A 24-Month Contract in Bush Alaska

A year after fleeing the Bay Area and the burst of the dot-com bubble, I signed a contract to spend two years in the Alaskan Bush. It’s where I learned what disruption really means.

Author’s Note: In the coming weeks, I’ll use this space to recount the years I spent in a fly-in village of 700 residents on the Yukon River. It’s where I met my wife, re-launched my career and learned a lot about a lot.

I’ll be expanding on this Kindle short I published a few years ago that people seem to think was too short.

But first, I’m going to keep with that tradition of not quite satisfying readers by kicking things off with this brief outline, which should also serve as a helpful reference down the road since I’m also often criticized for “jumping all over the place.” You’re welcome in advance.

A 24-Month Contract in Bush Alaska

Month 1: January, 2002 - Got off plane @ 11 a.m. Runway iced over. Dark. 35 degrees below zero. Oh, fuck.

Month 2: February, 2002 -
Have discovered the bar — all drinks three dollars, open until 5 a.m. Have also discovered single women just arrived for seasonal jobs @ local school who have also just discovered the bar.

Month 3: March, 2002 -
Irondog snowmobile race passes through village, interview some guy named Todd Palin. Nice dude.

Month 4: April, 2002 -
Awkward visit from ex who cries most of the time. Village holds seriously depressing conference on suicide prevention.

Month 5: May, 2002 -
Back to Lower 48 for friend’s wedding. Attend with ex. Discuss new people we’ve had kinky sex with, then have usual un-kinky sex. Have not seen each other since. Sunsets on Yukon at midnight.

Month 6: June, 2002 -
River breaks up, icebergs crowd banks, slowly float to Pacific. 24 hours of daylight. Salmon fishing replaces sleep. Stumbling out drunk to 2 a.m. sun, I understand Kerouac.

Month 7: July, 2002 -
Deliver Saturday morning newscasts still drunk. No one complains.

Month 8: August, 2002 -
Late summer rains. Get company truck stuck in mud in first attempt @ off-roading. Friend’s truck tries to pull us out. Also stuck. Local construction company pulls both out with tractor. Pay for service with 12-pack & marijuana procured from a minor.

Month 9: September, 2002 -
Daylight returns to equilibrium. School staff & other villagers return from lower 48, fish camps. Routines resume. Fly to Fairbanks, first break after 23 straight 60-hour work weeks. City traffic, sirens prompt first panic attack.

Month 10: October, 2002 -
Wake up on plywood floor in empty cabin of local woman I’ve been sleeping with. Hungover. Feel watched. Locals say place is haunted. Run out, leave wallet & memory of how I ended up on floor. Days growing dark, cold, snowy again.

Month 11: November, 2002 -
Start sleeping with friend’s wife after they reveal open marriage. Losing seven minutes of daylight each day. Thanksgiving @ work prepping on-air pledge drive. Boss’ wife sends Turkey. Boss’ wife seems sad & lonely.

Month 12: December, 2002 -
First 60-degree-below-zero day. Sun rises @ noon, skirts horizon two hours, sets. Drunk argument with haunted cabin woman @ bar. She leaves with another guy, drives off dike, rolls Volvo 3 times, walks back to bar, orders more drinks. Guy has mild concussion, history of brain injury. I drive him to the clinic. Nice dude.

Month 13: January, 2003 -
Northern lights almost every night meander more than dance; mostly green; rare red & purple most spectacular. Tell married couple I want out of their marriage. Husband calls @ work, begs me to keep sleeping with wife. Creeped out, but nobly agree.

Month 14: February, 2003 -
Travel downriver by snow machine to carnival in next village. Turns ugly after midnight; lots of cocaine. Man holding shotgun calls me “Fucking White Man.” Spend night in elementary school library, leave early.

Month 15: March, 2003 -
Iditarod passes through. Fly to Nome, rent snow machine to ride out to last race checkpoint. Take wrong turn, end up on frozen Norton Sound. Freak out, turn around, almost run over winning dog team. Interview musher later. He doesn’t recognize me.

Month 16: April, 2003 -
First time sleeping with woman who is my future wife. She’s heard rumors about me & open marriage couple. I deny, she believes me. I will remain in trouble for this for years, after we marry, after we move to New Mexico, after I write this.

Month 17: May, 2003 -
No more homesickness. Order wetsuit & jetski for summer river commuting.

Month 18: June, 2003 -
Write grant to keep me around several months beyond original contract. Record salmon fishing year, catch up to sixty in a run.

Month 19: July, 2003 -
Error in my radio reports on fishing season causes minor international incident. Canadian fisheries premier calls me “jackass” on voice mail. Confronted by U.S. Fish and Wildlife rep, uncontrollably weep in front of the man. Second panic attack.

Month 20: August, 2003 -
Boss in Anchorage hospital after heart attack. Left in charge of radio station. Take boss’ wife out for night @ bar with friends. Turns out she was sad and lonely. Unfortunately, she overcompensates a bit & has not been seen @ bar since.

Month 21: September, 2003 -
Moose hunting excursion bags only one… small porcupine. Future wife’s dog moves in with me.

Month 22: October, 2003 -
Tell boss my plans not to renew full-time contract @ end of the year, instead sign new part-time contract to finish grant project. Open marriage couple split up, the wife moves to Fairbanks to live with two other boyfriends.

Month 23: November, 2003 -
Haven’t delivered a newscast drunk for months.

Month 24: December, 2003 -
Trip to New York to meet Future Wife’s family. Pulse quickens among crush of humanity in tunnel somewhere under Port Authority. No panic attack. New Year’s eve in Brooklyn; am homesick for someplace colder, darker. Following week, Future Wife and I rent old fish camp cabin behind store together; start new contract.

Next: In the first proper installment of this Alaskan diary, I ignore basic chronology and start in the middle.