The other day, two of our new teachers went for a walk to enjoy the scenery of the bush. They are a married couple, and she happens to be pregnant. While they were meandering along, they bumped into a moose and her calf. They got a quick lesson in Bush Survival 101. AVOID MOTHERS AND THEIR CALVES/CUBS AT ALL COST!!! Actually, that is a pretty good idea for survival in general, and the same rule applies across species. Whether you are talking moose, bears, lions, wildebeest, wild pigs, pigeons, or humans—unless you have a death wish, you don’t get in the middle of a mother and her baby.
So these two hapless teachers were strolling along hand-in-hand, and out from behind a tree tromps a very irritated mama moose. They could tell she was annoyed because of all the snorting and bellowing she did. Well, the woman shrieked and took off running. Her husband was right behind her, trying to work his gun out of his pocket—in all the walks they’d taken, this was the first time he had brought along his pistol. And the moose was rapidly gaining ground. Finally, the guy got his gun worked loose, whirled around, and let off a couple of shots. Turns out he is the world’s worst aim. He missed the giant charging moose bearing down on them, and hit the calf way back in the bushes instead. But it worked. The moose stopped chasing them, and ran back to where her calf was.
Mr. Sharpshooter and his pregnant wife hardly broke stride. They ran full out, heading straight for the village.
Meanwhile, the mama moose became even more agitated—she was out for blood. She circled back around and charged out of the bushes in front of the teachers, cutting off their retreat. But this time, Mr. Sharpshooter was ready; he still had the gun in his hand. He let off a couple more shots, and the moose ran off again. The two of them finally made it back to the village, but were rather upset. In fact, the poor woman about went into labor.
Someone reported the incident to the VPOs—Village Police Officers. This is a group of guys posing as village cops, who are about as effective in handling crimes as a bunch of crossing guards. But apparently, they were fascinated with the whole “moose run amuck” idea. And besides, no self-respecting local would pass up a hunt—so they armed themselves and went in search of the crazed animal.
They realized they’d stumbled upon her when she charged at them from the bushes. She had the entire VPO squad on the run. But never fear. They just regrouped, and headed back in to do their “civic duty.” By the time the day was done, both the moose and her calf were dead. And the VPO squad returned to town, heads held high.
After all—you can’t have a mama protecting her baby. That just goes against the laws of nature.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
On a personal note
On a personal note (no Alaska news):
I accidentally dropped off the Personal Note entry that I did, so here is an updated version—with pictures!
Our daughter, Katrina, recently received her mission call. She is going to Ireland/Scotland, and reports to the England MTC (Missionary Training Center) on June 24th.
So Jeff and Katie are going to be serving missions at the same time! Jeff is heading to Mexico City East mission. They will get back within a couple of weeks of each other—unless one of them manages to pull the same stunt Rachelle did, and get multiple extensions.
When Katrina opened her mission call, Keri and Taco and I watched via Skype from Alakanuk, Alaska. But my sister, Rachel, just sent me some pictures of the event, and I just have to share.
This is Katie and my mom holder her just-arrived mission call.
Here is Katrina reading her call. Keri and Taco and I are watching on Skype (the computer on Rachelle's lap) and listening via the phone (Chris is holding it up). Katie was so excited, she started to squeal, and it took a bit before we could actually hear where she is going.
My parents have a world map, and everyone in the family who has served a mission has their name pinned in where their mission is. Katie is about to pin her name up in Ireland/Scotland area. She is so excited, she can’t stand it!
It pains my heart that we weren't able to be there. There were about 15-20 people there when she opened it—grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings. A lot of family support. It seems like everyone was there but us. But at least we’ve got Skype and digital photography. Modern technology is amazing.
And yup--life is looking good. Even if we have to watch from a distance for now.
I accidentally dropped off the Personal Note entry that I did, so here is an updated version—with pictures!
Our daughter, Katrina, recently received her mission call. She is going to Ireland/Scotland, and reports to the England MTC (Missionary Training Center) on June 24th.
So Jeff and Katie are going to be serving missions at the same time! Jeff is heading to Mexico City East mission. They will get back within a couple of weeks of each other—unless one of them manages to pull the same stunt Rachelle did, and get multiple extensions.
When Katrina opened her mission call, Keri and Taco and I watched via Skype from Alakanuk, Alaska. But my sister, Rachel, just sent me some pictures of the event, and I just have to share.
This is Katie and my mom holder her just-arrived mission call.
Here is Katrina reading her call. Keri and Taco and I are watching on Skype (the computer on Rachelle's lap) and listening via the phone (Chris is holding it up). Katie was so excited, she started to squeal, and it took a bit before we could actually hear where she is going.
My parents have a world map, and everyone in the family who has served a mission has their name pinned in where their mission is. Katie is about to pin her name up in Ireland/Scotland area. She is so excited, she can’t stand it!
It pains my heart that we weren't able to be there. There were about 15-20 people there when she opened it—grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings. A lot of family support. It seems like everyone was there but us. But at least we’ve got Skype and digital photography. Modern technology is amazing.
And yup--life is looking good. Even if we have to watch from a distance for now.
Friday, March 4, 2011
It's a Foggy Perspective
Last night, at about midnight, I opened my e-mail and found a note of desperation dashed off by my husband saying that he was stuck in London and needed $3,000. Since he was sitting across the table from me, I asked him how he was enjoying the sites of the city. He said the weather was better in Alaska. He never has enjoyed fog much.
The frustrating part of the whole “stuck in London” scam is that whatever got in and stole his address book also locked him out. Now he can’t get on his e-mail to send out a “DON’T SEND MONEY!” alert. It’s quite a scam they have going. So if some concerned citizen writes back and asks how to help, a real person will answer, pretending to be my husband. Meanwhile, he is sitting here just fine. He’s not stuck in London at all—he’s stuck in Alaska. Help! Send $3,000!
But there is one good thing that has come out of it all. It has made me realize that things could always get worse. For example: the weather.
In all fairness, fog can be beautiful—in short doses. It has an ethereal quality. It lets you fade into another world. One time, it pulled me into a fairy land. A few months ago, my sister Rachel and I ran into a store in Idaho—it was thick fog outside. When we emerged about 20 minutes later, the world had transformed. The moisture in the air had crystallized in the cold, and it made the world look like the inside of a diamond. Everything glittered—even the air. It was magic.
But the only fog we get up here resembles mud soup. And it saves itself for a time when there is a really pressing reason you need to fly in or out of the village. Then it will magically appear…and your flight will be grounded because no bush plane can fly blind. But for the most part, we don’t have to worry about fog. Our 60 mph winds wouldn’t stand for it.
So we may be stuck in the middle of the tundra somewhere around the Arctic Circle. We may have to boil our water, and hunt and trap our food. It may take two days of flying to reach civilization. But at least we aren’t stuck in London. You know—fog.
The frustrating part of the whole “stuck in London” scam is that whatever got in and stole his address book also locked him out. Now he can’t get on his e-mail to send out a “DON’T SEND MONEY!” alert. It’s quite a scam they have going. So if some concerned citizen writes back and asks how to help, a real person will answer, pretending to be my husband. Meanwhile, he is sitting here just fine. He’s not stuck in London at all—he’s stuck in Alaska. Help! Send $3,000!
But there is one good thing that has come out of it all. It has made me realize that things could always get worse. For example: the weather.
In all fairness, fog can be beautiful—in short doses. It has an ethereal quality. It lets you fade into another world. One time, it pulled me into a fairy land. A few months ago, my sister Rachel and I ran into a store in Idaho—it was thick fog outside. When we emerged about 20 minutes later, the world had transformed. The moisture in the air had crystallized in the cold, and it made the world look like the inside of a diamond. Everything glittered—even the air. It was magic.
But the only fog we get up here resembles mud soup. And it saves itself for a time when there is a really pressing reason you need to fly in or out of the village. Then it will magically appear…and your flight will be grounded because no bush plane can fly blind. But for the most part, we don’t have to worry about fog. Our 60 mph winds wouldn’t stand for it.
So we may be stuck in the middle of the tundra somewhere around the Arctic Circle. We may have to boil our water, and hunt and trap our food. It may take two days of flying to reach civilization. But at least we aren’t stuck in London. You know—fog.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Alaska's Bounties
Alaska sure has its bounties. Of course, those come at a price.
For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.
So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.
But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!
A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.
Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.
Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!
Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.
When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.
Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.
Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.
I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.
They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.
For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.
So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.
But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!
A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.
Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.
Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!
Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.
When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.
Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.
Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.
I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.
They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Pneumonia is Out — Rabies is In
Life is returning to normal. Yay! Although, I’m not quite sure what normal is any more.
My pneumonia is no more. It took two peanut butter shots, enough fluids to sink a battleship, umpteen days of nothing but rest, and a small—OK, a big—miracle. But when I went in Sunday morning (we got a call at 9 AM asking why the blazes I hadn’t come in for my daily recheck yet), I was pronounced pneumonia free! I was now just really sick! Yay! Life is looking up!
So on to other things. Alakanuk is trying its hardest to blow away. No kidding. We’ve been having crazy winds here for two days now — about 50 miles per hour, with gusts up to 70. This might not be a big deal in most cities or towns or desolate places, but here, where buildings are up on stilts, it is. A big deal. It makes houses shake. By the time this is over, we may end up in Oz.
And why are buildings on stilts? Because the Yukon River floods every year. When an Arctic Circle of snow melts around the same time the rain hits, the results can be quite impressive. It even washes all the garbage into the ocean. The garbage dump is cleared out of a lot of stuff, and so is the town. Most people here look at that as being a good thing. Seriously. I’m sure the fishes really appreciate it. But what these people don’t think of is that all the villages up river are “cleaned out” the same way. Yup. It stinks being at the bottom of the trash (and crap) flow. That is why we boil and filter water here.
So—we have now officially entered rabies season. You’ve heard of cold and flu season? Apparently, there is rabies season too. Strange that it coincides with lack of sun. I wonder if it could have anything to do with deficient vitamin D? Anyway—turns out that a crazed fox raced out of the trees and attacked a landing bush plane. Tried to chew the tires right off of the thing. Of course, it had about as much success as a Chihuahua attacking a speeding Buick. But the pilot had enough sense to stay in the plane. No cargo is worth risking rabies for. Now the fox hunt is on. So far, no luck. Either the poor thing has died, moved to warmer climates, or got blown away to Oz.
My pneumonia is no more. It took two peanut butter shots, enough fluids to sink a battleship, umpteen days of nothing but rest, and a small—OK, a big—miracle. But when I went in Sunday morning (we got a call at 9 AM asking why the blazes I hadn’t come in for my daily recheck yet), I was pronounced pneumonia free! I was now just really sick! Yay! Life is looking up!
So on to other things. Alakanuk is trying its hardest to blow away. No kidding. We’ve been having crazy winds here for two days now — about 50 miles per hour, with gusts up to 70. This might not be a big deal in most cities or towns or desolate places, but here, where buildings are up on stilts, it is. A big deal. It makes houses shake. By the time this is over, we may end up in Oz.
And why are buildings on stilts? Because the Yukon River floods every year. When an Arctic Circle of snow melts around the same time the rain hits, the results can be quite impressive. It even washes all the garbage into the ocean. The garbage dump is cleared out of a lot of stuff, and so is the town. Most people here look at that as being a good thing. Seriously. I’m sure the fishes really appreciate it. But what these people don’t think of is that all the villages up river are “cleaned out” the same way. Yup. It stinks being at the bottom of the trash (and crap) flow. That is why we boil and filter water here.
So—we have now officially entered rabies season. You’ve heard of cold and flu season? Apparently, there is rabies season too. Strange that it coincides with lack of sun. I wonder if it could have anything to do with deficient vitamin D? Anyway—turns out that a crazed fox raced out of the trees and attacked a landing bush plane. Tried to chew the tires right off of the thing. Of course, it had about as much success as a Chihuahua attacking a speeding Buick. But the pilot had enough sense to stay in the plane. No cargo is worth risking rabies for. Now the fox hunt is on. So far, no luck. Either the poor thing has died, moved to warmer climates, or got blown away to Oz.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Pneumonia Strikes
So I have come up with the #1 rule of living in the Bush: DON’T GET SICK! Simple as that.
Turns out I have pneumonia. Joy. So far, I haven’t found the humor in it—-but I’m still looking.
They gave me a peanut butter shot—-some A-bomb of antibiotics. It hurt like crazy. In fact, before he gave me the shot, he asked me if I have ever fainted. He said the shot is so painful it sometimes makes people faint. Now there’s a comment to instill confidence. The aide is a really nice guy—-name of Paul.
Paul phoned the doctor on call (in Bethel), and they wanted to fly me out to the hospital tonight, but there were no more flights tonight. So they gave me the peanut butter shot, put me on antibiotics, and let me go home until morning with strict instructions to drink lots of fluids. If I haven’t improved drastically, they will fly me out in the morning. I am hoping for a miraculous recovery so that I don’t have to leave Taco. (But just in case, we’ve made arrangements for him to stay with another couple until we get back. I would go by myself, but last time I went to a hospital by myself, I almost died because of shoddy care--literally. So we don’t want to make that mistake again.)
My biggest gripe about all this (other than being so sick and possibly having to leave Taco while I fly in to the hospital) is that I can’t go the Potlatch tonight. I feel like the only kid in town to miss out on the local hoedown. It stinks. And I wanted to be there for my friend Stephanie. She puts so much work into these things.
So meanwhile, I have a super sore butt (that shot was a killer—although I am proud to announce that I did NOT faint); I feel like I’m breathing through a straw; I ache from head to toe; my head feels like it’s split open; I have a horrific cough. And there is a rabid fox in town.
I know there is some humor in here somewhere. I just need to find it.
Turns out I have pneumonia. Joy. So far, I haven’t found the humor in it—-but I’m still looking.
They gave me a peanut butter shot—-some A-bomb of antibiotics. It hurt like crazy. In fact, before he gave me the shot, he asked me if I have ever fainted. He said the shot is so painful it sometimes makes people faint. Now there’s a comment to instill confidence. The aide is a really nice guy—-name of Paul.
Paul phoned the doctor on call (in Bethel), and they wanted to fly me out to the hospital tonight, but there were no more flights tonight. So they gave me the peanut butter shot, put me on antibiotics, and let me go home until morning with strict instructions to drink lots of fluids. If I haven’t improved drastically, they will fly me out in the morning. I am hoping for a miraculous recovery so that I don’t have to leave Taco. (But just in case, we’ve made arrangements for him to stay with another couple until we get back. I would go by myself, but last time I went to a hospital by myself, I almost died because of shoddy care--literally. So we don’t want to make that mistake again.)
My biggest gripe about all this (other than being so sick and possibly having to leave Taco while I fly in to the hospital) is that I can’t go the Potlatch tonight. I feel like the only kid in town to miss out on the local hoedown. It stinks. And I wanted to be there for my friend Stephanie. She puts so much work into these things.
So meanwhile, I have a super sore butt (that shot was a killer—although I am proud to announce that I did NOT faint); I feel like I’m breathing through a straw; I ache from head to toe; my head feels like it’s split open; I have a horrific cough. And there is a rabid fox in town.
I know there is some humor in here somewhere. I just need to find it.
We've Survived--So Far
First of all, let me get this out of the way: I AM SICK!!! I feel like I have the world’s worst cold and sound like I have the world’s worst cough. I ache from head to toe; have no voice; am freezing cold; and basically miserable. There. Now that’s out of the way, I’ll get down to business.
Taco and I are now up in the bush with Keri. Tanner stayed in Idaho to finish the school year because…actually, I will explain that in the next blog. (If I go into it now, this thing could go on forever.)
Our trip here was crazy! We flew on three flights and were in five airports by the time we got to Anchorage. I will never understand why a trip that has you going south when you want to go north, and takes three planes when it could have taken one, is so much cheaper than a direct flight! Doesn’t make much sense to me. Maybe that’s why there is failing airlines.
Anyway, we started in Salt Lake City, then on to Denver, into Phoenix, and then stopped in Seattle. The Seattle stop was unscheduled; we had to refuel because of strong headwinds. We couldn’t make it all the way to Anchorage—and generally speaking, a frigid ocean isn’t the best landing spot for a jetliner. We finally made Anchorage at about 2:30 AM—4:30 Utah (and our bodies’) time. We were exhausted!
Since I am too cheap to pay a hundred bucks for a hotel just for three hours worth of sleep, we camped out at the terminal. The Anchorage terminals are different than most—the benches don’t have arms; they are made to sleep on. And that is what we did; or at least, that is what Taco did. I just sat there.
When the ticket desk finally opened for the bush planes, I discovered a problem with our tickets—we didn’t have any. Turns out that although I had bought one, we weren’t on their list. For the past three days, they had been unable to fly into the village because of weather, so there was a backlog of people wanting to take the flight.
We tried standby, but it became obvious that the plane was going to be full, so we got a hotel—which, by the way, was DISGUSTING! But the real annoyance about the hotel part is that it came highly recommended by none other than my husband. The smell in the first room about made me sick, so I asked for a different room. That one wasn’t a heck of a lot better. It was so gross, that I was hesitant to take a shower without wearing some kind of protective footwear. When I asked Keri what on earth he could have possibly liked about the place, it turns out he liked it because they fed him breakfast. Sure doesn’t take much to impress the man.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep yet because we had too much to do. The girl at the bush desk was awful. And she was going to charge us $300 for excess baggage. The bush planes don’t allow as many pieces of luggage as regular airlines do—although, with eight trips in and out, this was the first time someone was going to actually enforce it. Great. So Taco and I took a taxi to WalMart to buy some great big totes. Then we walked across the street to buy groceries, and took a cab back to the yucky hotel. We packed the totes with one bag each (those small suitcases with rollers), plus a lot of other clothes. We got rid of two bags and a bunch of other stuff, totaling 70 pounds each, so that we had more room in our suitcases for the groceries. Then we took the totes to a 24 hour post office (yes—there is a post office open 24/7 near the Anchorage airport—that’s the nature of the bush). It cost us $20 to ship each of the really big packages weighing 70 pounds.
Since we hadn’t eaten all day, we hit a buffet, and then went back to the yucky hotel, and SLEPT.
The real problem began the next morning when we realize that we’d miscalculated. Could it be the effect of running for three days on hardly any sleep? We had WAY more stuff than we could fit into the suitcases—both size and weight. So we took the bags of powdered milk (I’d bought two big cans of powdered milk, and then put them in freezer bags to transport them) and a bag of icing sugar, and duct taped them to my torso. We had Taco tuck in his undershirt, and we dropped about ten oranges down his shirt and two big bags of dehydrated sliced potatoes. He was not impressed. The oranges made him itch and the potatoes were scratchy—which if you think about it, is the perfect combination. The potatoes scratch the itches caused by the oranges. Anyway, I felt like a health food terrorist. Good thing there is no security check to get on the bush planes, or we never would have made it through.
Anyway, we finally got to the village. Yay! But by that time, I had thrown my back out, what with all the hauling luggage and stuff. So I spent the next three days alternating between pain meds and muscle relaxant—both of which knock me out. When the pain finally subsided, I awoke to discover that I was horribly sick. I have been absolutely miserable for over a week now. And worthless. So far, I am wondering when this trip is going to start being fun. And I’m sure Keri is wondering why the heck he wanted me out here in the first place.
Taco and I are now up in the bush with Keri. Tanner stayed in Idaho to finish the school year because…actually, I will explain that in the next blog. (If I go into it now, this thing could go on forever.)
Our trip here was crazy! We flew on three flights and were in five airports by the time we got to Anchorage. I will never understand why a trip that has you going south when you want to go north, and takes three planes when it could have taken one, is so much cheaper than a direct flight! Doesn’t make much sense to me. Maybe that’s why there is failing airlines.
Anyway, we started in Salt Lake City, then on to Denver, into Phoenix, and then stopped in Seattle. The Seattle stop was unscheduled; we had to refuel because of strong headwinds. We couldn’t make it all the way to Anchorage—and generally speaking, a frigid ocean isn’t the best landing spot for a jetliner. We finally made Anchorage at about 2:30 AM—4:30 Utah (and our bodies’) time. We were exhausted!
Since I am too cheap to pay a hundred bucks for a hotel just for three hours worth of sleep, we camped out at the terminal. The Anchorage terminals are different than most—the benches don’t have arms; they are made to sleep on. And that is what we did; or at least, that is what Taco did. I just sat there.
When the ticket desk finally opened for the bush planes, I discovered a problem with our tickets—we didn’t have any. Turns out that although I had bought one, we weren’t on their list. For the past three days, they had been unable to fly into the village because of weather, so there was a backlog of people wanting to take the flight.
We tried standby, but it became obvious that the plane was going to be full, so we got a hotel—which, by the way, was DISGUSTING! But the real annoyance about the hotel part is that it came highly recommended by none other than my husband. The smell in the first room about made me sick, so I asked for a different room. That one wasn’t a heck of a lot better. It was so gross, that I was hesitant to take a shower without wearing some kind of protective footwear. When I asked Keri what on earth he could have possibly liked about the place, it turns out he liked it because they fed him breakfast. Sure doesn’t take much to impress the man.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep yet because we had too much to do. The girl at the bush desk was awful. And she was going to charge us $300 for excess baggage. The bush planes don’t allow as many pieces of luggage as regular airlines do—although, with eight trips in and out, this was the first time someone was going to actually enforce it. Great. So Taco and I took a taxi to WalMart to buy some great big totes. Then we walked across the street to buy groceries, and took a cab back to the yucky hotel. We packed the totes with one bag each (those small suitcases with rollers), plus a lot of other clothes. We got rid of two bags and a bunch of other stuff, totaling 70 pounds each, so that we had more room in our suitcases for the groceries. Then we took the totes to a 24 hour post office (yes—there is a post office open 24/7 near the Anchorage airport—that’s the nature of the bush). It cost us $20 to ship each of the really big packages weighing 70 pounds.
Since we hadn’t eaten all day, we hit a buffet, and then went back to the yucky hotel, and SLEPT.
The real problem began the next morning when we realize that we’d miscalculated. Could it be the effect of running for three days on hardly any sleep? We had WAY more stuff than we could fit into the suitcases—both size and weight. So we took the bags of powdered milk (I’d bought two big cans of powdered milk, and then put them in freezer bags to transport them) and a bag of icing sugar, and duct taped them to my torso. We had Taco tuck in his undershirt, and we dropped about ten oranges down his shirt and two big bags of dehydrated sliced potatoes. He was not impressed. The oranges made him itch and the potatoes were scratchy—which if you think about it, is the perfect combination. The potatoes scratch the itches caused by the oranges. Anyway, I felt like a health food terrorist. Good thing there is no security check to get on the bush planes, or we never would have made it through.
Anyway, we finally got to the village. Yay! But by that time, I had thrown my back out, what with all the hauling luggage and stuff. So I spent the next three days alternating between pain meds and muscle relaxant—both of which knock me out. When the pain finally subsided, I awoke to discover that I was horribly sick. I have been absolutely miserable for over a week now. And worthless. So far, I am wondering when this trip is going to start being fun. And I’m sure Keri is wondering why the heck he wanted me out here in the first place.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Crazy Summer & Other Stuff
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Time for an update on life. We may not be in Alaska right now, but there is a lot going on.
Spring has sprung in Alakanuk. There is still snow and ice everywhere, but the buds have popped. Keri did his last rabbit hunt of the season. (The picture of Keri is when I went with him to check traps shortly before the boys and I left.) Tanner and Taco (Jeremy) and I made it down to Utah. (We were locked into our flights before Rachelle got her second extension to stay in France. So we came down anyway.) I was REALLY sick with a bad cough, but I’m getting better now.
Our summer vacation is going to be insane! It is a very busy time, with a lot of traveling. I feel like a person who has been thirsty for a long time, and then gets hit with a tidal wave. We’ve been in a place inaccessible by road, which limits the ground travel to short snow machine trips. And now it seems like we will be doing nothing but driving.
In the next three months, I will be making about 10 trips to Idaho and back for several track meets, two high school graduations, returning missionary (my sister Rachel’s son), EFY, and best of all, wedding stuff (bridal shower, etc. for Erin, my wonderful daughter-in-law). (I also get to spend time with Rachel and family, and with Erin's family.) We will be driving to Montana for a wedding (another of Rachel’s sons). We will drive to Los Angeles where we will fly out to Costa Rica for 3 ½ weeks; we will drive all over that country. We return to LA and then drive up to northern California to see Keri’s family; then back to southern California for my extended family reunion; and back to Utah. And that is just the highlights. (Keri gets down here June 4th--yay!--so he will be here for a chunk of the driving too.)
I figured out that when you add all the mileage together, I could have driven round-trip from Los Angeles to New York and back, and then started out again, and ended up in the midwest. Yikes. That's a lot of wheel time.
Keri is anxious to get down here with the family. It's hard to be alone where there is very little to do. He's my hero.
On the fun side, I’ve been able to hang around my future daughter-in-law, and I’m crazy about her! The more I’m around her, the more I like her. Just when I think I couldn’t possibly like her more, I do! Erin has a very sweet and kind nature, but is also feisty enough to stand up to Chris. I am quite pleased.
Life is good.
(By the way--have I mentioned lately that Rachelle gets home on May 25th? Ask me how long it will be, and I will tell you exactly. Not that I'm counting.)
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Shuttle Shuffle
The boys and I flew into Anchorage on Friday, and stayed at the Crown Plaza Hotel Friday and Saturday night. Great hotel! Very comfortable beds and friendly staff. I highly recommend them.
Anyway, we checked out Sunday, but our flight didn’t leave until just after midnight; so after we checked out, we hung around the hotel. (They said it was fine.) We had our bags piled on a luggage carrier, which we parked in the lounge—a large room off of the foyer. There were tables and chairs, comfortable couches, a big TV, and a bunch of books. We played cards, read, and basically just lounged around until about 10:30 that night.
The hotel has a free shuttle service to the airport—one of those white vans with a logo on the side. When we rode it to the hotel, the driver was very helpful, loading up our luggage and he was really friendly and chatty. I was headed to the front desk to see when the shuttle would be there, and I saw it pull up in front. So I ran and got the boys. “Hurry!” I said. “It just pulled up!” We grabbed our jackets, my computer, two backpacks, and the luggage carrier that our other bags were piled on, and headed for the door. We were really loaded down.
I waved to the driver as we headed to the back of the van. I was a little surprised that he didn’t come help us load the luggage, but figured he was a “do-it-yourself” type of driver. But the back door wouldn’t open, and he didn’t unlock it when we knocked on the back of the van. I figured he didn’t realize we were going with him, so I walked to the front and opened the passenger door. I said, “Can you open the back? We need to put our luggage in.” He was looking at me like I was nuts. So was the guy who had just climbed in the back. The driver said, “Uh…” and kept looking at me weird. I asked, “Aren’t you going to the airport?” He said, “Uh…no.” That’s when I took a good look at the logo on the side of the van. It said “Salvation Army.” How embarrassing.
Anyway, we checked out Sunday, but our flight didn’t leave until just after midnight; so after we checked out, we hung around the hotel. (They said it was fine.) We had our bags piled on a luggage carrier, which we parked in the lounge—a large room off of the foyer. There were tables and chairs, comfortable couches, a big TV, and a bunch of books. We played cards, read, and basically just lounged around until about 10:30 that night.
The hotel has a free shuttle service to the airport—one of those white vans with a logo on the side. When we rode it to the hotel, the driver was very helpful, loading up our luggage and he was really friendly and chatty. I was headed to the front desk to see when the shuttle would be there, and I saw it pull up in front. So I ran and got the boys. “Hurry!” I said. “It just pulled up!” We grabbed our jackets, my computer, two backpacks, and the luggage carrier that our other bags were piled on, and headed for the door. We were really loaded down.
I waved to the driver as we headed to the back of the van. I was a little surprised that he didn’t come help us load the luggage, but figured he was a “do-it-yourself” type of driver. But the back door wouldn’t open, and he didn’t unlock it when we knocked on the back of the van. I figured he didn’t realize we were going with him, so I walked to the front and opened the passenger door. I said, “Can you open the back? We need to put our luggage in.” He was looking at me like I was nuts. So was the guy who had just climbed in the back. The driver said, “Uh…” and kept looking at me weird. I asked, “Aren’t you going to the airport?” He said, “Uh…no.” That’s when I took a good look at the logo on the side of the van. It said “Salvation Army.” How embarrassing.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Our Trip Home
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The boys and I are now in Anchorage.
We left Alakanuk yesterday (Friday, April 10th) about 11:00 and traveled to Emmonak by snow machine. It was a really cold trip. Notice the picture taken from the school deck just before we left (the parking area with frosted trees behind).
The snow machine trip that normally takes 30 minutes took us 40 because we had to go so slowly. Tanner may be staying in the lower 48 for school next year, so we brought all of his stuff, plus what Taco and I will need over the summer. And we had to carry it in the sled behind the snow machine. And of course, there were four of us going, and we can only fit three on the machine. So Keri and Tanner and I rode on the machine, and Taco rode on top of the giant tote in the sled and held on tight. I rode looking back the entire trip. I couldn’t see him, but I could see his shadow. If there was too much bouncing, I would whack Keri on the arm, and he would slow down. I wanted to ride on the sled (because I didn’t want my son back there), but the others shot the idea down fast. The sled was weighed down enough without having me back there. The pictures are of us sitting in the middle of the Yukon River when Keri stopped to tighten Taco’s hood because it kept flying off. And Taco’s jacket isn’t gray—it is covered in snow and ice.
Our flight to Anchorage was awesome. We were in a big plane (see picture of the boys about to board). It had two seats on each side of the aisle instead of just one seat. And it had a stewardess! I’ve never heard of such a thing in the bush! She served juice in BIG cups, and she offered refills. And even better, there was a bathroom! That’s another first. There wasn’t running water in the bathroom, though. Instead, the sink was filled with packets of moist towelettes. But at least there was a working toilet.
And we are now sitting in Anchorage waiting for our flight out at midnight on Sunday night. We are in a nice hotel (thank goodness for Priceline). And Keri said that it’s a good thing we left when we did, because we probably wouldn’t have been able to get out over the weekend. A big storm hit and there’s no sign of it letting up—and nothing flies when the weather is like that.
But we are in warm Anchorage. It is 32 here right now. And it’s supposed to get up to 39. It’s a tropical paradise. So I’m going to go get ready for the day, and we are going to go out and enjoy the heat wave.
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