Outhouse theory

Building outhouses is not only easy, but also fun! Here’s a great recipe for TCOB in the AK:

HOLE IN GROUND (mandatory, self-explanatory)

PERCH ABOVE HOLE (essential). A plywood bench with second hole – simply employ Sawzall, personal discretion

FOUR WALLS, CEILING (optional) – Note that in some locals, three walls will not only suffice, but may also offer certain advantages, i.e. superior ventilation and views of the northern lights, to enhance pooping.

STYROFOAM (essential). This feature offers several cold-resistant properties that provide both comfort as well as a substantially-decreased risk of becoming affixed to your aforementioned perch in -40F temperatures.

T.P. (essential, self-explanatory)

SAWDUST (utility remains unknown) – Still haven’t figured this one out. Think you might be supposed to dump some down the hole once in a while to aid in decomposition. Standard selection of cedar chips may offer advantages in terms of ambient air conditions.

CINDERBLOCK (optional). Depending on height of perch, can offer superior comfort as footrest.

MAGAZINES (optional, self-explanatory)

LIGHT (recommended). My current set up comes complete with strung Christmas-style lights, on-off switch. Lets bears know exactly where you are, thereby aiding mauling bids.

DECORATIONS (optional). Currently, a dishtowel depicting pastoral scene with ducks provides engaging and relaxing atmosphere.

The Kenai River

The queen of Alaska’s rivers. The swift, deep, emerald-hues waters of the Kenai are renowned for prolific runs of red, pink, silver, and world-record king salmon. Slightly less known but in my opinion even more amazing are the resident and perennially migratory trout and char species that feed largely on the spawn and flesh of all these salmon, and grow to ridiculous sizes in the process.

In late September my buddies Tank, Ed and I staged a three-man attack from home base in Cooper Landing, AK. Three days, two guided float trips, and several bottles of Jim Beam later, we lost count of the 20+ inch, football-shaped rainbows we guided to the net. Aside from Tank’s 13 lbs silver salmon hauled in on Day 2, the highlight was unquestionably an absurdly-proportioned 27.5”, 9-10 lbs native rainbow wrestled in by Ed on Day 3. (Don’t worry, the author quickly re-established his dominance on the smaller water of the Anchor River, landing 2 fresh steelhead to cap off the final leg of overall trip.)

This is by far the most amazing fishery I have ever experienced. I’ll let the pictures tell the rest of the story….

The Salvadorean Experiment (An Essay Concerning Risk)

Alaska is a dangerous land. Where massive bears can turn hiker into prey. Where frigid temperatures can turn drunken pedestrians into popsicles. And where a dilapidated VW camper van from El Salvador can turn hungry lunch-goers into fatally-dehydrated ER patients.

Or so I thought upon first eyeing the sketchiest “restaurant” I have ever encountered. The location – abandoned gas station parking lot. The culprit – described above. The dilemma – despite every indication to the contrary, could this food actually be good?

Fortunately, my time in rough-and-tumble Fairbanks has sufficiently steeled my nerves (or diminished my judgment and cognitive abilities) so as to justify experimenting with the tamales and papoosas advertised by a kindly Salvedorean refugee via orange spray paint applied to a triangle of plywood along Noble Street’s sidewalk.

As a precaution, I cleared my schedule for the afternoon, and generally ensured that my affairs were in order. Then I ordered. “Tamale,” I blurted excitedly, ignorant of all things papoosa. “…With chicken. And a Dr. Pepper.” My new mustachioed friend quickly obliged, and after finding a suitable park bench under the shade of the gas station canopy, I dug in. Delicious. Proving once again the virtues of risk, even at the expense of all common sense.

SIlver Gulch Brewery

The Silver Gulch Brewery in Fox, Alaska is a place where, to paraphrase its motto, “unusual people make unusually good beer.” Taking this advertizing at its word (which I am always sure to do), I joined a couple hundred revelers at the Brewery’s annual Oktoberfest celebration, and soon discovered the aforementioned motto to be correct on both accounts. Good beer, great brats, and a lively polka band in accurate and therefore ridiculous German garb made for a solid night in itself, though of course we capped things off across the street at the Howling Dog Saloon to take in a pretty decent jam band and three-too-many cans of PBR.

Good times to be had in the old gold mining town of Fox.

Tourists

In late May to early June of every year, residents of Alaska bear witness to one of the most incessant, consuming migrations of wildlife known to Earth, as flocks of white (and sometimes blue)-haired specimens of considerable age and girth descend upon the previously quiet and spacious environs of the state. Tourists. And lots of them. Gawking from buses, invading souvenir shops, and slowly meandering through town.

Not a moose-printed sweatshirt or box of smoked salmon is spared. The gathering hoards are ravenous, consumed by their dual desires to purchase merchandize of limited utility and to operate large cameras.

By September, the herd disperses, leaving only discarded brochures and the faint scent of Ben-Gay in their wake. By winter they have vanished, although a winter run of excitable Japanese tourists may fill a portion of the icy void, thereby ensuring the survival of the species against potential summer-time catastrophe.

Come next spring, as the snows recede and the rivers are freed from their icy repose, resident Alaskans across the state prepare for the coming of warmer weather, and brace themselves for next migration of these mysterious creatures from the south. The circle of life marches on….

Coming Soon - Cabin Search 2008

This in-depth investigative report will detail the author's search for suitable housing in the Fairbanks area.

Guns

A confused look, and the inevitable question "So where are you from?" Every time I mentioned the fact that I had only shot a gun once in my life, that was the response. Finding this situation unacceptable to all parties involved, I took action. A very large caliber action.
Luckily for me, the only gun control known to Fairbanksians consists of using both hands. So when we rolled up to the local rifle range and began to set up a 50 caliber sniper rifle, a killing machine designed for defeating the enemy (the enemy being human, vehicular, or perhaps aeronautic) at ranges in excess of a mile, local hunters regarded us with only mildly enthusiastic curiosity rather than the rational dread for one's life and frantic calls to 911 I had half-expected.
Turns out I'm not a too bad a shot - 2 for 2 on a paper target 350 meters away. Good enough to eviscerate an unfortunate 800-pound moose into a fine mist. Not that a direct hit is even necessary with this thing - a bullet passing relatively close to a live target with displace air in such a fashion to kill rather efficiently, all before the sound of muzzle reaches the victim.
The experience as a whole was at once exhilarating, terrifying, and hilarious. I highly recommend it.

Minto Flats

About 35 miles west of Fairbanks lies a half million or so acres of lakes, plains, marshes, and sloughs known as Minto Flats.
It can be tough place to get to. By road, the least circuitous route will run you about 2 hours. By boat, you've gotta run down the swollen Tanana River before navigating a maze of back channels that could lead everywhere or nowhere.
Last week a buddy and I took the easy way out - we hopped a float plane with Fairbanks legend Rick Gold. Joining us on this little puddle jumper were an old and quite fat local man along with his clearly inexpensive mail order bride. The five of us enjoyed a smooth landing just downstream of camp about a half hour after our departure from Chena Marina. Old guy and generically foreign companion immediately stumbled off to their cabin soon afterwards to consumate their lenghty illegal sex trafficking. Jordan and I, meanwhile, threw up in our mouths a little bit, then rigged up for the monster pike that lurk throughout Minto's narrow channels and ubiquitous weeds.
One broken $775 fly rod later, we had our first encounter. Jordan's fishing techniques, which were the antithesis of delicate and rivaled only dynamite and Clorox-dumping in sportsmanship, elicited a break in a prolonged silence in the form of a large eruption at the side of the boat. A monster pike had followed Jordan's spoon (I use that term loosely, as his lure more closely resembled a large metallic soup ladle) within plain sight of us only to leap clear out of the water alongside our johnboat. This toothy beast missed the treble hooks but produced no small of poop in our novice pants and generally set the tone for the day.
It's difficult but rather fun to describe how these pike strike one's lure or fly. Case study: As darkness settled we decided to head back to our own cabin to finish off the 5 pounds or so of pike meat (from a 34.5 incher Jordan land earlier in the day) we had leftover at our own cabin. I asked to stop at a little piece of slack water from which I had earlier solicited a strike on a mouse pattern. I heaved out a 30 foot cast which carried the same pattern to far bank and waited for the ripples to dissipate. A small strip produced a tiny gurgle and I paused expectantly. Another strip and WHOOOSH a medium sized pike lept from it ambush point, taking my fly on the way up before propelling itself parallel to the glassy water's surface. My slack fly line reproduced the fish's leap, jumping from the aluminum floor of the boat, through my 7 weight's guides and towards the streaking fish. Pike give up the fight rather easily; once hooked and briefly played, they accept their fate stoically. The sport is in the initial take; in this instance, my leisurely-gurgling mouse fly most closely resembled, carnage-wise, a baby stroller getting side-swiped by a city bus.
After a long day of beers and pike, Jordan and I stoked the wood stove and settled in to our stream-side cabin. This will be an annual trip.

North Pole, Alaska

The town of North Pole, Alaska is the most depressing place on Earth.

Homesteaded in 1944, this area lying just to the east of Fairbanks was later purchased and subdivided by a development company who quickly renamed the boggy floodplain “North Pole” in hopes of attracting a toy manufacturer who never came.

According to Wikipedia (so you know it’s true), “The city is a summertime attraction for tourists visiting nearby Fairbanks, and traveling to and from the Alaska Highway and Valdez. Its biggest attraction is a gift shop named Santa Claus House with the world's largest fiberglass statue of Santa Claus Christmas USPS post office postmark on their holiday greeting cards to their families. It advertises the ZIP code 99705 as the ZIP code of Santa. Prior to each year, the in North Pole receives hundreds of thousands of letters to Santa Claus, and thousands more from people wanting the town's Holiday-themed streets in North Pole include Santa Claus Lane, St. Nicholas Drive, Snowman Lane, and Kris Kringle Drive. Street lights in the city are decorated in a candy cane motif, and many local businesses have similar decorations. The city's firetrucks and ambulances are all red, while the police cars are all green.”

You can’t blame these people. Eeking out a living can be tough in Interior Alaska, and this gimmick does seem to support a meager if kitschy tourism industry.

But let’s face it: after the initial intrigue fades, walking through this place is about as charming as watching a clown cry.

The Alaskan State Bird

Pictured here in actual size, Alaskan mosquitos annually draw more blood than the Red Cross. These close relatives of the terydactal are largely responsible for the annual migration of the state’s million or so caribou and a scourge to Alaskan wildlife, residents and visitors alike.

Locals I’ve spoken with cite an interesting theory to explain the size of these winged beasts. Apparently, mosquito larvae experience continued growth throughout their gestation period, which in this climate equates to an 8-month winter. Whatever the reason, when Alaskan mosquitos emerge as adults, they are characterized by a wingspan of approximately 8 inches and possess a mouth that resembles a common milkshake straw in size, shape and function.

Land of the Coffee Shacks

Coffee shacks are perhaps Fairbanks’ most endearing, practical, and ubiquitous features. Each comes complete with drive through windows on two sides and a 45% chance of cute barista, or at least what passes for such in these parts.

And these little huts are just everywhere. Shopping mall? Coffee shack. Side of the highway? Coffee shack. Abandoned parking lot? Loitering meth addicts and, yes, coffee shacks.

All have coffee, specialty coffees, and delicious baked goods. Many have large and greasy breakfast sandwiches. Stumble out of a bar at 3 a.m. into broad daylight. Get some coffee. And a Bacon Egg & Cheese on a toasted everything bagel. After all, you’ve earned it….

Mount Marathon 2008

One of Alaska's favorite events is the annual Mount Marathon Race held every July 4th. For most of the year, the sleepy seaport town of Seward is inhabited by about 3,000 hardy souls. But come race day, the town accommodates tens of thousands of revelers and braces for one hell of party.
The race itself is the longest 3.1 miles of your life. After a staggered start and a short jaunt through town, the course ascends nearby Mount Marathon, which looms in a perpetual cloud more than 3,000 feet above nearby Resurrection Bay. Average speed up the mountain is 2 mph.
The trip down gets a bit more interesting. Footing is, to say the least, difficult on the mountain's loose shale. Ice fields remove skin when slid upon. Sadistic spectators gather at a particularly dangerous drop to gawk at falling racers -- they are rarely disappointed.
Back in town, the finish line is strategically located near makeshift first aid tents and multiple bars - facilities which serve largely the same function every July 4th in Seward, AK.

Editor's note

Consider this my out-of-office reply; I'll be down in Seward for a few days and then off to San Antonio for a week, so (I'm sorry, Steven) posting will be sporadic for a bit.
In the meantime, I'll leave you with this breaking news:
http://www.theonion.com/content/news/bush_urges_expanded_drilling_of

Portage Lake

Though not expansive in terms of surface area, Portage Lake is deep enough to submerge an 80-story skyscraper. Fed by Placer River as well as the runoff and calving of Portage Glacier, the waters of the Lake are of typical aquamarine color and pretty darn cold, as one can gather from this June 24th photo.
Due to its steady retreat, Portage Glacier is no longer visible from the nearby road. Numerous hiking trails in the area still allow closer inspection.

Combat on the Russian!

Early to mid-June brings the first wave of sockeye, or "red" salmon to the gin-clear waters of the Russian River, located in the heart of the Kenia Peninsula of south-central Alaska. A variety of other creatures are soon to follow, including droves of fishermen from all over Alaska and the world, as well as more than a few hungry bears. More sockeyes are taken on rod and reel here than in any other place in the world. Naturally, yours truly took advantage of a work-sponsored trip to nearby Anchorage, threw on some face paint, and visited the warzone for a couple hours of the famous Combat Fishing.
The photo the right sums up the situation pretty well. A whole lot of screaming reels and happy fisherman existing more-or-less peacefully side-by-side.
As for equipment and technique, this is about as basic as salmon fishing gets. Sockeyes aren't too interested in food at this point, so the normal artistic presentation of carefully crafted and selected flies is not only pointless, it's downright unproductive. Instead, the goal here is to slide a rudimentary bucktail fly across the head and/or mouth of the surging salmon, irritating them into striking. It doesn't matter that most of the salmon refuse to respond to even the most annoying of efforts. With so many fish in the river, the odds are decidedly with the fisherman.
But while hooking a red is easy, landing it is not. Like a drunk guy at a club, a red does not respond well to any efforts that would prevent it from sealing the deal. The initial hookset is usually followed by one of two reactions - either stunning and repeated jumping and flailing, or a series of knuckle-cracking runs directly downstream. Either way, the fight usually devolves into a contest of whose muscles will fail first, the fish or the fisherman's.
In roughly two hours of fishing I hooked about ten fish, landed one (pictured right), and had about as much fun as I've ever had with my clothes on.

Picture of the Week

The upper Chatanika River. Dodge the moose and you're knee-deep in grayling. Nice spot, no one around for miles.

My Next Purchase

Tired of people making fun of my glorified station wagon, the author has decided to stockpile much of the world's remaining gas and bandana supplies, invest in this baby, and get all Mad Max on your asses. I'll be just like Mel Gibson, except without the Jew-hating.

Picture of the Week

Midnight along the Middle Branch of the Chena River.

Local Environmental Attorney Murders Bird

A desolate highway near Fairbanks, June 6.

Area man Michael Routhier, a self-described "environmental" attorney, may soon be forced to take on an additional case - defending none other than himself against allegations of vehicular bird-slaughter. This much is undisputed: on Friday, June, Routhier was operating his Subaru along Chena Hot Springs Road in a scene that locals describe as "stereotypical". Closing in on Mile 30, Routhier spotted a small bird flying across the road in front of his vehicle. "I couldn't stop in time," the hypocrite claimed, "it was either me or the bird." Instead of slowing down, the 27-year old Connecticutian merely deigned to peek into his rear-view mirror and witness a plume of feathers trailing his yuppie-mobile. "It was horrible."
Horrible indeed. Matters escalated when Routhier, fearing the worst, later pulled to the side of the road and investigated the matter further. "Luckily I was on my way to go fishing," he explained cryptically. "I wouldn't have been able to pull that f*cker out of the grill without my forceps."
In lieu of sending breadcrumbs, mourners are encourage to take a shit on Routhier's windshield.

Alyeska

The term "Alyeska," roughly translated from the Aleut for "great country," has various applications in Alaska, a state which owes its name to the word.
But here I am referring to an impressive ski resort located 50 miles to the south of Anchorage in a little town called Girdwood. This area features a decent number of ski cabins of various costs, a small river with halfway decent salmon runs in the summer, and a very posh resort hotel that I could not afford to stay in.
Mount Alyeska, the primary peak developed for skiing, is within the southern portion of the Chugach range. Nestled beside the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet, the views are spectacular. Add that to the 631 inches of annual snowfall and you've got yourself a nice weekend retreat from "big city life."
The format of the mountain is quite different from what I've encountered back East. (Yes, to me, East is capitalized.) Rather than an assembly of roughly parallel trails carving paths along the fall line and through remnants of forests, much of the terrain here is wide open and only sporadically marked. This is particularly true of the upper portion of the mountain, which consists of a wide, above tree-line bowl draining multiple peak areas, which in turn are connected by a long ridge that remains open for skier access.
The price of the skiing seems inversely proportioned to the quality of the skiing. Two days' lift ticket and rentals set me back a total of roughly $75. Price-wise that's similar if not cheaper than Mohawk, Wachusett, and Suicide Six. Except the mountain features twice the verticle, receives about 8 times as much snow, and is congested by half the crowds.
So Alyeska has that going for it, which is nice.

Combat at the dumps

Letter to the Editor

Combat at the dumps

Jim Ahiers, Fairbanks

Published Wednesday, May 28, 2008

May 25, 2008

To the editor:

I’ve been spring cleaning for the last three or four weeks and made quite a few trips to the various transfer sites around town. Every time I pull in, my vehicle is mobbed by people who are picking through the dumpsters that want to see what I’m throwing out. Today, my truck was still in motion when a guy tried to pull out a piece of rusty diamond grate in the bed. I almost ran him over. Last week, a guy fought it out with an old bag lady for a rickety barbecue grill that I pitched. He managed to win the battle and proceeded to load it on a trailer he was towing behind his bike.

It used to be that there were just a few people that were doing this. But nowadays there’s literally dozens of them at every dump. And it’s become a contact sport. Not just among the divers themselves, but for people like me who just want to dump their trash. As entertaining as these bum fights are to watch, I have to draw the line when my kids lock the doors as soon as we pull up. It makes no difference to me if you want to dig through coffee grounds, diapers, cat litter, used syringes and all the other fun things you find in most dumpsters for 80 cents worth of aluminum. Knock yourselves out. But don’t harass me, don’t beat on my windows like you want to wash them for a dollar and don’t step behind me while I’m backing up. There’s plenty of trash to go around, I promise.

Jim Ahiers

Fairbanks

Editor's note: Sorry, Jim. Well worth the scratch marks for this sweet new grill of mine.

Sausage Fest

An interesting fact about Fairbanks, and for that matter Alaska in general, is the proportion of men to women in the local population. By the numbers, for every 100 females above the age of 18 there are over 108 males. From everyday experience, the disparity seems even greater.

But don't think that Alaskan women enjoy a wealth of eligible bachelors, as those eight extra guys probably don't shower too often or have many teeth to brush. A popular saying amongst the ladies sums it up pretty well - "The odds are good, but the goods are odd".

Yet for some, these odds are too good to pass up:

http://www.newsminer.com/news/2008/apr/29/superstar-elton-john-perform-fairbanks/

Alaska Turns 50...

... and celebrates by defrosting Sen. Ted Stevens for the day.

Stevens, who as a precocious 62-year old witnessed firsthand the day when Alaska became the 49th state, passed an enjoyable afternoon by drooling and hiding his prescription medication from "those robots."

UA-Fairbanks Rugby

One of my favorite experiences thus far has been coaching the backline of the nascent UAF rugby team. The guys have been enthusiastic and a lot of fun. Reminds me of our efforts developing the Vermont Law Rugby squad, and in particular explaining the rules of the game to kids like Matthew Tjosvold, pictured above with the world's dumbest fish.

Here's a well done piece featuring the voice of my buddy Girard:
http://www.uaf.edu/journal/portfolios/MattSIMPSONSS1/CLICK%20HERE.html

In recent news, the UAF boys won their first match while playing in last weekend's Mother Tucker tournament down in Anchorage.

And yes, those posts in the slide shoe are actually birch trees.

Subarus

Did you know that upon arrival every new Alaska resident receives a complimentary Subaru? It's true! Check out mine....

Public Safety Report 5/28

The daily results are in! Today's winners include:
* Wilfred J. Schieffler, who was arguing with his ex-girlfriend when he put her in a headlock and covered her mouth and nose so she couldn’t breathe. When she tried to climb down the balcony, he began hitting her in the head with a stick. When the woman tried to call for help, Schieffler allegedly took her cell phone away.
* Annette Marie Keith, who punched her ex-husband's girlfriend woman in the stomach and choked her with both hands around her neck before picking up a rock and striking the woman on the side of the head after the girlfriend and the ex-husband had gone to his former home on Otto Lake Road to pick up some horses.
* Boyd is accused of shaking a crying 2-month-old baby and putting a burp rag in its mouth to muffle the infant’s crying. He is also accused of punching his girlfriend, the baby’s mother, when she tried to call for help and grabbing her arm and throwing her down on a bed when she tried to take the baby away from him, according to court records.
* Carl Edward Tessen, 49, who allegedly hit his wife in the face three times while she was driving on May 16.
* And finally, John H. Hoch, who is accused of deliberately slamming a fence in a trooper’s face while fleeing on foot.

Special thanks to all those contestants who didn't quite make the cut. But hey, there's another weekend coming up fast, and that bottle of Yukon Jack isn't gonna drink itself!!!

http://newsminer.com/news/2008/may/28/public-safety-report-may-28/

Grand Theft Cane Leaves Fairbansians Stumbling for Words

You heard it here first:
http://www.newsminer.com/news/2008/may/28/stolen-cane/?opinion

I find Coldarmyguy's comment lamenting the Army's lowered recruiting standards particularly poignant in light of his own mastery of grammar and spelling.

The Delta Clearwater

The Delta Clearwater is a spring-fed, gem of a river located about 1.5 hours southeast of Fairbanks. Took my first trip down last Sunday. The grayling were all over my caddis dries like hobos on a ham sandwich. Special thanks goes out to the motorboat enthusiast who roared by me at full throttle as I tippy-toed across (and down) this swift-flowing run pictured to the right. Sir, the fact that I nearly drowned was definitely worthwhile in light of the immense pleasure you apparently derived from nearly drowning me.

Summer is here!

Memorial Day is behind us, which means those white Carhartt shorts are now fair game!

Description: This is Carhartt's popular Work Short in a slightly shorter version -- with an 8.5-inch inseam. It's constructed of a light 7.5-ounce 100% cotton canvas. On top of all your regular pockets it features a hammer loop, ruler pocket, and cell phone pocket. Available in three colors. This is Carhartt's lightest-weight, coolest work short -- designed to provide a maximum of comfort and convenience in warm weather, while maintaining all the long-wearing ruggedness you expect from Carhartt.

Guaranteed Low Price $32.00 $27.00

(Savings: $5.00)