Day Thirteen: Fairbanks, Alaska

Saturday 5 October -- No knock in the night alerting me to an Aurora Borealis sighting; I slept soundly ’til a few hours before dawn (bear in mind dawn is around 8:00am local, which is 9:00am Pacific, and who knows what clock my body is on).  Well bundled, I stepped outside and started to climb one of the property’s many trails, and wished I weren’t quite so well bundled as the ground got steep fast.  I was headed toward Bear Paw Butte, which promised “beautiful views of the Chena Hills.”

Frost on the tundra

If I’m reading this map correctly, and it’s a lousy map, the resort is at about 1200 feet above sea level and the butte about 2500, and the walk is supposed to be about two miles.  I have no idea whether knowledgeable hikers consider that steep or not.  What I know for sure is that the temperature dropped, as evidenced by the density of the ground, and the presence of frost and snow, significantly as I climbed.  The trail is well established, packed earth.  It started out soft and slightly muddy underfoot; changed to crunchy and frosty; and then got icier and more slippery as spots of snow began to appear.

Snow on the trail

Oh, and the beautiful views from Bear Paw Butte were completely obscured by fog or clouds.  I may try again tomorrow, as even from halfway up the surroundings were well worth the climb.  Coming back down that steep, icy path was ankle-endangering enough that I took to the edges of the trail, and walked on the mossy tundra.  I love this tundra!  I sank into that bed of foliage about ankle deep with every step; it was what walking on clouds ought to feel like.

I officially love tundra.  That's right, love.

Back in the room I make a cup of tea to warm up; it tastes like salt.  Why does it taste like salt?  The water doesn’t taste like salt, the tea bag does not contain salt, nor has this variety ever had a salty taste.  In future, I shall go microwave my water in the activity center rather than use the salty in-room coffee maker.  I spend a few minutes on the phone with Sister3, assuring her that I am just trapped in a ’net-free zone, and have not been kidnapped by biker chicks from Alhambra, though I appreciate BIL3’s concern that that might be the case.  We also complain about in-room coffee makers.

And then I slump along to the hot springs, to soften myself up a bit before my massage appointment.  Ten minutes and I’m a bit past the al dente stage – I think the heat is more potent after exercise.  Elise, the massage therapist, did her training in Honolulu.  “I do not usually talk much during massages,” I note, “but I am very interested in the Honolulu-Fairbanks connection.”  She was a military kid who traveled with her mum and dad, met a guy in Texas and moved to Alaska when he got a job at the resort.  I speculate that he must be interested in geothermal energy, as I don’t envisage anyone moving to Chena Hot Springs from Texas to work as a waiter or desk clerk.  (I shall be proven wrong, or close enough, shortly.)

A lot of people have moved here from Japan to work as Activity Center staff, though.  The resort gets platoons of Japanese visitors, and apparently has done for 20 years or so.  It seems NHK TV produced a documentary here in the 90s that was tremendously popular; people started coming over; travel companies started putting together package tours, and now the hotel has photos of the Northern Lights by Japanese visitors on the walls, Japanese translations of every sign and in-room notice, and cheerful young Japanese people explaining that no, there really isn’t any internet connectivity at the resort.

There’s a myth invented by the TV show ‘Northern Exposure’ that the Japanese like to conceive under the Northern Lights for luck or something; it is entirely fictitious.  However, based on my observations, one might infer that Americans of the palest skin tones like to conceive in outdoor hot springs.  Honestly, people, it’s really pretty obvious what you’re doing, and not of general interest.

Good massage.

The trees are so quiet...

Sitting in the Activity Center in the afternoon, with a proper cup of tea and some rhubarb shortbread left over from Ah Rose Marie’s breakfast yesterday, I get into a conversation with Bernie, the resort co-owner.  He asks how I’m doing, I admit to well, and ask how he is.  “I’ve never had a bad day in my life,” he reports.  “I’m one of 16 kids, and my parents wanted every one of us.  I have five brothers with muscular dystrophy; they can’t brush their teeth, can’t comb their hair.  But each of them works for a living.  I say, if you can wipe your own ass, you’ve got the world by the ass.  My parents raised worker bees.  Think about it.  The worker bees can go anywhere; they’re wanted and needed in every hive.  The queen can’t leave the hive.  Every hive has enough drones; they don’t need more or want more.  But the worker bees are welcome wherever they go.”

Lots to like about Alaska.

I ask if he’s always lived here.  “I was born an American but I’m an Alaskan by choice.  I came here 40 years ago and you couldn’t beat me out with a switch.”  “Don’t tempt,” I warn, but either he doesn’t hear, doesn’t get it or doesn’t like it, because he just keeps going.  Childhood in Peoria, wanted by parents, works hard every day, wife owns resort and he just works here, women are smarter, harder-working and tougher than men, feeds 75 people on staff and most of his guests with Chena-grown food, provides all the electricity with geothermal, has suspect stats on how terrible government is.

Another guest wanders by and Bernie asks how his day is going, the man answers, “Fine, and you?” and Bernie says, “I’ve never had a bad day in my life.  I’m one of 16 kids...”

Crotchety reindeer, and no doubt with reason to be.

In the evening, I peer around at dusk from the resort perimeter, thinking I might see a bear or something in the distance – the far distance.  Instead I catch a glimpse of a herd of reindeer, or caribou.  They are behind a fence, and I’m reminded that the restaurant at Chena Hot Springs offers caribous steak, and the gift shop sells caribou hides for $200 each.  I watch the herd for a little bit, aggressively warned off by one of them who doesn’t seem to understand the whole ‘fence’ idea, and notice they keep getting their antlers tangled in tree limbs.  Given that, they probably wouldn’t be much good at an organized jailbreak.

Peaceful reindeer.

Tonight the University of Alaska at Fairbanks thinks there’s a moderate chance of an auroral display.  I fall asleep dreaming in color.