THE HOWLER

Summer is officially here in Denali. It has been a whirlwind of activity since the end of the snowy racing season. In Alaska, spring is called break up. The term is derived from the concept that the ice which has encased the rivers for the winter begins to break up into chunks that flow down stream. Break up means mud and snow that you can sink up to your waist in. In the kennel it means clean up. Straw is raked from yard, sleds are put away and four wheelers are tuned up. Parkas are stored and puppies are born.

It is one of those things that takes you back to a time or place.  Maybe it is the smell of your grandmother’s basement.  Maybe it is a song that makes you remember a certain summer.  There is something about this time of year.  I get the feeling when I look out the windows in the morning and I am able to see the mountains. The feeling comes again in the evening when the kennel is still light after dinner. I feel it when I am filling the stove in the morning. It is the extended daylight.  It is the feeling of the snow under my feet, much harder than it is mid-winter, from the warmth of the sun heating it in the day, the cold of the night freezing it like concrete.   All of these moments give me a feeling, a glimpse of a memory.  It sends me to a different time and place. It makes me feel Iditarod.

It has been cold.  Since Thanksgiving the temperature has hovered at 15 degrees below zero.  In the cold, life becomes a series of tasks to keep things warm.  Plug in the car, fill the wood stove, warm up the four wheeler, put the dogs in the barn.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It only took a moment.  Even though it is known as moose flats, they surprised me as they stepped out from the willows.  I’d been watching the dogs.  Looking for changes in ear position.  Wondering, as one would pick up his head or look off to the side.  I’d seen some of this throughout the whole run, but nothing that warned me about these particular moose.  Cow and calf they hopped out onto the trail and began to trot across it.  The dogs love to chase, but they directly their energy forward.  From Whiplash and Jigsaw up front to Gremlin and Gunnel in the back all of them drove forward, but stayed on the trail as the moose found their way off into the willows on the far side.  Just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared again.  And the dogs run on.

This is the first morning that I really have the feeling of getting up in the dark.  This becomes such a normal part of the routine the winter, but here at the end of summer, it feels different.  We are at the time of year that the amount of daylight changes at an astonishing rate.  Things that are done on a schedule show off the changes in daylight, as I struggle to find lights I haven't needed in months.  As I return people to their hotels after our evening tour I have to remember to turn on the interior lights and use not only my headlights but even the high beams on the ride back. It was 10:30 pm on August 14th the first time I saw the streetlights come on that mark the intersection of the Denali and the Parks highway.  These are, by the way, the only two streetlights in Cantwell. 

During the summer I get a lot of time visiting with our guests as they come to the kennel to meet us and our dogs. One of the things I love about these visits is having the chance to drive with them back and forth from the hotels. It gives me a great chance to tell stories and talk about our lifestyle in rural Alaska. However, people are only with me some of the time, the rest I am driving alone to get them. We live in such a rural place that there is very limited radio reception. The only station that I can get is the Fairbanks NPR station KUAC. With no other options, I am left to the whim of the station as to what they choose to broadcast. In a world of almost constant choice, this is a different experience. Not everything they broadcast is what I would select but, by that very principle, I find myself exposed to things I would not

have had the chance to experience if I were in control. This is just another way that living in Alaska reminds me of living back in time. Sometimes I catch Morning Edition or All Things Considered. Often it is Marketplace and Alaska News Nightly. Riding home at night they have a variety of music shows showcasing blues, jazz, folk music and more. My favorite days have always been Saturday, when I get to hear Car Talk, Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, and my personal favorite A Prairie Home Companion.

The days are long, but we seem to fill them all up. Last Monday marked the summer solstice. While there is technically a sunrise and sunset time, it is never dark. I have also seen the fireweed blooms start to appear. There is a part of me that feels panicked about both of these signs. When the fireweed gets to the top of its shoot it is indicative of the end of summer. I do not think this panic is a reluctance for winter to come as much as a reluctance for summer to go. I am always looking for more time. Did I get everything done that I needed to? Did I make the most of each moment with my family? Can my son stay small just a little bit longer?

Congratulations Riot and Jigsaw! Our first litter of puppies have arrived. Riot gave birth to her first litter on May 17th. Mom and puppies are doing great and they are already being loved by all of us here at the kennel, Caitlin, Mike, Max, Thomas, Katie, and Savanna, as well as by our visitors. When puppies are born they are pretty immature, so their eyes are just opening. I know they will be getting into mischief in no time.

Spring in Alaska brings long days and brilliant sunlight. It starts to feel hotter than the middle of summer. Just when you begin to hope for dry ground, the snow starts again. Warm days lead to punchy snow. Places where trails used to be packed give way showing the bottomless depth of snow you've been walking on. Max and I have been exploring on snowshoes. We look for tracks. Mostly we find raven tracks and fox tracks.

We have been working non-stop to get ready for the Iditarod. Mike and the crew loaded the bags to be sent to the checkpoints.

Ok, I admit it, January can be a challenging month. The days are dark, the excitement of the holidays is over, the worry and challenge of preparing for the Iditarod is upon us. Luckily, part way through the month the sun returns. It finally gets high enough to peak over the mountains, even if only for a few moments. It is surprising as first. Sun reflecting off a surface. Some of my neighbors know the exact day the sun will peak back in their windows. I think Max feels a bit like a mole when we walk midday, the unfamiliar sun reflecting off the surface of the snow.

I once had the chance to hear author Kurt Vonnegut speak about his writing. One of the things that he explained was his purpose in using very short chapters. He explained that at the chapter breaks, the reader is forced out of the story, which in turn causes the reader to have to reflect on what is happening in the book and reflect on how these events provide insight on the reader’s own experience. Vonnegut went on to say that endings to books are hard to write because in life there are no endings. I believe that New Year's Eve is akin to a chapter break in a story. It is merely an end to a year, not to the story. However, it is a chance to pause. To consider all that has happened in this chapter of our lives.