STARBOARDPORT

People ask me many of the same questions about living in Alaska. They’re difficult to answer without prefacing: “Well Alaska is more than twice the size of Texas, so there are a lot of regional variations.” (See size domination in photo below).

They ask me: a)Is it light all the time? b)Is it dark all the time?

Like the sun on a winter horizon, I think someone has dropped the ball in the educational geography department. I explain that because of Earth’s axis and tilt it is very light in the summer (about 18 hours of daylight) and very dark in the winter (under 7 hours of light). I then make an Alaska hand map:

I live about 3/4 of the way up my thumb.

…and show that Sitka and Anchorage and Barrow are in very different locations, climates and landscapes. This spurs the question about snow cover and freezing weather. Because Sitka is on the open ocean, it snows less, and the temperatures are moderate.

The next frequently-asked question is harder to explain. What the hell do you do there in the winter?

Combing through photos from the past week, I have prepared the following photo lecture to illustrate:

We weigh live crab as a pastime, so when we talk to people who don’t live on the ocean, we can exact the properly-measured amount of jealousy.

We eat fresh Alaska Bush Lice. This one’s too crunchy.

We drink decent wine and eat fine cheese.

We tally the male to female ratio but remember the Alaska proverb: “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

We tattoo our skin with fish, so we don’t feel separation anxiety in the off-season.

We cope with our Seasonal Affective Disorder in unique ways.

We wear full-body protective rain gear (sometimes only because we’re afraid of our hoopty’s leaky “sun”roof.

We eat mind-blowing burritos at the Larkspur Cafe.

(Ok – so this one wasn’t in the past week because they were closed. But they reopen Friday 2/26!)

We drink tequila and dream of the tropics.

We drink Guinness and listen to men in kilts play bagpipe music. Wait…what?

As you can see, in addition to our pelt trapping, moose skinning and dog sled racing, we keep our schedules full. I hope you enjoyed the presentation, and stay tuned for next week’s lesson: “Stop Asking Me About Sarah Fucking Palin.”

At a meeting tonight, a nurse shared a story about being a “lapper” to babies flown to Los Angeles after the fall of Saigon (now Ho Chí Minh City), Vietnam.

She said she sat in a converted airplane hangar with a constant rotation of hungry Vietnamese orphans on her lap, feeding them diluted rice porridge and flat Coca-Cola. Protein-rich normal baby food would have shocked their systems and killed them apparently.

I researched it back at home. Termed “Operation Babylift,” about 3,000 infants and children were flown over on freight planes to be nursed to health then adopted. They loaded babies into cardboard boxes that they strapped down, and older children sat on benches with seat belts.

I don’t know how I had never heard of this piece of history, but I am looking for a way to rent this movie: “Operation Babylift: The Lost Children of Vietnam.” It’s not on Netflix.

Here are some more links for the interested:

http://www.travisairmuseum.org/assets/images/OperationBabylift2.jpg

http://www.adoptvietnam.org/adoption/babylift.htm

http://books.google.com/books?id=RDnh6cI9MaIC&lpg=PA134&ots=tiTsNYp_p6&dq=babies%20flown%20from%20saigon%20to%20los%20angeles&pg=PA134#v=onepage&q=ebony%20baby%20lift&f=false

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Babylift

What a strange and interesting world.

There – I just saved you a trip to Roswell. This is the best I saw.

The drive out of Santa Fe was an exercise in ass clenching. The clear Southwest sun beamed onto pavement recently plowed of the last dump of snow. This created a thin and shiny ice sheet. Skidmarks shot off all sides of the roadway, punctuated by messy struggle sites or abandoned vehicles.

With all the speed of a Conestoga wagon, I made my way to a convenience store in the middle of the desert where a toothless Indian woman in her 30s sold me some gasoline and sunflower seeds. Past there, the roads were fine, but the landscape was stranger than ever. The “towns” were so decrepit that you would assume they were abandoned if not for the smattering of giant 4X4 trucks or the partially-functional neon in a few hotel signs.

Land stretched for miles with only a random windmill or stray boulder here and there. I questioned the Clovis people’s eye for real estate and pressed on.

Roswell is a concentration of people, but I’m not sure I would call it a town. On the outskirts, a Wal*Mart with an alien-themed sign pretty much summed up my opinion on the place.

Har har – shitty alien trinkets everywhere!

I stayed the night at a surprisingly classy La Quinta Inn & Suites and wasted a few dollars the next day for admission to the International UFO Museum & Research Center. Though a couple small displays and geegaws caught my eye, it would have taken an autistic speed-reader to make it through the place in less than a week. The enactment of what-if-the-gubment-dissected-some-aliens (pictured above) was my official favorite thing in the town’s entirety.

And with that, I left for Carlsbad and its caves.

Not to blow my own bassoon, but I have accomplished a crap ton in the last 36-ish hours.

I attacked the mundane, habitual and unsavory demons of dishes, laundry and recycling as a way of procrastinating the more complicated tasks.

I progressed to filing two sets of taxes (with the help of TurboTax) and applying for my first ever Alaska Permanent Fund Dividend(!). What will I do with my very own oil revenue check? – I’m thinking a method study of Daniel Plainview in “There Will Be Blood.”

Emboldened by the tasks that make me money, I paid an eversoslightly overdue credit card bill, a non-overdue credit card bill, titled/registered Goldie and paid for another six months of auto insurance. I cleaned out my emails, gutted some file folders and can now see the faux wood grain of my desk.

I shopped for a new mattress which put me in the uniquely awkward situation of lying on a bed in an empty room at the “storage warehouse,” alone, save for the furniture store owner who drove me there standing nearby. I thought I had outgrown these scenarios.

I researched health care providers, called Mom, clipped my fingernails and cut my bangs. I mourned Howard Zinn and J.D. Salinger with an extra tip of the wine bottle and threw a full wine glass of water on some flames creeping out of my kitchen thermostat.

I am still procrastinating. My most rewarding tasks – the creative ones like writing or editing/printing/matting/framing photos – take a whole different type of energy, so somehow they get left for last. My great struggle is to be as effective at working for myself as I am for places that give me a paycheck. Speaking of those sweet, sweet paychecks, I calculated the numbers. Between the months of January and September 2009, I worked 13 hours short of the equivalency of a 40-hour week year (50 weeks x 40 hrs = 2,000 hrs) at the seafood plant. Doing it my way, however, paid overtime and left time for freelance writing in the fall and traveling in the spring and winter. For as much as I earlier have professed to hate this industry, I understand its draw.

As most of you know, I have worked in Alaska every summer except one since 2000. I would work a summer, then turn my collective wages over to the university on one spindly signed piece of bank paper with trembling, tendonitis-numbed hands.

But because of that early naivety (and the low, low costs of Idaho in-state tuition), I sent a check today that will pay the remaining balance of my student loan!!

I type this all not to be a braggart, but because I’m particularly taken with my boom and bust lifestyle. I have just returned from a heap of vacationing and adventuring, and I am coming up (a bit early) on the busy part of my year. The part where I work most every day straight through until September.

Boom v. Bust

But before I start up that little stint of responsibility and accomplishment, I think it’s time for a good old-fashioned passionate round of immoral self-indulgence. See you this weekend in Sitka!

Giant Santa Fe horse head

Happy Holiday cow skull at El Paseo (almost as beautiful as the $1 tacos)

With snow flying through the air of Flagstaff, I busted a freeway move all the way to Santa Fe, New Mexico. What can I say about the drive between the two? Almost nothing.

Traveling here in the winter is strange as one can’t really tell if things are closed for the season (and decaying) … or are closed permanently and decaying. Maybe the paint just fades fast in the summer sun, and everything looks shiny and new before the new tourist season, but daaaamn – the Southwest looks like a spooky movie set (“No Country for Old Men?”).

Some cool chunks of petrified logs by the side of the freeway almost tempted me to take a trip to the petrified forest, but escaping the snow (and cattle bolt combover killers) took precedence. Finally at the New Mexico border, the flat turned into some nice rocky outcroppings.

I beelined to Harry’s Roadhouse where my amor Natalia was waiting for me. My gourmet grilled cheese was so good I didn’t care about the crusty sourdough bread turning my mouth roof into hamburger. With fantastic food, the best margarita ever and a classy little fireplace burning away in the corner, I kind of wanted to live at Harry’s.

I also had a bomb-ass breakfast burrito at the Plaza Cafe / Restaurant. The green chile made my snot drip, but it was worth the pain. The aluminum and tile was probably the most impeccable specimen of a diner I have ever seen. This place has been around for over 100 years, so I guess they know what they’re doing.

Santa Fe was a vacation from touristing. I was there primarily to see my cherished friend, but a huge dump of snow made sure I didn’t go anywhere too quick.

Little hyperactive bastard cat

But before it dropped to the single digits, it was time to brush the snow off the car and leave beautiful Santa Fe.

Enjoying the sunny Southwest

Day Four

The Sky Ranch Lodge is not the cheapest place in Sedona, Arizona, nor is it the most modern. But waking up to a fantastic view from bed of the famous Sedona red rocks, I didn’t really care about either.

After sunrise, it was time to descend the mountain in search of sustenance.

My asparagus, cheese and tomato omelet (one of 101 omelet choices) at the Coffee Pot Restaurant wasn’t as good as I’d hoped. I should have gone for the guacamole and green chile option (or the PBJ or the huevos rancheros for that matter). The biscuit, potatoes and coffee were all stellar, food came in less than ten minutes, and the coffee cups were so sweet we bought a whole set at the gift shop.

The restaurant is named after this rock:

Get it?

If you can look past the quartz-crystal-chakra-healing, Sedona is worth exploring – even the churches.

From the Chapel of the Holy Cross, looking over a very opulent home

Leaving Sedona toward Flagstaff, I traveled through the Oak Creek Canyon. It is steep and switchbacky. Don’t attempt it in shitty weather in a 2WD rental car.

Carsick

((The ride into Sedona is also really windy. Dropping down Mingus Mountain (the thinking man’s geological formation) into Jerome, I wished I had time to stop and explore. From talk in Sedona, it sounded like Jerome was a copper mining town which was abandoned then squatted in and renovated by some hippies, and is now a booming little tourist town.))

North from Flagstaff, I checked out this little rip in the ground people keep talking about.

Zaaaang! This canyon is grand.

The place is impossible to picture with my camera. It is so colorful and layered and gut-clenchingly deep. I really enjoyed my visit. Going during the off-season when I wasn’t boiling my balls off and waiting my turn at every outlook also probably helped with my rosy outlook.

Featuring Mr. Holden and his camera

DANGER!

After a big day of touristing, the Beaver Street Brewery in Flagstaff fed me right and and quenched my microbrew thirst.

Hummus platter & brew sampler = Praise be

I did leave uncomfortably full with an extremely frigid walk back to the hotel, but it was well worth it.

When I woke up, tiny dry snowflakes were swirling through the air, threatening my 2WD sporty rental Cobalt. It was time to get the hell out of Arizona.

Sunrise over the Colorado

Straight roads

Behold, a cactus

FROG ROCK!

Not southern Idaho. Arizona. No really.

That’s more like it. Sedona. Oooooooooh.

Festival o’ lights at the Tlaquepaque (which is nothing like Tlaquepaque in Guadalajara)

And it is cold – freezing in fact as illustrated by this non-flowing fountain

A snow storm in predicted for this area at the beginning of next week, so the plan is to see as much as possible and get the hell east. Everyone keeps talking about this big canyon that’s somewhere around here, so maybe I’ll check that out too.

(I decided to focus on the things that seem the strangest to me from day to day on this trip, thus the “oddlights.”)

Leaving Blythe, CA I soon hit Ehrenberg, AZ which, as my trusty navigator (Mr. Holden) pointed out, had some pretty admirable street names.

On the corner of Juneau Ave and Hoonah Drive, I spied some intriguing fruit trees. One grew lemons, and I was delighted to find the other heavy with ripe pomegranates! The nice lady in whose yard they resided was out watering things and let me pick one which I plan to eat for breakfast today.

This was the most exciting thing to happen for some miles. On the road to Lake Havasu City, the towns shared some characteristics: dusty, sun-bleached and lonesome looking.

And then there’s Havasu. Founded in the ’50s or maybe ’60s, everything is very nice and new. It reminded me of stucco/red roof tile versions of the model home from Arrested Development, though a few uniquely architected home stood out as well. One had a wide, stone walkway that spiraled around from the ground floor to the roof, forming much of the exterior walls of the home.

When not Spring Break bumper boats, there is one other tiny detail that gives Havasu an odd look. It has the full-on (old) London Bridge in the middle of everything. Apparently they renovated the bridge in London and replaced the exterior pieces. They marked each one, shipped it off to the highest bidder and reerected it in Lake Havasu City (wiki info here).

Not London

A tasty salad, sammich and brew sampler at the Barley Brothers Brewery, and I was back on the road.

The mighty Colorado River divides Arizona and Nevada between Bullhead City (AZ) and Laughlin (NV). Laughlin shimmers up out of the desert, decked in flashy neon like a little baby Las Vegas. Being a slow vacation time and Laughlin being full to the brim with empty rooms, it is an inexpensive place to rent a room.

Shiny

Views from $40 room at Harrah’s in Laughlin

With the $60-70 you can pay for a dump/near-dump in recent towns visited, the wood furniture and granite countertops are a nice change.

And now, having gambled away my $20 budget, drunk my complimentary booze and watched the sun rise over the jagged mountaintops (from bed), it is time to explore some more Arizona.

I’m sitting at the Courtesy Coffee Shop in Blythe, CA enjoying coffee, sunshine and eavesdropping. So far both conversations between the waitress and other patrons are about illness and lethargy – no one feels well enough to start decorating for Christmas.

Day before yesterday I left Alaska for the first time since May. Clear skies followed me from Sitka to Seattle and San Diego, giving me a geologist’s-eye view of the west coast.

Walking out of the San Diego airport felt fucking great – 70 degrees, palm trees and agave. With a sporty, red sedan from the rental company (NOT HERTZ!!!!!), I was on the road headed East. Fueled up on cherries and turkey jerky from a roadside stand, I left the freeway and snaked through the hills and deserts of Route 79.

There were strange RV parks in the middle of flat nothing, with white campers circled like conestogas, but it got infinitely more strange. The Salton Sea is a large land-locked salty body of water. According to Wikipedia, it was once a thriving tourist destination with resorts and all. The GPS directed me along unmarked roads to the beach front.

It had a distinct Mad Max feel. Through the haze, the water blended into the hills with a light fogginess blurring it all. Cranes, pelicans and gulls stood around, screaming but not moving much. Walking down a derelict boat ramp, I had to a swing left to avoid a full-grown scrub tree. The stale air stank. The water had receded probably 20 feet from the original bank, and the middle ground was littered with barnacles, bones and small dead fish.

Boat launch

Salton Sea

Receded shoreline

Picturing dead fish

Reducing water levels caused higher salinity, and fertilizer runoff led to algae blooms which depleted the oxygen level of the water, killing off most of the introduced fish.

After a beautifully bizarre sunset, I drove past a palm tree, date and grape farm and through some holey rocks to Blythe, welcomed on the outskirts by its gleaming prison complex. And now my coffee and biscuit are done, and it’s time to hit the road again. North to Arizona!

Here’s a disturbing thought: Someone will be wounded tomorrow in a shopping-related incident.

Gimme

At some point, the proud United States of America began a country-wide tradition of waking up extremely early, crowding around some motion-activated doors in a strip mall then marauding through them on cue to pillage the establishment of its finest Chinese plastics. They call it Black Friday.

In protest of this train wreck of a “holiday,” I will do my goddamndest to not spend a cent. I will wake up at a reasonable hour and eat some Thanksgiving leftovers. I will stare at the ocean for a while and think of the sad souls angrily pressed together vertical sardine-style, competing for shitty mass-produced Elmos in the name of little baby Jesus Claus.

When I have dried the single tear running down my cheek for the sake of humanity, I will probably mix a cocktail and read my book.

This is not to say I am opposed to the overboard gifting of the holiday season. I love the decorations and the gift wrap (and the nog), but I just do not understand the established methods of gift procurement.

Saturday I will return to the overt consumer world, but I will not set foot in a mall. I will stalwartly avoid Wal*Mart and even Costco. For one, I can’t go there. They don’t exist in this little island town.

For two, I am too in love with etsy.com to look too far elsewhere. Handmade items from individual sellers who often accept special requests, all on a website I can search according to proximity to me, gift guide recommendations or even color. Yes. Please.

On this website, I find items that make me think, “Man, (Friend Name) would love this.” At big stores, I usually end up buying some super deal and trying to match it with someone I know.

Mixtape zipper pouch by BraveMoonman: $50

So to all the crusading Black Friday shoppers, I urge you to change your ways. Give gifts, and give them often but don’t hold out for a calendar-stamped holiday. If you want to change the economy, buy from your neighbor. If you want to save the environment, buy (or make) something useful or consumable that won’t be thrown away in January. If you want to show someone you care, buy (or make) them something you know they will love even if it’s a phone call or a hug or a trip to visit them – or, if the moment is right, a pricey splurge.

As for little baby Jesus – Good luck, brother.

Fancy cat tie by whiskerkisses: $19

Pregnancy congrats card by smackofjellyfish: $3 (Inside: “I’ll be thinking of you while I’m drinking my morning cup of coffee, or when I go out for delicious sushi, or enjoy a glass of wine and a cigarette after a long, hard day…”)

Headless felt softie bear by everyeskimo: $18

Knitted mini ginger beard by wifeofbrian: $15

Moustache salt and pepper shaker by paperdollwoodshop: $28