A journalist observes life in the far north.
Our first night back on Murphy Dome compared unfavorably with our time at the Fireweed Station in Talkeetna. No food in the fridge. No hot water. The house was in a shambles. Real life is a bitter pill to swallow after staying in a cozy inn where you wake up and the coffee is made and the table adorned with berries, granola and croissants.
Today, my task is to make this place livable and to do something about the clutter, which caused Alec to have a melt down last night. Anybody need a crib? Our baby doesn’t use hers and it’s just taking up space.
The stories about Al’s time on Denali are still coming out. I wish I could have spent more time with the Snow Dogs. I love hearing about Ramin and his wicked sense of humor, Chris with his southern charm and Shahid’s mishaps. One of my favorite stories involves Alec calling out to Mike as they crossed a particularly hairy ledge and Mike saying, “Don’t talk to me right now.”
Jade is playing on the floor, singing along to “Desparado” as I write this. I had better get back to work. I’ll post some pictures from The 12th annual Bob O’ Que, which took place Sunday, in the next few days.