Fire season has finally arrived in Alaska. Broken Snowshoe is burning outside of McGrath, and Tok Area’s very own Old Man Fire has grabbed the number two slot on the National Situation Report. Both burns are near human populations, the only real reason to fight fire in Alaska. Old Man is burning in thick black spruce forest, north of the town of Chicken. A classic example of stand replacement ecology, nothing is going to stop the fire until a heavy rain falls or it exhausts its supply of fuel.
It was only a matter of time. Weather has been warm in Alaska since the beginning of May, and during one particular heat wave early in the month, temps reached record levels. A few systems have moved through, cloudy and cooler but without any measureable precipitation. All that was lacking was an ignition source, summarily supplied by some afternoon thunderstorms over Memorial Day weekend.
Brandi was here for better than a week. It was great having her visit, even though watching her walk off into Fairbanks International Airport was absolutely heart wrenching. We went on several grand adventures, and learned quite a lot about Alaska, ourselves, and one another. Brandi wrote an excellent essay summarizing our exploits, so I won’t share them here, other than these two valuable lessons. There aren’t as many campgrounds along the Parks Highway as one might suspect and always top off your gas tank at every available opportunity when driving across Alaska.
To be frank, Alaska has been kicking my ass. Unless you are in Anchorage, where life is downright cosmopolitan, living here is pretty much an expedition into the wilderness dotted with sporadic internet access and occasional cell coverage. I have run myself almost completely out of gas and fought dark clouds of depression. The dogs have gone native, regressing back to their predatory roots. Tensaw is as fixated as a junkie, constantly sniffing the air and regularly leading the charge in search of rabbit scent and caribou herd. Alaska is an incredible place, but there’s a constant sense of the struggle for survival. Livin' never comes easy here. It’s a battle I feel I wouldn’t win, even if I had a mind to fight it.
Montana is the greatest state in the Union. It boasts every resource imaginable, its wealth of raw materials second only to California in scope and magnitude. If each of the United States was its own country, I believe Montana would boast the wealthiest citizens. Its freshwater reserves alone would seem to dictate as much.
If Montana looked to fulfill all of its own needs from within its own borders, there would be little to want for, and much with which to parley. A fraction of Montana’s current hydroelectric capacity is enough to power the entire state. There is wheat and beef aplenty. Freshwater abounds, including the headwaters of America’s greatest river, the Missouri. The only staples lacking are cotton and corn, with oil, coal, gold, silver, timber and wool as trading stock.
This, however, is not the state of things in Montana. Rather than benefiting Montanans, this abundance of resources is controlled by outside interests, and residents receive little capital gain from them. Land value is exaggerated in Montana, and the cost of living is high compared with the prevailing wage. Little headway can be made by the average worker in the face of foreign capital. Most Montanans scrape by as servants and laborers. They toil to export their valuable commodities for pennies on the dollar, all the while paying market rates for items from their own backyard.
I wouldn't be suprised if one day Montanans take arms against this sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. Most of us are much too content to rock the boat, and should it be overturned by a violent sea, we would rather tread water somewhere recognizable than paddle into the unknown, so I'm guessing secession is a long way off. Until then, Montana's still the last best place to live, poor in cash yet rich in wide open spaces, and I for one can’t wait to get back there to her loving arms.
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Inside the Passage
So far the most amazing thing about the ferry to Alaska has been the fact that I have had cell coverage almost the entire way. Of course we have been skirting alongside Vancouver Island, BC. We’ll see how things change once we get a bit further north.
The boat is pitching hard to the right as we turn portside. I am sitting in the cafeteria, eating a banana while I wait for morning deck call. There is land close on either side of us, comfortably within swimming distance. Could probably make it if the water wasn’t so cold. Later today we will cross a couple sections of open sea, but to this point we have been weaving thru narrows created by the archipelago lying along the northwest Pacific coast. Even without land in sight, the throbbing diesels seem reassurance enough that we will make our destination.
Constantly the entire ship pulses as her power plants push the screw through the water. It is a world continuously in motion; the boat vibrates, wind whistles, waves splash against the hull. Water, sky, and shoreline slip past at a sure steady pace. A white capped arrowhead spreads from the prow, pointing out our course. A foaming footprint follows behind.
Car deck call is coming soon. We’ll see how the puppas are fairing. Wait … they are fine. The girls refuse to do business on the deck yet, but Tensaw voided a very full bladder on a truck’s tire without much provocation. They seem to be doing perfectly well. Owing to the number of dogs on board and tight quarters, they were very excited; otherwise they were in good spirits. One of them used the newspaper inside the truck. Another 24 hrs in there may improve their opinion of deck call.
I am on the SS Malaspina, making way north along the Alaska Marine Highway. We left Bellingham, Washington, at sunset last night; Ketchikan our next port of call. Weather has been superb; clear, calm, and moderate when we cast off lines and got underway beneath red skies. Now a blanket of high clouds covers the entire expanse overhead. Water, trees, and rocky shorelines surround us. In the distance, jagged mountaintops climb, breaking up the horizon. To be perfectly honest, it is the most alluring landscape I have ever seen.
We have sailed past several solitary cabins standing silently on steep slopes overlooking the water. Several smaller craft have drifted by; large container barges being led south by tugs, a few fishing boats. I sighted a couple of remote human outposts on the horizon this morning, but now seawater has us almost completely surrounded. Seemingly infinite ripples cover the ceiling of the world’s greatest wilderness.
No cell tower in sight, still several bars of reception show on the cell phone display. Perhaps the ship is its own cell. Maybe the stretch of open water it appears we are about to cross will reveal the answer.
Cell phone coverage aside, sailing is certainly the most amazing part of ferry passage. In deeper water the ship pitches and yaws even more than when she does inside the narrows. A seat in the forward observation lounge rises and falls in constantly changing rhythm as the prow cuts the sea. In rough water it is nearly impossible to stand when we cross here, a steward tells a nearby passenger. Today we sail under fair skies, and the seas are calm.
I am going north for work. Although I often refer to it as an unnecessary endeavor, I actually like what it is I do to earn money for dog food and truck payments. Wildland fire management sometimes seems extraneous, but it’s extremely addictive. It combines just the right amount of physical and mental challenge to satisfy both. We don’t really do anything, but we don’t really hurt anything either. The money’s not bad. It’s a career that nicely mimics the criteria laid out in Lloyd Dobler’s answer to Diane Court’s father in the film Say Anything. I don’t want to make anything bought or sold, sell anything bought or made, or buy anything made or sold; and in fire, that statement pretty much holds true.
One perk about the dispatch position with the Alaska Division of Forestry at Tok Area Office is the opportunity to do resource work in addition to fire. Jeff Hermanns, area forester for Tok Area, is an ambitious, progressive resource manager, and he has more projects than people. To manage an area larger than Massachusetts, Jeff’s staff at Tok Forestry numbers less than a dozen. I’m guessing there will be plenty to do.
The ship continues to rock its way through Queen Charlotte Strait. Three more hours until next car deck call. Land is back alongside. High hills once again shelter the passage. My cell phone battery is nearly dead; its reserve exhausted from listening to music. It hasn’t seen coverage for awhile.
The boat is pitching hard to the right as we turn portside. I am sitting in the cafeteria, eating a banana while I wait for morning deck call. There is land close on either side of us, comfortably within swimming distance. Could probably make it if the water wasn’t so cold. Later today we will cross a couple sections of open sea, but to this point we have been weaving thru narrows created by the archipelago lying along the northwest Pacific coast. Even without land in sight, the throbbing diesels seem reassurance enough that we will make our destination.
Constantly the entire ship pulses as her power plants push the screw through the water. It is a world continuously in motion; the boat vibrates, wind whistles, waves splash against the hull. Water, sky, and shoreline slip past at a sure steady pace. A white capped arrowhead spreads from the prow, pointing out our course. A foaming footprint follows behind.
Car deck call is coming soon. We’ll see how the puppas are fairing. Wait … they are fine. The girls refuse to do business on the deck yet, but Tensaw voided a very full bladder on a truck’s tire without much provocation. They seem to be doing perfectly well. Owing to the number of dogs on board and tight quarters, they were very excited; otherwise they were in good spirits. One of them used the newspaper inside the truck. Another 24 hrs in there may improve their opinion of deck call.
I am on the SS Malaspina, making way north along the Alaska Marine Highway. We left Bellingham, Washington, at sunset last night; Ketchikan our next port of call. Weather has been superb; clear, calm, and moderate when we cast off lines and got underway beneath red skies. Now a blanket of high clouds covers the entire expanse overhead. Water, trees, and rocky shorelines surround us. In the distance, jagged mountaintops climb, breaking up the horizon. To be perfectly honest, it is the most alluring landscape I have ever seen.
We have sailed past several solitary cabins standing silently on steep slopes overlooking the water. Several smaller craft have drifted by; large container barges being led south by tugs, a few fishing boats. I sighted a couple of remote human outposts on the horizon this morning, but now seawater has us almost completely surrounded. Seemingly infinite ripples cover the ceiling of the world’s greatest wilderness.
No cell tower in sight, still several bars of reception show on the cell phone display. Perhaps the ship is its own cell. Maybe the stretch of open water it appears we are about to cross will reveal the answer.
Cell phone coverage aside, sailing is certainly the most amazing part of ferry passage. In deeper water the ship pitches and yaws even more than when she does inside the narrows. A seat in the forward observation lounge rises and falls in constantly changing rhythm as the prow cuts the sea. In rough water it is nearly impossible to stand when we cross here, a steward tells a nearby passenger. Today we sail under fair skies, and the seas are calm.
I am going north for work. Although I often refer to it as an unnecessary endeavor, I actually like what it is I do to earn money for dog food and truck payments. Wildland fire management sometimes seems extraneous, but it’s extremely addictive. It combines just the right amount of physical and mental challenge to satisfy both. We don’t really do anything, but we don’t really hurt anything either. The money’s not bad. It’s a career that nicely mimics the criteria laid out in Lloyd Dobler’s answer to Diane Court’s father in the film Say Anything. I don’t want to make anything bought or sold, sell anything bought or made, or buy anything made or sold; and in fire, that statement pretty much holds true.
One perk about the dispatch position with the Alaska Division of Forestry at Tok Area Office is the opportunity to do resource work in addition to fire. Jeff Hermanns, area forester for Tok Area, is an ambitious, progressive resource manager, and he has more projects than people. To manage an area larger than Massachusetts, Jeff’s staff at Tok Forestry numbers less than a dozen. I’m guessing there will be plenty to do.
The ship continues to rock its way through Queen Charlotte Strait. Three more hours until next car deck call. Land is back alongside. High hills once again shelter the passage. My cell phone battery is nearly dead; its reserve exhausted from listening to music. It hasn’t seen coverage for awhile.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Don't Be Scared, Cobe
I’ve been hanging out in Hamilton with Brandi. We met this past summer while we were both working wildland fire in Kootenai Country. She is pretty amazing. When I first met her, she was quite the conservationist, but I’ve been doing a real good job breaking her of such sensible habits as only driving when she has to, walking to the store, not buying things she doesn’t need, and turning off lights when she leaves a room. We have been getting along very well, and I have high hopes for us, if we can only get past Alaska.
As I mentioned, I was working on the Kootenai when I met Brandi. I’ve been working in fire management since 2000, and one day I had an opportunity to take a new position within the Montana Department of Natural Resources and Conservation, working dispatch in Lincoln County where I grew up. At the time I took the job, I was working in Missoula and getting awful tired of that town. The job on the Koot seemed like just the ticket; I could stay at my pop’s cabin for minimal rent and get the dogs out of the city. Besides all that, I had planned on moving back to Troy anyway, to research and write a novel. This was perfect.
That attitude didn’t last too long. A funny thing about hometowns; no matter how much you change while you’re away, or think you do, they always seem to bring you back around to who you were. By the time fire season 2008 was getting started on the Kootenai, I was looking for a way out. One day at the office, my buddy Slick Rick and I got talking about Alaska. Working in a dispatch office, you’re always trying to find something new to Google. That’s what I should do, I said. I’m gonna Google jobs in Alaska.
One Google search and two emails later, I was filling out an application for a new dispatch job with the State of AK Division of Forestry in Tok, Alaska. If I thought the job on the Kootenai was good, this was great. The job announcement was for the position of lead dispatcher, which meant I would get the supervisory experience I hadn’t been getting a chance at here in the Northern Rockies region. And talk about peace and quiet to write; Tok was literally in the middle of f’n nowhere, despite its dubious distinction of being the first Alaskan town after Canada along the Alcan. I’d already gotten all I needed out of Troy as far as research for the novel. When they offered me the job, I was on top of the world.
Not because of the job, however. The job offer had taken on a rather bittersweet flavor, actually. No, the reason I was on top of the world, as I told my pops the afternoon it happened, was because Brandi McCoy called me. Sure, I’d been subtly pursuing her, but it was more due to the fact that I couldn’t NOT pursue her than through any belief that it would truly amount to anything. Still, it had amounted to something, and that something has turned out to be much more worthwhile than I could ever have imagined.
So now we’re preparing to say our goodbyes. The ferry to Alaska pulls out of Bellingham, Washington, on February 20th, and the dogs and I will be on it. How’s that going to work out, you ask. I don’t know. Brandi is an absolute beauty, in every sense of the word, so I’m feeling a bit insecure about the situation, as you might imagine. We have been at each other’s throats lately, to be perfectly honest. We’re both just scared, I guess. It’s been pretty good, this thing we’ve found, and we’re worried we might lose it. And we might.
Brandi is going to get her own dog. I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail, but I couldn’t tell you why if you asked. I would give you a lot of reasons, but I couldn’t really tell you why. My best guess goes something like this: Siberian huskies were what I brought to the table; if she has one of her own, where does that leave me?
In Alaska, I guess, but there will be plenty more on that later. Check back.
As I mentioned, I was working on the Kootenai when I met Brandi. I’ve been working in fire management since 2000, and one day I had an opportunity to take a new position within the Montana Department of Natural Resources and Conservation, working dispatch in Lincoln County where I grew up. At the time I took the job, I was working in Missoula and getting awful tired of that town. The job on the Koot seemed like just the ticket; I could stay at my pop’s cabin for minimal rent and get the dogs out of the city. Besides all that, I had planned on moving back to Troy anyway, to research and write a novel. This was perfect.
That attitude didn’t last too long. A funny thing about hometowns; no matter how much you change while you’re away, or think you do, they always seem to bring you back around to who you were. By the time fire season 2008 was getting started on the Kootenai, I was looking for a way out. One day at the office, my buddy Slick Rick and I got talking about Alaska. Working in a dispatch office, you’re always trying to find something new to Google. That’s what I should do, I said. I’m gonna Google jobs in Alaska.
One Google search and two emails later, I was filling out an application for a new dispatch job with the State of AK Division of Forestry in Tok, Alaska. If I thought the job on the Kootenai was good, this was great. The job announcement was for the position of lead dispatcher, which meant I would get the supervisory experience I hadn’t been getting a chance at here in the Northern Rockies region. And talk about peace and quiet to write; Tok was literally in the middle of f’n nowhere, despite its dubious distinction of being the first Alaskan town after Canada along the Alcan. I’d already gotten all I needed out of Troy as far as research for the novel. When they offered me the job, I was on top of the world.
Not because of the job, however. The job offer had taken on a rather bittersweet flavor, actually. No, the reason I was on top of the world, as I told my pops the afternoon it happened, was because Brandi McCoy called me. Sure, I’d been subtly pursuing her, but it was more due to the fact that I couldn’t NOT pursue her than through any belief that it would truly amount to anything. Still, it had amounted to something, and that something has turned out to be much more worthwhile than I could ever have imagined.
So now we’re preparing to say our goodbyes. The ferry to Alaska pulls out of Bellingham, Washington, on February 20th, and the dogs and I will be on it. How’s that going to work out, you ask. I don’t know. Brandi is an absolute beauty, in every sense of the word, so I’m feeling a bit insecure about the situation, as you might imagine. We have been at each other’s throats lately, to be perfectly honest. We’re both just scared, I guess. It’s been pretty good, this thing we’ve found, and we’re worried we might lose it. And we might.
Brandi is going to get her own dog. I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail, but I couldn’t tell you why if you asked. I would give you a lot of reasons, but I couldn’t really tell you why. My best guess goes something like this: Siberian huskies were what I brought to the table; if she has one of her own, where does that leave me?
In Alaska, I guess, but there will be plenty more on that later. Check back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
