Snowmobiling With Santa, Part I

Shadow tag at ten o’clock on a summer night. The shadows stretch fifty feet. There is no way to escape being stepped on by “IT.” This is childhood in Alaska—fun, wacky, and unforgettable.

I thought it was normal to come home from school and find a king crab wandering around the garage.
“Can we name him, Mom?” we’d ask.
“Yes, but don’t get too attached. He’s dinner.” And show-and-tell as it turned out. There is no cooler show-and-tell than a giant crab claw. Not even a lunch box full of skunk cabbage.

I thought everyone grew up panning for gold and finding little flecks of color, dreaming of striking it rich, just like in the glory days.

I thought all children wore bells around their necks to warn away the bears.

I thought the Easter Egg hunt on the Alaska State Ferry somewhere between Petersburg and Ketchikan was fun, but not particularly unusual.

I also thought everyone had an “end of the road.” With less than thirty miles of road in any direction from our house, we never got used to riding in a car. Every car trip “outside” Dad challenged us to stay awake and enjoy the scenery. By the time 30 minutes had passed, though, Dad was inevitably driving a car full of sleeping wife and kids.

I thought camping meant roughing it. Camping in the lower 48 was such a disappointment after the real life survivor challenge of camping in Alaska. One of my fondest memories is of the camping trip Dad and I took to Portland Island. Pup tent, sierra cup and dried apples were our only amenities. We were dropped on the beach and, when the boat pulled away, I knew we had to depend on our wits to survive. Never mind that the most dangerous wildlife we saw was a deer trail. Never mind that we were only there for two days. It was an only-in-Alaska trip and one of the experiences that shaped my life. Over the next week, I'll share few more.