Mawage......

(Oh come on, you have to love a good reference to Princess Bride.......)

Things are going well down here below the arctic circle.

We get up, we go to work/school, we come home and leave for a sports practice or run errands or have a night at home.

Nothing out of the ordinary so far.

Except---there's someone missing.

It's an odd feeling I tell you and I'm sure many of you may be able to relate to it.

Sometimes, I'll just be doing the ordinary-daily-life things and BAM...this thought hits me outta no where.

Kirby is in Alaska.

Like, washing my hands and I look up in the mirror and BAM! There it is....Kirby is in Alaska.

Or driving the kids to school and after I drop them off, I stop at a stop sign and BAM! There it is...Kirby is in Alaska.

(Picture courtesy of Logan-can you tell how deep in thought I am?)

It's not a sad thought by any means. It's almost as if I have to remind myself where I am and how I got to this point and where the heck is my husband?!?!?!?!

Most times it makes me chuckle.  Like--what the heck just  happened to our routine. Talk about a curve ball.

Sometimes it makes me think about those couples that have been married for 40-50-60 years and then one passes away.  What is THAT like for the spouse still living? How do you spend that amount of time with someone and then suddenly they are gone....No wonder people pass away soon after their spouse dies.

Every night I look at Kirby's side of the closet and his clothes hanging there and they are still in the same order that he left them.  They are still his clothes. Sometime he'll come back and wear them again. Same with his shoes on the floor and his socks and boxers in our drawers.

Sometimes it feels like life is on pause but I know it's not because the seasons are changing and the weeks are progressing forward.

Sometimes I think our dogs love me more now that he's gone. I FINALLY get to be the Alpha.  (Just kidding Kirby-you will always be their Alpha)

All in all, there are no regrets. I enjoy the funny thought when it comes to me and I chuckle that I have to remind myself that Kirby isn't on some 3 day fishing trip.

I'm still proud of him. I'm excited to hear a
bout his new adventures--struggles and non-struggles. This experience will make him a stronger person, myself a stronger person and teach our kids that it's okay to step outside the box and go exploring.

Kirby is in Alaska.....

Snap back to reality.

On Monday I went upriver for the first time. I rode in a flat-bottomed jet boat called a Phantom… I mean, come on, how cool is that? I fished with a Dude, goes by the call sign “Warlock” – out of a boat called the Phantom. I caught a Kivalina Trout but that’s only what it’s known by from the locals. Technically it’s a Dolly Varden and I caught one – and rode in a Phantom Jet Boat with a guy named Warlock! Monday was good.

Saturday was better.

Yesterday, the Reverend took Jon and me upstream. The Reverend isn’t a cool nickname like “Warlock” it’s an occupation. For work Rev. Enoch Adams is the Episcopal Minister at one of the two village churches. For enjoyment, the Reverend is an outdoorsman and subsistence hunter birthed right from the tundra. Before being ordained, Enoch was actually a teacher at the school here in Kivalina. He attended the University of Virginia and came home every Christmas and in the summer. Now raising his own family as a man of the cloth, Enoch provides for them from the land.

I truly had an incredible day. I saw 800-1000 head of Caribou. It seemed everywhere we stopped the boat and climbed a small ridge to glass for caribou we found some. Off in the distance, caribou. On the next hill side, caribou. Around the 4^th bend in the river, Caribou. To the north by the wind tower, caribou. Groups ranging in size from 4 or 5 to hundreds. This wasn’t the time or place for a spot and stalk hunt. We were looking for animals within reasonable distance of the river or animals that might be moving towards the river. That proved to be the challenge.

Ptarmigan scurried around in the brush. Salmon were leaping out of the water as if their skin was on fire because of the water that they were swimming in. Only the air, not the water, could put the fire out. I caught my first Arctic Grayling and then caught a few more. Jon caught his first Dolly Varden and matched it with his first Grayling as well. Later in the evening, I caught a male late run Chum Salmon that weighed close to twenty pounds and while at the end of my line, he jumped like his skin was on fire.

As the evening wore to a close, we spent a couple of hours trying to wait out a herd of approximately 150-200 caribou as they grazed in a place called Tignaq. In Inupiaq, Tignaq means Big Bend – aptly named after the widest reaching bend in the Wulik River. When we first saw them, they were behind one of the hills in an area called “Two Hills”. I forget the Inupiaq word and couldn’t spell it correctly in the first place. Forgive me. We decided to give them a little space and headed a short way downstream to fish. Less than 10 minutes later, Enoch said we had to hurry back because he could see that the herd had moved.

They had cut the distance between them and the river in half. Now a large herd of caribou was about 400 yards away and inching their way towards us. Within minutes of us landing and scurrying up the north bank, a cow and a yearling came prancing in to about 75 yards, spotted Enoch and walked off. This appeared to be the Advance Party and in hindsight, if we could have avoided their detection, I might have a different story to tell. Anyway, with the Advanced Party making their way slowly north and rejoining the larger herd, Enoch, Jon and I belly crawled through some soggy Tundra and got to the edge of some three foot willows. From there we glassed the herd for almost an hour in hopes of a chance to harvest a few. While looking over the group and paying attention to their slightest movements, I noticed a grand daddy of a bull that easily stood out, even amongst the bigger bulls of his herd. This dude had palmated antlers that resembled a moose. His body was distinguishable with the naked eye and I wish I had had a chance. The shot never materialized and eventually the herd dashed off to a distance that they felt more comfortable at. I will never forgot that first sight of a herd of 200 large animals retreating to safer grounds…

With that my tank was refilled. I saw big game. I saw small game. I saw the beauty of the mountains from a different perspective. I had great conversation with Jon and Enoch and truly enjoyed my nine hours in the bush…

But tomorrow there’s work to do.

Ya see, there’s a weird feeling I get when sharing here in the Blogoshpere and on Social Media/Facebook… I want to keep people in the loop of what’s happening with me above the Arctic. I want them to enjoy the beauty of this vast place. I know that some are living vicariously through my travels and others just want to know I’m alive and well… my family needs photographic evidence.. and some just want to see how the beard is coming in…and so I share.

But what I haven’t shared with too many is that this place is tough.

Teaching here is not a walk in the park like it had become for me in Small Town Minnesota.

There are some serious challenges that no manual or workshop could ever prepare you for.

Because Bush Schools typically struggle to meet the high demands of Standardized Testing, we are under the watchful eye of our District and the State and therefor are responsible for an unfair amount of paperwork and an irrational review process.

My students are generally a grade level or two behind their Lower 48 peers.

The village dynamic is difficult to explain but equally challenging. I sometimes feel like I am in a third world country.

There is not running water in the homes of the children I serve.

There is drug and alcohol abuse in gravely disproportionate amounts.

Priorities for the villagers are sometimes different from what I’ve come to know.

And so on a Sunday night after experiencing a week of one of the most unique hunting and fishing opportunities of my life, I can’t help but feel like I’m “Paying the Piper.”

Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of good things that can and will come out of my teaching experience at McQueen School. I have built many solid relationships already. I am only trying to be open and honest enough with you fine folks that are following my mindless wanderings here on the Kirby Krew…

It’s not all Rainbows and Unicorns.

There is a bitter reality about this place.

But I accept that.

July 2015 - Chamisso Island.
At that point - no idea what Kivalina would have for me.

I go to Store.

The broken English that is spoken here in the village is a cross between phonemic minimalism and street slang, splattered with a hint of tribal dialect that takes some getting used to. Adults, children, the gainfully employed and the unemployed alike all speak this sporadic, yet somehow functional form of communication. Since our handlers at C3 started their endoctrinization of us and introduced us to the culture of the Inupiat People, we’ve been told to encourage complete sentences.  Two months in to the school year, I now know why.

They are a soft-spoken group. They use a lot of facial expressions to communicate. Raising of the eyebrows means “yes” and a scrunching of the nose means “no”. – you know, because to verbalize that is quite a commitment.  I joke.

Ask any kid what the highlight of his or her day is and the number one answer on the Rock inevitably is, “I go to Store.”

Short and to the point. Effective and honest.

The Native Store here is a thing of beauty. After their old one burned to the ground last December, it was replaced with a state of the art convenience store. It is a thing of beauty in this otherwise desolate village…and consequently, it is the center of their universe. (And a provider of Pop and Cheetos)

If you need to know anything - Go to Store.

If you need to find someone – Go to Store.

If you are just interested in the pulse of Kivalina – Go to Store.

And last weekend, Jon and I went separately to Store.

My trip was to secure my first purchase of a caffeinated beverage since getting here and swearing off soda. I have since dropped 11 pounds and decided to reward myself monthly.

Jon was out to make small talk and pick up a few groceries. What he left with was worth so much more.

One of the clerks at the store is named Rhonda and much like a bartender in the Lower 48, Rhonda knows a little about everything going on in town. And if you ever wanted someone on your side, Rhonda is your gal. Rhonda asked Jon if he had enjoyed any fishing or hunting lately. To which Jon replied that he hadn’t but was certainly willing to buy gas and interested in going at any point. Rhonda seemed surprised that neither Jon nor I had been invited and assured us that she would put the word out and make something happen.

…Fast forward to Monday at about 4:50 p.m….

The doors to the gym opened and Jon interrupted my volleyball practice by waving me over. He was dressed much like he was on our Saturday walk to the North Channel – a camouflaged coat, stocking cap, and a fishing pole sticking out of his backpack.  When I got there, I asked him if he was going for another walk. ”Even better” he replied.

“How soon can you be done with practice and ready to go fishing? Rhonda found someone to take us!”

We wrapped up volleyball maybe a few minutes earlier than planned and I ran back to Senior Housing and began to pack, dress and scarf down some chow for the slightest chance that what he had just told me might be true. I was going up river and on a real fishing trip in Alaska!!!

Jolene’s jet boat is a legend around here. It’s a flat bottom, Phantom with a 200 horse inboard Jet engine…. it is loud and AWESOME! The story goes that the first year she bought it, a couple of local schoolboys shot out the windshields with a BB Gun. I’m not sure I’ve seen a BBGun that could inflict the damage that her windows had but it certainly gave the vessel some character. Her friend Brenda was the unofficial tour guide and an excellent camp cook. Her SPAM and Dijon Mustard sandwiches were delightful. Warlock rounded out the trifecta that toted Jon and me about 3 miles off of the island of Kivalina and in to a dream like state.

Willard is his given name. Actually his father’s name too but people around here call him Warlock. He’s got your stereotypical Jack O' Lantern Eskimo smile but other than that he seems pretty harmless. With a call sign like Warlock, I’m not really interested in ever testing him out.

The winding Wulik River is shallow and constantly turning back on itself. I listened to the engine roar and although you couldn’t really see over the banks of the river, I enjoyed the sights. Jolene drove flawlessly and looked to Warlock from time to time for some navigational reassurance.

After a while of motoring upstream, we came to a bend where 3 other fishermen where dragging their seining nets across the river. Jolene immediately pulled to the far shore and shut down the Phantom. We politefully stood by and watched, unfortunately not long enough to see if their nets harvested any bounty.  And with a smile and a wave we were off again scrapping the rocky bottom effortlessly at each riffle.

Before long, Jolene looked back at Warlock and he pointed us to a sand bar on a shallow bend in the river. We got out and while Brenda worked her Ulu magic on the SPAM, we cast our lures in to the icy waters. No real luck there – although Jon did purposely snag a dying salmon just to say he caught something. I told him that one didn’t count and after about twenty minutes of fishing. Jolene and Warlock decided we should double back and find some deeper water. Their hunch paid off.

Brenda was the first to hook in to a trout. She was about a hundred yards downstream from me but I could see the splashing and tell from a distance that she had a sizable catch on her hands as she walked backwards up the bank and dragged the fish ashore. The tension was too much and her swivel actually straightened and sent the lure and the fish safely back in to the river. Brenda marked out a line in the sand and rocks and pointed me in the right direction.  Minutes later I was hooked up with my first Kivalina Trout.

It hit just like a Lake Trout in the BWCA. It swam just like a Lake Trout too! Its crazy spinning circles and the power of the river had me begging Jon for some help. He set his rod down and waded in to the water as I tried to play the fish within reach. The power on the other end of my line surged through the tip of my fishing pole and right in to my heart. I wish I could have seen the smile on my own face because at that point, I was revived. I was in a happy place.

And just like that, the hook came out and the fish took his leave of us. I didn’t cuss. I didn’t even skip a beat. I was happily in the presence of fish in the farthest northern reaches of Alaska. There was nothing to be sad or mad about and I let another cast fly.

I know that it wasn’t on the very next cast. And I doubt that it was the second one either but shortly after I caught and prematurely released my first trout, I hooked in to another one. This one was again easily identifiable as another trout. The silver streaks slashing in violent semi-circles gave it away real quickly that I had fooled another trout in to taking the bait but this one wasn’t able to put up as much of a fight as his bigger buddy. I called Jon off – deciding that I’d land this one myself.

Wrong…he spit the hook too.

Very next cast – I hooked in to a “Biggun”. The drag on my reel had a very different zing to it this time. I could see that this fish was going to take me for a ride. It ended up being a 10-minute or more ride and I’m not sure I ever gained an inch on him. When it finally came unhooked, I looked at Jon and laughed. I was tired, excited and satisfied and I hadn’t even beached a fish yet. Later when Jon landed his Chum Salmon, we deduced that must have what I hooked in to when I went for my long ride because his was much the same fight that he eventually won.

This fishing story of woe has a happy ending. I did eventually hook and land a beauty of a Dolly Varden. The locals all call them trout and they look and fight just like a Laker but the biologists and Brent insist that they are actually a member of the Char family and thus more appropriately called a Dolly Varden. I’m cool with that. It sounds way more exotic anyway.

3 hours out in a boat and on the shores of the Wulik River - The wind in my hair and the water rushing over my boots… a SPAM sandwich and a sunset.  My emotional tank was refilled on Monday evening and it all happened because….

Jon go to Store.

Jon's biggest fish to date. A female Chum Salmon - tossed it back
in to decay like the hundreds of other late run salmon.  

My Dolly Varden was enough to feed me, Jon and my chosen Elder -
Wild Bill Bajczyk.

Walkabout Charlie.

At C3 camp this year, the new teachers were able to have a shared cultural experience either Upriver on the Kobuk River for the teachers of inland villages or on the Coast in Buckland for those serving in the Coastal villages. Me, I was with the C3 Buckland crew because in case you haven’t heard by now, Kivalina is about as “Coastal” as you can be before becoming one with the Ocean.

At the Coastal C3 Buckland camp, us newbies grew close through the harvest of a reindeer and a spotted seal. We gathered firewood, did craftwork and played all sorts of made up games.  We shared smores and stories around the campfire. You could tell we were growing close because many people earned nicknames.  There was Kermit, Long Jon, Big Paul and Little Paul, Dirty Lyle, Krazy Kim from Wisconsin and Kodiak. But the best was our good buddy from Texas, Walkabout Charlie.

Good Ol’ Walkabout is a wise old man with the wind in his vanishing hair and a dream on his always turning mind. No rules to tie him down and few worries in the world. Our C3 handlers gave us very explicit instructions not to walk off on our own.

“Alaska is a BIG place.”

“You can get lost.”

“You are not armed and it’s not safe to be by yourself.”

Walkabout Charlie knows not of those limitations. Often he wandered from the rest of the herd and he always came back with a story to tell. Sometimes a little scratched up from the willows and the tundra. Sometimes a little dirty from a personal adventure but always looking like a renaissance man, with his sweater tied over his shoulders or a walking stick in hand.

I admired his courage and carefree attitude.

Last weekend I went on my own adventure in honor of Walkabout Charlie.

Long Jon and I were beginning to feel the constraints of an unexpected Kivalina Lockdown. I guess we both kind of expected that we would be included on a fishing trip or a caribou hunt by now. Word on the streets was that the caribou had come down off the Brooks Range and were on the move. The buzz of outboard motors every day was evidence that the locals were finding ways across the lagoon and across the channel.  They just weren’t interested in toting along a couple of white guys. It was beginning to look futile that I would have another shot at an Outdoor Alaskan Adventure until freeze up.  That weighed heavily on my mind every day.

So Friday, Jon Claude Van Damme and I decided that on Saturday we were going to take the Bull by the Horns and create our own excitement for the day. On Saturday we walked the length of Kivalina Island.

Reports had the measurements somewhere between 6 and 8 miles long and about 300 yards wide. Now that I’ve traversed the entire span of this island. I can confirm that it is much closer to 6 miles long. The GPS that I brought along, not for navigation, but more as a clock and a pedometer, logged us in at 5.23 miles from the clinic to the North Channel. Even though I feel like we’re somehow closer to satellites here and although I clicked that bad boy on shortly in to our trip, we weren’t being digitally tracked until the north end of the village. So unofficially, I’m sticking with 6 miles long.

Found a whale rib - Michele says I can't hang it in the Living Room. 

As far as width, that’s debatable too. I mean, I’m sure it may be 300 yards wide down here by the school, teacher housing and the store. But there are parts of this sliver of an island that are probably closer to a hundred yards wide than they are to three hundred. There were times on our walk that I could feel the ocean spray reaching my face but looking off my right shoulder, know that I was a solid shortstop to first throw from the lagoon. This is a skinny island.

Along the way, Long Jon Silver and I found a few trinkets. Jon spotted a nice skinning knife that had fallen out of someone’s sheath. I found an authentic left-handed mitten, pieced together from the hide and fur of some animal that is now only with us in spirit and hand comfort. Actually, I contemplated buying a pair of these Eskimos Mittens on my most recent trip to Kotzebue. The $250 price tag gave me indigestion. Finding a solo on the trail made my day!

After about a two hour walk, the two of us refueled with some light snacks and a good chug of H2O. We dug out our fishing gear and began chucking lures in the Chukchi Sea. The village was visible to our south but you couldn’t make out specifics. The Mountains that now seemed clearer and closer were our new friends while the mountains outside the village were out of focus. A few seals played in the North Channel much like their cousins do at the south point. It felt good to be out in the fresh air and just enjoying the day.

We left teacher housing at roughly 11:00am and returned at 5:00pm. Along the way Jon and I visited and other times just stepped out the miles. We meandered back and forth from the Lagoon to the Ocean side when the notion struck us. Never once was I bored. It was a perfect Saturday walk above the Arctic Circle.

Yours truly,

Walkabout Kirby

That's why they call it fishing and not catching.
Still loving every minute of it. 

"You're going to do what? Be the head Volleyball coach in Kivalina?"

For years my husband has 'hinted' that he would love to play volleyball with me.  Back when the kids were little, my weekly escape was playing in Adult Co-Ed leagues in Mora and Milaca with fellow- former volleyball players. It was fun, we were good and it got me out of the house.

Every time we were short a player for league night, my husband would casually mention that he was available to play that night.

I played in weekend tournaments and my husband would throw in that he wasn't doing anything that weekend either if they needed another player.

At the Gopher VB games, I'm pretty sure he was more excited to be there and watch than I was. Or it could have been the fact that we were watching highly skilled female athletes ranging in ages from 18-22 wearing tight spandex and in amazing, athletic shape.  Hmmm.....

A few weeks ago an email exchange turned into him possibly being the head volleyball coach in Kivalina.

I jokingly said, "And you were most qualified cause your wife played college volleyball?" lol

Then sure as sh*t, a few weeks later he's telling me he signed the contract and do I have any drills that I can share with him.

(Do you know how hard it is to explain drills via email? Seriously try it sometime--explain a drill to someone without pictures and x's and o's and lines/arrows)

I think he expects me to poke fun that's he's not your 'typical' volleyball player build and that he's not 'qualified' to be a volleyball coach.   He probably doesn't know the first thing about passing form or how to teach a 3 step approach or what the difference is between a 5-1 offense vs. 6-2 offense or a basic 4-2 offense.  He may not understand what a base defense is or how to change your rotation to place your best passers in the center of the court and make sure they aren't over lapping.  (See-there's way more to VB than just killing the ball)

But-I'm not going to poke fun. Well, not after that last paragraph at least.   I'm not going to poke fun because my husband is an excellent coach.  It doesn't matter what sport it is, he knows how to coach kids. And when I say kids, I mean 5-18 years old and up.    He's fun and playful with the young kids. He's fun and playful and demanding with the pre-teens. He's fun and tough and expects a helluva lot out of teenagers on and off the court/field.

I won't go in to much detail about his coaching but I have had an interesting point of view of it for the past 14 years. Being a coaches wife you see and hear everything. You see both sides of everything. You see the good years and you see the bad years but every year was a successful year.   Judge if you will from your point of view--but my husband is an excellent coach.

I am excited for him to get to coach a sport he loves to watch and has always wished he would be invited to play.  I am excited for those teenage kids to get to have a few hours of his energy and intelligence about what it means to compete. I am excited that he gets to leave his mark on kids in another state who will appreciate every.stinking.word.he.says. I'm excited that they will appreciate his toughness and his kindness. I'm excited that the parents there will be thankful that he's taking time out of his day to spend time with their kids. I'm excited that he's excited.

So, good luck Coach Kirby. Have a great season. I got you, Coach.

L
M

No “Road Rage” here.

I used to be pretty envious of Michele’s commute back in her CMJTS days.  She drove regularly on I35 down to Forest Lake. She had frequent trips to Monticello, and spent time in the Twin Cities often for training. I rarely left a 20-mile radius of Pine City. There were times that if I wanted to spice up my commute, I’d take Highway 61 instead of the 10 miles on I35 to Rush City. My world shrank to a pretty small bubble sometimes.

These days my daily commute is a crunchy, 25 yards or less. The nearest entrance to the school is so close to my trailer house that I have “ran home real quick” to grab something and been back in my classroom in less than 2 minutes.

But my commute for work does take me new places from time to time.

This week I got off the ROCK for the first time since school began 5 weeks ago. I got to fly to Kotzebue for a two-day coaches training. The workshop was useful and energizing.  Seeing good friends was refreshing. Seeing vehicles and stop signs, pavement and police cars reminded me of the world I once knew. But the thing that made me happiest was my time in the Air.

I love to Fly.

I have loved to fly for a long time. My time sitting along side Fuzz LePage when I was a little boy, flying above Lake of the Woods on Mail Runs to the Northwest Angle was the stuff that Dreams are made of.

And now that I am officially a coach – I can take to the winds again. My travel itinerary is set. In the next few months I will get to fly to the villages of Noatak, Deering, Noorvik and Buckland. I am excited with anticipation. No camera could ever do it justice. I’ll share a few obligatory pictures and tell you about the view someday over a campfire….until then ENJOY. It’s time for me to hit the rack for the night. I’m tired from my first day of coaching Volleyball.  (PS – I kinda thought my Volleyball Coaching News would be Open Game for a funny/sarcastic entry from my wife.)

No named river on the way to Noatak.
Flying at about 1500 ft. w/ a heavy cargo load. 

First trip to Red Dog Mine - Zinc & Lead mine.
World's largest producer of a Zinc concentrate.
(Big Bucks)

Banking a hard left out of Red Dog w/ snow on the mountain tops - right at your fingertips.
2nd flight with Elaine from Ravn Air.

Tundra between Red Dog and Kivalina.
(Scouting for Caribou)

Approaching KIVLs from the East. 

"Requesting permission to Buzz the Tower."