The sun is back. Or rather, the sun is higher up in the sky. In this part of Alaska the sun never fully disappears in winter, but for a few months it stays low, popping just above the horizon and then sidling to the right before dropping out of sight again. As humans, we rely on the sun to make us Feel Things: energy, hope, the will to live. When the sun is below a certain angle, it doesn’t hit our eyeballs in quite the right way and it cannot perform these essential duties. After months of this, people start a collective slide towards darkness in a spiritual sense- February vibes in Alaska are pretty rough- just walking around the grocery store with the other pale humans with their hundred-yard stares, all of us looking like we got dressed in the dark, pushing our squeaky carts down the aisles of overpriced groceries (nine dollars for tamari! Five dollars for a bag of chips!) gives one the sense that the wheels are coming off. But then, March happens. March in Alaska in like being pulled up from the bottom of the ocean- the sun is higher, and the snow is still here so the world becomes not only bright but almost blinding. It is, very quickly, a lot. My friend Matthew has told me countless times that “March is the best month in Alaska”. Sunny, not too cold (but not warm enough for the snow to melt yet), perfect skiing conditions. “It’s like this every day,” he tells me when I run into him on the coastal trail, walking my dogs past Westchester lagoon, where the city is throwing an ice skating party, complete with hot cocoa, burn barrels and a DJ. I tell him that I’m going to start calling it “Matthew’s Promise”.
“It’s Matthew’s Promise,” I’ll say, sweeping my arm across the scene, as another blindingly perfect twenty-degree day dawns in south-central Alaska. I also call this time of year mania season. Everyone is feeling it, even the dogs. I love it, but I also hate it. The cozy, hunker-down part of winter is over. We’re raw-dogging sunlight now, hurtling full speed towards 24 hours of light. My nervous system goes from lowkey offline to “wow this is a lot”. Overall though, I’m happy about it. I’m happy to have made it through another winter in this great experiment to see if I can make Alaska my long-term home as an adult. I really like living here. It’s endlessly interesting, challenging, and deeply humbling. In the lower 48 I feel like some sort of freak for how much time I spend in the outdoors. In Alaska, I register as “barely competent” on the scale of outdoor abilities. Yes, I can walk through the wilderness. But I’m only just learning how to do all seventeen different types of skiing. I’ve never ridden a snowmachine, built a log cabin, driven a dog team or changed my alternator on the side of the road in 30 below weather. I spend my winters in the city, where there are always fresh vegetables. I don’t own a fatbike, and I dislike packrafting except as a means to an end. Last summer was my first time mass-slaughtering salmon. I can just barely drive a skiff or field dress a caribou. I’ve never caught a rabbit in a snare trap and my berry-picking game is mediocre at best. My tolerance for hiking in cold rain is low, as is my patience for scraping hides. I can’t repair a boat motor or mend a net. Essentially, living here means that I’ll never run out of things to learn. It’s fun! I also really like being bad at stuff. This is a great place to be bad at lots of stuff.
That’s all for now!
-Carrot