Chapter VI - Alaska Winter, Part

CHAPTER VI

Alaska Winter, Part 1

(March 2022)

For me winter always had happy moments. Christmas and such. But mostly the cold and dark were hard. Winter’s arrival brought gloom and dread — long before I’d heard of “SAD” or knew others had similar feelings. And it got worse with age.

Fortunately medication, meditation, and other blessings helped turn that around. No sweet lemons. These days I like winter -- actually love it -- as much as any season. Which is good, I suppose, if you’re one of “the Frozen Chosen” called to Alaska. Where winter runs at least half the year. And offers much to embrace. If you’re not holed up as its victim.

And what’s good about Alaska winter? Well. Sports for starters.

A. Winter Sports

Alaska’s largest ski resort — Alyeska — is an hour from where we live. Before coming here, I called our mission president and explained my past winter anxieties. “Skiing is a big help,” I told him. “Heading down the slopes is fun exercise. But the real therapy is just being there. In the great outdoors. Riding the lifts, counting my blessings, and absorbing God’s snow-clad wonder. Might it be okay?” I asked. “For an old coot like me, not bound by every young missionary rule, to do some skiing?”

“Yes, Elder Allred,” answered President King. “Bring your skis. Alyeska is calling your name!”

And bless him. I’ve done just that. Alyeska Resort is only half the size of Snow Basin. But it averages over 700 inches of snow a year (more than double that of resorts back home). And the scenery — glaciers, fjord, and mountains — is glorious.

I considered buying a season’s pass — and am glad I didn’t. This dang mission kept getting in the way. I only skied six times this year. But had much joy when I did.

Cross-country skiing is big around here as well. In its effort to make life good for troops and their families, the Air Force groomed the JBER golf course for hiking and cross-country skiing. Free of charge we could check out skis, boots and poles at the clubhouse. For a bracing jaunt around the fairways. As shown in photos with Ronny, in a chapter above. And here below.

In addition to cross-country skiing, the base has its own ski lift. There's just a beginner hill — but a pretty good one. With runs for sledding and tubing as well. Quite popular with the families.

The base sponsored other winter activities. Like the snow machine adventure Doll and I joined, in Willow (a town 70 miles to our north). Though Doll, at the last moment, got cold feet (figuratively as well as literally perhaps) and decided to spend the day in the local library. Whilst I rode with our group over rivers and through woods. And over more rivers, through more woods, and across frozen lakes, etc. All quite invigorating and beautiful.

During our snow machine ride, we met dogsled teams like this:

And caught views of Mount Denali in the distance:

In these parts, cross-country ski teams and fat-tire mountain bikes are common in winter.

As are the frozen lakes plowed for hockey, skating and other ice activities.

In a chapter above, I mentioned hiking the Matanuska Glacier with Ronny. Doll and I also hiked that glacier. An amazing experience:

B. Dogsledding

Alaska winter also means dogsledding. Sled teams visit JBER offering rides (at a modest price) to troops and their families:

Through some of the young missionaries, we became friends with GB Jones. A crusty veteran dogsledder and writer of books about the Iditarod in which he raced. GB is a member of the Church — not too active, I don’t believe. But very kind to missionaries.

One zero-degree morning, GB welcomed our missionary district to his dog training site in Knik. He had a bonfire crackling and wafting sharp smoke through the towering birch and spruce. As his dog pack yapped and tugged at the lines — eager to be off racing. Below are GB Jones (notice the dog igloo behind him), then Doll, then me, and then our district on the morning in question.

GB gave us a bit of training. And we were off. Mushing the dogs for as long as we desired. Which was not that long for most of us. As the zero degrees had quite a sting when racing behind the dogs.

Of course, it goes without saying that Doll— as with all feats of daring, athleticism and endurance — excelled quite naturally and immediately.

Whilst hooking up the dog teams was all the responsibility I could handle.

If you’ve ever wondered. Here’s how sled teams travel from one event to the next.

I came to Alaska wondering if we might catch a glimpse the Iditarod. The famed race of roughly a thousand miles from Willow to Homer, Alaska. But we got more than a glimpse. Members of our mission were asked, as a public service, to work as Trail Guards for the ceremonial start of the race in Anchorage.

Pretty cool, as it turned out. Actually helping to run the show. Here’s my official Iditarod armband.

And here’s the scene out doing our job. Which mainly meant helping the community feel welcome, while keeping folks clear of the dogsled paths.

And here’s something you might find nowhere but Alaska. Snow machine cops.

C. The Lights

Since hearing of them as a boy, I dreamed I might one day see the Northern Lights. More technically, the Aurora Borealis. Better known in these parts as just “the Aurora” or “the Lights.” My military and other travels had taken me to Alaska several times. As well as Iceland and other northern places. Where I sought the Lights without success. And coming on this mission, I had hoped to do better.

Even living in a prime spot, seeing the Lights can take effort. As well as luck. In warmer months of the year daylight is too long. The darker months tend to be clouded and stormy. There are websites, satellite data, and helpful apps for tracking the weather, the solar winds, and the geographical bands where the Lights might appear. Chasing them is a hobby for many. And one that I’ve now joined.

Anchorage is pretty far south, on the lower rim of where the Northern Lights occur. Some senior couples in our mission saw great displays by traveling to Chena Hot Springs, a resort near Fairbanks, eight hours to our north. Doll and I decided to give that a try. And did so in late February — supposedly prime viewing season. It was a memorable midwinter adventure into the heart of Alaska. We drove over mountain passes and frozen roads, across a stretch of Denali National Park, and through Fairbanks. At Chena, we lounged in hot pools and enjoyed the cabins. Two nights we rode tracked military vehicles to the top of a mountain, where we hung out in yurts hoping the Lights might appear. And they were apparently going full force. But the skies were thick overcast. And rather than glorious light and swaths of color, the most we caught were wispy traces of gray among the clouds. A small taste, but not much of the actual Aurora.

Here’s some of the scene at Chena and its hot springs.

One of the mountaintop Yurts where we hung out:

We saw plenty of moose on our trip north, along roads like these.

There was also a good consolation prize. We were able to catch the World Ice Art Championships. Held this year in a forest at Fairbanks.

But, with no real luck catching the Northern Lights on our trip to Chena, I began to doubt I’d ever witness them in this life.

Though still I read about them, and talked with people in the know. And began, actually, to crack the code. I learned that a lake -- in a wooded area on the backside of our military base — was screened from city lights and had ideal viewing conditions. I got the weather and timing down. I made two late-night trips out to that place, called Six Mile Lake. And on one of those occasions got an amazing show!

Some nights later I took Doll, and we caught another great display.

After that we invited two of our senior missionaries — Sisters Garner and Rueckert — to join us. And caught a third great performance!

These photos are the best I could do with my iPhone, but they give an idea of what we saw: