Alaska Dispatches
# 1  —  9 August 2000

Introduction

	How much rice, flour and sugar will we consume in a year? Which boots will really keep our feet comfortable at 60 below zero? We confronted these questions and more over a week in Anchorage as we tried to prepare for our life in Piniq*. We are spending a year here while my wife Leisy completes a year-long ethnographic study for her dissertation. My full time occupation will be caring for Jules, our two-year-old son, but I also plan to take advantage of opportunities to get to know this place, its people and their way of life.
Piniq is a Yup’ik Eskimo village in Southeastern Alaska about 500 miles off the road system. A town of 550 or so, mostly Yup’ik with a smattering of white teachers as well as the odd white person who married into the town, Piniq is large by Alaskan bush standards. However it still lacks any commercial enterprises apart from 3 canteen-like stores (think of a small convenience store without any fresh food). This is a subsistence community, and since we are not equipped or able to participate fully in subsistence activities, we will depend primarily on bush plane service for our food.
Since we are technically within the United States, we are within reach of the reasonably priced parcel post service from the USPS. I have heard that anywhere from 29 to 31 cents of each 33-cent stamp purchased anywhere in the U.S. goes to operate the post in Alaska. If that’s anything close to true, we are getting our money’s worth this year by sending ourselves several thousand dollars worth of groceries and far too many of our worldly possessions. We are looking at a long, cold and dark winter, with hours upon hours indoors with Jules, and figuring the extra art supplies, toys, sweaters and chocolate bars may go a long way.
	As a place to prepare for a year in the bush, Anchorage has a lot to recommend it. It is dramatically easier to get things in order there than from the lower 48. Walk into Sam's Club in Anchorage, and they have a bush shipping department. Every large store we shopped at had a bush shipping policy, and without batting an eye they will pack and ship your purchases to the most remote outposts in the state (for a fee, of course).
	Some friends of friends put us up in Anchorage. On Saturday they woke up and decided to go fishing, so they loaded their gear in their Jeep and headed out for silver salmon. In San Francisco, weeks of forethought would be required to secure a camping site within 200 miles of town. Gear would need to be located, and more than likely purchased for the trip. And it wouldn't be nearly as beautiful when you got there. I envy living so close, literally and figuratively, to the outdoors.
	Our Alaska Airlines flight to Bethel, for which we woke up at 4:30 AM, was canceled, but not before we boarded, taxied out and sat on the plane for an hour or so while they tried to reconcile a "mechanical discrepancy." We decided to overnight in Bethel, the hub town for southwestern Alaska, rather than try to head out to Piniq that evening, since Jules was at the end of his rope. He has been an amazing trooper through all the commotion and hassles of moving and changes and our ignoring him to get it all done. Before we left San Francisco, he looked around our apartment full of boxes and wondered aloud: “where that other house go?” In terms of the year that lies ahead, I remain most excited about the chance to spend so much time with our little guy.
	So one day late we caught the morning bush flight out to Piniq and arrived at 9:40. The flight was stunning - cruising along at around 500 feet over lakes and flat tundra and lush green grass as far as the eye could see. We were shown around our new home and instructed in the ways of emptying the honeybucket, collecting water and buying stove oil for the furnace. Everything is in a state of near or not so near completion. The tour went something like this : "This is the rainwater bucket. My idea was to fix it so it would work when you guys came. Here is the oil container. It's not a good one - you see here how water can get in it here maybe. My idea is to take the braces from around on the other side and use that one here." Hopefully before frost we'll get some of the crucial stuff taken care of. But, as our landlord told me, out here you gotta be flexible.
It is both gorgeous and sadly defiled here. The surroundings are beautiful and everywhere you look you can glimpse them, but there is also tons of trash and detritus strewn everywhere. Looking out my window I can see several broken down abandoned snow machines, discarded 5 gallon buckets, food waste, Pringles packages, a handful of cast-aside bicycles laying in the muck and even an abandoned high chair sitting in the middle of some tall grass. I think they have had some serious rain of late and perhaps all this junk got washed up from somewhere, but the ground is a mess. At the same time you can look up and catch a glimpse of an owl flying across the enormous sky at dusk.
After settling in a bit on our first day I was invited by Greg, a good friend of Leisy’s from her years here, to go out duck hunting. I have never been hunting before, and truth be told guns scare the piss out of me. But there I was, on the boat, a loaded automatic shotgun in hand, cruising along the river out towards the Bering Sea, feeling like I was on the set of a Vietnam movie. After shooting one practice round into the river, we came upon some sitting ducks, literally, and I killed one with my very first shot. The rest of the day my beginner’s luck didn’t quite outweigh my utter lack of skills. The low point was when I killed three baby ducks while aiming for their parents. According to Greg, they will provide food for the arctic foxes. It still felt like hell. But the scenery was so intensely beautiful, and I couldn't help thinking how thrilled I was to be out hunting on my first afternoon in the village, and also how at the same time most of my friends were tied to their desks back home.
	We took the long way back in order to give me a glimpse of the Bering Sea. There were a bunch of folks out setting nets for salmon. We had set a smaller net for whitefish on the way out, but found only a tiny smelt when we pulled it in. I think I stayed out too long, and I know I wore the wrong clothes, since I was dehydrated, cold and hungry when I got home. Leisy had scraped together a meal out of what we had with us and a bag of frozen vegetables from one of the village stores, and I passed a rough evening, longing for the comforts of home. Today Leisy is out on the tundra picking salmonberries, and having borrowed my hat and mittens, will hopefully fare better than I did last night.
Jules is into the ubiquitous mud. We dressed him up this morning in his new winter coat, rain pants and tiny cannery boots and he was beside himself stomping around in the puddles. I think he will have fun here. It is August, he is bundled up already, we look around and see other kids running around in shorts and I get worried about the extreme weather that is in store for us. Hopefully we will adjust and get a hold of the things we need. It seems like all of the clothes we used in San Francisco will be useless here. I have already switched to Capilene socks and underwear, and feel much more comfortable than yesterday. I look forward to getting some use out of my Sorrels and Arctic Coveralls and other cool new gear. Alaska is bringing out the gear pig in me for sure.
Jules is also excited to run around our new house, which is huge and basically empty, except for two rooms that are filled with the deserted belongings of previous residents. It is a long way from childproof, and the lights work in about half the rooms. We have our work cut out for us, but at least our boxes have begun to trickle in, chock full of warm looking Patagonia clothes and oodles of rice.

* Names in these essays have been changed to maintain privacy.

©2000, Michael Thornton Wyman