Notes from Solar Cabin

Northern Summer: Part II

2007-08-31T19:12:00.000-08:00

.posted by peter.
Summer is almost over but still holding on by a thread, in my mind at least, since it’s just now the end of August. But in reality summer ended about two weeks ago – when it started to drop below 50 at night, and when the alder and tundra-style ground cover plants all started to change colors. Haven’t seen much color change on the birch and aspen yet, but there’s some, and I see more each day. Fall hits Alaska early. Winter isn’t far behind.

But summer has been great. We had wonderful visits from people we love and enjoy spending time with. Mary learned tons about the northern country and had fun up there, and we both finally got to see and spend time in (her more than me of course) the Brooks Range, the only mountain range above the arctic circle, and one of the most beautiful and unspoiled places I’ll probably every go.

Just for an update, the wasps basically died RIGHT after I wrote that last post. We got a spate of wet, cooler weather which did them in. What promised to be the worst season for wasps conceivable, fizzled, which is alright in my book. But next year, I will be ready.

We have a month till it snows, at the most. Here they say that the first flakes that fall are the last flakes that melt. And then this country shows its true colors – white, blue, pink, and black. Mary will start to wish she had sled dogs. I’ll start wishing we had a woodstove so I could chop some wood (an activity I love, and great exercise), and stoke a nice warm fire. One of these days.

Alaska is a land of extremes – that’s what they always say. And it’s pretty true. But summer in Alaska, as warm as it can get, and even with the endless sunshine, is not really what we all think of as summer. But winter… Alaska knows how to do winter. Alaska has got winter nailed.

Northern Summer :: Part I

2007-07-09T00:01:00.000-08:00

.posted by peter.

written two weeks ago, but posted belatedly due to technical difficulties.

So far it’s been a pretty busy summer (hence the lack of posts). Mary’s been working tons driving people up the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Circle, and I’ve been consumed with work and an intensive five week Abnormal Psychology class that I’ve been taking at the University. The final is this Thursday and I’m looking forward to two months with no schoolwork so that I can focus on finishing the pile of books that have accumulated half read from this past year – a bad habit of mine. At least I finish them eventually!

We crested the solstice hump last week, and I’m looking forward to having a nighttime again in about, oh, three weeks or so. Really, I love the light, and don’t have too much trouble sleeping, I just tend to miss the stars because they’re so brilliant up here. Also, since I work at the local Mental Health agency, I’ve noticed a lot of the clients having problems with getting adequate rest and knowing when to wind down. (When you work with the severely mentally ill, ‘wind down time’ is a nice part of the evening.) Clients with mood disorders, or schizoaffective disorder (sorta like bipolar but with psychotic features thrown in as a special added bonus) fair the worst it seems.

The bugs haven’t been as bad as I expected. Mary says up north they’re a whole lot worse. Personally, I don’t really mind mosquitoes all that much…I can relate to them, hey, they’re just looking for a hot meal. Plus, they smush pretty cleanly, and I myself don’t get welts from their bites. Flies and wasps though, are a different story. They like to hang out on poop and eat rotting animals, and that I just don’t understand. Really it’s the wasps that are causing us the main headaches. It’s actually been sort of epic.

Two or three weeks ago, Mary and I were planning a big, dire Solar post about the wasp situation. Fortunately, it has mellowed considerably, due to some cooler wetter weather. You see wasps are much more common up here than most anywhere else. The dry conditions of Alaska’s interior and a curious lack of natural predators make for perfect wasp country. (Actually voles really like eating wasps, but the vole population has been low the last few years.) Anyone who was in Fairbanks last summer will tell you that it was one of the worst seasons in memory - two folks died in town from anaphylaxis and pretty much everybody got stung at LEAST once. Everyone except for Mary, that is, who somehow escaped me and Nyssa’s unfortunate run in with the hive last August while we were all going for a walk. I was stung twice and my leg swelled up, turned beet red, and I developed a short lived benadryl addiction. Nyssa got stung so many times we were certain she’d at least get some nasty hives (since she’s very prone to them) and we had the emergency vet clinic number right by the phone all night. Miraculously she was fine. We counted 20 stings on her stomach alone.

Finally fall came and the wasps just dwindled and vanished from our lives. I had forgotten all about them until sometime in late May when they began to reappear. A spate of hot, dry weather invited all the dormant queens up from their slumber, and suddenly a nesting frenzy ensued. Everyday for a week we woke up to four or so wasps IN our cabin, and my mania began. I was being threatened in my home, and that is unacceptable.

I built soda bottle traps. I bought multiple forms of wasp spray. I bought spray insulation/sealer to shore up the cabins’ cracks and crevices. I even bought a long ladder so that I could have access to the eaves for spraying. When I submitted a request to our finance department for a turbo-charged handheld fogger weapon, it was rejected by finance minister Mary, but I still have aides working on the acquisition and one never knows in this town.

I was very worried about Duncan, the kitten. He has turned out to be an enthusiastic hunter of the wasps, and has no respect for their deadly power. On several occasions, I have had to hold/restrain him with one arm while slaughtering one of the window crazed fiends with the other. He once in fact executed a lunge toward one which resulted in him completely falling down the stairs (with a loud thud) only to immediately resume his pursuit. I admire his determination, and he can indeed be quite formidable (just ask Nyssa), but I doubt that even the most adrenaline fueled confrontation would go well for him. Fortunately, he has gradually mellowed in his response as the summer has progressed.

As much as it has worried me, Duncan’s interest has provided one very valuable asset to our struggle against the wasps. He’s like the canary in the mine. If the kitten is in a strange place or position, and very intent on something, nine times out of ten I can be sure that he’s found a wasp. I get a wasp killing device on my way and am ready when I arrive.

The best tool in my arsenal is the tennis racket shaped bug-zapper. You push a button, and the wired face of the zapper-racket electrifies. I use it by catching the wasp between the zapper and the window (or other surface), firing the juice, and then rubbing it around a bit so it can get exposure to multiple strands. Now, it’s important to note, that this will not kill the wasp. It only stuns them for a while. Death waits for them on the porch. I lay them down on the far edge away from the door for crunching, because smushed wasps and bees release a chemical that attracts others. Now, personally, if I knew some massive and inexplicable being was smushing people nearby, my response wouldn’t be to approach, but wasps, they aren’t like you and me. You can’t reason with them, and many of their behaviors are counter-intuitive, so it’s hard to stay ‘one step ahead.’ Nor do they act at random. Everyone in this town that I’ve asked for advice has said something different. In general, I find them to be a loathsome and vexing adversary.

Fortunately, June has been rainy enough to greatly minimize their activities. Also, I’ve heavily poisoned most of their haunts, and sealed up the cabin better. My traps haven’t worked yet, but I keep trying. So far I’ve caught hundreds of flies in one of my homemade soda bottle/smelly fish traps, but hardly any wasps. Flies I can do without as well, due to their aforementioned unwholesome enthusiasms. Still, they mostly keep to their territory, that being in the woods and in the outhouse (which just makes sense), and I respect them for that. And really, in all seriousness, I don’t have anything against wasps as long as they stay in the woods and don’t truly reproduce out of all proportion - they eat garden predators and have as much right to live as any other beast. But if they make a nest in my eve or under my porch, or come into my home and threaten me and mine, they will die. Simple as that.

Life on the frontier is hard. We face many challenges. Lack of a Dairy Queen is another example. But of course the rewards are many – summer has been beautiful. Next Monday or Tuesday we’re planning to go canoing, since my class will be over and neither of us work those days. And hopefully soon I can tag along on one of Mary’s sojourns to the Arctic Circle!

Staying at Solar

2007-05-17T20:58:00.000-08:00

Our lease at Solar Cabin was set to run out on the 31st of May, and with a thirty-day notice clause we needed to tell our current landlord if we were staying or going by the 1st. Time was ticking. At the end of April, Peter and I saw an ad for a beautiful cabin just down the road. We called the number on the filer, holding our collective breath for the landlord to call back. After much dancing around and talking to the ever-sketchier seeming gentleman on the phone, we finally met him for an interview three days before the first of the month.

I loved the potential cabin. It has a couple of rooms, a huge woodstove, a shower and sauna, an enormous deck and sunroom (no toilet, though - but the path to the outhouse isn't through a swamp.) It is an old cabin, lived in for many years by many families and has the feel of a place well loved and thoroughly broken in. It has a few quirks, though. Dream Cabin is on the main (busy) road into town with waterlines that tend to freeze up in the dead of winter, an iffy stovepipe and a landlord that falls far to the end of the 'eccentric' continuum. Peter and I both know that this can be a little ... disconcerting ... in a landlord. He interviewed us with narrow eyes (behind pink-and-turquoise women's reading glasses) and a skeptical, rapid-fire cross-examination of our intentions and abilities more suited to a murder investigation. We left not knowing what to expect. But I had my heart set on the place.

In the mean time, Solar Cabin Landlord got wind that we were thinking of moving. She sprang into action, and soon had someone lined up willing to sign a lease. By the time we heard back from Dream Cabin Landlord that our references hadn't been home when he called, and so we had lost the lease, it was April 30th. I called Solar Cabin Landlord to talk about our options, and was immediately informed that we had to sign a year lease or move out. (We had been hoping for an extension through the summer.) Talk about a bummer of a day.

One day does not rental-hunting time make. We searched the paper and likely filer-spots in town frantically for other options, but decided in the end to hold the bird we had and not go sling shotting into May (already full of other things) wildly trying to hit something better and still within budget. Solar Cabin it is.

Not that we don't love it here. It is a cozy little place that we have made into a cozy little home. The vast deck is wonderful now that the weather has started compensating for the bitter interior winter, and the area is a safe if not overtly friendly place with a good network of roads and trails to walk on and neighbors we are starting to meet. We are out of town, but not too far out. We are comfortable here.

But we don't have a woodstove to stave off the winter chill (a generic heater just doesn't cut the gloom when sunshine only skims the horizon for a few hours, even if it technically keeps the place warm) and no arctic entry to keep the air from rushing out every time we open the door. The outhouse-honey-pot arrangement we don't mind, but a shower would have been nice. And living in one room is, well, living in one room, even if it is a bigish room by local cabin standards. Anyway, it seemed a lot smaller after walking through Dream Cabin's winding maze of add-ons and imagining stoking the woodstove for a late night read waiting for Peter to get home.

Extending Solar Cabin's lease has thrown us into an Upgrading Solar Frenzy. We finally took (my) sister-in-law Meg's wedding gift (designated cozy-chair funds) and found the perfect cozy chair for the corner we'd been saving. It lives up to its purpose, and there are other re-arrangements in the books for the next month or so. But it is a busy month. Maybe we'll switch things up in June instead. (THANKS MEG!!) For the record, this month in Solar marks the first time I have lived in one place for more than nine months since my sophomore year of college. I have to admit, part of me has been craving this stability (and dreading a possible move, even if to a Dream.) The Cozy Chair is an anchor I'm happy to have.

[find your happy place]

In the mean time, Summer has come in earnest. A few weeks ago, we had our first non-freezing night and the melting snow and muck are gone. Days are long (24 hours of visible light, long) and warm, and Nyssa is spending most of them stretched out in a coma of bliss on the porch. I have never felt like I earned a summer. I feel like I earned this one, and so far it has been perfect, even with Solar Cabin to look forward to for another year in Fairbanks.

PS. Check out my Photos from a recent trip up the Real Arctic. More on this later, but the pictures are too fun not to share!

Exhibits A & B

2007-04-16T21:40:00.000-08:00

Nyssa and Duncan have a very special relationship. It is not every day that a powerful hound with "hunt down lions" programed into every cell of her being can coexist peacefully in a one-room, 700 square-foot cabin with a Very Small Cat. But they get along pretty well, with only occasional chasing (instigated on both sides) and hardly ever a growl or a hiss. The most endearing cat-dog behavior is hard to capture, mostly consisting of Duncan chewing on Nyssa's ears, and batting her about the snout. This works well, since Duncan's body and Nyssa's head are about the same size. Tonight, I was doing some studying on the couch. Nyssa and Duncan soon joined me for a warm evening cuddle. After awhile, Duncan began to display his affection by licking Nyssa's ear ... then chewing on it ... then chewing on her. I remembered that the video camera was in reach, and managed to catch a minute or so of the display.

While I was uploading this, I remembered that I had some webcam shots of early Nyssa-Duncan interaction, back when he was closer to four pounds. For the record, I'm not holding him for any of these shots - he stayed to battle the formidable doggie-nose of his own free kitten-will. Feisty little bugger. (That's mostly NPR's Marketplace in the background.)

PS: No kittens were harmed in the making of these films, but I think the dog came away with a few minor scratches.

Late Season Lights

2007-04-09T12:28:00.000-08:00

When I went to let Nyssa out last night, there was quite a show overhead. Nights are getting shorter and shorter up here, with only about seven hours of starlight and going fast. I do miss the night sky in the summer! But at least Peter's late schedule keeps us awake to enjoy the last of the Northern Night Sky. Even without the aurora, the stars this week have been breathtaking.

The show last night was spectacular. I tried to take some pictures, but the lights were relatively dim and moving very fast. That made for some great viewing, but not such great pictures. But the above-zero temperatures outside were much more comfortable. Summer is on the way!

There is some debate about whether the Northern Lights make any perceptible noise. Scientists claim that there has been no hard proof of Aurora-originating sound, although may people claim they can hear the lights crackle and pop overhead. I do know one thing, though. There is a heck of a lot more howling when the sky starts dancing! The symphony the neighborhood dogs put on last night to accompany the show was haunting, a perfect soundtrack for the sky.

Ode to Dirt

2007-04-07T16:01:00.000-08:00

The ground is still covered in snow, but the weather is warming up considerably and we are enjoying a sunny +50 degree weekend. We have heard that it is warmer here than in Texas today. I can hardly remember what cold feels like! The streets have been cleared of slushy, melting stuff and there are some places where there is actual DIRT showing through. I never thought this would be so exciting, but it is. The earth has been covered in impenetrable layers of snow since October, and a little color - even if that color is brown - is welcome and full of hope. When Peter and I saw our first patch on a walk, he stopped and knelt down in the snow to touch it. Such is one's reverence for the earth when it is beyond view, for Astronauts, Sailors ... and apparently winter-weary Alaskans.

Last weekend, Peter and I took a jaunt down to the Copper River Valley and Valdez. We needed to get out of town, and decided our classes could do without us for an evening. We packed the car and dog (who now spends most of her days sprawled in the sun on our porch) and with some trepidation left the cat home alone with two huge dishes of food. We woke early and drove to the edge of Wrangell St. Elias national park. At thirteen million acres, it is the largest national park in the United States, and when joined with its sister parks Kluane, Alsek and Tatshenshini in Canada and a few other wilderness preserves on the Alaskan panhandle, comprises the largest continuous tract of protected land in the world. And it's not just special to wilderness buffs like us, but recognized by UNESCO as a world heritage site . The park contains 10 of the 15 highest peaks in North America, the largest sub-polar ice field and is thickly populated with all manner of northern wildlife. Unlike Yellowstone and even the much less accessible Denali, Wrangell St. Elias is not easy to get into and impossible to "see" by way of the traditional "driving through the National Park" American pastime. There are two rough, barely-maintained roads that make a tiny scratch into the park from the west and north-west. Maintained trails are negligible. If you really want to see the park, you have to be flown in on a small bush plane and dropped off with your pack and bear spray and map and hope you make it to your pick-up point to be flown out again. If the weather is good. And if you don't wind up as somebody's lunch.

On a small hike to stretch our (and Nyssa's) car-cramped legs near the road that leads to the park, Peter and I came across several tufts of three-inch-long, coarse brown hair on the snowy trail. Contemplating their origin, we wondered aloud if the bears were awake yet. We continued our discussion as we moved down the trail. Three steps more, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I saw a grizzly print as wide as my forearm in the snow on the side of the trail. We quickly decided that the bears were undeniably awake, and that we should probably be moseying our bear-spray and gun-free selves back to the car.

The drive into Valdez was nothing short of breathtaking. I won't even attempt to do it justice here. The coolest part of that leg was watching ice-climbers navigate the frozen waterfalls on the side of the canyon heading into town.

[see the climbers?]

[there they are!]

[hang on to that ice pick!]

Overall, it was a great trip to get away and celebrate spring (and a belated first-year anniversary.) And we arrived back in Fairbanks to wonderfully balmy temperatures, sunshine and increasingly visible patches of dirt. I have a feeling I won't be so giddy about this development as the town (and our street) turns into a mud pit as the rest of the snow pack succumbs to the sunlight.

A Theory of Relativity ...

2007-03-30T23:31:00.000-08:00

Back in October, just a few short months after our arrival in the notoriously chilly interior, I wrote a little speculation on temperature and altitude in our new valley home. To my naive October post, blogger and former Goldstream Valley resident Colorado Columbine responded that once it's been down to forty below, ten below will feel like a heat wave. As the mercury plummeted into winter, quickly surpassing anything I'd ever experienced, we learned a new meaning of cold. But back in October, I didn't believe it a word of it.

Warm southern readers, I Do Now. We have found, true to her experience, that after a few days at thirty below (or several months at twenty below) anything nearing zero sounds tropical. Going outside in boxer shorts and snowboots to get something from the car at ten above is pleasant. Today, with the late cold snap finally (everyone knock on wood ... I'm serious ... do it now) fading into daytime temperatures closer to 25, I took a walk with just a hoodie and jeans - the same thing I was wearing on 60 degree evenings last summer.

Not only do I believe in the power of relative temperature, I have empirical proof, in the form of our notoriously cold-despising desert hound, that the phenomenon is not psychosomatic. In October, with temperatures getting close to 32, she refused to be outside for more time than it took her to do her business and sprint back through the door. And heaven help us if that door wasn't open for her headlong dash back to the heater. This week, with post-Equinox sunlight pouring in and the temperature hovering around 15 degrees, Nyssa demanded to be let out of the house and proceeded to sniff around the porch and yard for twenty minutes without a glance back at the door.

[heater worshipping doggie]

As winter trailed on in the lower 48, friends of mine often caught themselves complaining about their weather, then trailing off awkwardly with a "well, I guess that's not cold to you anymore ..." The thing is, it is still cold to me. I still remember (with a shiver) the bone-chilling ice winds in Chicago, and what a good cold-front in Texas feels like when you are used to eighty degree spring days. Those places remain cold in my memory, even though I've ticked off -40 on my been-there-done-that list (expecting worse, thanks Global Warming.) In the end, I'll take the deep, dry, dead-still cold of this interior winter to the damp, numbing gale funneled through Chicago's skyscrapers any day, no matter what the thermometer says.

Solar North Goes Digital [Update!]

2007-03-18T20:07:00.000-08:00

Video that is.

I finally got the camera, the tape, the right Firewire (after much drama,) found some free editing software and got a YouTube account. Ain't I trendy? And even though family is going to be kicking and screaming that there's not a single shot of any Solar Cabin residents in my first amateur attempt at movie making ... here it is. (click play)

Don't worry. This weekend was the last of the dogsled races for the season. We'll be back to regular notes (and more engaging videos) soon ...

UPDATE:
Here is the Day Three Video ... and be watching Solar Aperture for more race photos!

Enough With The Mushing, Already!!

2007-03-17T17:50:00.000-08:00

I can hear the voices from the peanut gallery loud and clear. But the season isn't over yet. The North American Open - the longest continuously running sprint race of its kind - has taken over downtown Fairbanks this weekend. How could I resist? The weather has warmed up considerably (it was above zero all day!) and the sun is shining in a clear blue subarctic sky. The Open is a three day event in which mushers have no restrictions on the number of dogs they start. Friday and Saturday, the course runs twenty miles. Sunday, the distance is bumped up to thirty. Crowds packed the sidelines, espresso and hot cocoa disappearing as fast as the baristas at the outdoor kiosk could brew it. The trappers association auctioned off some fur in a parking lot next to the course. Snow had been hauled in to create the start/finish straightaway on 2nd Street. Some Farbanksians watched from the river instead, lawn chairs set up next to the course on the snow-covered ice, steaming mugs and cameras in hand, packs of kids sledding down the steep banks behind them, screaming with abandon. Spring is in the air, and the town is out to celebrate. So here's your link. Enjoy!

Beginning of the End

2007-03-14T19:48:00.000-08:00

Mackey took it! There is lots of coverage, so I'll let you read about it for yourself. Mushers will be pounding into Nome for quite awhile. The Rookie of the Year looks to be Sigrid Ekran, who is just a few hours from Nome now. The back of the pack is just past the halfway point, and there are forty nine teams still out on the trail. The Red Lantern award, which goes to the last musher to safely finish any distance event, will bring it all to a close in several days time.

Since flying out to Nome is out of the question, I'll leave you with a few more of the shots I got of Mackey when he won the Quest last month. I'm sure we'll be seeing the brand new truck that came with last night's victory, which he plans to make "one of a kind" with a new paint job, roaring around town before April. Long after this year's fairy-tale ending fades, Mackey will remain, as another northern blogger dubbed him, "Alaska's Favorite Redneck."

Riding the Sled

2007-03-13T10:16:00.000-08:00

It looks like Mackey is going to take it, after all! He pulled ahead and has been increasing the gap between himself and Gerbhardt who is back in second, for the last twenty four hours. King and Buser ran into trouble, leaving the top spots, and Zack Steer has joined the pack at the front. Mackey has just left his last mandatory eight-hour layover in White Mountain, and will likely reach Nome in nine or ten hours. Jon Little reports that the Comeback Kennel dogs are looking incredible - strong and calm - showing no sign that many of them ran the Quest with Mackey less than a month ago.

On Sunday afternoon, I went down to the Limited North American Championships and watched the last two classes run. After thawing out in Musher's Hall and waiting for some of the teams competing in this coming weekend's Open Championship finish their practice runs (I saw one sled with twenty two dogs on the line. I wonder how many people it will take to hold that team back at the start on Friday?) we headed over to Melissa's truck and hooked up eight of her ten dogs. Mona and Fire ran lead. Fire is a beautiful rust-and-black, lanky and calm. Mona is a tiny little black and white ball of love who rolled over for me to rub her belly and tried to crawl into my lap while we waited for the other dogs to be clipped in. But she is The Lead Dog, and once we started running her confidence, intelligence and power were evident as she followed Melissa's quiet voice commands for turns, took the team expertly around stumps and trees and away from rough patches and authoritatively bumped the much larger Fire out of the way when she felt it was needed. I sat in the sled and held on tight as the screeching team lunged and howled. Melissa pulled the brake and called for her leaders to go, and I didn't hear another sound from them the whole seven-mile run. It was a wonderful afternoon, and I'm afraid I may be hooked. Unfortunatly, -92 boots didn't do the trick (they were on sale for a reason, I guess.) Next time, I'm bringing toe warmers.

Races, Short and Long

2007-03-10T21:51:00.000-09:00

The Iditarod front runners are giving us a show. Mackey and Gerbhardt have dropped back to third and fourth, still coming into checkpoints within a few minutes of one another. That fast start and brutal run to to the halfway point may cost them in the end. The lead spots have been taken by King and Buser, both experienced Iditarod champions. King, the defending champion, has four wins to his name as well as a Quest title. Buser, also a four-time champion, is known for his innate connection to his dogs and holds the speed record for this race. King is ahead now, but Buser is hot on his tail. If things keep going this way, it's going to be a close race up front - a lot to ask of a 1000+ mile run.

Zirkle is has been knocked back quite a bit, after having to drop many more dogs than anticipated due to injuries incurred on the bare tundra. She is down to nine dogs, but is running on the Yukon now where trail conditions are much better although the wind on the four-mile-wide river can be fierce.

Two women, Sigrid Ekran and Sylvia Willis, may be battling it out for Rookie of the Year. According to reports on the trail, Ekran is looking rough after a broken nose early in the race has left her with two black eyes, but she's positive and pushing hard.

For myself, I'm heading over to the last day of the Limited North American sprint championship tomorrow. Melissa, our neighbor, is the race vet again this weekend and has offered to take me over the course with her dogs if I stick around. This time, I'm wearing the warm boots!

Because You Should Be Watching

2007-03-08T09:11:00.000-09:00

The Iditarod started last Saturday, and the leaders made it to the halfway point last night. Why should you care? Because Lance Mackey, who destroyed the old Yukon Quest record less than a month ago, is IN THE LEAD. And he doesn't have an easy eight hour gap between himself and musher number two. Try eight minutes. Paul Gebhardt (with a 2nd and 3rd Iditarod finish on his record, but no victory) is hot on his tail, coming into the halfway checkpoint at the ghost town of Iditarod only a few minutes behind Mackey and missing out on the $3000-in-gold halfway prize.

The trail is brutal this year (I humbly take back what I said about the Quest being more hard-core than this.) As of last night, fourteen mushers had scratched, many due to broken bones sustained after wiping out into a tree or ice. Several of these were favorites to win, even former champions, narrowing the competitive field at the top significantly within the first twenty four hours of the ten+ day race. Four other front-runners have come into the checkpoint as of ten this morning, and no one has continued down the trail - yet. Mackey and Gebhardt sacrificed a lot for their brutal pace in the first half, and its anyone's guess what will happen next.

Mackey is running his sixth Iditarod this year, wearing bib 13. His father and brother both won their first Iditarod championship on their sixth try, wearing bib 13. He wants this. Bad. He also wants to prove that it is possible to win both the Quest and the Great Race in the same year. He and Gebhardt once trained together in a small town on the Kenai, half an hour from where Peter and I met.

I'm also keeping an eye on Aliy Zirkle. She was the first woman to win the Yukon Quest, and has run the Iditarod since 2001. She was hanging back near fifteenth place until last night, when she began her bid and moved up to ninth in less than half a day. She stopped for only thirteen minutes at the last checkpoint, and clearly has the leaders in her cross-hairs. She currently hails from Two Rivers, a "town" near Fairbanks that Peter and I have driven past (and often missed seeing) several times.

So you should bookmark this Iditarod webpage and check it often. There is a long race ahead, and anything could happen. It could be history, folks.

[Click on '2007 Iditarod' on the main page title bar. Then click on the 'Interactive Trail Map' on the right side-bar. It is a Very Cool Feature.]

Cuddling Up

2007-03-04T10:25:00.000-09:00

Peter and I settled down to watch a movie last night. Nyssa was already on the couch. Duncan soon joined her. They didn't find the 3rd installment of the 7UP documentary as fascinating as we did. They were soon fast asleep.

Aurora Induction

2007-02-27T21:52:00.000-09:00

Driving home from class tonight, the steep dive into our valley gave me a nice open view of the sky. Looking up, I saw that in addition to a bright half-moon there was a crazy ribbon of Northern Lights whipping over Goldstream Valley. Since I got a Tripod for Christmas from my parents (thanks!) I have been keeping an eye out for them, but we have either had lots of cloud cover or great clear starry nights without the added benefit of solar flares. As soon as I got home, I ran inside and grabbed my tripod and camera. Setting up on the road, I started experimenting. It took quite a while, but eventually I figured out the settings I needed. (Without the instant feedback of digital cameras, I would have only gotten loads of black frames and had to wait for weeks before another show.) I was in such a hurry that I didn't bother to put on long-johns or find my good glove liners, so the mission was aborted due to leaden fingers after about half an hour. It is cold tonight! So here they are: my first attempts at photographing the Aurora. If the sun and the weather cooperate, this is only the beginning. Enjoy!

Cold Snap

2007-02-25T09:52:00.000-09:00

It was gratifying when the local newspaper deemed this week's temperatures worthy of a full page article, and the radio reported that Late-February low records are being matched and broken in some places in the interior. When one is in one's first year in a new climate, everything is normal. You assume that the cold or warm or dry or wet weather is what you should expect next year, and the next, and the next. So when, all week, there were calls for lows from -45 to -50, I didn't blink. I only braced myself for several more years of such mid-winter temperature dives, and spent a moment in thanksgiving for the ever-higher sun that has the power to at least take the edge off the cold in the afternoons. When this happened in January, there wasn't enough sun and the temperatures stayed that low all day, for days on end. Turns out, this late February cold snap isn't usual. It should start warming back up to Zero soon. Whew!

Yukon Quest Record Finish!!

2007-02-20T15:53:00.000-09:00

We were there, dear readers, just feet away as Lance Mackey blew the old course record out of the ice by fourteen ... count 'em ... FOURTEEN HOURS. We stood by the final straightaway and cheered his team in with a crowd of tough Fairbanksians wrapped to the eyes in fleece and fur. Lance looked exhausted (he left the last mandatory layover this morning at 2am) but the dogs were perky, if ice-encrusted, wagging their tails at the crowd. I have a math test in two hours (the preparation for which has suffered greatly due to the day-early Quest finish) but until I can get back and tell you all about it, enjoy the photographs we managed to snag while trying to stay thawed out on the frozen Chena river.

Insight on Fairbanks

2007-02-20T10:14:00.000-09:00

Peter and I have been have been growing more and more positive about Fairbanks these last few weeks. Trying to place why, I have blamed it on all that wonderful light. Even though it was -34 when I woke up this morning, I was happy to wake up here. Blogger Subarctic Mama has something to say about why this may be, and you should read about it HERE. She's dead-on, and her piece was recently (and rightly!) picked up and produced by our local NPR station.

In other Fairbanks quirkiness, there is a comic strip that appears in the local free paper that I've been following with some amusement. It's called Freebird, and follows the misadventures of a middle-aged woman who, in the midst of a midlife crisis of sorts, decides to drive north until her car stops running. It stops running, as you may imagine, here. Although only some of the panels work well as stand-alone pieces, and the punchlines frequently lean towards 'inside joke' for those living here, the archives are worth a peruse if you have some time to kill. From a gun-toting, militant shack-dweller to a subsistence ramen graduate student squatting in an old bus to the technology-steeped punk children of grown-up hippies, this writer hits Fairbanks on the nose. [Permanent link in the sidebar now, and I've started the archives link at the start of the strip. There is a beautifully drawn but melodramatic prequel in comic book format on 'previous' pages.]

For the record, Peter does not think Freebird is worth your time. Actually, the quote is "Freebird is dumb," but he didn't want to come off sounding like a jerk. In all fairness, I think Mitch Hedburg is dumb. To each his own, I guess.

Odds & Ends

2007-02-18T14:58:00.000-09:00

Peter and I made our first major purchase (if you don't count the cat) around Christmas. We had been talking about our need for a second car, weighing the options and so forth. We weren't sure what exactly we were going to settle on, until an acquaintance of ours left Fairbanks unexpectedly and offered us her faithful old wagon. It was a deal we couldn't refuse.

After a few false starts and a little mechanic lovin', Twiki is running great. He's a solid little wagon whose body has been through the mill (thank goodness for white duct tape) but who's engine (once warm) and airbags work just fine. For better or worse, we also inherited a panel full of bumper stickers.

In a funny twist, my friends Alex and Janelle lent me their car last year while I was in Chicago. While I was driving, it took its last gasping breath and puttered out. To replace it, they bought a car from an acquaintance ... turns out, it's the same color, make and model (and only two years younger) than our new ride. If we send them the appropriate bumper stickers, we'll virtually have twins.

In other news, I spent a lot of Sunday at the Gold Run Championship race. Our neighbor and Nyssa & Duncan's Veterinarian Melissa was there, as the official Race Vet this weekend. I stood with her at the start for awhile, talking about the teams (another neighbor of ours was running 6-dog.) It didn't take long before I was conscripted to help hold the ten dog teams at the line. Remember what I wrote about how powerful those big teams can be, lunging at the start? All I have to say is, I'll be taking a lot of advil over the next couple of days ... but I'm not even going to worry about it until my poor toes thaw out. Next time I go to a dog race, I'm taking hand warmers and my -92 boots. (More pics on Flickr under Mushing.)

Also, for those who doubted, I give you Denali from Fairbanks. Click it!

Nine To Five

2007-02-13T10:18:00.000-09:00

Last night, I checked our trusty Weather Underground Astronomy page. To my delight, I read that the sun is now above the horizon in Fairbanks from 9am to 5pm, with a gain of about seven minutes every day. I had suspected as much. It is not quite as easy to sleep in now, as the sun hits our pillows earlier and earlier each morning. But I'm not complaining at all.

This weekend, Peter noticed the sun actually melting snow on the building where he works. We haven't seen the city without her white blanket since October and are forgetting what she looked like when we arrived at the tail end of summer. We are still not sure if the snow will melt in May or June. We were here in April three years ago, and there was still plenty on everything although the temperatures were above freezing. Barely.

One interesting side affect as been the loss of the Winter Wonderland quality of the landscape. For months, snow and ice were frozen on the trees around the cabin. The cold temperatures helped the ice hang on despite any wind, leaving the trees looking like something out of Narnia's eternal winter. Now that the sun is back, even though the thermometer is still pretty low, the snow has shaken loose from the trees and we are back to being surrounded by vital, green spruce forest. Green is a wonderful color in the midst of an icy winter.

Last fall, after the first freeze, I posted pictures of Peter's bare footprints in the frost on the porch on Solar Aperture. A few weeks ago, we swept some snow away to discover that one imprint of his foot in the frost was still there, held by the extreme cold for five months under the snow. I got a picture of it. I'm glad I did. As soon as the sun hit the porch the next week, the print was gone.

[click for larger image]

Yukon Quest :: Slideshow Find

2007-02-11T16:28:00.000-09:00

Perusing Flickr, I found a slideshow of this year's Quest start by Jeniter. She's got some great shots. Enjoy!

Off to the (Sled Dog) Races

2007-02-09T14:42:00.000-09:00

Last weekend, I attended the tail end of the ADMA's Annamaet Challenge #3 in the yearly series of four races here in Fairbanks. There are several classes, based on how many dogs are pulling and what they are pulling. There are 1, 2 & 3 dog skijoring classes (dogs pull a person on skis) and 4, 6, 8 & open (unlimited) dog classes for sleds. The races run from four to fifteen miles, depending on the size of the team. A big team (eight dogs, say) usually runs this ten mile course in under half an hour.

I watched the eight and open class leave, and some of the six and eight class runs come in. The first thing I noticed about mushing is that it is not a spectator sport. There is nothing to see. The teams are out of sight in less than 30 seconds, and they aren't seen again until about a minute before they hit the finish. Those who run these do it for the love of the sport & their dogs, because there are no cheering crowds at the finish line. The only thing to see is the drama of take off, with a team of people struggling to keep the lunging dogs in one places through the countdown. Those at the start line are generally the support team of the musher (it takes a lot of people to get a team of sixteen dogs harnessed, hooked up, untangled and to the start in time) and family memebers.

[A sidelined dog keeps an eye on the action]

[a small team rests in their mushers pickup bed]

One interesting tidbit I've learned about dog sledding, is that huskies, the traditional dog of the arctic, are rarely used in racing teams. The dogs that run these races are usually hound-husky mixes. There has even been a famous champion team made up entirely of redbone coonhounds from the south. Although huskies are well suited working dogs for a traditional Inuit hunting lifestyle in the far north, they aren't built for speed. When it comes to groomed trails and stopwatches, barrel chested hounds take the cake. But (as Nyssa could tell you) those thick husky coats sure help.

[line out and ready for dogs...]

[... who wait impatiently by the dogbox]

[men pull apart tangled dogs]

[the dogs are so powerful & excited, they have to be brought
to the line on two legs to keep them under control]

[several powerful men are needed to slow the dogs down
as they head towards the starting line]

The whole event had a farm-show feel to it. Most people knew one another, small knots of kids threw snowballs, climbed on trucks and were pulled out of trees by fathers or uncles. Toddlers in puffy snow suits waddled around in circles of chatting adults. Some trucks belonged to huge kennels with three levels of dog-boxes, room for six sleds and a person to walk around inside. Some people just had their dogs in the back of their station wagon with the sled strapped down on top.

[boys, snowballs hidden, act nonchalant]

[girl calms waiting hounds]

[a good view of the finish line]

[checking on the dogs]

[child powered dog sled]

[kid watches dad's sled while the dogs are hooked up]

[they are being held back by a huge anchor pipe
driven deep into the ground]

The most striking part for me wasn't the speed or power of the take off, but the sound. At the start line, the dogs are jumping, yelping, howling, barking and in general making an insane racket while a team of helpers tries hard to hold the sled back. Over it all, the loud speaker counts down a deafening FIVE ... FOUR ... THREE ... TWO ... ONE. At one, the handlers stand back, the musher kicks up the brake and yells for the dogs go GO GO GO. And then ...

Total, perfect silence. The dogs know they are finally free to do what they do. Run. Fast. And that is exactly what they do. There is no more barking or yelping or carrying on. In unison, throw themselves into their harnesses and run with every ounce of muscle and spirit they have. The crowd is still. The loudspeakers click off. The only noise is the runners whispering over the snow and around the corner.

[people hold back the dogs, listening to the count ...]

[... the countdown ends, the humans stand back
the lead dog turns for the command from his musher ... ]

[the dogs lean into their harnesses and dig into the snow]

[and settle into their pace for the sixteen miles of powdery trail ahead]

[ ... going ... ]

[... going ...]

[... gone ...]

As soon as a dog team is off, the people team heads back to the truck to prepare for the return of the dogs. Water is heated and mixed with bricks of frozen protein meal to make gruel. Extraneous harnesses and ropes and tools left scattered from the rush to the start are put away.

[untangling lines]

[chopping frozen food bricks]

[hot water & a dipper to thaw things out]

On returning, the dogs cross the line and head for their truck. They are panting and under control. They flop down in the snow for a congratulatory belly rub, shake out of their harness and head for that warm gruel.

[heading back to the truck & a hot meal]

[praising a dog, well run!]

Tomorrow is the start of the Yukon Quest. Its tag line is "The Toughest Sled-Dog Race in the World." Although the famous Iditarod is longer, the Quest goes over more mountains, crosses rougher terrain through much harsher and more remote wilderness with less daylight and more cold and fewer checkpoints. At this writing, eighty six dog teams are signed up for the Iditarod. Tomorrow, only twenty eight will brave the trek from Whitehorse to Fairbanks.

Compare the Iditarod Description from Wikipedia:

Frequently teams race through blizzards causing whiteout conditions, and sub-zero weather and gale-force winds which can cause the wind chill to reach -100 °F (-75 °C).

With that of the Quest:

The mushers, who must pack up to 250 lbs of equipment and provisions for themselves and the sled dogs, are permitted to drop the sled dogs for a rest, are not allowed to replace the sled, and cannot accept any help except when they reach Dawson City, Yukon, the halfway mark of the race. Ten checkpoints, some more than 200 miles apart, and 4 dogdrops lie along the trail.
The race route runs on frozen rivers, across open water and bad ice; over four mountain ranges, reaching an elevation of 3,800 feet; and through isolated, northern villages. Racers cover 1,000 miles, as temperatures commonly can drop to −40 to −60 F on the rivers, and winds can reach 100 miles per hour (160 km/h) on the mountain summits.

Not that the Iditarod is anything to turn your nose up at, but seriously. Four mountain ranges? In February?

I hope I can make it to the finish line when they start coming into town ten or so days from now.

[a musher kicks hard for the finish
under that cold winter sun]

More photos from race day are posted at Solar Aperture.

You Know It's 20F in Fairbanks When

2007-02-02T19:16:00.000-09:00

... every male between the ages of thirteen and eighteen is wearing shorts.

... no one over the age of three is wearing a coat.

... adults stand out-of-doors, idly conversing, six feet from a heated building.

... cars are double-and-triple-parked at the xc-ski trailheads in the middle of the day.

... Nyssa does not come flying back into the cabin covered in frost thirty seconds after we let her out the door.

I know this isn't going to last ... but we are enjoying every second.

::: Coming Soon - Off to the (Dog Sled) Races :::

Proof!

2007-01-27T12:26:00.000-09:00

Check this out! I got home at about noon today, to this:

Do you see the sun? And the strip of real, direct sunlight in the yard? Take a closer look:

This is Very Exciting! Also, we got a lot of snowfall over December and early January, which means the dog sled races are running on the weekends. Since we don't shovel our whole porch, we have a good measure of how much it has snowed this year. This is ridiculously sparse compared to coastal Anchorage, but it is enough for the dogs.

Nyssa is feeling much better. Her energy is back with a vengeance. Here she is trying to get through the snowy yard as quickly as possible (as opposed to her sad, slow shuffle when she was ill):

And waiting for me to let her inside ... but looking quite perky as she surveys her domain for moose.

The temperature has dropped back closer to zero, but the clear day (the stars this morning were incredible) and sunlight sure take the edge off.

Virtually Spring

2007-01-26T17:53:00.000-09:00

Well, the weather did not disappoint! Today was a balmy +25F in town. To top it all off, we got a few minutes of sunshine in the cabin! We've been watching the light creep down the trees, and today (for the first time since November) we caught a glimpse of it through the trees from the living room. It bodes well for the weekend!

Recovery & Growth

2007-01-25T01:26:00.000-09:00

Never one to stay out of the limelight for long, Nyssa has been a pretty sick pup this week. She had minor surgery today to clear out a nasty little infection that wasn't responding to antibiotics (gory details on request) and is recovering in true Arctic-Nyssa style - up to her ears in blankets.

Peter: This answers the age old question!!
Mary: What question?
Peter: What happens when you cross a doggie with an ant farm!
Mary: Um. Ok, honey. Whatever makes you happy.

PS on Duncan: OK, he is getting a little bit bigger. But the box is deceptively small.

PS on Global Warming: All reports point to possible highs of +20F this weekend! It is -20F at the moment. I am not holding my breath.

[one more of the antfarm-dog in front of the heater]

Water, Water, Everywhere!

2007-01-23T10:39:00.000-09:00

Last fall, I was interviewed by Dr. Sine Anahita, a sociologist who is doing a study on water poverty in Alaska. Her study revolves around perceptions and reality surrounding dry cabins, a common situation here. She interviewed me because our dear Solar Cabin is, as many of the surrounding houses and cabins, without running water. Alaska is comparable to some third world countries in this regard. Peter and I both lived in dry cabins when we first came up to Alaska, and chose to live in such a cabin again on returning for several reasons. We have found that given the number of people who live in such situations, towns are very well set up for water accessibility.

Since we've gotten lots of questions about how, exactly, we function in modern life without this quintessential modern convenience, I've decided to write a little about the mechanics of dry cabin living. At least, ours.

Overall, living dry is all about having a system. Once the system is in place, life goes on with all its needs met. When it comes right down to it, we don't really think about it.

[the water wagon]

We bring water to the cabin in several seven gallon jugs from the "Water Wagon" in town. One trip usually lasts us about ten days, and can be run along with any other errand we have. The only catch is the water has to be unloaded immediately on arriving home so we don't have seven gallon ice cubes on our hands. The Water Wagon is a series of buildings around town with several gas pump like spigots. Our 50 or so gallons costs us around 75 cents each trip. There is also a spring in the town of Fox nearby which is set up to serve a similar purpose. We have gotten water at all hours of the day and night, and there are always several cars and trucks filling up.

[Peter prepares to fill ...]

[filling the jugs]

[a ten day supply]

These jugs, once home, can be turned on their side and used like a regular sink faucet. Under the sink is a five gallon paint bucket which catches our gray water. We quickly learned to keep an eye on the water level, and purchased a plant-drip catcher to go underneath the bucket. We use a biodegradable soap, and dump the bucket out behind the cabin. The birds love the food bits that surface once the water is integrated into the yard.

[a well used sink]

In the warm weather, we used the outhouse. However once it got below about -25, we began using our ‘honey bucket’ the modern euphemism that has replaced the ‘chamber pot.’ We bought a hand-crafted wooded one from friends of ours, and it fits in perfectly with the cabin décor. Back when the thermometer was dropping, I forced myself to the outhouse, pretending to be a tough Alaskan! But once I started using our honey pot, I never went back – even when the thermometer snuck back up above 0!

[Duncan explores the honey pot ... before its inaugural use]

Every town in Alaska is set up with various showering options. Every Laundromat has shower rooms that can be rented. The university has several showers for dry-cabin student use. There are health clubs and community centers in town that offer showers as well. With so many people living without running water, businesses (especially in smaller towns) often have showers for employee use.

Unlike third world countries, clean water accessibility here is easy, inexpensive and relatively convenient. The worst part about not having running water is having to walk that bucket into the woods when in the middle of doing dishes at -40.

Part of the water problem is plumbing – there is no way to run municipal water pipes out over permafrost to the populated areas near town. Many homes and families in this situation have large 200 + gallon insulated water tanks in their homes that provide them with running water. Half the trucks around town here have huge tanks strapped down in the bed, waiting to be filled to cart water home, and the water company provides delivery (at quite a cost!) to those who have tanks, but no trucks.

This is how we deal with water up here at Solar Cabin. We hardly notice it at all – except when somebody forgets to check the bucket!

Winter Wonderland

2007-01-17T23:43:00.000-09:00

I arrived back in Fairbanks after two weeks of thawing out and soaking in the sunshine in Texas. (Poor Peter had to return for work after only one.) The warm weather and sunshine was great (hot!) and being able to spend the holidays with family after all the transitions of the last year was wonderful, and needed. My sister Sarah was back from her stint working in an ER in Paraguay, and the Twin Tornado at 19 months was a sight to behold. They did remember us. I still miss them terribly.

Peter picked me up at the airport at 2 am, and it was cold outside. I was suprised to see the car thermometer only read -22. I knew I would have to re-adjust to the cold, but -22 really did feel colder than I remembered it. Over the next three days, I came to discover that -22 is just the lowest register the car has. It was actually much, much colder.

We flirted with -40 for several days, before a break in the weather and soaring temperatures brought us back to a much more tropical feeling 10 in the span of a few hours. (The outhouse record on the sidebar is Peter's.) The sunlight is growing daily, and although Solar Cabin still doesn't have any direct light, I can see it in the tops of the trees. Just a week or so, now, and it will be high enough on the horizon to shine in our windows! With the new heat wave, I have been experimenting with cold-weather running. Nyssa only experimented with me twice. The third time she saw me get my running shoes out, she ran upstairs and got into bed with Peter. I took the hint, and left her home. I was startled (gratified) to see that on returning this morning, my eyelashes and eyebrows were white with ice. I looked like some kind of crazy 80's rocker. I'll try to get a picture before it warms up for real.

Nyssa and Duncan were none the worse for wear, for being abandoned to kennels and friends for a week. We are beginning to suspect that Duncan is truly the litter runt, as he hit six months and is still startlingly small. Time will tell, I guess. He has no lack of energy, for his lack of size. He runs circles around all of us, and attacks Nyssa with impunity whenever he can.

We're getting back into the swing of things with work and school, and looking forward to the lengthening days.

Success!!

2006-12-06T12:42:00.000-09:00

Yesterday, in the midst of a crazy warm spell (+10 F) we got Nyssa outside! She was (as usual) not excited about the boots and coat, but after an epic battle of wills she submitted to walking with us. We suspect she may even have enjoyed it.

Towards A Warmer Hound

2006-11-25T21:46:00.000-09:00

I've been feeling pretty guilty after our last post about Nyssa's misadventures in the cold. Everyone sympathizes with her, and I guess I can't blame you at all. She didn't get any input on the move and I have a feeling I know exactly what she would have said if she could have voiced an opinion (and its probably not fit for print.) Just to make us look even worse (if that is possible) there is one thing I didn't mention. After we got her thawed out, Peter and I went out to finish our walk. About ten minutes out, I had an experience I'd heard of but not felt yet: My eyelashes started freezing together whenever I would blink and exhale at the same time. My eyes were freezing shut! It was a very cold afternoon.

Our dog has become so adverse to the cold, in fact, that her docile personality takes a turn when confronted with it. This is a dog who allows a tiny kitten bite her ears and nose every day without protest. She was happy, last year, to let the Twins pull on and chew her ears, practice infant percussion on her belly, grab her teeth and take her bone away from under her nose. She lets us pick her up, move her around, poke and prod and annoy her with our silly human whims, daily. She never makes a sound, and bears it all with admirable grace. She only growls when strangers approach. Or so we thought.

One evening after the cold hit, Peter was sitting on the couch with our pup and his feet (being on the Very Cold Floor) were rather icy. He scooted them up under Nyssa's warm belly, and she let out one of the most ferocious growls I've ever heard from her or any other dog. Obviously, this is a dog who Does Not Like The Cold.

With this in mind, to avoid concerned family members suing for protective custody of the maligned hound, we went out and bought appropriate arctic gear for her last week.

First, footwear. Nyssa now has four soft fleece racing-dog boots to keep the snow and ice from packing up under her paws, or cutting them up.

(Yes, I know. I'm going to trim her nails in the morning.)

After her feet were taken care of, there was the cold dog herself. I consulted with the red haired 'dog whisperer' (or so whispered his co-workers, to me)at Cold Spot Feeds who told me he has a couple of thin-skinned dogs himself. After his tales of trying to get them to go for walks in the cold, I didn't feel quite so bad about our attempt with Nyssa. He told me that two layers would do it, for her. First, Doggie Long Underwear.

This attractive bullet grey neoprene number is lined with fleece and has several velcro closures along the back to ensure a snug fit. The Way Back, of course, is open in all the appropriate places. There were, in fact, two different types of Dog-Johns. One for females, with a little more open room back there, and one for the boys, with a special ... er ... insulated tube. I'm glad I don't have to deal with that.

On top of this is a special cold-weather dog coat with a pretty cool label.

You know grandma always wants her kids to stay warm, and who better than grandma to make fuzzy fleece dog-coats? This one is made of heavy fleece with a water-resistant nylon cover so it won't snag on branches or get soaking wet if snow is coming down.

Nyssa, however, becomes rather indignant with this silly dressing up. In fact, she hates the boots and gets very put out (and if you've met her, you know she is absolutely capable of pouting) when we get her geared up to go outside. Bribes (of peanut butter) are in order, every step of the way.

So here she is, all ready to go out, licking the last of the PB off her chops.

The problem: We still can't get her to go on a walk with us. Whenever we get out the leash, she lays down and refuses to budge (gobs of peanut butter & fish treats not withstanding.) It is supposed to warm up this week, to around six degrees. If it does, I may drive her down to the river and hope the change of scenery (and other dogs) might change her mind about getting outside a little more often.

Coming Soon:
Mary on the mechanics of living without running water.
Peter on what twenty five below actually feels like.

Stay tuned.

Winter Habitat

2006-11-15T23:51:00.000-09:00

Peter and I have been worried about Nyssa. She's a desert dog, without much of a coat to protect her from the cold. Although she is happy to tear around like a wild beast in the snow in moderate temperatures (anything over 20 degrees F) she doesn't enjoy the temperatures outside when her needs are a little more ... fundamental. When we lived in Homer, she was in the habit of running back into the house and sticking her nose into the heater vent, letting the hot air blow across her shivering body until she was warm enough to resume her difficult couch-guarding duties. It is not uncommon for her to indicate a need to go out, but on testing the air with her nose, turn tail and run back to her warm spot on the couch. Her face says, "Oops. I guess I didn't need to go that badly."

With the recent cold snap we've had ... one that doesn't look like it will end until April ... Nyssa has been inside our one room cabin for two weeks. I have been growing concerned that cooping her up like this is weighing on her well being. Peter has wondered out loud if all this cold and confinement will send her into a "doggie depression" that will last through the winter. (He has noted that Doggie Prozac is available, and has been for years. Not that we'll be resorting to this. Ever.)

Yesterday, we made an ill-advised attempt to get her out for a walk. It was cold. I won't say how cold, exactly, for fear of having the SPCA called on us, but we booted her up and headed out the door, figuring that as long as she kept moving, she'd be fine.

First of all, there was no frolicking with her boots on. She hates boots (she is a true Diva, despite her hardcore lion-hunting heritage) and instead of running around in the cold, she trailed behind us with her ears down and her tail tucked. She walked slower and slower as we cajoled her to follow, never straying away to smell or check any of her usual spots. After about a quarter of a mile she had fallen well behind. We finally turned around to where she stood resolutely in the middle of the road, shivering. I called her, and instead of bolting towards us in her signature sight-hound gallop, she slunk towards us, stopped, lay down and began to cry.

I don't know if you have ever heard a dog cry before. It is not a bark or a whine or a howl, but a sad, plaintive wailing that will slice you to pieces. I thought maybe the boots were too tight, so I took them off. They were frozen solid (these were duckhunting boots that I bought to keep sticker-burrs off of her in Texas, not soft fleece racing-dog boots made for the cold.) We called her. She refused to move, get up or even follow us back towards home. She would not stand up. She was shaking.

Peter picked her up and threw her over his shoulders. I was glad, in that moment, that I taught her as a pup to accept this sort of handling as a precaution. He carried her all the way home.

We got back and thawed her out as quickly as we could, and she seems none the worse for our misadventure. She will still go outside when nature calls, but she could probably win speed records if there were such a thing for dog-duties in the yard.

Ultimately, the addition of Duncan to our crowded little cabin has done a lot for her. She has another creature to interact and play with, and keep company if we are both gone all day. I will probably still buy fleece boots and a heavy dog-coat, and give this another try at some point. It is supposed to be warmer this week. (As in, closer to Zero.) But I've learned my lesson about forcing the issue.

Looking for Sunshine from Solar

2006-11-11T20:59:00.000-09:00

The weather has been wonderful here this week at Solar Cabin. Cold, certainly. But sunny and clear. The Alaska Range is in view on the drive into town, the stars are beyond belief (now that the moon is waning a bit.) We have been waking up to temperatures between eighteen and eight below, and have actually seen the thermometer peak up above zero a couple of times. In town.

The days are still long enough to enjoy, with sunlight from nine am to around four in the afternoon. Somehow I was expecting the days to be significantly shorter at this point, only six or so weeks away from Winter Solstice.

I thought I'd throw out a visual of how far north we are, in relation to the sun and the northern hemisphere's current tilt-away winter status. In particular, how important it is to have a south facing window and some elevation at these latitudes. Here is a photograph I took today right around noon, from our porch.

You can tell it's a sunny day, can't you? But where is all that sunshine coming from? It's kind of hard to see in the picture, so I'll give you a visual:

So there you have it. On November 11th, that's about as much vertical as we've got on our sunshine, and it's still sinking. You'll notice that our driveway and yard no longer get any direct sunlight. Good thing we don't have a veggie garden going.

Here are a few more wintry shots of our life. The car, plugged in to keep her engine block thawed out.

Looking west down Solar Avenue, from our driveway.

And finally, the view from our north facing window. Lack of direct sunlight notwithstanding, looking out that window always tempts me to curl up with a book and some hot chocolate for the rest of the day. And makes me thankful for thick log walls and a working heater.

Peter and I went down to the Tanana river for a walk last week, our first stroll below zero. Halfway through, I noticed that Peter's exhale had frozen onto his moustache, turning it white and forming tiny icicles. I quickly busted out the camera to get a picture - only to discover that the shutter had frozen closed. Maybe next time.

(I took this shot before the shutter froze.)

Local Politics

2006-11-07T23:50:00.000-09:00

.posted by peter.

A few weeks ago I was getting an afternoon coffee at our best local coffee roasters, and from my spot in line I noticed a familiar looking woman walking toward the front of the establishment. She had been talking to a youngish man in a tie, and I’d heard her say that she just wanted a plain black coffee, if they had it. I had to think for a second where I’d seen her before, because Mary and I haven’t been in Fairbanks too too long, and while it’s a small town, it’s not that small. Then it hit me, she looked just like Sarah Palin, the Republican candidate for Governor. She had that same awkward ‘stuck up on the top of her head’ pony tail. Same glasses. She was wearing a spotless red fleece vest, which sort of seemed like the kind of thing she’d wear. But it couldn’t be – she wasn’t surrounded by people!, there were no cameras or signs, and nobody was paying much attention to her. Then I noticed the insignia on her vest, and while I couldn’t read the small letters, the large ones were unmistakable: Sarah Palin.

While she looked INCREDIBLY tired, she was a good bit sharper looking than in all her ads and posters, prettier, more sophisticated, and seemed somehow like less of an airhead. Some of her ads portray her as almost freakishly perky, and it kind of hurts your eyes, and sympathetically your smile muscles, to look at them for more than a few seconds. One local critic has said against her that Alaska needs a leader, not a cheerleader. But at that moment, she looked like a normal person. Someone who might get irritated by an unnecessarily slow check out line (but be gracious about it of course.)

I thought it was so funny that no one was paying any attention to her! I guess it was the end of a long day of shaking babies and kissing hands, and somehow this was official down time and folks just knew to ignore her. Or maybe no one cared. This is a very small state after all (ironically enough). I myself thought it was pretty darn neat, but then again I grew up in a midsize city in PA where when you see ANYONE you know out in public, it’s an anecdote that night at dinner.

I wished really bad that Mary was there with her camera to catch some shots of us with the potential next Governor. “Man, this would make a great blog entry,” I thought. Plus, I ALWAYS make a point to get my picture taken with politicians. I once had my picture taken with Newt Gingrich on the streets of DC, and he actually put his arm around me! Insisted on it, in fact! Ah, Newt. He never calls.

When I told Mary about it later, she was sorry too that we missed our opportunity. I was going to write about it, but forgot…till yesterday.

Yesterday, when I went in around the same hour to get an afternoon coffee, I noticed right off a throng of people. Lots of middle aged folks in tortoise shell glasses and more spotless fleeces. A bunch of ties and clean shoes. (This is Alaska after all – I only saw a tie ONCE the whole year I lived in Homer.) As I got my coffee, I managed to see the table in the middle of the small crowd, and sitting at it was none other than Tony Knowles!, the Democratic candidate for Governor, and two time former Governor. I suppose I am not the only person who’s decided that Alaska Coffee Roasters has got the best espresso in Fairbanks.

Once again, he was much better looking in person. He had a kind of Tommy Lee Jones sort of good looks and charisma that totally falls flat in his adverts. He actually seems pretty creepy in most of his ads. Being in the same room with him was all it took for me to sense his political magnetism, and that was true with Sarah Palin as well. Not so much for Newt, I hate to say. But Newt is a smart guy, and that counts for something, on paper at least.

Alaska has got about the same number of citizens as Vermont. And Vermont seems rural when you go there. I suppose you’re bound to run into everyone up here eventually.

____________________________

:: Peter is also more attractive and charismatic in person!! ::

Get Out The Vote Post Script

2006-11-07T23:45:00.000-09:00

Other election-related photographs (and shots of Duncan giving the dog a smackdown) are posted at Solar Aperture.

A Nippy Morning

2006-11-03T12:23:00.000-09:00

.We hit new low today in the uneven march toward Winter Solstice and the bitter cold ahead. Today was the coldest Peter or I have seen it (in our lives, not just here) at five below. The days are noticably shorter now, thanks to Daylight Savings Time taking a bite out of our evening daylight hours and that regular loss of about seven minutes of sunshine a day. We still have plenty of it, but the sun is well below a 45 degree angle from the horizon even at noon. It came out today that October saw record high temperatures (and therefore significantly less snowfall, and more rain) in the Interior this year.

The dog teams are out in earnest, preping for the racing season that starts next month, but there is still not enough snow covering the trails for the dogs to train in the backcountry. Instead mushers are running their dogs on snow-covered gravel roads like ours, using their summer-sleds - ATVs - with tires chained, and running in gear to slow the eager mutts down. I am looking forward to watching the sprint races in December. I patched (poorly - I am just learning the software) this picture together as one flew by our house last week. Notice the Oft Repeated Tree!

Boo!

2006-10-31T15:19:00.000-09:00

The kids are trooping around town, most of them costumed in the warmest way possible. Little boys wear Spiderman and Superman outfits several sizes too large, stuffed full of sweaters and heavy wool "muscles" to keep them toasty. Moms have a harder time warming up dainty little-girl costumes. There are lots of white snow pants peaking out from under pink tutus and plenty of moonboots adorning otherwise delicate Cinderella ball gowns. No glass slippers navigating these drifts for candy!

Wildlife & Photography

2006-10-26T18:59:00.000-08:00

It's been snowing here, on and off, for several days. After several weeks of temperatures hovering around freezing, it's been nice to have something to show for it. Everything is covered, and even the dump is looking like Christmas. I've finally gotten my act together and opened a Flickr account for all the photographs that don't make the posts here. I add more a couple of times a week, so keep checking back. For those unfamiliar with Flickr, the most recent photographs are on the main page, and others are archived in their appropriate album on the right. There is a permanent link on sidebar here at Solar North (directly under the "More On Fairbanks" heading.) For now, clicking on the fox will get you there, too.

I saw this little guy driving home from class this afternoon. I swung the car around and parked next to him, and he sat and posed for me for a minute before a passing snow-plow spooked him into the woods. I saw a white snowshoe hare yesterday, bolting across the road at about the same spot. I wonder if they've found one another yet.

Observations At Altitude

2006-10-21T19:32:00.000-08:00

I recently took our new GPS unit for a drive with me to town. As I have mentioned before, we live halfway up the far side of a valley just north of Fairbanks. When we first moved here, I noticed that there were very few houses on the south side of the valley, but once you pass over Goldstream Creek at the valley floor, there are quite a few roads leading off to little cabin enclaves like our own. Now that the sun is making her daily rounds decidedly in the south, I understand why. By solstice, I don't think the north side of the hill will be getting any direct sunlight at all. (If you watch the Winter Solstice Video on the links bar, you will notice that much of Fairbanks remains in shadow, even though the sun is technically in the sky.)

In order to get to town, we drive down to the bottom of our valley, up over a hill, and then down again into the Tanana Valley where Fairbanks lies. I have noticed that the temperature often changes significantly over the course of the drive to town, and have wondered about our cabin's relative elevation at various points along the trip. I took the GPS to get an idea of just where we were when the car thermometer shifted around. These are the readings I took:

Solar Cabin :: 788 ft.
GS Valley Floor :: 716 ft
Crest of Hill :: 960 ft.
Chena River :: 512 ft.
(almost at the) Tanana River :: 430 ft.

(The Chena river is a small, swift river that runs through the middle of town, and empties into the Tanana river - a monster of braided water - that borders Fairbanks to the south and eventually runs into the mighty Yukon.)

Ducks On The Chena

A Braided River (Not the Tanana)

On a typical day (and this is by no means scientific) the car thermometer will read

Solar Cabin :: 25
GS Valley Floor :: 27
Crest of Hill :: 23
Chena River :: 30
Tanana River :: 30

According to local observations of Cold Inversion, where (in conditions of extreme cold and minimal wind) warm air traps cold air in the valleys, the temperatures at our elevation should be higher than those on the valley floor. This is counter to the logic that the higher you go, the colder it gets, and explains why most Fairbanksians - at least, those who can afford it - live on the hillside north of town (They get the sunlight the city misses around the middle of December, as well a several degree warmth advantage to bolster their heating bills.) In the newspaper, many houses are advertised as being "above the fog." This translates to above the temperature inversion line which causes the ice fog that I referenced last month. It can be as much as ten to fifteen degrees warmer on the hills.

So far, our temperatures are always several degrees below those in town. This is, of course, in keeping with the idea that a lower elevation (around 400 feet) will be warmer than a higher (800, here.) It remains to be seen if our little cabin is high enough to enjoy some warmer air when the mercury really drops, or if the Cold Inversion we hear so much about is a phenomenon which effects only the Tanana Valley - a much larger geological feature, with a much greater elevation difference. Although ultimately, I don't know if a difference between -30 and -15 will really be that noticeable in the outhouse.

On A Clear Day

2006-10-13T12:24:00.000-08:00

We can't usually see Denali from Fairbanks, although the rest of the Alaska Range is there for the gawking every time we drive into town. I have only seen the peak once from here, on a crystal day several weeks ago. Even as far away as it is, it took my breath away. It still amazes me that it is possible to see Denali from Fairbanks and Anchorage ... cities over 350 miles apart. Last month, in a last-ditch effort to get out of town before school and jobs set in full force, we got a little taste of the mountain from closer up. Or at least as close as you can get from the Parks Highway.

In this picture, you can see Mt. Foraker peaking out behind the jagged peaks in the foreground (the peak is just where the clouds are on the left of the picture.)

Since staying on the trail will absolutely keep you safe in Grizzly country ...
Seward was wonderful and beautiful and totally rainy, as usual. Mellow, as well, as shops close for the season and the population takes a nose-dive for the winter. We stayed in Seaside Cabin, right on the beach at Miller's. It was wonderfully cozy and warm in the drizzle.

Seaside is a wonderful little retreat - if you don't mind being right next to the Landing office. But from inside the cabin, you can't see anything but the bay.

Nyssa hangs out in the loft. What a spoiled puppy!

Another cozy cabin at Miller's. Crow's Nest is a bigger family-sized place with room for eight (I think) and a nice big woodstove. Seeing woodsmoke always gives me cozy vibes. Bear Mountain is rising up behind those trees. I hope to climb that one - maybe next summer. So we're not on the coast anymore, but I got a little hit of ocean that will last me until we head down there again: probably to thaw out when 20 degrees starts to look positively tropical!

A Minor Addition

2006-10-09T10:11:00.000-08:00

Peter got a late birthday present this weekend. We have been wanting to add a cat to our lives for awhile, but wanted to wait until after the move to Alaska. Now that we are all settled in, we felt like the time had come. I looked at shelters and rescue organizations for several weeks, but there didn't seem to be any kittens available. Because of Nyssa's size, we had decided that kitten who grew up with her would be better than an adult cat already programed to be afraid of dogs. Two weeks ago, I heard of a rescue group in North Pole (the town, not the place) with one kitten still unspoken for. When I called the foster home, the woman told me that he was the best kitten she had encountered in years. She said that she wanted to keep him, but she already had three cats of her own. She was going to hand-pick a home for him, and had already turned down four families. We passed her test.

The little guy arrived here on Saturday, just shy of eight weeks old, with the name Franklin. After some debate (and sacking the names we had already picked out) we decided to re-christen him Duncan. Duncan Pryde is the name of one of our favorite Arctic authors. A Scottish orphan, he headed for the Canadian Arctic to work as a fur trader at the age of 18. He wrote an incredible book called Nunaga about his life, work and adventures among the native people of the north country in the 1950's and 60's. (We highly recommend it.) It's a big name for a little kitty, but it fits his big personality. Weighing all of 1lb 7oz, he walked right up to our fierce lion hound as if she was another piece of furniture.

Run, Spot, Run!

2006-10-05T10:31:00.000-08:00

Since the snow has pretty much melted, and the temperatures have been inching back towards 50 (you'll notice no new outhouse visit records since the first of October) I have decided to post some pictures of a recent weekend event involving myself, Nyssa and Lots Of Other Dogs.

There is a canine sport called Lure Coursing, where dogs chase a "bunny" around a pre-set course on an open field. It was developed for sighthounds to test their chasing ability in a controlled environment (this 'bunny' won't run across a road, or under a barbed wire fence) and get some of their energy out.

In this case the "bunny" is a white plastic bag, attached to a long wire. This wire is run around several pullies teathered in a field, and then through a small motor. A controller stands on a platform (or ladder) where he can see the whole course, and "jumps" the wire-and-bunny forward as the dog catches up to it, by running the motor. In real competition, dogs run with several others of the same breed, and are judged on how well they follow the lure, their enthusiam, agility, speed and endurance. I was invited to attend a non-competative event, in which a bunch of sight-hound owners got together to hang out and let their dogs do what sighthounds do best: Chase Things Really Really Fast.

Below (click for a larger version) you can see the motor (under the ladder) the ladder with the controller waiting for our signal that we are ready, the "bunny" and string on the ground just below Nyssa's head.
Here is Nyssa on her second run. The first go-round, she wasn't sure if she was allowed to be chasing the bunny and kept looking back at me to see if I was yelling or cheering (we usually discourage her from chasing things down.) Once she figured out she was allowed to run, and run fast, she ran *so* fast that the controller had a hard time keeping the bunny ahead of her.

(Here, another Ridgeback with all four feet off the ground at full speed...)

The best part of the day was meeting fellow owners and their very cool dogs. There were two other Ridgebacks. It was interesting to see Nyssa and the two Ridgebacks pack up and run around together, totally ignoring all the other dogs and people. Which begs the question: Do dog breeds recognize their own?

Some other interesting breeds represented were Scottish Deerhounds (here, one chases the lure):

And Irish Wolfhounds, the Giants of the Dog world. They are the tallest dogs, and the two girls at the course were not even very large by Wolfhound standards. This little girl is still a puppy - barely a year old:

Here, Kodiak, the five-year-old, is in the truck with her Lab-mix and Setter siblings. Note: The Irish Setter behind Kodi is a big boy - significantly larger than Nyssa. These gentle giants were the sweetest dogs there.

There were even some non-sighthound breeds there to give it a try. Two Jack Russell Terriers had a blast, although the grass was so high, they often got lost and had to hop up high to see what it was they were chasing.

Overall it was a wonderful afternoon. I met lots of friendly new people and their dogs, Nyssa got to run and chase and play, and slept for the rest of the week (until we went for a "hound walk" with the Wolfhound Family the next weekend.) Nyssa and Katinka - the puppy - are becoming fast friends. Probably because they can keep up with each other.

Tundra, Taiga, Trees & Trails

2006-09-30T22:00:00.000-08:00

Although it would be cool to say that we live up north in the rolling endless arctic tundra, we don't. We are solidly in a belt of Boreal Forest - called Taiga - consisting primarily of spruce, ash and birch on a bed of permafrost. In the summer, the top layer of permafrost melts, more in some places than others.

The ensuing boggy nature of any and all ground in the vast wilderness surrounding Fairbanks in the summer makes back country foot travel unbearable, if not impossible. Hiking involves slogging through veritable swamps (and thriving insect life therein) no matter if the trail runs through valleys or over hills. Winter is truly the time for back country travel here, because the frozen ground (and rivers and streams and lakes and bogs) can be easily and confidently traversed. The local topography is that of rolling hills and sweeping valleys - no high mountain passes and dangerous glacial routes found other parts of the state. This gentler (in some ways) landscape leads to the high proportion of sled dog teams, cross country skiers and snow machine enthusiasts.

The fact that the ground is mostly frozen, even in summer, causes trees to put out pretty shallow roots. The first time I tried walking across our front yard - a medley of stunted northern spruce and groundcover of various mosses and lichens - I was in for a shock.

Whenever I stepped near a tree, even a thick-trunked spruce tree taller than our cabin-on-stilts, the pressure on the tree's root system (barely held in place by the now un-frozen topsoil and lichens) would cause the tree to tilt precariously in my direction. I made my way about ten feet from the driveway when I noticed that several huge specimens were leaning menacingly overhead, swaying more and more violently every time I shifted my weight. Feeling like Alice in a very malicious Wonderland, I dove headlong back towards the safety of the solid gravel driveway, trees swaying wildly behind me as their roots realigned with gravity in the mucky, melt-water saturated moss-soil.

The state of permafrost in summer has caused a more immediate problem in regards to the trail to the outhouse. Walking the ten or so yards from the edge (safety) of the driveway to the outhouse steps feels a bit like walking across a trampoline in moonboots. The ground is saturated with melt-water, the moss and lichens are thick and spongy, and the trial winds precariously between several spruce trees in various stages of growth. Imagine navigating this course groggy with sleep at 3am, shoes untied, with only some patchy moonlight to guide you. Not to mention the constant threat of a possible moose encounter in the dark.

There is nothing graceful about it.

Several days ago, we got our first freeze. I woke up and headed for the outhouse in the murky light of dawn to discover - to my utter delight - that the ground was frozen solid. I traversed the path with a confidant series of skips and jumps. I landed on solid ground, every step of the way. It was positively heartening. My delight almost offset the shock of sitting down on the equally frozen throne.

Update :: SNOW!!

2006-09-30T10:03:00.001-08:00

Peter got an awesome and unexpected birthday present last night.

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2006-09-30T10:03:00.000-08:00

This one is pretty dark, but worth a click.

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2006-09-30T10:01:00.000-08:00

Nyssa ventured out first ... and came right back in.

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2006-09-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

A blurry evening shot, about an hour into the fall. It lasted until this morning, but is already melting away in the balmy 40 degrees we're having.

A Place To Call Home

2006-09-25T10:15:00.000-08:00

Once we had landed safely in Fairbanks, there was the matter of housing to consider. We did not want to be caught in the open when the sun became scarce and the temperatures settled down below zero. There are several special considerations to housing in Alaska, housing in Fairbanks, and housing for us. We unloaded our stuff into a storage facility, settled into a friend's RV, and started perusing the Sunday Classifieds.

One thing we had decided for certain is that we did not want to live in Fairbanks proper. There were several reasons for this, but we were mostly worried about the Cold Inversion/Ice Fog problem. Fairbanks lies in a valley, and is one of the most scattered municipalities in the country (read: lots of cars.) In the winter, all the pollution from said cars - many idling while their owners run errands, to prevent them refusing to start in the hard freeze - actually freezes into a visible (and opaque) sludgy fog. Ewwww. So living in Fairbanks Municipality - in the Tanana (Tan-ah-naw) Valley - was out.

Although Fairbanks only gets snow for the first few months of winter (October & November) before temperatures become too cold for such weather, we wanted to be sure of living on a road that gets plowed, so that we can get out if need be. Hence, we needed an area with lots of school-aged children. Bus-routes get plowing priority - despite the extreme latitude, there was only one "snow day" in the district last year. Because of freezing rain. In April.

Since we were looking for something semi-rural, cozy (easily kept warm,) dog friendly and affordable, we were by process of elimination, looking for a cabin. And cabins in Alaska almost never come with plumbing. Yet we also needed high speed internet.

We perused the classifieds, and called every "Pets OK" cabin on the list. That first Sunday, we visited several. Peter fell in love with a brand-new, still unfinished place about five miles northwest of town. I had my reservations. But after a week of looking at the many classically sketchy, ramshackle and jerry-rigged Alaskan offerings (some in the owner's front yard) we put in our bid to the landlord. Two weeks later, we moved into the still-paint-fresh log cabin on Solar, and started breaking in the trail to the (pristine!) outhouse. The house itself is about four feet off the ground on adjustable stilts, to compensate for the inevitable permafrost melt underneath. It has a huge porch, just waiting for projects and plants in the spring. Nyssa has been spending lots of porch time soaking up the last of the summer warmth.

Our little neighborhood of cabin-dwellers in Goldstream Valley is wonderful. The dirt roads are wide, and if you are out walking any vehicle that appears immediately slows down until your get a hold of your dog. There are several dogsled teams in training - they run past every morning, pulling their mushers on ATVs in low gear, and sing us to sleep every night in a chorus of howls (sometimes a chorus, sometimes a cacophony.) Our mailbox lies half a mile away, near the paved road to town, in a friendly and colorful cluster of several dozen.

We have settled in, making the empty box of our one-room-and-loft into a home, hanging pictures, filling bookshelves, creating ways around a closetless existence. We haul water in 7-gallon jugs from a dispensing place in town, haul our own trash to the dump, and haul ourselves into town for showers at the university or Laundromat. It is an interesting way to have a handle on exactly what resources and waste our household goes through.

And so, this last week of September, we find ourselves happy and cozy in our bright Solar Cabin. We got our first hard freeze last night. Winter is well on her way.

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2006-09-25T09:53:00.000-08:00

Solar Cabin - A view from the outhouse. The raised foundation is easily seen.

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2006-09-25T09:52:00.000-08:00

Out for an evening stroll ...

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2006-09-25T09:51:00.000-08:00

Lots of dogteams in the area are training for the Yukon Quest. Fairbanks has a network of over 1000 miles of winter trails.

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2006-09-25T09:46:00.001-08:00

The Foundation - Keeping the cabin off the ground keeps the permafrost from melting. The pillars adjust to compensate for some inevitable melt.

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2006-09-25T09:45:00.001-08:00

The Outhouse - from the porch.

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2006-09-25T09:45:00.000-08:00

The Outhouse Door - We'll be securing this against the cold soon.

A Long Migration

2006-09-01T01:25:00.000-08:00

We left Harrisburg on July 4th, and journeyed south through Virginia, the Carolinas (with a stop-off to see Peter's dad, a detour in which I came within several inches of hitting a black bear) Georgia, Mississippi and Louisiana to Texas where we 'rested' for a few packed days with my family. We fished on my Uncle's cattle ranch near Sheridan (Nyssa happily chasing down as many of the creatures as she could see) and got some good time in with the Grandparents. We visited Peter's great-great-great grandfather's homestead cabin in Round Top, then loaded up and headed across the West Texas desert with her thousands of wind turbines and tiny, boarded up towns. We cut up through the Guadalupe Mountains and into New Mexico to check out the alien-hot-spot of Roswell (where Nyssa was welcome to visit the museum with us, as long as she didn't bite children or aliens,) and visit our friend Dan in his 7,500 ft guest house lodgings above Santa Fe. From there we drove into the Rockies, reaching the trip's high point at 11,800 ft at 12.30 am, and then down into the canyon country of Utah. We stopped in Moab for Pizza and a long loop up into the much cooler LaSalle Mountains, then swung by my old stomping grounds at Wilderness Quest before hitting most of the National Parks to the south-west, camping at the deserted head of Glen Canyon halfway through. We crossed into Nevada, traversing the Extraterrestrial Highway in the middle of the night (a theme?), dodging jackrabbits, coyotes and bobcats, to Rachel of Area 51 fame. There we lodged in the 'colorful' (and I mean this in the worst possible way) A'Le'Inn motel. We got news that our shipment was due in Anchorage a week early, forcing us to change our route (missing Portland and friends there altogether) double back and catch a backroad straightaway for Canada on Highway 93. It was the last roof we slept under for nearly 4,000 miles.

We camped by a river south of Salmon, Idaho, and again south of Jasper, where a group of Canadian hikers offered to share their campsite when they saw us circling the full campground in vain. Annie, our game little station wagon, sputtered out on us in Prince George, the last major town before the vast wilderness of the Cassiar Highway through Northern BC. We limped to a stop at the curb, and started walking back to the last intersection to find a Subaru Dealership right where her engine misfired. They had us back on the road in two hours, and Nyssa slept through the whole thing. We camped at a wonderfully friendly municipal campground by the river in Smithers, then turned North to traverse the Cassiar and second half of the Alcan. We saw a total of seven black bears before we got to the Yukon border. In Whitehorse, we found that our favorite coffee shop, Midnight Sun Coffee Roasters, had burnt to the ground the previous winter. Heartbroken, we perused several used bookstores with mugs of sub-par espresso, bought some peanut butter, and pushed on.

We crossed the Alaska border after looking in vain for KinderSuprise Chocolates in the last Canadian town - a delight unavailable in the United States - and got to Tok in the early evening. We swung south towards Anchorage, and our waiting shipment of worldly goods, to find the first FIFTY miles of highway completely torn apart. After several hours driving at 20 mph, flinching at periodic bangs from the undercarriage, we hit tarmac again and made camp north of Glennallen. With some time to kill in Anchorage, we visited a giant Colon replica at the local Tribal Council center. After this exciting interlude, we procured a UHaul (after much drama with the dispatcher) from a Laundromat fifty miles north of town. UHaul secured, we returned to unloaded our belongings - seemingly none the worse for their journey - from their container in a busy shipping yard. Then we began the last leg, heading north again to Fairbanks, in separate cars for the first time in 8,000 miles. Just south of Denali, Peter nearly clipped a black bear that ran in front of the UHaul, capping the journey with unexpected bears on both ends.

Texas

New Mexico

Utah

Nevada

That's right, the Little A'Le'Inn ...

The rooms are actually old construction trailers
parked in back of the bar.

Nyssa tries to blend in ...

Canada
Black bear walking down the road ...
Another bear foraging ...

Alaska At Last!!

Peter Cleaning House

Travelers

A Hitchhiker From Roswell.

Nyssa spent most of the trip hybernating
buried in blankets.

Tanana Valley :: The End Of Our Road