Claire, my sister Annie, and I opened a small box last Christmas that had a a note from my parents in it. The note was an explanation of a gift of a trip to Alaska this year. They promised us grand views, big fish and bigger mountains, bears and surly characters, glaciers stretching farther than you can see, and water deeper than can be imagined. They had been there before – my father several times on fishing trips, and they wanted to share with us the last frontier of our country.
They made good on their promise this summer.
Alaska, where nearly one-third of it’s 586,400 square miles lies within the Arctic Circle, was ratified as state in 1959. It may be the closest experience I’ll have to going back in time in our country. Arguably, it is the equivalent to traveling to say, New York State in 1852 – 54 years after it’s official formation. Roads, infrastructure, and utilities are not ubiquitous nor guaranteed. Nor is comfort or the ability to expect much of anything from anyone beyond yourself, it seemed. All plans and intentions succumb the to weather, light, water, wind, and sheer distance.
What you own, drive, and wear doesn’t seem to matter nearly as much when just existing year-round seems to take the most attention and energy – and bear the most pride. The farther north you go, the more the lines of social cues fade into the trees. Millionaire oil execs and backwoods homesteaders wear the same crusty Carhartts and Xtratufs. Most seemed to drive 10-20 year old pick-up trucks with 55 gal fuel tanks in the bed. The hubris of socail status that derives from what you do and what you can buy surely still exists, but it is often leveled to the stump. Often I sensed it was replaced with the unspoken and shared sentiment that many choose to live that way, as a living example of self-reliance, and that much of what we think we need and work so hard to deserve, always comes with a hidden cost that us in the “Lower 48” fail to see.
See more from our family trip to the Last Frontier.