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Chum for the Fishes I admit it’s an icky subject but given the fact that much of Alaska can only be explored by water—and that most tourists first experience Alaska by taking a cruise. Let’s put aside our squeamishness and do a deep dive into the issue.  What causes it? According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, “Seasickness is a result of conflict in the inner ear and is caused by a vessel’s erratic motion on the water. Inside the cabin of a rocking boat, for example, the inner ear detects changes in both up and down and side to side acceleration as one’s body bobs along with the boat. But since the cabin moves with the passenger, one’s eyes register a relatively stable scene. Agitated by this perceptual incongruity, the brain responds with a cascade of stress-related hormones that can ultimately lead to nausea, vomiting, and vertigo.” Basically,…

Absolute Perfection The jet skiff skimmed up the Ambler River, my guilt fading with each bend. I’d sworn to myself to stay glued to home, attending to a pile of now-or-next-year chores. But here I was, heading out into the country instead. The day had started with the same grungy, rain-spattered weather that had defined the past month; but by afternoon the clouds had dissolved into a blue sprawl of sky, colors glowing, the breeze sighing of summer—the best day of the whole damn fall. As a bonus, the hordes of mosquitoes and gnats that had plagued us had evaporated. So, what to do—spend this afternoon patching and painting a storage shed desperate for it five years ago, or take a river run somewhere? Not much of a decision. The shed was good at waiting, after all.  Soon as I’d decided to duck out, I knew where I was going—up…

Advanced Lessons on the High Seas by Scout Edmondson It’s 2 a.m., dark and windy. F/V Epick bobs along in tumultuous gray water near the beach, while I sit on a buoy in the corner of the port side stern with tears streaming down my face. Just moments before, the towline connecting the net to the Epick’s mast got caught on something along the railing, sprang loose, grabbed my head, and smashed my face against the thick aluminum stern roller.  My baseball cap, caked in sea salt and fish slime, flew off my head and over the stern and floated away in the dark. I’m crying because my head hurts, but also because I’m a scared, sleep-deprived 18-year-old in a harsh, dangerous place. My captain, fellow deckhand, and I are on set in the Nushagak district of Bristol Bay, trying to catch enough sockeye salmon to stay on quota for…

Make one-of-a-kind creations During the second pandemic winter, I began dabbling in a new hobby: photo painting. It goes by many names—digital painting, digital photo art, mixed media, etc. Rather than simply enhancing the original image using the usual settings like brightness, highlights and shadows, or color saturation, photo painting creates an entirely new piece of art. There are apps for transforming your photos into pieces that resemble, for example, a Renaissance painting or a watercolor or a vintage illustration, but since I was only tinkering for my own pleasure one long, dark, December evening, I didn’t bother finding new software or reading up on technique. In fact, I stumbled upon this pastime by accident. Reviewing folders of images from the fall, I opened a slightly blurry mid-October image of some dead leaves with river water rushing by in the background, a downright dull picture. For kicks, I tried the…

The Lure of a Mountain Peak I fell in love with my house immediately, thanks to the 6,398-foot-tall Pioneer Peak jutting into the sky behind it. Pioneer looked like Alaska incarnate to me. It dominated my view, rising abruptly from the flat valley floor as the kind of peak you might see if you look up “mountain” in the dictionary. Over nearly five years of living in my home, I tried once, twice, five times to make it to the top of the mountain that loomed above my house. Each time, I fell short. Then, one bright morning in September 2021 after a full summer of strenuous hikes and runs, my husband and I set out for a hike on the Pioneer Trail. We started early, with cool temps leaving dew on leaves underfoot. We climbed at an unhurried but steady pace, gaining elevation as the sun rose higher into…

New book details iconic Alaskan The Handcrafted Life of Dick Proenneke (written by Monroe Robinson and published by Lost Art Press, 2021) is a lavish book that should be subtitled: “The Bible of Wilderness Cabin Craft,” a must-reference for every rural and wilderness dweller or dreamer. Dick Proenneke’s life and legacy, documented in his book, One Man’s Wilderness, and subsequent documentaries, is a vivid testament to the wilderness lifestyle. For 19 summers, Monroe Robinson and his wife, Kay, acted as caretakers for Proenneke’s Twin Lakes cabin. They studied, recorded, and documented the construction and tools Proenneke used in building his cabin, cache, furniture, and implements. Robinson came to Alaska in 1968 and soon established himself as a log craftsman and cabinet maker of the highest order, building for former Gov. Jay Hammond and others. Robinson met Proenneke in 1982 unaware of how entwined their lives and work would become. As…

Iditarod volunteers make a difference It’s natural to attribute the howling success of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race to its dogs and mushers, but the event might not happen without its volunteers. My husband, Justin, and I worked with the Iditarod in 2022, and it was exhilarating to be the backbone of something so big, in conjunction with so many other passionate people. Janis Young, from Washington, says she’s been volunteering for 22 years because it’s a big reunion. “The dogs, people, mushers, villagers, snow, cold, storms, lack of sleep, hard work, northern lights…I look forward to seeing my Iditarod family each year. It just feels good to help put on this race.” Young is just one of the nearly 2,000 people who come from near and far each year to help with the challenging logistics of running the Iditarod in early March. Volunteer crews hold various responsibilities—communications, logistics,…

Tour operators at the brink Booking and canceling and rebooking travel during the pandemic was not for the faint of heart. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Oh, who am I kidding? It was the worst of times. If you worked in the travel industry over the last few years and are reading this, you’ve either been released from the looney bin or are allowed to have this magazine as one of your institutional privileges. Tour operators at the brink. The pandemic hit all of us hard, but it sent most travel-related workers over the edge. If we’ve recovered at all in 2022, we remain shell-shocked. Our “long-COVID” is a special kind of PTSD that has us duck for cover at the words: rollover, rebooking, cancelation, vaccination, testing protocol. My hands still shake before I send a non-refundable deposit to hold six spots at…

Meg Smith paints Alaska by Alisha McDarris Sharp edges and fine lines, saturated jewel tones, graphic prints, and colorful acrylics: Meg Smith’s work is otherworldly. Art is life. A whale swimming beneath the surface of the ocean comes alive. The deep shadows of mountains and the muted hues of peaks in the distance create not just a sense of endless space, but time. Puffins soar and dive in scenes that divide horizons. Three skiers celebrate finding clean lines in soft powder. Indeed, Smith’s art is more than just a pretty picture: in the geometric lines, the crisp detail, the bold colors, there is an indescribable sense of adventure in each mountain vista and dancing depiction of northern lights. Each piece represents the landscape the artist fell in love with when she moved to Girdwood 10 years ago, as well as the feeling of overwhelming vastness, and the sense of awe…

The challenges of capturing your Alaskan story A line of folks leaned against the cruise ship railing, staring toward Harvard Glacier. An all-day blanket of fog and drizzle had dissolved; shafts of sun cast the glacier, the surrounding mountains, the water, even the air itself in magical, silver-tinged tones—the sort of scene that would stop anyone in their tracks. You could practically hear a whispered, collective wow hanging over the fjord. Naturally, pretty much everyone in the crowd held cameras—mostly cell phones and compacts, with a few advanced amateur and pro-grade rigs mixed in. Some took careless-seeming, rapid-fire snapshots; others worked on selfies and group stuff with the glacier as a backdrop; a few studied the scene, composed careful images, then stood, lips pursed, staring into their screens, then tried again. And again. I didn’t have to peer over shoulders to know that the more serious photographers were struggling to…