We leave tomorrow. This is a difficult move. We have stuff in every corner. Our luggage hasn’t gotten larger, and I’m leaving the tub that I mailed. When full it weighed 61.83 lbs and cost $151.05 to mail. Unfortunately, the size and number of the piles of stuff seems the same.

I was on high octane this morning. Yesterday afternoon, I missed a call from the clinic. The message wasn’t specific but requested a call back in the morning. I told Terry I wasn’t going to get my hopes up that they had a cancellation and were calling me to get the shot.

I started the morning waiting to call Teresa at the clinic who has the sweetest voice and nobody could be upset with her. Terry was sitting across from me at the table. I told him this is about his mix up getting his Covid test yesterday. He said I was getting the vaccine.

Yesterday the tech came out to give us the swabs and vials to administer our Covid tests. We requested them because we’re flying. They are no longer required, but it seemed prudent.

The health tech said to me, Deborah? and to Terry, Charles? “My name isn’t Charles.” She showed him the appointment with Charles listed. “See. Isn’t that you?”

“No.” She handed him the kit and waited for him to follow her instructions on swabbing and depositing the contents into the vial. She requested of him, “Ok, give me your name and DOB.” She had nothing to write with or on. We were outside. Terry provided the information.

She said, “Terry Miller, I’ll remember that. “ and what’s your date of birth?”

“7/24/52.” Terry told her.

“I’ll remember 4:20 because of pot smoking time.”

I said, “Well that’s a clever way to remember the date, but it’s 7/24/52.”

She repeated 7/24/52 until she said “got it.”

Will this morning’s call to Teresa be inviting me to get my shot or to clear up Terry’s information?

“McGrath medical clinic, this is Teresa.” Sweet. “This is Deborah Hansen.” Terry looks hopefully at me. “Thank you for calling me back. Can you clarify Terry’s birthday?”

Crestfallen, I walked around in circles. Deciding that I didn’t like any of my stuff, and I’d just leave it all behind. Then I sat at my laptop ready to get lucky and actually get an appointment for tomorrow in Anchorage or for a future date in Santa Cruz.

Of course nothing had changed, there were no appointments available even though the websites promised the vaccine was in stock. While I was searching, Terry read me the scathing reviews of these websites.

Vindication that it wasn’t just me, got me away from the screen. The weather was 32° warm. A perfect goodbye walk on the road to nowhere. Two miles out my phone rang, and I managed to get it out of the stretchy pocket on my running tights. It was the clinic, could I get there in forty-five minutes? Someone cancelled. Sure.

It was 3.5 miles to the clinic, and I needed to stop by the house to use the bathroom, get my mask, and put on a short sleeve shirt. I ran with the theme song of Chariots of Fire playing in the background. The slick packed snow roads felt like running on moving walkways in airports. My running pace was Olympic qualifying. I was Pee-Wee Herman passing snow machines instead of bikes. Just made it!

All smiles and sore arm, now.

A curious sight near the middle of the frozen Kuskokwim caused us to edge closer. There was a large murder of ravens jostling for position. Standing among them was a tall, white headed stranger. There was a lot of activity that appeared to be drinking and bath taking. Ravens and eagles normally do not practice peaceful coexistence, but on this one day, the rules were different.

Much of the day saw temps above freezing, and winds gusting. Most roofs are steeply pitched metal that snow somehow clings to. At 7:32 pm, our south facing roof dropped its load. Like glacial rebound, our house walls and foundation instantly sprang upward. The feeling was familiar – earthquake! Elsie told us that her house, built in the 80’s, is falling down. Heavy snow loads are tough on a house.

Terry

In the light snow of the morning, we talked to a friend walking. It turned out, her son had just turned 40 on the 26th which is Andy’s birthday, too. In Ak, if you live in bush, you go to a city, most often Anchorage, one month before the baby is due. Our friend lived in the small village of Nikolai. She had not seen a doctor or any health care worker. She didn’t know when the baby was due, making the birth a surprise for her and the untrained women who assisted the birth. All she remembers is one woman asking the other,” where are the scissors?”

She also recalled her high school years at Chemawa Indian School in Salem OR. What she liked most was that they provided breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday which she didn’t have at home. Of course these “Indian” boarding schools were instrumental in the death of native languages and culture as well as families. But in the 1960s it probably was a good choice. Her other option was to move to McGrath. There was no school in Nikolai. It’s current school, with only ten students, will face closure if they lose one student. Online schooling will prevail.

We headed out on Goog’s Haul Road in the warm 30° weather. The snow fall increased and a combination of flakes and fog shortened our visibility. We had to strip a layer because trudging increased body heat. When our path arced to the south, the razors of pelting snow lashed our faces. You know that wind you can lean into. This was fun. But we had heard that Matthias had headed out on foot heading up the Innoko to a cabin. It would be easy to lose a trail, or, soaking wet, become hypothermic.

When you don’t drive or need to fly, a blizzard doesn’t pack the same wallop it once did. I read The Children’s Blizzard by David Laskin a couple of years ago. Two hundred thirty-five people died, many of them children, who couldn’t make it home in the driving snow when they were released from school early, due to impending bad weather.

We brought cookies to Paul the GM of KSKO. He wanted me to remind people, out of the listening area, that they can stream the station. He always tells people that when he has a bad day everyone gets to witness on air. He’s not shy and often self-effacing. They have some good indigenous music and news feeds from around AK and the lower 48.

As I near the end of my tenure here, I reflect on the two month journey. I have not talked politics with anyone. I believe I have met people who might view me as their worst enemy and vice versa. But if so, I don’t know who they are and don’t care. The delivery system is crazy. But things get delivered or they don’t. Life goes on just the same. People are starved for gossip. There’s not much here to gossip about. When one of the fishers asked Terry why he was here and he replied “to fish,” she told people that Terry was a “smarty ass.” We heard this from several people who heard it from people we don’t even know. People like to tattle. It’s good to leave now when all of this still seems fun.

Down the street the dogs are barking and ululating their dissonant chords, a chilling reminder that spring thaw lifts the veil.

As I pulled our sack of garbage to the dump, I kept a close eye. Ravens were studying my movements. Would it make sense to swoop on this bag of garbage when they could get fresh organically grown vegetables straight from a farm box by hanging around the terminal?

The State Trooper pulled up to give me an update on the injured moose. It was a first year bull who appeared to have a compound fracture of his left front leg. They will keep an eye on him, he told me. If he hadn’t moved on in a couple of days, his chance of survival would be slim, and they would shoot him and provide meat to the elders. We had opposite ethics on the killing of wolves, but from the little I know of the Trooper, I like him.

This afternoon was the running of the ‘Mini Iditarod’ hosted by the school. There were seven teams of 1st and 2nd graders. Each mini musher had a sled and was pulled by a single dog. The handler, a younger child, rode in the sled while the musher stood on the rails. A high school student was assigned to lead each dog so everyone was safe.

A second dog would have provided a little more excitement. At least two of the dogs were former Iditarod runners. Their owner was narrating some of their history. A woman commented on the incredible blue eyes of the blond dog. The owner claimed the dog was the most photographed dog on the Iditarod. Another one of his dogs had to be added because they were a dog short. This former athlete was retired and now was a couch potato. The dog begged his owner to let him take a pass. But he was coaxed and took off like it was his idea.

At last, a night out on the town to the restaurant at the Roadhouse. It’s owned by a French man who, a couple years earlier, skied for six weeks into McGrath from Willow AK on the Iditarod Trail. He had planned this trip to remote AK from France, a feat in itself. Then in November 2019, he bought the Roadhouse. This possible French restaurant mostly served burgers and pizza. He said nobody was interested in French food. The interior of this old rustic bunkhouse appeared to be a pan abode cabin kit, the same as our home in Corralitos. We were home.

The restaurant was empty except for a man who was settled in at the first booth. John was large, bearded, youthful looking middle aged man. He greeted us. He let us know he had arrived shortly from his cabin up the Innoko River where he had been for a couple of months. He was fascinating. One of the many things he owned and ran was his survival school, Feral Forest Alaska. We’re interested.

Terry in conversation with John while socially distanced, of course.

We are not going to get our Denali view. We don’t know why but the snow machines have ceased going up the road to nowhere. We don’t really want to share our time and space with them, but we are thankful for the way they make tracks for us. It was 23° when we left at 8:00. Most of the day it hovered around 32. We had fresh snow. It was deep and mushy, forming ice clumps on the bottom of Terry’s skis. My running shoes sank with each step greatly increasing my work load.

Three miles in, we saw a moose lying on the road. She was reluctant to get up. She limped off the road, something was wrong with her leg. I texted the state trooper, my landlord. Terry and I decided it was probably a bad move. Basically there is no good outcome for an injured animal. But I’ll assume it was just a Charlie Horse. And the trooper won’t find her because she’s probably out giving birth to twins.

As we slogged and stumbled in this gorgeous scenery at about two miles per hour, we realized that that view we are seeking is covered by black clouds. Terry asks what I want to do. Of course, continue. Why? This is just painful and there is no possibility of a view. Terry reminds me Denali is 100 miles away. You can walk anywhere if you have enough time. That’s BS. Like what about food? This whole plan is foolhardy. And I’m letting myself get deeper and deeper. We go to the exact same spot we were two days ago. Today it was twice as hard. We will never make it back.

We drag ourselves back for four more hours. When you have snow, you can’t sit or lie down. You just drag yourself. Our moose was standing in the spot we left her. Terry tries to encourage her. But she flattens her ears. We were just reading that this is not a good signal. We’re sure the injury saved our lives.

This is our last opportunity to complain about veggie delivery. They arrived today, and Terry picked them up at the NAC terminal. We had 2 boxes. The larger had a big hole in the side. Egg shells were visible. Squire, the only worker for McGrath NAC, agreed to fill out a damage form. Terry said it looked like a misguided forklift stab, but Squire shook his head and said, “raven ate the box.” A few minutes later he said, “how do you spell raven?” Circle Farm boxes are stout, and cold weather strong. The average muscle man cannot tear one open, but they are no match for the mighty raven bill. Then I noticed several other boxes had holes torn in them. Squire said that if he doesn’t get them inside quickly, ravens will inspect every box. We lost 4 eggs.

There were a lot of very expensive snow machines sitting outside the terminal. Squire said they were all shipped over for the Iditarod, and were waiting to go back to Anchorage. Fifty pounds of cargo coming into McGrath costs $50. Fifty pounds of cargo leaving McGrath costs $25. Vehicles up to 17 feet long can be flown on the NAC jet. Anything larger must come by barge on its once yearly voyage.

All the days are quiet. Noise comes from the whine of snow machines, and the baying of dogs. There is a frequent hum from the electrical generator. The snow plow passes through town on snow days. Distant prop planes fly over. Occasional jets pass thousands of feet above leaving behind a dull roar and the twice weekly NAC attack gets our attention.

But there is no traffic. No sirens. No loud music. No music. No loud voices. No booming bass. No skate boards. Few things hijack peace.

Yesterday, when Margie walked in front of us, stopping to complain about her mean cousin, she talked in a hushed voice. I had my hood up and couldn’t hear much. But we all understand feuds and the need to explain our side of the story. As aliens to this town, we have the perfect ears for gossip. We have the perfect ears to hear the lack of noise. Snow dampens everything, maybe even feuds.

This is why I get up hours before Terry. The solitude, the soundlessness. The loft is mine. Warm and low ceilinged. With my journal and coffee.

The verisimilitude of a simple life. Waiting for Terry to wake with no hurry in mind. From my perch, breakfast is always made below, warm oatmeal and Terry claiming my loneliness.

From the bank, we could see our two dedicated ice fishers moving over their fishing holes. The movement was busy. I had eyed them on earlier occasions thinking they were candidates for Slow TV. But today they looked fast from afar.

I had a couple of baggies with cookies for each of them. One showed no interest and wouldn’t take them. I set them down near her. She said she was grumpy. The other was making some faces, I couldn’t interpret. She was very thankful. But packed up quickly, anxious to leave. We followed her because we didn’t want to stay with grumpy. When we walked by grumpy, she slid the cookies at us and said, “Here, I don’t want your cookies.”

It was a good thing they weren’t under the same roof of an ice house.

This is a week with a number of new experiences. This drama lead us to Margie’s house as we followed her from the river. She showed us her kitchen. It was darling. And the fireplace in the kitchen heated it to 83°.

The birds are displaying nesting behavior. Birdhouses are waiting.

If Terry had time, making birdhouses might be a project for him.

The good news is there is no below zero forecast before we leave here a week from Wednesday. This is mostly due to overcast and snow conditions. How will we get that view of Denali we’ve been aiming for?

The thought of that road-to-nowhere, covered in snow was daunting to me before I arrived. I had lived in AK for eight years and I ran most days. But after being away for 13 years, I forgot how much heat you produce when you’re active even outside in freezing conditions. You just can’t stop. If you’re going far enough to require food. You’ll probably need to stop to eat that sandwich you’re packing. And of course you need to stop and take off you mitts to take a picture. And if the much dreaded headwind kicks up, you need to add layers and face covering. It’s all daunting.

We were told we needed to go up the road-to-nowhere for ten miles to get the proper view of Denali. Denali is the highest peak in North America at 20,308 feet. You’d think we could spy it.

When I was here by myself, I made it to the 3 mile marker. This gave me a good 6 mile run. When Terry arrived, we amped it up one mile each time we went out the road. By last Friday, we were at 7 miles. Our photographer friend has a nice picture from the eight mile point. Today we did 8, of course we must return so that’s a 16 mile trek. It was warm with no headwind. Perfect!

Next time we’re going ten miles. The beauty of this weather is you don’t need to bundle. I hate the balaclava, and the goggles and the heavy jacket and all the socks. But you still need to carry extra stuff, because sweat just happens. And moving into even a light breeze will give you a windchill 10-15 degrees lower.

Deb and I have spent a lot of time down on the river, hanging out with the hopefuls. Today Margie caught 2 Grayling and 2 whitefish, the best luck so far. I have developed a plan to unwind my dental floss and tie it on a willow branch, much like the locals do. Today while we walked with Elsie, she cast doubt on my idea and gave me one of her rigs, laughing that she is too old to fish anyway. The fishing equipment consists of a short piece of willow with 2 protruding screws that the line gets wound around. This simple method works primarily because cold water fish are lethargic and don’t put up a fight. Maybe tomorrow……

Thawing of the fire hydrants signals warmer weather ahead. Each has a heater cable that gets attached to a portable generator.

Power for McGrath is supplied by 3 diesel generators housed in a shed situated strategically between the grocery store, hotel, and bar. One kilowatt of power cost 71 cents. Most locals burn spruce to heat their homes.