Alaska is thawing. The trees have taken on a red hue, a precursor to their eventual new-growth. Bears are awakening, moose are heading back to the hills, and people emerge from their homes. The mountains still boast a white curtain over their crests, and the forests still harbor patches of snow beneath them, but it is surely going to fade away. Even as I type this, the temperature soars. Recently the Anchorage bowl experienced temperatures in the mid-fifties. While that may not be entirely welcoming for some of our warm-blooded readers, for an Alaskan this is a wonderful sign of shorts and tee-shirts to come. Soon the bottom of our lakes will be unfrozen, the hills will be devoid of ice, and the maroon tips of trees will have turned a lush green. Continue reading
Tag Archives: summer
Summer Adventures in Alaska
I need to get out and do more this summer. I have lived in Alaska the majority of my life and I haven’t been on a day cruise, or even been farther north than Fairbanks. I went snow machining once, but that scared the death out of me so I figure doing the really adventurous things isn’t for me. Sure, it’s almost a rite of passage to go up Arctic Valley in the winter and sled down the mile long hill, but that’s not a real thrill unless you’re some of the first kids down after fresh snow. I hiked up a mountain in middle school, but it was a field trip and every kid who went to school there was given the opportunity to do it. Still, none of it was terribly exciting.
This summer I plan on making the most of the 20 hours of daylight. I only live once right? We all make promises to ourselves; only a few of them are realistic to keep. I think that vowing to hike in Denali National Park, or even going on an Alaskan cruise is easily fulfilled. I will commit myself to experiencing Alaska in new ways, ways that I should have seen my home years ago. Be it taking the Alaska Railroad to Fairbanks, or going to the Seward Sea Life Center, I will have an adventure this summer.
Will you?
Relaxing in Talkeetna
I desperately needed a vacation, my husband agreed. We both grew up in the Anchorage 
area, and knew every little bit of the town. We decided that we would take a few days off and get out of the city. We made reservations at the Talkeetna Alaskan Lodge, a mellow drive past Houston on the Parks Highway.
Seeing as how we both knew Alaska pretty well, we figured Talkeetna would be just another small town out in the woods. How wrong we were. When we pulled into the town to get our bearings before trying to find the lodge, we were hit immediately with the sheer life of the town. Cottages littered the roadside, and the smell of cooking food wafted through the trucks open windows. I told Garth we just had to stop. He groaned knowing I was going to spend money at the abundant shops, but he soon succumbed to the town’s charm. Stained glass wind chimes, carved ivory, chocolate, and lots of handmade products were of abundance. Most, if not all as far as I could tell, was locally made and you could see the pride in the craftsman’s faces. I had only gotten as far as the woodcarvings before my husband reminded me that we had to check in before midnight. (In my defense, no matter how long you live here, the long summer days never escape you.)
As we took the road into the lodge I was caught by the sent of that true Alaskan wilderness. The sky was still blue, and Denali would have been visible if not for the curtain of trees that surrounded our little vehicle. We checked into our room, opting for the Mountain View room so we could admire Denali in all her wonder. (We rarely see her from Anchorage, but it’s not unheard of.) While we settled into the room it occurred to me that we were only two hours from home. That’s it, just two hours. It was easily the most relaxing vacation I’ve ever had. We did a little light fishing in the area, and we let the long days melt away all our tension from the bustling city just across the inlet.
-Marcy & Garth Medaughs
Alaskan Seasons
Hoarfrost on tree branch
As the winter wanes and the days get longer, Alaska undergoes a transformation. Moose appear in abundance just before the snows disappear, to raise their young. Willows begin to bud, their downy blooms shimmering with new growth. Bears emerge, ready for the salmon
runs. Parts of the state burst into life at different times, turning to green over the course of just a week. Aspen clap their silvery leaves in joy of the children of spring. Rivers, lakes, and the abundant streams return to life, trickling through the mountains, bringing new growth. The seeds that lay dormant all winter begin to take root, and wild flowers poke their fresh heads from the soft soil.
While all this is taking place the people of The Last Frontier begin to exchange snow blowers and snow machines for lawn mowers and four-wheelers. Summer rages on, the sun stays ever longer, lingering on the horizon late into the night. Boats come out of hibernation and poles expand for the fishing season. Hundreds of RV’s and campers bustle their way down the highways to new and refreshing destinations, taking their drivers to new experiences and adventures. Salmon of all types come in from the ocean to make their way back to their home streams. The bears get fat on the fish thick enough to walk across their ruby and emerald backs. Eagles soar overhead, heading back north to nest and feed on the abundant salmon.
The foliage of birch and willow begin to loose their lush greens and succumb to the light frosts that signal the beginning of autumn. Vibrant yellows and oranges overcome the landscape, brightening the hills. The fiery colors fade slowly to rich browns until one day the wind picks up just enough to wipe the trees clean. Shortly after the moose return back to their hills with their young, who now stand as taller than a man. The summer birds return south, geese in the thousands ‘v’ across the sky headed for warmer weather. Magpies take their place, as well as ravens returning south from the fish runs. Soon the first snows fall and the bears return to their dens, fat from a rich summer feast.
Winter descends, and the land suddenly softens. Millions of sparkling facets litter the hills. A slow, creeping fog lays over the land near the waters that are beginning to slow to a trickle. When the fog rises a new beauty burdens the forest. Hoarfrost has settled, encasing the branches in a glittering wrap. The woods bend with new weight, arching over roads and trails. Ever so slowly the weight lifts, and spring is upon us once again.
Picture courtesy of: Kansas State University
