A Sunday Walk Through The Woods

With Scott away in Sitka for the sac roe herring fishery, I spent this weekend solo. This translated into dance class Friday night followed by a couple hours hanging out at the apartment of a fellow dancer, work at the Capitol Saturday afternoon, then dinner at Zen Saturday night with the Capitol press corps (for one night, at least, I got to pretend I was part of the group), followed by the infamous Legislative Skits.

Every year, a group of staffers puts on a multi-act show depicting the inner workings of the Alaska legislature which often includes crude, uncomfortable, and sometimes funny impersonations of their bosses. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a witness to all the roasting but as I’ve become a Capitol junkie, I figured Leg Skits could feed my addiction from a different angle.

While I’m happy I attended the event, some of the skits left a sour taste in my mouth. I found myself laughing at songs and jokes that were wittily created but too terrifyingly true to not make one feel guilty for finding any type of joy in the subject matter (for example, a song begging cruise ship passenger to “think of us before you poo poo” to the tune of Wham’s 1984 hit single, which makes light of the fact that Alaskan legislators overturned a citizen’s initiative - i.e. stabbed the public in the back - to enforce strict regulations on how the cruise ship industry deals with dumping waste water). My laughter would awkwardly trail off and I’d end up feeling just sad at what Alaska may become. The group of actors made repeated harsh jabs at their very own bosses (or their boss’s decisions), who they supposedly respect. I’m probably just taking things too seriously – I’ve been known to do that – but as someone who has slowly over the past three months grown to care about what’s going in the state of Alaska as a whole, I guess I took offense to some of the skits.

The actors portrayed what I presume is a usual cast of stereotypes within any state legislature – the drunk, the womanizer, the feminist, the liberal idealist, the ultra-conservative, the freshman, the war veteran, the Asian. To make fun of Alaska’s lone Asian legislator – a young House member who’s half Japanese – the actors decided to don totally antiquated “Asian” accents. While some of the skits were intelligently written and well-acted, the portrayal of Representative Kawasaki was neither of those things.

Whenever a member of the House or Senate was being made fun of, it was natural to want to see that person’s reaction. But there were around fifty tables in Centennial Hall for the show and from the press table I was only able to view a small portion of the total number of legislators who were in attendance. I tried to look at the House Majority Leader as he was being criticized for being dull, or at the Wrangell Representative when she was being called indecisive, or at a long standing legislator when he was being made fun of for just about everything. But I guess, for a politician, being parodied is better than being ignored.

After the skits, I had my second experience of being “out on the town” in Juneau since Scott and I moved here. Along with a few reporters, I went to the Imperial Bar for the first time and tried my hardest to rub elbows with Capitol folks I see all the time but never get the chance to talk to. I lasted for about an hour, which I thought was good for me, before I made the long drive back to North Douglas.

In order to cleanse myself from any residual guilt or sleaziness I felt from the previous night, I drove out to the end of North Douglas this afternoon and went for a walk through the woods. What’s amazing about this particular piece of forest is that one can walk a nice, long distance in the woods and parallel the ocean the entire time, hear the tide slowly lapping in, smell the sea mixture of mussels and seaweed and barnacles, and look out from time to time over the wondrous expanse of water. Scott and I have walked in these woods a few times now, but today was the first time that snow was completely absent. The ground was spongy and the bottoms of all the trunks were covered with fresh green growth. Walking today, I felt so lucky.

Here and Now

This is a note that one of my Bhutanese students wrote me at the end of 2011 as the school year was drawing to an end and Scott and I were getting ready to leave the country:

Even when you are away from our us, we will be always thinking of you. You are the best teacher in the univers world. I will miss you.  From, Yeshi Jamtsho

When Scott and I arrived in Juneau at the beginning of this year and were unpacking our things, this note somehow found its way into our boxes and bags of belongings. I keep it on the table by the bed and as books and tissue boxes and the alarm clock get moved and shuffled around, this note resurfaces every so often. Inevitably, I always think it’s a scrap piece of paper that should be thrown away, but then it dawns on me what it really is – a reminder that for a short period of time, I had the privilege of being highly regarded by groups of students who called me teacher.

I don’t for a second believe that I’ve remained in Yeshi’s mind as the “best” teacher. For Yeshi and his classmates, I was a novelty, their first of what has likely become a string of American teachers. Also, Yeshi was bright, one of the brightest students at Kanglung Primary School, and the type of student who inspires their teacher to be their best for the sheer hope that the student will one day succeed. If I could somehow know that I, in the minutest way, contributed to what Yeshi will one day become, then I will feel like I did something in my life.

I feel that way about so many of the students I’ve taught, especially the ones in Tanzania. It was so easy to feel like I was doing something worthwhile when I was with them. I don’t believe I was a good teacher – I’ve written many times on the fact that teaching is not my calling – but I do think I was decent and for whatever the reality was, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that I was there and trying my hardest to help them, to make them feel good, to show them I cared. I wish teaching was my calling because I could’ve been happy just being with them, being a teacher, and getting notes of gratitude every so often for what I did. What could beat that?

Recently I did a radio story on a weekly tradition that takes place in the Alaska Capitol and it aired locally in Juneau and got picked by the state-wide news program. It had been over three years since I interviewed someone, used sound editing software, or sat in a studio voicing a script that I had written. It had been over three years since I heard my name on the radio followed by a story that I had created. And it felt so good. That’s it – for me, that’s what beats the satisfaction that comes from teaching students in need. That's what compelled me to convince Scott that we should return to the states.

If only I could just do that for a living, here in Juneau, now.

My First Don Young Sighting



Representative Don Young in the lobby of the Alaska State Capitol one day after he used a racial slur during a press conference in Ketchikan.

Two Trails

There are over a hundred trails in Juneau, or so I've been told. As much as Scott and I get out to explore these trails, our range isn’t that great and of the handful of trails we’ve walked or snowshoed on, we’ve already done a few of them twice. This past weekend though, Scott and I did two brand new trails – brand new for us that is – Mt. Jumbo trail on Douglas Island and the Herbert Glacier trail way out the road in Juneau.

 

Going up Mt. Jumbo with Juneau below us.

For most of the way going up Mt. Jumbo I almost felt confident. There were steep inclines but I did them and I felt that I had finally figured out how to use my snowshoes effectively on such gradients. Also, Scott was breaking trail leaving behind nice, stair-like notches creased in the snow. As we got to the part of the mountain where the trees started to disappear, I looked up at what I suspected was not the summit (the summit is always farther than what I hope) and knew I couldn’t go any further – I didn’t have the will or the strength (I almost never have the will to summit a mountain even if I have the strength). My pace had slowed considerably and my confidence had more than waned. I had already, before we even reached that spot, asked Scott if we could turn around. Scott knew my time was up as well. Clouds were moving in and Scott wanted to get to the top before it was completely socked in. I took out my down coat from the backpack and hunkered down as Scott kept going up and up and up. He disappeared from my sight within a few minutes. When I had asked him how long he would be, he said, “Thirty minutes,” which felt like a long time to me, but, in reality, it wasn’t nearly the appropriate time one would need to get to the top from where I had stopped. But true to his word, thirty minutes after he left me, I heard his footsteps racing down. His face was red and he looked a bit worn out, but Scott had made it to the top in likely record time. There hadn’t been a doubt in my mind.

Scott breaking trail.



Scott rushing to the summit.

Any confidence I had felt going up the mountain quickly escaped going down. For me, mountains are always steeper doing down and with deep soft snow, I had no control. For most of the really steep sections, I crouched down, placed my butt on the back of my snowshoes and slid. My mechanism for stopping was just falling over. Writing about it makes it sound fun, but it wasn’t. It was pretty miserable for most of the descent down Mt. Jumbo but, as always, I made it unscratched.

Even if our Sunday choice of hike wasn’t nearly as challenging as Jumbo, the 8-mile roundtrip walk to Herbert Glacier and back still supplied us with some good exercise. The snowy trail was packed down enough by cross-country skiers and other walkers, so we left our snowshoes in the truck. Much unlike Jumbo, the Herbert trail was flat, gloriously and wonderfully flat. Sometimes hiking can be relaxing (although since the trail was flat, that meant we had to walk at a fairly fast pace). Most of the walk was through a forest of trees with furry green branches. On the trail, we encountered a jogger, two cross country skiers with a walker, and a group of three walkers with a Jack Russell dog wearing booties. Once we got to a good view of the glacier’s face, we sat on a high rock and ate lunch.



On the Herbert Glacier Trail.

Our first view of the glacier.

 

My First Radio Story In 3+ Years...

... and hopefully not my last.

http://www.ktoo.org/2013/03/22/kuspuk-fridays/

The Capitol Bear

March

In the years we spent in Tanzania and Bhutan, March was a long month. The thrill and newness of the place had worn off around that time, routine had set in, and it was all about the work. March could feel like forever.

But this March is different. The days don’t seem like they could possibly slow down and I know there are reasons for this. So far this month, Scott and I have reconnected with two dear Wrangell friends. Time leading up to their visit and then the actual time spent with them felt like it was in fast-forward. We couldn’t pause or hold on to their time with us. Also, everything in the Capitol is moving in high speed. Bills and resolutions are flying through committee meetings. The period between when a bill is introduced to when the public is allowed to testify on it is miniscule. Meetings and floor sessions are extending into the evening time, so my daily routine seems compacted.

And daylight. March in Alaska means the return of longer days. When Scott and I arrived in January, the sun rose after 8 am and set around 4 pm. Now it’s not getting dark until 7 pm. Each day we’re gaining noticeable daylight. I’ve been finding myself asking the same question – where did all this light come from? With these longer days comes a change of perspective, a change of mood. What’s even more amazing is that during this March the sun has decided to show itself in this rainforest for days on end. We had a stretch of six sunny days and now I think we’re in the beginning of another several-day period of sun. Southeast Alaskans don’t quite know what to do with so much sun.

March for me also means not finding the time to write or the time to properly look for a permanent job. I did put in applications to two whale watching tour companies. After a thorough interview with one of these companies, I got an official job offer to be a Naturalist. I need to decide by this coming Thursday if I want to spend my summer on the water telling tourists about whales and Alaska. While it’s not a move towards a career, there are definitely worse ways to spend a summer in Juneau. Right now I’m on the fence about the whole thing, but I also don’t have any other employment options. The legislative session is scheduled to end April 15, at which point, my time in the Capitol will be over, as well as my paychecks.



The flats, across the street from where we live, on a sunny day.

A Part or Apart

When Scott and I returned to the States last December and were preparing for our move back to Alaska, we came across a man who commented about Alaska finally being part of America. Even though I smiled and nodded in agreement, I was confused about what this man was talking about. Later, I asked Scott if he knew what the man meant; he didn’t really. I don’t remember who this man was, but the comment stuck with me. I’ve come to interpret it to mean that Alaska has finally gotten into the American psyche as being part of the country and not just an afterthought. It’s taken over 50 years since Alaska became a star on the flag, but Alaska is now, perhaps, actually thought of as part of the American identity despite the physical separation. 

Not including stories regarding oil and energy which abound all over national news, there are signs of this inclusion in the media. For a couple weeks recently, the entire country heard updates on the Iditarod. On NPR some weeks ago, there was even a story about the controversial one-lane gravel road that could go through the Izembek National Wildlife Refuge near King Cove, a tiny community in Alaska of less than 1,000 people. Can it be that between news of drones and Pope Francis, Americans would actually care about what happens in King Cove, Alaska?

Despite signs that Americans are finally embracing Alaska as part of them, Alaska is trying to stay an arm’s length away at least in terms of its relationship to the federal government. In recent committee meetings and floor sessions in the Alaska State Capitol, resolutions and bills have been introduced that accuse Washington, D.C. of federal overreach. The purpose of these bills and resolutions is to send a message to the federal government as well as to set up infrastructure within the Alaska legislature that would challenge imposed federal laws and mandates. According to several members of Alaska’s House and Senate, the federal government is constantly reigning down orders that have to do with Alaska’s schools, Alaska’s land, Alaska’s resource development, Alaska’s cherished gun rights, among other areas, and Alaska needs to figure out a way to counter these laws. Not surprisingly, the Alaska Legislature recently passed a resolution to ignore the President’s mandates regarding gun laws. The resolution’s potential unconstitutionality doesn’t faze the legislators or the governor – their goal is to make a point.

These sorts of actions could be characterized as juvenile, childish. It’s the sort of thing a teenager might say to a parent in the face of a supposed injustice – “I don’t care if I’m making sense; I’m trying to prove a point.” Like a parent who gives a weekly allowance to a child, the federal government heavily supports Alaska through funding. Anyone who lives in Alaska knows that Alaska has a love-hate relationship with the federal government – love for the money, hate for the rules and laws.

The sponsor of one of the bills addressing federal overreach wants the federal government to let Alaska decide how to use their land. She hated to make the comparison but she did – ‘The east has been overdeveloped and overroaded. Why can’t Alaska get the chance to do that?’ (I’m paraphrasing here but that was the essence of what she said). This sort of mentality is comparable to the justification for what is happening to the developing world – it’s the outsiders that want to keep the land pristine and primitive while the people who live in those places want TVs and roads and ugly jeans and cheap plastic items.

A proponent of this particular bill used the term “conservation refugees” in his argument. ‘Conservation refugees’ are typically indigenous people who are kicked off their native lands in the name of conservation; their once home becomes a protected area and is deemed a National Forest or National Park or something of that nature. Usually the term ‘conservation refugees’ is associated with tribes like the Maasai of East Africa, the Karen of Thailand or Burma, or the Native American tribes of the lower 48. I Googled “conservation refugees + Alaska” and got nothing. I have heard stories of Alaska Natives having to move entire villages because the federal government told them to. Or of Alaska Natives getting citations from federal law enforcement for hunting on lands that they’ve always hunted on and their ancestors have hunted on for hundreds and hundreds of years. I do think that those types of situations are unjust, to restrict practices that have taken place on a land for time memoriam. But what Alaskans who accuse the federal government of overreach have a gripe with is the protection of land that indigenous people do not inhabit, large parcels of land that humans rarely touch. I’m not well versed on this subject matter, but I don’t think the term “conservation refugees” has to do with what’s currently happening to Alaska.

There’s this sentiment felt among conservatives in Alaska that those in the lower 48 want to keep Alaska as their personal National Park that they can visit whenever they want. And Alaska wants to fight this because it often means restricting access to resources or it means taking away their freedom to put in a road. None of these issues are easy, but I don’t necessarily see what’s wrong with the Federal Government trying to keep Alaska the way it is. Do Alaskans really begrudge being surrounded by natural beauty? Would Alaskans prefer to trade their clean, babbling streams for polluted ones?

I still wonder if that man is correct. Is Alaska really seen as part of America? And what does that really mean?

Today's Lunch View

I left the Capitol after the faux Senate Floor meeting (it's really called a technical meeting, where they go down the list of the daily floor calendar but can't make any motions) with one goal in mind - to get to the sun and stay in it as long as possible before I had to go back to work. Living in a rainforest does not allow many days of actual sun, but Juneau's been blessed for a few days now with a cloudless sky. I walked down the hill towards the water and settled on a bench facing the water and this is what I looked at while I ate my lunch:

There were also several dog walkers, a young family with two kids, and the beginning of other sunseekers spending their lunchbreak outdoors.

After I finished eating, I followed the trend of others walking the boardwalk along the water. I've never done this before. The boardwalk leads you to a section of Juneau that only opens for the summer tourists. It was like walking into a movie set or a stage set for those who don't actually live here. Below are the "cute," cruiseship-owned jewelry stores selling diamonds and tanzanite. The shops are empty now, the windows covered with paper. But soon they will be open and filled, the windows displaying its wares that are definietly not from Alaska, and tourists will abound.

Here's the tram that will take tourists to and from the top of Mt. Roberts. Apparently, the tram gets used by locals as well for easy access to backcountry skiing or hiking.

This section of Juneau is littered with interpretive signs.

Despite its tourist angle, one cannot deny the inherit beauty and Alaska-ness found in this section of town. Fishing boats reflected in calm water against a backdrop of mountains - you can't get much more Alaska than that.

I tried to take pictures when no one else was around, but this boardwalk was filled with people on their lunchbreak in love with the sun.