By Sarah Felder Snow now is only means of weathered transport: Sleep in hinged places just so I can See the bricked fire char and breathe, Lighting the burgundy flooring. I wrote this letter a generation ago; When all those lit Augusts were Nothing but spruce, spurs, spinning And growing up and over on the Chain- link. I wasn’t in the light then because I didn’t understand the destiny of being Born in the first place: I hadn’t re-taught my youngdom To begin again. I contemplate your breathing beats, What they were when I was young: The flaws in our own ticking machines, My dinner to the floor, rocking my…
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Fairbanks in January
By Martha Amore The day Maura arrived it was cold in the way Fairbanks often is in January, fragile with frost, when it seems that even blowing on the trees will crack them to the ground. Every breath burns your lungs like smoke, and your Snowpacs squeak in the bright white snow. Ann was quiet the whole way to the airport, and I knew she was nervous by the way she kept taking her mittens off and then tugging them back on. “A whole week isn’t going to be easy,” I said. We lived in a one-room cabin with a loft, and having a guest meant setting up a bed…
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Shake Your Groove Thing
by Simon Frez-Albrecht Slogging up the south couloir on the north face of Ptarmigan Peak, my thoughts drifted to the raspberries and dipping chocolate I had waiting for me at home. I imagined I would improvise a double boiler from a pair of pots to avoid burning the chocolate; I would get some wax paper from my roommate to lay on the cookie sheet; I would then use a pair of chopsticks to dip the berries, so that they would come out smooth and pretty instead of all globbed from my fingers or a spoon. I could practically taste the sweet fruit center, cold inside the still-warm chocolate, the small…
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Hatchery Experience
by Angela Wilkinson “What’s that smell?” a first grader remarks as I lead my last tour around the William Jack Hernandez Sport Fish Hatchery. I take a deep breath and think hard about the fishy odor I have grown so used to during my three month internship here at the hatchery this past summer. I tell the first graders that it’s the smell of fish and it’s the best smell in the world. I take the opportunity to ask this group of children if any of them have caught a fish before and, as usual, I learn that less than half of the group has ever been fishing. Fishing was…
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Land Rediscovered
By Simon Frez-Albrecht Anticipation—and exasperation—had been building all summer toward this one special day. I had the fortune of stepping in right at the end to wrap up loose ends and hop on the bandwagon. By the time I showed up, hundreds of hours had gone into planning and arranging the logistics of putting all 35 first-year students at APU on the Yukon River for ten days, not to mention the 10 staff going with them. The last week before departure, the students spent their mornings in class while we shopped for food and sorted gear. In the afternoons, we conducted lessons in wilderness living, basic water rescue, and geared…
