Rebel and Lily at the dog park

Fields

by Faith Shearin
For Henry and Irene Spruill

My great grandfather had some fields in North Carolina

and he willed those fields to his sons and his sons

willed them to their sons so there is a two-hundred-year-old

farm house on that land where several generations

of my family fried chicken and laughed and hung

their laundry beneath the trees. There are things you

know when your family has lived close to the earth:

things that make magic seem likely. Dig a hole on the new

of the moon and you will have dirt to throw away

but dig one on the old of the moon and you won't have

enough to fill it back up again: I learned this trick

in the backyard of childhood with my hands. If you know

the way the moon pulls at everything then you can feel

it on the streets of a city where you cannot see the sky.

My mother says the moon is like a man: it changes

its mind every eight days and you plant nothing

until its risen full and high. If you plant corn when

the signs are in the heart you will get black spots

in your grain and if you meet a lover when the

signs are in the feet he will never take you dancing.

When the signs are in the bowels you must not plant

or your seed will rot and if you want to make a baby

you must undress under earth or water. I am the one

in the post office who buys stamps when the signs

are in the air so my mail will learn to fly. I stand in my

front yard, in the suburbs, and wish for luck and

money on the new of the moon when there

are many black nights. I may walk the streets

of this century and make my living in an office

but my blood is old farming blood and my true

self is underground like a potato. At the opera

I will think of rainfall and vines. In my dreams

all my corn may grow short but the ears will be

full. If you kiss my forehead on a dark moon

in March I may disappear—but do not be afraid—

I have taken root in my grandfather's

fields: I am hanging my laundry beneath his trees.

from The Owl Question. © Utah State University Press, 2002.

Elegy for the Personal Letter

by Allison Joseph


I miss the rumpled corners of correspondence,
the ink blots and crossouts that show
someone lives on the other end, a person
whose hands make errors, leave traces.
I miss fine stationary, its raised elegant
lettering prominent on creamy shades of ivory
or pearl grey. I even miss hasty notes
dashed off on notebook paper, edges ragged as their scribbled messages—
can't much write now—thinking of you.
When letters come now, they are formatted
by some distant computer, addressed
to Occupant or To the family living at—
meager greetings at best,
salutations made by committee.
Among the glossy catalogs
and one time only offers
the bills and invoices,
letters arrive so rarely now that I drop
all other mail to the floor when
an envelope arrives and the handwriting
is actual handwriting, the return address
somewhere I can locate on any map.
So seldom is it that letters come
That I stop everything else
to identify the scrawl that has come this far—
the twist and the whirl of the letters,
the loops of the numerals. I open
those envelopes first, forgetting
the claim of any other mail,
hoping for news I could not read
in any other way but this.

Race Day aka Nordi-madness

Lined up next to Tony Knowles (no. 685) at the start

Although originally signed up for the 25k Tour of Anchorage, I decided to try the longer 40k leg of the race. I had yet to ever ski 40k. Conditions the day before the race were marginal - 40 mph winds and blowing snow. On Sunday, however, the sky cleared and winds calmed. Temperatures were in the upper teens, but rising with the morning sun. The snow was firm. Great conditions for racing. As Meghan and I hurried to the start (a tad later than I would have liked) we avoided a bull moose crossing the highway. We made it to the start with little time to spare. I quickly took a warm up lap around the starting area and lined up with my wave. Soon after the start of the race I found myself all alone at the front of the wave. I then realized that with little to no experience in longer races I had not considered a strategy at all. I got nervous. My skis felt fast, however, so I decided to continue with a brisk pace. I soon caught the wave in front of me and within 10k had made it to the front of that wave. I was able to ski several kms alone moving from one group of skiers to the next. As the course wound its way through Anchorage I soon found myself on familiar terrain - the 8 kms that I ski to and from work - and skied past Meghan and friends cheering from the park in front of our house. With 10 km to go I decided that I had enough in the tank to make a sprint to the finish. I knew that 4 kms of hills guarded the finish line at Kincaid Park so bonking was a very real concern. The hills were a challenge, but I felt strong through the end of the race. Forgetting to start my stopwatch I only had an estimate of my time. Only later, via a text message form Eric G., did I learn that I had won my age group and received a medal (race results). The experience was fantastic and I am now hungry for more. Alas, the 50k course will give me all that I can handle if I ski it next year.

Nerdic skiing?

Iditarod Ceremonial Start

Meghan cheers as a Scottish team heads down the Cordova St. hill

On Saturday morning Meghan and I walked a few blocks from our house to the watch the Iditarod Ceremonial Start slide through town. The Ceremonial Start is a chance for people in Anchorage to see the all of the mushers and dog teams before they head out on the trail for the 1,000 mile race to Nome. The actual race starts several miles north of Anchorage in Willow. We chose to watch the start from a spot where mushers must control their teams as they descend a steep hill. With one hand on the sled and one hand waving to the crowd, the first 35 teams had no trouble navigating the hill. As the morning progressed minor adjustments were made to the course. Volunteers added snow to bare spots on at the top of the hill. Suddenly a dog team jumped out of the snowy course and onto the city street, barreling toward crowds of people lining the course to watch the teams from what they thought was a safe distance. As the team continued to race down the hill fans scurried out of the way. With a loud "haw" the musher was able to command his team back on course at the bottom of the hill avoiding a serious incident. To add to the excitement, a second team jumped the course and soon righted itself -- it was defending champion Lance Mackey.

Do you need a better reason to follow the Last Great Race?

Feelin' Rondy

Photos taken during the Fur Rondy sled dog race this weekend

We watched the race from spot 4 on the map below

From the Anchorage Daily News

Today is opening day of the 75th Annual Fur Rendezvous in Anchorage. Known affectionately as "Fur Rondy," the event was the brainchild of an old sourdough named Vern Johnson who sought a way to enliven the spirits of Anchorageans during especially long winters. Coinciding with the time of year when miners and trappers would meet up in Anchorage to socialize and ply their furs and wares, Fur Rondy used to feature all sorts of competitions and events including skiing, hockey and boxing. These days the dog sled races are the main attraction. The races cut through the middle of town allowing most people a glimpse of the races throughout the event. In fact, Meghan and her coworkers took the afternoon to watch the teams race through Anchorage's downtown streets on Friday (spot 1 on the map). I will try to avoid "remnants" of Friday's races during my ski home from work today (from spot 5 to spot 2 on the map above).

Sven and Oly(mpics)

I probably left some drool on the bib after Sunday's very hilly 30 km race at Kincaid Park

As a tune up for the Tour of Anchorage I participated (competed would be less accurate) in the Sven Johanssen Race at Kincaid Park. The race offered two courses, a 10 km and a 30 km. Initially I planned to ski the 10 km course and get some racing experience, I then decided to enter the 30 km race and get a Medieval hill workout as well. After skiing about 25 km the day before I felt ready for some distance. Eric G., a friend and a racing veteran, agreed to provide the best wax for Sunday's race. Before turning on the iron we watched Olympic coverage of the men's 30 km pursuit in Whistler to get fired up. Perhaps as a nod to Sven, the namesake of the race here in Anchorage, two Swede's stunned everyone and captured a gold and a bronze amid 50 degree heat and a furious finish. During Sunday's race I was only hoping for a personal best - skiing a distance of 30 km. Racing was a blast (and exhausting) and definitely added an element of excitement to cross country skiing. Now, more than ever, I am looking forward to the Tour next month. Oh yeah, results from the Sven can be found here. Make sure you look for Eric G. near the top of the list.

A pair of Swedes, Johan Olsson and Marcus Hellner, sprint to the finish in Whistler during Saturday's 30 km race

Valentine Getaway to Exit Glacier

For the long weekend Meghan and I joined our friends the Needs - Harry and Leslie - for a ski-cabin getaway. We drove to the trailhead early Saturday morning and began our quest after a quick stop at the Seward Safeway (which reminded us of the one in Kodiak). Our 8 mile ski out to the cabin began sunny, but the sun soon disappeared behind rain/snow clouds for most of the weekend. Our destination was a cabin in the Exit Glacier Area of Kenai Fjords National Park. While the weather did not offer much in the way of outdoor exploring, we enjoyed several games of Mexican Train, Hearts, and a menu of surprisingly tasty cabin-cooked meals (even a lil' champagne to celebrate V Day). Not much wildlife to speak of during the trip, only moose tracks (not the ice cream flavor) and a few bald eagles.

Meghan makes strides to the cabin

Entering the Kenai Fjords National Park's Exit Glacier Area

"...And some flapjacks."

Harry spies the toe of Exit Glacier

Nothing says Happy Valentine's Day like a warm afternoon ski to the glacier

Skiing home with packs empty and spirits full

Opening Ceremonies?

This year's costume champs - last year they were caterpillars

Nope. These costumes were part of the Ski for Women event held on Super Bowl Sunday at Kincaid Park here in Anchorage, not in Vancouver to celebrate the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver. Sponsored by the Nordic Skiing Association of Anchorage and benefiting local domestic violence non-profits, Ski for Women is in its 14th year. Meghan and her friends joined the Party Wave and entered the costume contest.

The Skiters

Oh, and there was skiing involved as well. The Party Wave hit the Mize Loop to complete a 4k untamed, er untimed classic ski tour. The ladies had a great time and are already making plans for next year's costumes. My vote for a ski-themed Moby Dick was met with immediate disapproval.

MJ's zombie epic - 'Chiller'

Flattop Hike

Snowy Saturday afternoon hike with friends. We sighted moose and backcountry skiers along the way as we scrambled up the mountainside.

Short Day Long Tour

Gearing up along the Seward Highway and icy Turnagain Arm

Even though the days are getting longer we're still under 16 hours of darkness. On a tour this weekend Eric, Dana and I saw the sun rise and set while on skis. We left the car around 10 a.m. and 9 1/2 hours later made it out of the woods under foggy darkness. In all we covered more than 12 miles and gained over 5,000' of vertical. Here are some pictures to tell the tale (more here).

Over the AK RR...

...and up to the source of Peterson Creek.

We spotted a colouir and decided to check it out.

Sittin' pretty in the backseat all the way to the glacier below

A successful climb and descent of the long colouir on the right gave us cause to celebrate just before sunset.

Before long the sun sets on our tour with three hours of skiing to go.

As darkness falls we noticed that a wolverine made tracks on this pitch just before us.

ravens and hoarfrost

Some pictures that have been hiding on our camera since last year.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."

The Raven was first published on this day in 1845 in The New York Evening Mirror.

Ski Biscuit

Pictures from a sunny Saturday tour on Turnagain Pass. Corn Biscuit was our ridgeline of choice.

Of BroBrahs, Gnar, and the Teleturn

This sounds very similar to a conversation overheard at a bar last week.

Till a' the seas gang dry

Robert Burns, Bard of Ayrshire, was born 251 years ago today in Alloway, Scotland (1759).
Today people in Scotland and groups all over the world are holding Burns suppers to celebrate his life and work. They read Burns' poems, sing his songs, eat haggis, and drink lots of whiskey. (From the Writer's Almanac)

My favorite:

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
That’s sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

What in the World?

Our friend Raymond, Kodiak's own roving photojournalist, snapped these pics on a drive out the road today. First person to post a comment correctly identifying why these eagles are so interested in the shallows wins a prize.

I was reminded that it is January in Alaska.

Windy walk to work this morning. I can’t get out of bed very promptly these days. I want to wait for the sun, usually ignoring my alarm.
I wore my heavy new boots – silly looking things that slow my steps.

My face was covered with a fleece scarf, my giant mittens made my hands into seal flippers, barely able to grasp my coffee mug.
I knew the coffee would be cold by the time I got into the office.

I thought the wind was going to blow me down. I leaned into it. Gravel and ice chips battered my face, making my eyes fill with tears. I was afraid that the street signs would break free

And hit me.

Owls

Owls
— for Camille

Wait; the great horned owls

Calling from the wood's edge; listen.

There: the dark male, low

And booming, tremoring the whole valley.

There: the female, resolving, answering

High and clear, restoring silence.

The chilly woods draw in

Their breath, slow, waiting, and now both

Sound out together, close to harmony.

These are the year's worst nights.

Ice glazed on the top boughs,

Old snow deep on the ground,

Snow in the red-tailed hawks'

Nests they take for their own.

Nothing crosses the crusted ground.

No squirrels, no rabbits, the mice gone,

No crow has young yet they can steal.

These nights the iron air clangs

Like the gates of a cell block, blank

And black as the inside of your chest.

Now, the great owls take

The air, the male's calls take

Depth on and resonance, they take

A rough nest, take their mate

And, opening out long wings, take

Flight, unguided and apart, to caliper

The blind synapse their voices cross

Over the dead white fields,

The dead black woods, where they take

Soundings on nothing fast, take

Soundings on each other, each alone.

"Owls" by W.D. Snodgrass, from Selected Poems: 1957-1987. © Soho Press, 1987.

Know Before You Go

This is an article that I wrote to be featured on the Chugach National Forest Avalanche Information Center website. I plan to contribute two articles per month to the site.

It goes without saying that backcountry travel in avalanche terrain involves risks. Exposure, equipment failure, injury, and, of course, the hazards associated with the release of an avalanche are major risks that a traveler should consider before every tour. Backcountry users, however, tend to be an optimistic group. For instance, even the slightest accumulation of early season snow is cause for celebration among backcountry enthusiasts. In the same vein, backcountry users may also perceive lower risk in the face of danger as a result of their sunny disposition. Indeed, early season avalanches have claimed the lives of three U.S. backcountry users so far this season. While optimism is certainly an enviable trait, this glass-half-full outlook could lead to ill advised decisions in the backcountry. Which begs the question, are backcountry users aware of the avalanche danger during an outing? A recent article in Wilderness & Environmental Medicine details the efforts of researchers in Salt Lake City, Utah to determine who “knows before they go.” The group of three scientists took their clipboards to popular trailheads and backcountry access gates in the Wasatch and Uinta mountains in the winter of 2005-2006 and asked backcountry users to rate the avalanche danger for their destination. Over three hundred backcountry travelers completed a questionnaire that collected information such as level of avalanche education (i.e., whether the traveler had taken an avalanche education course) and mode of travel. Participants were then asked to assess the avalanche danger that they expected for their destination. These results were compared to that day’s avalanche forecast from the Utah Avalanche Center (UAC) daily advisory which uses the same standard ranking system as the CNFAIC – low, moderate, considerable, high, or extreme. The backcountry users who participated in the survey were grouped based on their mode of travel – ski, snowboard, snowmachine, and snowshoe.
Results of the survey indicated that a large portion of skiers and snowboarders were aware of the avalanche danger – only 10% of skiers and 13% of snowboarders underestimated the level of avalanche danger for their destination. While a larger percentage of snowmachiners (22%) and snowshoers (45%) underestimated the avalanche danger. Now, before skiers and snowboarders launch “I told you so” rants and begin blaming other backcountry users for the slab that released during their last tour, it is important to note that this study did not determine whether the participants in the survey had accurately assessed the level of avalanche danger based on their own stability and weather observations. That is, backcountry users were not asked whether they had dug a pit, and tested the snow to assess the avalanche danger. Rather, the study simply identified who had read the daily avalanche advisory. Therefore, it is impossible to know which backcountry travelers in the study had actually examined snow pack conditions for their destination. While the results of the study may confirm preconceived notions about which backcountry users are aware of current avalanche conditions, it also demonstrates the challenges faced by avalanche centers such as the CNFAIC to expand their reach to backcountry travelers using snowshoes and snowmachines. A quick click or call to the CNFAIC daily avalanche advisory is always a good idea when planning a tour. And, with a new advisory every day of the week it’s even easier to “know before you go.”

Silverton NA, McIntosh SE, Kim HS. Risk Assessment in Backcountry Travel. Wilderness & Environmental Medicine, 2009; 20(3): 269-274.

Happy Alaskans

Bruce and I both had a great time visiting our respective families and home states over the holiday. We think that this might have been the last time that we could get away with splitting up for the season as matrimony looms in 2010. Perhaps we will just have to book tickets to Hawaii next year...

This headline greeted us in today's paper:

We live in our happy place (statistically, anyway)

This just in, Alaska: We’re happy.
In a study published earlier this month in Science magazine, Alaska was ranked the 11th happiest state in the country. We beat out Washington (rank: 36) and Oregon (rank: 30), Colorado (rank: 21), sunny California (rank: 46) and New York, which ranked last.

photo by Shelley Sanderman: sometimes Alaskan, always making us happy.

Le Tour

For better or worse, I registered for the Tour of Anchorage yesterday. The 23-year-old ski marathon features four races in both classic and freestyle forms. Being a novice, I chose the 25k freestyle race for my competitive debut. What's most appealing about the race - and the upcoming training - is that the route passes in front of our house, in fact I can ski a portion of it to and from work. While this winter started dry, we've had about 20" of snow fall in town this week and the trails - once groomed - should be quite enjoyable for skating. I've recently noticed that this is the first winter in recent memory I have not been out on telemark skis before Christmas. It seems that skate skiing has sated my desire for speed on skis. Indeed, when everything comes together, skating on a well-groomed trail often feels like speeding downhill. In the meantime, I'll be looking for training tips (Patrick?), a spandex suit, and "more cowbell."

poem by Matthew Brennan

Nights Our House Comes to Life

by Matthew Brennan

Some nights in midwinter when the creek clogs
With ice and the spines of fir trees stiffen
Under a blank, frozen sky,
On these nights our house comes to life.
It happens when you're half asleep:
A sudden crack, a fractured dream, you bolting
Upright – but all you can hear is the clock
Your great-grandfather found in 1860
And smuggled here from Dublin for his future bride,
A being as unknown to him then as she is now
To you, a being as distant as the strangers
Who built this house, and died in this room
Some cold, still night, like tonight,
When all that was heard were the rhythmic clicks
Of a pendulum, and something, barely audible,
Moving on the dark landing of the attic stairs.

"Nights Our House Comes to Life" by Matthew Brennan, from The House with the Mansard Roof. © The Backwaters Press, 2009.

beware the pogonip

I don't think that we are actually experiencing ice fog right now, but the city has been impressively socked-in for the past week in a heavy, freezing fog. My office overlooks the inlet and a shade of gray has been draw across my windows. Yesterday I found myself googling phrases such as "fog madness" and "fog induced insanity." Everything is coated with a dry hoarfrost which lends the city a surreal appearance and makes me feel like I am in Narnia. I have not been served any Turkish delight, yet...