Chapter VII - Alaska Winter Part 2

CHAPTER VII

Alaska Winter, Part 2

(May 2022)

Think of a wrestling match between a tough guy and a weakling. Where the tough guy could crush weakling at his whim. But he toys with him, and lets the fight go on. Until at last, out of boredom, the tough guy stands up, smiles, and walks away. Leaving the weakling to wonder who just won.

That’s Alaska basically. Winter being the tough guy. And mankind the weakling. With storms, avalanches and frigid cold, Tough Guy Winter halts planes, trains, and anything he wants— for as long as he wants. While Weakling Man can only struggle to hang in there. Or so it all seemed to me. As winter repeatedly shut my route to skiing along the Seward Highway.

And as ice storms knocked out power to nearby Palmer and Wasilla so that temple workers from that area were stuck at home, missing shifts and trying to recover for over two weeks.

One couple of temple workers slid off the road to their home, and rolled a few times down the mountainside. Fortunately, deep snow (and perhaps angels?) softened their landing. And they weren’t injured.

It was like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, when an avalanche buried a highway in the Arctic Valley Ward we attend. And a chunk of our membership was cut off from humanity for eleven days, before road crews could reopen the road.

Around town plow trucks gave it their best. But were little match for the snows. Some of the better streets managed to look like this — partly cleared, then rutted by car tires. With everyone driving in the ruts and ignoring the buried road markings.

But most roads got packed. Then packed some more. Until you were driving over several inches of the hard pack.

The snow pack wasn’t bad really. Every autumn our mission mounts studded tires on all its cars —all of which are AWD. And most other vehicles on road are likewise AWD. It’s conditions beyond mere snow that get dicier. Like the gales of frozen spray that sometimes reduce visibility to zero.

And it’s not great when the snowpack melts and turns to ice. As here at our ward parking lot. (Around here, “Sunday best” for many people includes crampons and metal cleats. Seriously.)

Though actually winter driving mostly looks like this, under the long hours of darkness.

And if Alaska Winter is a tough guy. He’s a quirky one as well. Where else do you chainsaw your icicles? As here, outside our apartment window.

Where else must you shovel your gazebo?

Where else do you find these harbingers of frigid cold (plug-in boxes for car heaters) beside your parking stalls?

Across the nation costumed kids wander neighborhoods at Halloween. But in Alaska the moose that come next. Going door to door in search of treats. As in these pictures I took on base.

One Sunday morning we arrived at Church. To find a cow moose waiting outside the front door. And her nearly-adult calf lying next to her. Sadly, their spiritual commitment waned. And they wandered off without attending our meetings.

Nor, as far as I know, did they pay tithing nor fast offerings. Though they did leave the Church a few deposits like these. (If ever you’ve wondered what moose nuggets look like.)

Man’s struggle with winter included dump trucks like this. Hauling the snow from places it had buried.

In Alaska snow, in its countless forms, acquires names not heard elsewhere. The great mounds from clearing roads and parking lots are, for example, called “berms.”

Most places winter winds down. Snow, if you’ve had any, melts. And then it’s spring. Alaska is not so simple. Before you get to spring — which lasts about a week and is hard to distinguish from the mostly cool summer — you have Breakout Season. Thought by many to be the roughest time of year. When the avalanche danger is greatest. When the snow and icicles go crashing from rooftops. And when the mad fracture of thawing ice can rip out the underbelly of a car. Or swallow it completely.