Total Immersion

Here we go, folks. It's a warm one this week, after gaining twenty degrees and shedding the golf outfit I wore for Halloween recently, it's time to attack a few projects. Not that we are ever completely our actions, but you know sometimes you have to work from the Outside In. So while rearranging some rooms of the house, digging all those pushpins and dust bunnies from their corner homes, while chopping wood and stacking 'em in the shed while Trout watches curled up in camp chair on front porch, while learning once more the regular feel of plastic keyboard under fingertips, the world slowly opens up.

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Last night. 11.05.09. Carter Lake Trail.

The mist had fallen in quickly. Where LV Ray had just been was now a wall of cloud. Ankle deep and crusty, the wet powder grabbed onto my boots with each footstep. Headlamp, strapped onto ball cap, was still turned off. Trout was out hustling through alders, chasing scents and readjusting his legs to the pounce of the snow. My plan to make it to Carter Lake was coming to a close, and also coming to a re-evaluation: my pant legs were cold and wet enough to be uncomfortable, the crystals that had made it to the back of my legs not melting. Trout wasn't coming back any time soon, and I didn't feel like disturbing the silence with my cry into the night.

I closed my eyes and pointed my face skyward, attempting to straighten out and treat the reoccurring pain that has invaded my neck muscles in the last two weeks. Tilting my head now to the left shoulder, I was shocked with how much time it took my neck to reach full extension. I then faced the snow at my feet, a position making it easy to relax and let my arms hang like an orangutan's. Finally I rotated my heavy head over to my right shoulder, a move just as creaky as the other side's. Rolling my shoulders towards the front, I breathed deeply while listening to little critters bounce around off trail. I extended my arms and started swinging them back and forth, still focusing on my breathing.

The fog continued its mystical roll across the tops of the alders, hiding the mountains from view. Looking back towards the trail I had walked up to get here, towards the creeks starting to ice over, the dirt and leaves now saying their goodbyes to fresh air before being blanketed for months, I imagined a figure emerging out of the mist. For a second, I thought I saw one, and I believe I wasn't alone. Fear bubbled up my spine into my consciousness and I called for Trout, glad when I saw his eyes reflected in my headlamp light.

Up above the highway noise, this was a world unlike any I had been in all day. Unlike any I had been in since the snow and darkness melted away from us this past Spring. I didn't have to wait for the white stuff to hit down at my house before Trout and I could get back into it once more.

Apparently I wasn't ready for total immersion. But as these chores and routines continue to shape the world around me, as the growing snow pack continues reflecting light, rivers of spirits past, present and future are making themselves known. Bon Hiver!

Best of September '09

Sheep Mountain 09.05-07.09











Canoe Woods 09.11-13.09









Crescent Lake Valley 09.18-20.09







Kenai Lake 09.25-27.09

Howdy Everyone,

The hike up and down LV Ray Peak this weekend delivered as only Crescent Lake Valley could. Friday and Saturday indeed proved to be spectacular, warm, and made for climbing high. Sunday morning's sideways rain wasn't even too bad, and waking up to a pile of Trout's grass-puke on my Thermarest was a first. Unfortunately, Jonathan did not get a moose.

I'll have to wait until later in the week to post pictures, since I was using a couple of disposable cameras I picked up just for the trip. Luckily, another digital camera has come into my possession, by way of my friend Martha Story. She has recently bought a new camera, and decided to give me hers. Thanks a ton, Martha!

Howdy everyone,

What can I say it is great to be back in the blogging world after a summer's hiatus. As some of you might have noticed, I spat out a blurb of a poem a couple of weeks ago that was meant to serve as a welcome back to myself, to TWOTC from Trout and I. I can only say that my heart was truly behind it, if not my complete awareness, and that what is left behind after the trimming away is still worth something akin to a chuckle. Enjoy if you can.

As you know I have started another part-time school year in Whittier, a place that keeps showing up, like your boss from your first high school job continuing to pop up in your dreams, Whittier continues to change yet stay exactly the same, a constant something at the end of the tunnel over the last few years. The quiet concrete, green brush, and rock of this place is especially honest in the early mornings and late evenings, something true of all places that mean something to us, that aren't just another place.

Yes, Mr. Clay is back on the scene, back in his room, changed it up a bit this year. I'm really going for the "enema" approach to my house and my job lately. Keep the essential, and absolutely boot OUT the rest. Stacks of papers from years past, written about in springtime blogs, are lying together in a box in the back of my truck, waiting their time to be tossed into a large blue recycle bin in Anchorage, where they will continue their reincarnation in the Paper Circle of Life.

Brightly colored posters now face my students and I in contrast to faded ones, made by kids now graduated, now adults, that had been on the walls for years. It's time for some new memories, I tell them, and the tiny flinching in the corners of their eyes tells me that this is immediately unnerving to them. Maybe it's just the natural resistance to change that we all seem to experience. Or maybe the kids really liked those old posters...I had come to think in the last year or two that my leaving them up had served as a barrier to connecting with them, that the slogans, drawings, photos, cut and glued behind my desk and around it of students from years ago were to them work of my "favorite" students, and that I was just teaching these guys because I I had to, but that it would never be as much fun as back in the "good ol' days." More than likely I'm just giving my ego its daily steroid boost by dwelling on all this. Hey, at least now I've got clean walls.

Light another match and strike anew,
Jeff

p.s. Sorry 'bout the lack of pics. Blogger is acting funny right now so I can't post any. Hopefully this will work soon and I'll post more pics of my epic weekend...all I'll say now is it was one mother of a walk!

Enough Truth to Spill: An Evening of Writer's Strain

And so it began last night when I arrived back at Whittier School, my home for the next two days, where I have been residing basically half of this past school year.

It began on a couch, a rotten and rotting couch, already ancient, faded and pathetic when I inherited it seven years ago with my classroom. The cushions let you sink much too far down, the computer is uncomfortably warm on my lap, and there is too much synthetic stimuli all around, including Petco-purchased tetras toiling back and forth through green aquarium water that is both bright and dark green at the same time. There are laminated North Face ads spinning on fishing line from the ceiling, clusters of desks where worksheets, pencils, erasers, and rulers go to die.

I’m in the same room as my massive teacher's desk—a hulk surely from the ‘80s that is the home of too many papers, too many books, too many stacks of random school paraphernalia storing the potential energy of every one of my educational questions. All of my seven years of visions mixed in with seven years of disappointments and confusions, and the attempts to try again, day after day. I wrote a page, figure if I do that each day I’ll at least have the volume. Figure each day holds enough truth to spill.

And if I manage to make do in a room filled with too much of those circular suffocating memories, I feel pretty good about my chances when I let the windows open and allow the noises of the outside world to invite me instead.


Leaving Lake Iliamna ~ 04.15.09

Clearing Roads

The world comes crashing down in the Springtime. We literally see more of ourselves and of the world every day because of the hours of daylight that inch and inch longer and longer. In Alaska, we've the lost the comfort of darkness. The night doesn't come until well past midnight now, and the vast amount of remaining snow only reflects even more pure white back into our eyes. It all leads to a different kind of cabin fever.

Near Portage Lake, one mountain has literally begun to fall down, turning the fever up a notch. For the past month, the road to Whittier has been closed due to a massive rockslide that has only continued to build with efforts to clear it. At first sight, the Department of Transportation needed to hire out contractors because the rocks in the road were bigger than their equipment. After several drilling measures, helicopter scouting missions, and a large blasting, D.O.T. has finally given official notice that they will open the road on Friday the 8th.

The road will have one lane available from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. each morning and from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. in the evening. Some call it progress, some call it not enough, and surely there is someone in Whittier who is working on ordering a tank from the Lower 48. Sometimes you have to blast your way to freedom, whether the walls are in your mind or standing right in front of you.



For updated information on the rockslide, click here.