Boreal B[l]og

“Mike, could you do me a favor?”

Rosemary, a few years my senior, is a good friend and works with me as a volunteer at Rowe Sanctuary in Nebraska during the Crane migration.  She and her husband are remarkable people, and we see each other for a week or two every spring.

“Sure, what?”

“Could you clean the toilets in the men’s room?  I simply cannot bring myself to do that any longer.”

“Sure.  I’ll do it.”  At Rowe, I do anything I am asked if I am capable of doing it.  I can clean toilets.

Since that day, five years ago, there isn’t any public restroom I have used without scanning the urinals or the toilets for cleanliness.  If I see a man cleaning one, usually a person of color, I feel some kinship.  The man will never know that I’ve done his job.  I don’t like the unnecessary junk thrown into urinals, the misses, the stains on the floor, and the paper that misses the garbage can.  It’s gross, and the job doesn’t pay well.  I did daily cleaning as a volunteer, but morning and night I guided people to see one of the world’s great migrations, and I don’t use “world” lightly,  It’s on Jane Goodall’s top 10 list and my top three.

Cleaning toilets was third in a line of cleaning up poop. I learned it as a fourth year medical student working in the NICU and general pediatrics.  If one examined a newborn, and found the diaper soiled, one changed it and cleaned the baby.  Period.  No exceptions. It’s cruel and unprofessional to knowingly let anybody sit in their own urine or feces.

I cleaned up after adult patients when I examined them, if they had soiled themselves.  It took time, I gagged more than once, but it was relaxing to do something I knew was good.

It’s not always fun being a tour guide, dealing with the public in a visitor’s center.  I don’t walk into one today without knowing exactly what it is like to be behind the desk, to have to clean the place, and answer questions. Perhaps that is why I had I thought my experience interesting, on successive days, with two tour guides in Alaska.

The first tour was to Crescent Lake in Lake Clark National Park.  Our boat guide to see the bears was a man our age, a stone mason for 42 years, with one knee replaced and needing the other done, too.  I wonder why those in Congress who want to raise the age for Social Security can’t understand that that most can’t do difficult manual labor until 70.  I’m not far from 70, and I would have trouble.  Then again, when one is in his 40s, with good health, money and connections, he doesn’t think about the day when his body starts betraying him, as mine has.  I don’t think I must end my hiking and camping, but I’d be foolish to discount the possibility in the near future.  Ted, Rand, Rick, and Donald don’t think in those terms.

Bear viewing that day was poor.  We went immediately to where there was a single sow, the only brown bear we would see, but saw great bear behavior for an hour.

Brown bear, Lake Clark NP, Alaska

I have seen 18 bears in the Brooks Range, but I saw more behavior from this one in an hour than all of my sightings combined, often from a safe 800 meters, rather than from 50, if that.  I knew the guide was unhappy with the paucity of bears, but the large numbers of fisherman, many with noisy motors, made it impossible.  As a tour guide, I know the pressure guides feel to “deliver,” when nature calls the shots. That afternoon, I spotted a black bear and two cubs from 800 meters, and we had a delightful half hour of viewing when they came closer.  Further away, where the guide hoped to find bears, all we saw was an unseen bear making trees move, the movement gradually uphill.  My wife and I were excited, and I think the guide was glad.

Black bear, Lake Clark, NP, Alaska

Sow with one of her two cubs.

Crescent Lake was beautiful, the mountains clear, the weather perfect.  I still felt sorry for the guide, but this is Alaska, not a zoo, which too many people expect when they go on wildlife viewing tours.  Seeing wildlife is a gift. For the first time, I had seen black and brown bears the same day, interesting bear behavior, and spotted another at great distance.  I helped.

Crescent Lake, Alaska

The second tour was a flight/see over the Chugach Mountains to Prince William Sound.  The tour was supposed to start at 10; we learned it would be 20 minutes late, because somebody missed the shuttle.  While not in a hurry, it is annoying to make the effort to be on time when others don’t.  The lady who appeared took pictures by the plane, then decided she really needed to use the restroom.  Forty minutes late now, the group still chatting with the pilot, I sat by the plane.  My wife wondered aloud what was going on, adding her husband was a bit grumpier.  The pilot called, “How are you doing?”  I answered, “Waiting.”

The pilot then did something wrong.  He told me in front of everybody that this was fun, his philosophy was to have fun, and if he weren’t having fun, he would quit doing it.  One never, and I mean never, berates a client in front of others.  I have flown in remote parts of Alaska, landing in 15 different lakes or sandbars.  I learned early that nobody who depends upon a plane in Alaska must ever be late.  I should have said that.  His job was to ensure people had a safe tour and hope they had a good time. That’s what I tell clients when I guide.

The pilot was knowledgable, although I could have done without a discussion of his personal life. Later, he played music, neither my kind nor appropriate.  I stayed quiet, not about to get chastised again.  My wife, however, did have a discussion with him about turning off the music.  Note to music lovers: if others complain, don’t ask “you don’t like it?”  They don’t.  That’s what headphones are for.

Glaciers in the Chugach.

Nose of glacier.

At a stop on a lake to briefly deplane, the pilot neither said how long we would stay nor counted heads over and over, as I would have.  This was bear country, and few tourists knew not to wander far.  Indeed, wildlife was hardly mentioned until near the tour’s end, although I did see fifteen mountain goats.

Pattern on glacier from the air.

I learned about Alaska’s glaciers. But the other things I learned were a far more important.  They will make me both a better tour guide and a better person, even if I don’t have 25,000 flight hours, haven’t flown for Exxon or rich folks, and have a different take on what is fun.  I’ve missed a lot, but I’ve been around.

I tipped both guides well, including the pilot.  Once a year, somebody tries to tip me at Rowe.  I tell them to please put it in the container in the visitor’s center.

With luck, I’ll see it when I go clean the toilets.

Two small reasons why I lead tours to the viewing blinds. Rowe Sanctuary, 2013.

I have had good fortune to have traveled to Alaska 12 times.  I’ve had deeply satisfying hikes and backpacking trips in the Southeast, the South Central, and the North.  There is a mystique about the name “Alaska,” the bush pilots, who take one to where moose, wolverine, grizzlies, arctic foxes, caribou, and Dall Sheep may be seen.  There are places one can imagine that no person has stood in the past several thousand years, if ever.

Place where I once sat and wondered if anybody ever had been here. It is the rock lower center. Aichilik River 2009.

With that backdrop, my wife and I visited Alaska so I could show her some of the beauty of the land,  Beginning in Kotzebue, we saw musk oxen close up, a bear hunting a caribou, ate blueberries and stared at wide open spaces for miles.  On our return to Anchorage, we planned a drive to Homer, one of those “You should see” places.

Musk Oxen, Cape Kreusenstern, Alaska. July 2015.

Unfortunately, it was a Saturday.

Route 1 was nearly a solid line of cars, similar to the Oregon Coast in summer, or the Minnesota northland on a Friday.  Construction was a given; roads take abuse in the Alaskan climate.  I neither expect nor want four lane roads in Alaska, but I was amazed, which I shouldn’t have been, by the traffic.  This is the height of the tourist season, although small Kotzebue didn’t show it.

The 220 mile (350 km) drive to Homer took nearly six hours.  The city itself is situated on the southwestern corner of the Kenai Peninsula with a spit jutting several miles into Kachemak Bay.  The spit was jammed with RVs, more than the nearby dealership had in stock, scores of shack-stores, what some would call rustic, others garish.  The beach was fine, the views of the mountains great, the protected wetlands well done.  I didn’t like the spit, but that’s my judgment. Many would disagree, which is why the place was jammed.  It’s why I don’t like “You should see” recommendations and why I don’t give them myself.

Homer is a beautiful town, and its reputation as such is deserved. The spit is center left. The road here is described as the most beautiful drive in America. One would be advised not to do the drive on a summer weekend.

On our return, through Soldotna, we noted again the sameness, the chain stores, “this could be anywhere in America.” True, the Kenai River runs through the city, and the green, glacial water is beautiful.  People were nice, but it was anywhere USA.

Skilak Lake, Kenai Peninsula. A beautiful lake, but it gets a lot of use.

We detoured south from busy Hwy 1 to the Skilak Lake area, where the lakes and trails looked interesting.  What we found was a moderate amount of traffic on a dirt road, trucks hauling big boats.  The launch points had several cars parked with people out on the water.  One might find a place to camp, but there would be many people nearby and considerable noise. Back on Hwy 1, along the Kenai River, we saw scores of people fishing and rafting.  A store that served food had no toilet, except a half mile away at a campground.  Wow, I thought that was illegal. This was a different Kenai from the one I visited in 2009.  Returning to Anchorage, traffic increased.  It became so heavy that if one pulled off, it took a minute or two to find a gap in which to merge.  At Bird Creek, I counted 13 fishing on a 50 yard stretch near Turnagain Arm and about 40 on a 400 yard stretch further upstream.  Many caught fish, but it wasn’t success or failure at fishing that bothered me.

It was that the place was jammed with people. Southern Alaska is jammed in summer.  Why should I be surprised?  I was contributing to it.

Fishing, Bird Creek, Sunday afternoon.

Once back in Anchorage, we went to a shopping mall that my wife commented was one of the ugliest she had ever seen.  Alaska has a mystique I think it should use, and good architects ought to be able to create it, not repeat architecture of the Lower.  Or do it worse.  We viewed bears on Crescent Lake, over in Lake Clark National Park, but the river out of the lake where we had hoped to view bears, had a plane by the shore, people fishing, and several loud John boats blasting by.  No bears there.

Brown bear at Crescent Lake, Lake Clark NP. Katmai has more bears, but they are viewed with many other people at a platform. This is a more intimate experience with far fewer bears but much more natural bear behavior.

Black bear sow with one of her two cubs, Crescent Lake. This was the first time I saw both black and brown bears the same day.

I’m spoiled; I admit it.  I’ve been above the Arctic Circle where there are few roads and one can hike for miles without hearing any unnatural sound.  There is a move afoot to build a road along the entire Brooks Range, from perhaps the Dalton through Bettles to Ambler, ostensibly so Native Americans can easily get to town to buy supplies.  There may be a village in support of this; the others are adamantly against it.  They’ve done fine without a road and know what it will bring:  hunters, to hunt their game, upon which the natives have subsisted for thousands of years.  The roads will bring Wal-Marts, liquor, gas stations, casinos, and people.  Yeah, they’ll bring people like me who want to see this country, although I come by plane, leave nothing except footprints in places seen by the dozen or so people who pass in a year.  The Haul Road to Ambler will become another Dalton Highway.  It’s not just acres of pavement that detract, noise and fragmentation destroy wilderness.

More pernicious is that roads will bring access to mines, several of which are proposed in the western half of the Brooks.  Red Dog Mine is already there, with 737-200 service out of Anchorage.  Who is going to say no in a solid Republican state and country?  We need jobs, although nobody says maybe having fewer kids would decrease pressure to create jobs.  Defunding Planned Parenthood makes birth control and women’s health difficult, but hey, Iran and Saudi treat women badly, too.  Mining jobs pay well, except when there are strikes, but new mines won’t be unionized if Mr. Walker gets into office.  The jobs will last until the ore isn’t needed, like one of the rare earth mines in California, leaving not only be a land scar but a permanent impact on the water supply, in places where there are wild and scenic rivers like the Noatak and Kobuk.  Yes, we need elements.  We also have learned to do without those that were once considered “essential.”

I worry about Alaska from the southeast Tongass to the Refuge in the north, and offshore.  I worry that the next eruption of Redoubt Mountain may flood the berms protecting four large oil tanks and foul Cook Inlet.  The mountain is steaming.  Whose idea was it to put the tanks near a river by an active, glacier covered volcano?  Sure, nothing may happen.  The last eruption was in 2009, and the berms barely held. We’re playing roulette with a huge unspoiled ecosystem.

Redoubt Mountain steaming, plug at upper left center. If the glaciers melt, the flow will run right by a bank with a low berm with four large oil tanks.

Fortunately or not, climate change will be a game changer; nature will win this game.  Virtually every glacier in the Chugach is retreating.  One, after being stable for more than a century, has retreated 12 miles in the last 40 years.  If Mr. Inhofe’s dropping a snowball on the Senate floor is evidence against global warming, how does he explain glacier retreat, why the caribou migration was a month later than usual in 2013, and the water of the rivers they crossed not nearly as cold as formerly?  The Elders in the Native Villages know there is change; the Senate would do well to have true Elders, not young, charismatic, angry, anti-science ideologues (who love their phones and private jets) and old diehards, who won’t believe compelling evidence contrary to their beliefs.

I started to write that Alaska disappointed me.  No, Alaska is wonderful.  I hope we don’t love it to death.  Or forget that wilderness has worth than cannot be measured in dollars.