colorado supermarket, at $10 - $20 per pound.  Our freezer is a gold mine.  We will try to keep that in mind as we peruse the vegetable and fruit aisle here in town.

And as for whales  -- still no glimpses, despite my daily ocean scans.  We've seen plenty of jumping fish, diving ducks, eagles, seagulls, and even a seal with a salmon in it's mouth.  But a whale sighting eludes me.   My watch continues.

crab meat ready for the freezer

crab pots

Maite

Free

Working on his headstand in the living room

Lucas and Maite in our living room.  Note the camp chair behind them.  Yep, we are classy folks.

The local ferry, the Lituya, heading to Ketchikan

Feliz cumple, Lucas!  11 años

We went running on the beach, and stopped at a stream that was flowing into the ocean.  A female salmon was swimming up it, and Luis, soccer player that he is, managed to kick it out onto shore.  He then bonked it with a stick and hooked the stick through it's gills.  We jogged home, Luis triumphant with his catch.  Only in Alaska.

Yes, we live in a pink house.

Whales and such

"That humpback whale went right through my net".  He sat on an overturned bucket, on a dock of the water-break, inspecting his net, shaking his head with the memory.

"Was the whale bothered by the net?  Did he get wound up in it?"  I ask the fisherman, fascinated.  I had never had a conversation like this in my life.  Growing up on the Kuskokwim river, in Southwest Alaska, I'm used to the language of fishing.  But here, words like whales, sharks, and giant octopus can make their way into conversation at any point.

I can feel my horizons expanding by the minute.

North to Alaska

At the beginning of August, we packed a Uhaul with our worldly possessions, gassed up our 17 year old Subaru Legacy, and headed North.  We camped for 4 nights on our way to Bellingham, Washington, where we caught the Alaska State Ferry to Ketchikan.  The ferry ride was a 36  hour adventure, in which we slept outside on the deck, and contemplated the small and large forested islands of British Columbia. We saw Orcas and Humpbacks, fishing boats, and tiny towns tucked into coves, their Maple Leaf flag waving.  Lucas and Maite loved the freedom of wandering all over the boat, and Lucas drew a picture for the ship's Captain, (which the Purser immediately put up at the reception desk) of the Alaska State Ferry of the future, which flies and goes the speed of sound.

Most people rent rooms on the ferry.  But unrolling your sleeping bag and claiming your spot on the deck (it was open, but covered by a glass roof) among the other travelers, sets a tone for adventure.  You KNOW you are in for an epic experience.  My dad, 72 years old and game for anything, happily duct-taped his yellow tent to the floor.  He and my mom camped on this same ferry in the early 90's.  Twenty years later, camping out had lost its appeal for my mother.  She stayed home.

From Ketchikan, we took a second ferry, which took 40 minutes, to Annette Island.  The entire island is a Tsimshian Indian reservation, and Metlakatla, population 1300, is the only town.

Welcome to Metlakatla

Back in Colorado we had inspected this island many times over, and from as many angles as we could in Google Earth.  In real life it did not disappoint.

From town, we look out onto the bay and see Prince of Wales Island just beyond.  Across the water to the North,  the Alaska State Ferry moves slowly to and from Ketchikan.  In the distance we see the occasional cruise ship.  Trees line the landscape of everywhere I look, and fishing boats dot the horizon.  This is not like any part of Alaska I've ever seen.  The landscape of my childhood was tundra, where the trees were stunted and the weather was extreme.  In Bethel, where I grew up, we traveled on bush planes and  small river boats in the summer.  In the winter we drove cars on the river.  Here, I'm told, we can skip the winter parkas.  Rain gear is what you want.

Yes, it has rained.   Luckily, though, we are here for the end of summer, with it's sunny days and T-shirt weather.  The main part of town stretches for two miles along the shore;  the streets are paved and narrow, and the houses set closely together.   Everything is close --school, post office, store, town government, our house -- and perfect for bikes.  While bike riding on a bright, warm day, we found the old dock where the local kids spend hours playing and jumping into the ocean.  Luis and Lucas jumped in first, and then, after much prodding by the local kids ("you're thinking too much" they told me),  I take the 15 foot plunge.  (Once the way was clear of jelly fish).

When you are in  town, you can never NOT see the ocean.   A few minutes walk from our house, just before the cemetery, is a beach which has become a favorite.  The beach is rocky, loaded with driftwood, shells, and interesting rubbery seaweed.  Lucas and Maite especially love the long heavy swinging rope tied to an overhanging tree.  We have become regulars here when the evenings are clear, armed with matches and marshmallows.

School in in session!

Lucas and Maite have new classes and I have a new job.  The elementary building sparkles with fresh paint and fixtures after a year and a half of renovation, and we all walk around, not quite believing that a school can look this good.  The classes are bright with colors --Maite's 3rd grade classroom is red;  Lucas's 5th grade room is purple.  My office used to be the conference room.  It is HUGE, with new furniture and all the trimmings.  The students love all the stuffed animals and toys I brought.  More than one sad kindergartner has found comfort with a furry friend.

So far, so good.  Lucas and Maite have made friends, and the teachers have been friendly and welcoming to me.  In a role reversal, Luis is now the stay-at-home parent.  He has been luxuriating in days where the only structure is seeing us off to school and preparing the meals.  For the first time in many years, time is his.  Deeply curious by nature, his discoveries are constant.

Actually, for all of us, discoveries are constant.  There is so much more than I can ever put into words. You'll have to come and visit us.

Meanwhile I'll keep my eye out for whales.

Lucas swings

Maite 

A long way from Fort Collins

An Argentine in Metlakatla.  Drinking mate on Yellow Hill.

Raven Clan

Lucas, my mountain boy