Looking for Alaska (10 page)

Living in Alaska means you are far away from big bunches of stuff that are usually instantly available. If you want to stay in Alaska, you figure out how to get the stuff you need whether it be the stuff to survive, stuff to entertain yourself, or stuff to feed your pet eel. Seward has some stores: a True Value; a couple auto parts stores; a couple places to get groceries, Eagle and Big Bear. There's a guy who sells some computer stuff; there are a few places to get gas. There's Terry, who does tires. When there is road construction, as now, the sharp shale rocks cut up your tires almost as bad as malicious slashers. There are several restaurants, the ones that are open for the tourist season and the ones that stay open year-round. Red's, in an old school bus, serves the best burgers in town; he opens in time for the tourists, although he's one of the locals' favorites.

In Alaska the top of the stuff chain is Anchorage, and Seward is only 125 miles from it—just around the block, as Alaska goes. We have to drive through Moose Pass to get there. Moose Pass is stuff-needy, and that's how most Moose Passians like it. They didn't move to “the Pass” to shop. There is one person in Moose Pass—other than the little general store—who has some things for sale. On nice days she puts a stuffed bear in her yard. The thing that elevates Moose Pass far above Tshayagagamut or Hydaburg or Adak or Deering on the stuff chain is that residents can drive from Moose Pass someplace bigger to buy things. Being able to drive somewhere else is a really big deal in Alaska. Many Alaskans cannot drive away from where they live. It's impossible. How shocking this must be to millions of Americans who stay in their cars to eat, bank, read, conduct business, have family time, apply makeup, find peace and quiet.

To keep from driving the 250-mile round-trip to Anchorage for necessities, there is the Seward Bus Line. If you need a rebuilt starter for your 1992, F-150, six-cylinder Ford pickup and can't find it in Seward, you can pay the bus driver a small fee, $10 for anything under ten pounds, and he will pick it up for you in Anchorage on that day's trip. Call by 1
P.M
. and Shirley Seavey can call the driver and what you need can be back in Seward by 5
P.M
. For most of the rest of Alaska, that kind of convenience would be considered living life easy. (If you need a tuxedo for Seward's high school prom, call Shirley, they pick up bunches of tuxedos.)

Need a difficult prescription, but it snowed eighteen inches last night and there are avalanche worries? Call Shirley. Maybe the bus will get through. Need a couple rare bolts without which the motor for your halibut fishing boat will not run and you must be fishing tomorrow? Call Shirley. Need a new washer and dryer, a set of studded tires? Call 224-3608. It rings at the bus lines' office, and at their home too. Alaskans are informal. You might hear the Seavey grandchildren in the background, or the phone may slide off the kitchen table and disconnect. Just call back. One guy in town had them pick up goldfish every week to feed his huge pet eel. If that hard-to-find toy just arrived at Toys “R” Us in Anchorage three days before Christmas, and your son Travis has to have it, no problem. Call Santa Seavey.

Like every other place, there is the public Seward and the private Seward. Small-town people know so much more about each other than in cities. One big difference in small-town Seward is you get to read about the private Seward in the paper every week. It's called “The Police Log.” Walk down the snow-covered street naked, beat up your boyfriend, steal a bowling ball and bowl for pedestrians down a city sidewalk and someone calls the police for help, it's in the paper. Steal $1.57 in gas from the gas station and the thin, dirty-blond attendant, originally from Maine, calls the police, you are nailed. Seward is the kind of place that takes stealing less than $2 seriously. How wonderful. Become obsessed with your neighbor's barking dogs, especially in the winter when the speck in your eye can become a mountain range, and call the police, boom, you and your neighbor have gone public. You and your two friends lift up your blouses to expose your own little mountain range on the main bridge coming into town and someone calls, you're in “The Police Log.” Call 911 about a bear in your unprotected garbage (bad, bad, bad) and it will be in the log, too, your name included.

Sometimes “The Police Log” says, “Journal page missing.” There is endless speculation about this. Did one of the policemen do something? Did one of the town's brightest stars get pulled over for the D-thing? Fortunately, for those of us who love to read it—until we're in it, of course—there aren't many “Journal page missing” entries. My appearance certainly did not come up missing.

Citizens read and sometimes fret over typical small-town newspaper headlines in the
Seward Phoenix Log:
“Local Property Taxes Up.” “Sewardites Divided between Burners, Preservers.” “Smith Skis Her Way to World Junior Championship, U.S. Ski Team.” There are ads too, of course. “Shoreside Petroleum, Inc. Serving you with Heating Fuels. Marine Fuels. Propane Gas. Welding Gases. Serving Seward, Whittier and Valdez.” There are notices of public hearings, such as one last winter that said, “Changes in Documentation in Order to Receive a Housing Preference from Domestic Violence.”

If every town and city ran a police log, it would be a great way to learn about what really goes on, in case you were thinking of moving in or sending your son to college there. What if the
Washington Post
had its own police log, a composite of all calls and action taken by law enforcement? What if one section of this log was just for politicians, lawyers, lobbyists, and their family members? There would be so many “Journal page missing” entries there would be almost nothing printed. Imagine if New Orleans had “The Police Log”; or New York City; Selawik, Alaska; Westerville, Ohio; Austin, Texas. But they don't, and Seward does.

“The Police Log” begins with an editor's note: “All charges brought against individuals listed below will be argued before a judge or magistrate. Individuals are presumed innocent until proven guilty in court proceedings. Entries are unverified police reports as they are written in the dispatcher's journals.” You get your Seward community character details with entries like these, “1:55
P.M
. Report of loud music on Alder Street; advised to turn it down.” Notice that was
P.M
., not
A.M
. Seward is a community where many people value their personal sound-zone and where you can get something done about the invasion of it. “6:55
A.M
. Caller dialed 911 and was asked to call back on the business line to report he had ridden in a taxi that had no seat belts in the back. He did not wish to make a formal complaint.” Seward cabs have less need for seat belts than taxis in New York City.

The good humans of Seward have an abundance of wild animals as neighbors. “9:13
A.M
. Report of a baby moose shaking and shivering on a river sandbar about 2.3 miles past blacktop on Exit Glacier Road. Fish/Wildlife Protection Officer advised.” This call is just one example of the many observant and compassionate Seward animal lovers. After all, if the mother moose was gone, that baby moose could be killed by brown bears right in town. A local man was mauled by a brown bear at the edge of town, across from the infamous Pit Bar, in 1998. “10:51
A.M
. Caller advised a black bear climbed onto his deck and was trying to push on the window to get in. Bear gone on officer's arrival.” Proof that Seward's got black bears who know enough to split when the cops are coming.

“7:31
P.M
. 911 call that two people on Mount Marathon [the mountain behind Seward where the famous up-and-down-the-mountain race takes place] were being chased by a bear; ambulance put on standby. Trooper found the people were hiking with a black dog.” A tourist probably made that 911 call. “2:31
P.M
. Horse running loose on the airport runway.” Local pilots have dodged bigger obstacles in the runway than horses, such as bull moose in the rut, which are stupid like all males ready to breed. Fortunately there are not many horses in Seward. “5:01
P.M
. Advised a porcupine in a tree the past couple of days; it tangled with dog who now owns some of the quills. Requested advice on how to get porcupine out of their yard.” Police dispatchers in Seward become experts on porcupine behavior. “8:28
P.M
. Advised there was a Steller's sea lion on B-float dock that looks sick; Sea Life Center will send someone to check.” Most Seward people are concerned about the health of their nonhuman neighbors, unless they can be eaten. And then they are still concerned about them until the moment they can be harvested. You cannot eat Steller's sea lions; they are on the endangered species list. “8:32
P.M
. Advised a sea otter at the culvert with a yellow tag on its flipper was sick and you could see its ribs; FWP officer contacted.” Sea otters are on the list too. “9:29
P.M
. Report of a fat porcupine on the front porch shooting quills at the door.” Seward may have some overweight porcupines; Seward porcupines do not, however, shoot quills at your door. Caller may have been prone to exaggerate or just close to prone.

Seward has eight churches and one small hospital. Surely this man was not a local pastor or one of our beloved doctors: “7:45
A.M
. Advised of a man in green surgical scrubs, surgical gloves, staggering along the road by Napa, carrying the Bible.”

The area around Seward can be dangerous. “2:08
A.M
. Earthquake, magnitude 6.8, near New Britain. No tsunami or damages reported. May be some sea level fluctuations.” It shook so hard it woke us up. In 1964, Seward was almost wiped off the face of the earth by a severe earthquake and the resulting tsunami. I wonder what the man carrying the Bible thought of the earthquake?

Local and visiting boaters see and report all kinds of possibly life-threatening events: sinkings, “man overboard,” fires. “3:17
P.M
. Boater reported a hang glider out of control and heading toward the sea. Coast Guard cutter Mustang advised.” Eight minutes later, another call. “3:25
P.M
. Same caller advised the hang glider was a kite; no one is in danger.”

Seward is a major sport and commercial fishing port. Resurrection Bay has one of the world's best silver salmon runs. Icicle Seafoods and others process huge amounts of halibut, salmon, and black cod. Plenty of fishing-related calls are recorded in “The Police Log.” “12:20
A.M
. Male removed from Yukon Bar, told not to go into any more bars tonight and go home. Dispute over a fishing pole.” Does this mean the guy was bringing his favorite brand rod and reel into the bars and picking fights with other patrons over what was the best brand, or did someone try to steal his pole?

“8:17
P.M
. Advised of people shooting fish in the ‘Y' where Bear Creek and Salmon Creek come together.” Obviously these weren't the same people at Yukon Bar fighting over the fishing pole, unless they were arguing the merits of shooting a fish with a gun, which is totally illegal. It was physically impossible for them to be shooting fish in the water from the Yukon Bar, the water's too far away from Main Street. Speaking of fishing, some of the best fish catchers around Seward are the bald eagles. They congregate around town in winter—I've seen seven on the top of one telephone pole crosspiece. But sometimes even our national bird is falsely accused in “The Police Log.” “9:25
A.M
. Two subjects advised eagles on Nash Road were eating what appeared to be a human; later revealed to be discarded parts of a small black bear.”

Me, Rita, Brooke, Jody, Luke, Aaron, Julianne, and Jed after one of our salmon fishing trips in Seward.
P
HOTO BY
P
ETER
J
ENKINS

During salmon season (when the salmon are in and entering the creeks that flow into the bay) people around Seward fish day and night. There are so many silver salmon at times that everywhere you look they are jumping out of the water. I've seen hundreds of people snagging them with a treble hook; the locals call it meat fishing. Good snaggers can catch over fifty pounds of ocean-fresh silver salmon in an hour and a half. One guy trying to meat fish made “The Police Log.” “1:25
A.M
. Warning issued to male for endangering the welfare of a child following report of male fishing in the surf at the waterfall with an infant in a backpack.”

I got nailed for sport fishing with the wrong license. One June morning after I'd been in Alaska a month or so, I rushed down to the bait and fishing supply place, the Fish House, right across from the docks. I was going out on a charter, it was six something in the morning; I was still not used to the almost perpetual daylight and wasn't sleeping well. That night I'd gotten about three hours of sleep. I was rushing to buy my license. Eight or ten people were hovering around the counter doing the same, I was about to miss my boat. The teenager asked me my address; I gave her 1907 Dora Way, Seward, the address of the house we were renting. She wrote down my Alaska phone number, I told her I wanted a yearlong license. I paid what she asked for. Turned out she sold me a resident license, but I was no resident. To be one I would have had to be living in Alaska already for a year.