A really good high school friend of mine came up to visit Coldfoot, Alaska. As of yet, he is the only person who has ever successfully tracked me down, and to get up here involved sleeping on gravel under a trailer, hitching a ride in a pick-up, and running out of gas on the Haul Road.
|Over the Yukon River.|
Damn. That's a lot of flying. I need to start planting my carbon-reducing rainforest soon.
Anyway, life goes on.
|Cooking coffee cake with a lantern hat.|
|The Coyote Air household in all its sombrero-filled glory|
Apparently my boss and wife met when she put a cat on her head thinking it was a hat. My friend decided to practice this approach with our cat Pookie.
We saw a herd of goats up on a scree slope. This one had a mohawk. I wonder if teenage goats can get diagnosed with ADHD or Depression? It seems like everyone's getting some diagnosis of abnormality these days. What happened to people just being....normal and quirky and different? Does everyone need to fit into a tightly-defined box? I'm pretty sure if a psychologist got his hands on me he'd think Christmas came early, so maybe I'm just being defensive. I wouldn't know.
Ok. I'm done ranting. Sorry for that tangent.
Lots of rainbows on the drive, and speaking of rainbows, I just read 1984 by George Orwell-----Big Brother, crimethink, thoughtcrime, doublethink...
We get a lot of people up here in Alaska that my boss kindly refers to as "end-of-the-roaders". These are people that end up here not because they are captivated by the environment or lifestyle of Arctic living, as much as they just don't fit in anywhere else. They also tend to be single, older men with grizzled beards, that drink whiskey and think it's a good idea to feed bears in their yard (I honestly think they do it to have some company during the long winter nights).
|Carlton Ultimate represent.|
What's summer for if not for sitting on the Subi soaking in the sun, Ratatat, snowy owls, discussing the human element, physics, Simon and Garfunkel and almost driving off the road?
|Brooks Mountain Range on a clear day.|
So remember the geese? Yeah, so here's my boss lovingly holding and petting one nicknamed Rubber Ducky.
My boss is no longer fond of geese.
So what else is new.
Booze cruises on Shirley the Shit-Stormer----the name of the little row boat at Coldfoot.
|On Shirley the Shit-Stormer on a nice evening with the crew.|
My boss sent me to town to buy $300 worth of Ribeye steak. Alaskans love their meat.
Anytime anyone goes down to Fairbanks, it's a courtesy, and let's face it, more of a requirement that you take alcohol orders (there's no place to buy any in Coldfoot). Think of it as a 13 hour drive booze run.
I bought $250 worth at the Fred Meyer liquor store, which elicited quite the coy grin from the cashier, even as I tried in vain to convince him that none of it was for my own consumption.
|The pickup loaded with ribeye steak, liquor, lumber and propane.|
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I miss having you in my life. Whoever you are, and if you have taken the time to read this far down into the unorganized stream-of-thoughts that is this blog, then you have time to visit me or at least email me.