Typical Day in Alaska? You Decide...

Ever wonder what a typical day in Alaska looks like? Let me share my yesterday with you. True story. All of it.

Here's Mr. Grouchy Pants giving us a dirty look just for
disturbing his meal and invading his territory. 

I started off at the DMV. Hear any warning bells? But they were friendly folks, the line was short, and I should’ve been in and out of there in five minutes. All I wanted to do was renew my vehicle registration and since I now live as a senior (yuck) in Alaska, it was free. So far, so good. But someone made a considerable goof on my initial registration when they entered 2006, rather than 2014, as the model year. Why they didn’t catch it in Tennessee is a mystery, but they didn’t. I didn’t either. But Eagle-Eyed Lady at the Alaska DMV did. Now I have to call someone at the Tennessee DMV to find out how to get that corrected. Of course that means I’ll have to get up at O-Dark-Thirty to do it since most offices in the lower 48 are closed by the time I remember I’m supposed to do business with one of them. But that’s my fault, not theirs.

I decided to leave that for another time, and we embarked on the next portion of our day. A friend of ours, Cody, owns one of those ATVs with a roof over it. It’s still open on the sides and back and has tires bigger that some semis I’ve seen. I sat in the front with Cody, who is a delightful woman, a teacher-by-trade who is also experienced in most outdoor activities. My daughter, Darice, and granddaughter, Molly, sat on a bench seat behind us. That meant Darice, who is almost six feet tall, could see over the roof, but had to make sure she didn’t knock her teeth out when we hit a bump, which was every 2.5 seconds.

And when I say bump, I don’t mean a little indentation in the road. No, this was a mountain trail—a primitive one, at that—with dips as deep as some of the boulders alongside the road. A long time ago, someone probably came up with the idea of digging them out and placing them beside the trail to give ATVs something to fall into and then bounce against. Just for grins, I guess. I must say it’s been a resounding success. We traversed eleven miles into the Chugach Mountains. Eleven miles one way with bumps every 2.5 seconds. And mud puddles. Tree branches. Curves. Steep inclines. And more dust than I’ve eaten in the past fifty years.

But all that amounted to nothing compared to what we saw along the way. The trail followed the shore of a blue glacial lake that glimmered and shimmered in the sunlight. We stopped at one point and walked to the lake’s edge. Molly tossed the biggest rocks she could find into the water, while I picked up half the Chugach Mountain range for my rock collection and stood around like a country hick who’d just been driven to the big city. You could’ve driven the ATV into my mouth. I was enthralled.

Later we stopped at a raging river that splashed its way down the mountain from an unknown source (glacial, though) and flowed over and around huge rocks to the lake below. I couldn’t help but wonder how many thousands of years that same water sat suspended in a glacier before being released to slip and slide, skip and splash joyously down the mountainside to the lake below. I took dozens, no, hundreds of pictures. We continued through the deep forest on one side and the lake on the other until we headed straight into the woods. The trail at some points wasn’t more than three feet wide. We barely fit. All around us, mountains soared overhead, some so high the clouds ringed the peaks that poked far into the blue, blue sky. Some were clothed in green with grasses and pine and birch trees, while others stood naked with only massive boulders, gigantic rock faces, and jutting cliffs as stark adornment. We passed a waterfall that began its plunge to earth so high up on the mountainside that it wouldn’t fit in my camera’s frame. I had to take three shots to get it all. We reached the edge of a glacier, but were leery of traveling on foot with a 5-year-old to get to its base. Even from our perspective, though, it was spectacular.

Wildlife is widespread in the park, and we were on constant alert, particularly when we left the ATV and hiked. Both my daughter and Cody were armed with guns, so we knew we were protected. Still, running into a bear on the trail is never a good idea. We were lucky. No bears in sight. That’s partly due to our telling Molly to make noise, an ability she excels in. While we walked, she yelled, “Here, bearie bear! Here bear, bear, bear!” at the top of her lungs. Luckily, we encountered no highly-trained bears, so none of them came running straight to us to grab themselves some lunch.

Finally we headed back the direction we came. The sights were just as spectacular on the back side as they were the first time around. We bounced around for about eight miles with nothing but scenery all around us. Occasionally we’d meet another ATV, move over, and wave to its occupants. I sat, jostling around in my seat, with my jaw hanging open at the splendor laid out before us and praising God continually for His creativity. I gave up trying to find wildlife. The ATV was noisier than a fighter jet, so any bear who didn’t run away was either deaf, dead, or not scared of mere humans and their noisy transportation methods.

And then it happened. Darice yelled over the din of the motor, “There’s a bear!” It was about ten feet into the woods and occupied with eating something. It obviously wasn’t dead, so it was either deaf or not scared of us because the noise we were making had no effect on it. Now everyone knows you don’t mess with a bear. Period. And never, ever if it’s eating. We’re smart, knowledgeable, intrepid ATVers, so we did the smartest thing we were capable of doing. We turned around and drove back to get a closer look at it. After all, ten feet away from a ravenous black bear is just so far away. (Turns out we’re not all that capable. Or smart.)

Sure enough, it was a bear. A big black one. And sure enough he was eating something with great relish, probably grubs or maybe ants since he was digging. I’m not up on bear delicacies, but whatever it was, he was really into it. While he chowed down, we took pictures and generally o-o-ohed and ah-h-ed our seasoned adventurer hearts out. Until, that is, he looked up at us and gave us the stink eye. When Mr. Bear took a step toward us, Cody threw the ATV in reverse and we bumped backward down the road—bump, bump, jar, jiggle, jiggle, thump, bump—until we could turn around, then warned some other folks who were taking a break from their vehicles that they might want to carefully watch the left side of the road, and headed back to the truck and home.

So last night after washing off enough dust to build our own trail and eating supper, we fell into bed around 8:00 p.m. Even Molly was exhausted. I, on the other hand, spent a good share of my time in the bathroom suffering from a chronic digestive issue. I wondered briefly if an unsuccessful visit to the DMV, traveling twenty-two miles in an ATV bouncing around like a pin ball from the teeth-rattling, bone-jarring bumps, eating six pounds of dust, hiking over rugged terrain, and encountering a grumpy bear might have played a role in my stomach upset. Naw.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was just a mere four hours later, I fell into bed, exhausted, sore, and ready to put this typical Alaskan day to rest. As I drifted off to sleep my thoughts centered around my aching muscles, the miserable hours I'd just spent in the bathroom, the beauty we’d experienced, the close call we had with the bear, and the fact that I was more than ready to shut down my body and brain and call it a day. Besides, what more could possibly happen to make this day more exciting? Nothing, right? Wrong.

For it was at that moment that the earthquakes--two of them--struck.  

Through the Rainbow

I wasn't really this close to a rainbow, although it sure seemed that way when I looked through the camera lens. I zoomed in on this beauty to get a closer look at the colors. It worked. I count six stripes--more than I've ever seen at once in a rainbow.

Most Christians know the rainbow is a sign of God's covenant with mankind that He will never again send a flood to destroy the earth. That doesn't mean great floods won't occur or that humans won't suffer as a result of tsunamis, overflowing rivers and lakes, rising ocean levels or raging hurricanes--just that they won't completely destroy the earth.

We can do that all by ourselves.

We see a lot of rainbows in this part of Alaska. I imagine it has something to do with the mountains all around us and the proximity of the waters of the Cook Inlet and the Pacific ocean beyond, as well as the abundance of rain during the summer.

Seeing one (or better yet, a double one) always brings a smile. It's not just their beauty that stuns me, it's also the way God has chosen to remind us of His promise. He could have used a cloud or a twinkling star, even a thundercloud or flash of lightning. But those would be difficult to detect, frightening, or dangerous. Instead He chose a glorious arch of diaphanous pastel colors against the backdrop of dark clouds, all created by the rays of the sun shining through (and in spite of) those clouds and the rain they've produced. Hard to miss, right? He chose something so beautiful, so overarching and magnificent that all it takes is one glance upward to read His message.

And through those bands of beauty, we can see what lies beyond. In this case, I saw the mountainside, trees, and rocky peaks. Seen at a different angle, I might have seen billboards, a busy street, farmland, or any other vista found on earth. What's important is not what we see beyond the rainbow, but that we can see it.

I read the message this way: "Things have been gloomy recently, but you can get through this by viewing these circumstances through the beauty of My promise to you to whatever lies beyond this hardship--that busy street, that slum, that ocean, or endless prairie, that illness, grief, or adversity in any form--whatever path you have to traverse. See my promise and know that I, your Heavenly Father, am in these trying circumstances with you."

Rainbows. What delicate creations, what unexpected delights. He didn't have to make them for us, you know. What would we have done had we never seen one? Turn to one another and say, "You know what's missing here? A band of pastel, transparent stripes that arch over the landscape when the sun and rainclouds are both in the sky. Yeah, that's what He should have given us."

Of course, you have to be looking up to see one, but then, that's what He intended all along, wasn't it?

See you along the trail...

Silent sentinels...

Seeing a bald eagle here in Alaska is nothing unusual (although I never thought I'd hear myself saying something like that). But they seem to thrive up here and watching them drift on the currents overhead is a pastime I will never tire of, nor take for granted. Even for Alaska, though, the sight of two of them on the same branch--standing guard from their lofty perch over the snow-covered land spread beneath them --is probably something I will never again see.

I was fortunate that they sat there long enough for me to situate myself (alongside a well-traveled road here on base) and take several shots of their silent vigil. More and more, I realize that although being on the lookout for wildlife is a big (and necessary) part of actually spotting it, vigilance and a keen eye aren't all that's required. Good fortune (as in "God sends opportunities my way on an incredibly regular basis") factors into the equation, as well.

Thank You, God, for knowing my heart and arranging opportunities for me to see You in action.

See you along the trail...

Glimmers

The bare trees, cloud-covered skies, and healthy icicle crop (not to mention huge mounds of snow and sub-freezing temps) attest that winter still has its icy grip on Anchorage, Alaska.

But not for long. Even when we're engulfed in suffocating clouds, a tiny glimmer from the sun is all it takes to show us that all is indeed well. Winter will pass, clouds will clear, storms will cease, temperatures will rise, trees and flowers and all other vegetation will bud and grow and flourish. Animals will come out of hiding (as will humans) and go about the business of building homes, starting and raising families, working, living, and dying.

Hopefully, somewhere in all that activity there will also be lots of praise and worship and gratefulness to our Heavenly Father for all He does for us during every season of our lives.

See you along the trail...