ONE YEAR IN ALASKA
Twenty-three hours of darkness fills the days and nights of the alaskan winter leaving time as only a concept. Every lake and pond is frozen solid and is consoled under blankets of snow, only locals could tell you what lays under the snowpack. The air is bitter and cold, a burn lingers in your lungs following each inhale and as you exhale a fog of your own life force leaving your body comes alive for a moment illuminated by the headlights of a car before it dances away. In the winter you become more aware, in touch, the world is still and you can simply observe. Aware of the rise and fall of my own breath currents, my cheek, the only bit of flesh not concealed by my many layers of carefully crafted clothes, feel the sharp frozen air resting heavily on them. As I stand becoming aware of how venerable and humbling this season is, arms crossing my body in an attempt to keep warm feeling blood pulling to my core leaving my arms and legs trying to conserve heat. Outside, my gaze is fixed on what is currently a permeating night sky, snow appearing suspended moving on its own terms landing among my eyelashes slowly creating a soft vignette around my vision before coming to heavy and I wipe it way with my bundled hand. Aurora borealis floods the sky, waves of green and red run like salmon swimming upstream finding a delicate balance between effort and ease.
Gaining six minutes of light a day, day and night and dark and light are now balanced. Entering spring, the snow is beginning to melt in what locals joke is spring breakup or break up season. The land is transitioning; what was a frozen tundra begins to sprout life, the once frozen rivers are now beginning to flow again, the bohemian waxwings are begging to sing and hibernation is coming to an end as animals are beginning to roam again. Golden fibers of the suns rays bind around my body the way two souls do when reuniting for the first time in a long time, with a long gentle embrace. The ground that was once covered with a thick snow pack is now mostly melted and the crocuses are beginning to peak though what is left of the blankets of snow, the first sign of spring. A vibrant purple bloom bouncing off of the white snow extending its limbs long reaching for the sun. Spring is the season of rebirth life is restored flowers begin to open and trails begin to thaw, the landscape melts shedding a layer to reveal a new land one full of life.
A quantum shift from winter as we enter summer we now have twenty three hours of day light the sun will begin to go down just before it meets the horizon it begins to rise. The concept of time disappears no longer able to orient by the sun proving that time was only ever an invention of man. Looking across the Cook Inlet the Alaska range now permanently on display I stand perched on flat top. The air is sweet and fresh, for a moment it seems to be completely quiet but as I settle I can hear a bird song a gust of wind the far away breaking of sticks with a moose’s heavy step. I see the suns rays sailing over Cook Inlet surrendering to the waters control, responding to each movement it makes. The sun illuminates a path on the waters surface my eye follows it to where it meets the base of the Alaska Range. Drawing with my finger in the air I trace the peaks hitting mt. Illiamma, through a series of smaller rugged ridges my finger finds mt. Redoubt tracing the jagged edge to its summit and down it shoulder, a few smaller peaks turn into a saddle that transition into mt. Spurr. In near streams the salmon have begun to run, fishermen stand hip deep in waders watching currents scouting near by eddies envisioning where to drop their line. Breaking their stillness with a soft bend at the elbow lifting the rod into the air backcasting their line dances back behind them, mindfully listening for the sweet spot of where transition casting their line with precise intention and allowing the dry fly to kiss the waters surface.
As the sun sets on summer and the fall breeze begins to roll in loosing six minutes of light each day. September on the occasion can bring the first snow. The foliage begins to change, yellows and oranges paint the landscape. The sun sits lower in the sky spilling a soft alpine glow on the mountains, pink is cast on what is left of the snowpacks on higher peaks. There falls a hush over Alaska in autumn, listening closely I can hear the rutting of moose or the low frequency croak of a bull far away. Hearing the tangled crashing of bulls antlers as they spar, from a distance I can see the contrast of their dark bodies in the warm colored brush. The low light if caught just right with get trapped in a single hair, only for a moment, sparkling catching my eye. The sun slips past the horizon the alpine glow faded away and the mountains transition becoming a piece of the night sky until the moon is high enough to make them a silhouette. With the sun gone an evening breeze rolls in my body finds a steady shiver, crisp air fills my lungs. For the first time in a long time a green current flows though the night sky, the light is faint and it dances slow, the northern lights have found their way back home.
Over the course of a year Alaska’s landscape transitions through stages of cleansing and rebirth each season begins new joys and new challenges. The lands captivating beauty never fails to humble those in its presents.