notes and comments

so, yes, I am very lazy sometimes. which is why I havn’t posted in a week. so there are also some stories piled up. first off, fourth of july…

because wednesday’s are the biggest days for all of the tours and guide offices here in haines, it was out of the question that any of us would be having any sort of holiday this fourth, as it fell on a wednesday. The cruise set has no respect, apparently. Any how, so my chances at holiday celebrations didn’t materialize until after I had been at work for ten hours, and got back at about 7:30 pm that night. Byrne was going to the party held by his co-workers (a subtle distinction:I work for Chilkat Cruises and Tours, Byrne works for Chilkat Guides) and I tagged a long. There was a mass of people down by the docks,with kegs and salmon and all sorts of food to be had. To understand this situation you have to keep in mind two things: one is that it is raining and very cloudy. This perturbs no one. The second is to understand the drinking habits of Haines, Alaska. Haines has the highest percentage of consumption of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer any where. Full stop. Now, if you are like me at all, the first thing you think of when you hear Pabst Blue Ribbon is Ed Hopper in Blue Velvet. I didn’t realize any one actually still drank the stuff, besides deranged ahsmatic psycho rapists. Well, it turns out this town does. So everyone is standing out in the rain, drinking great quantities of PBR, and setting off fireworks. This is a situation where it is better to be sober than not, because you can’t pay for this kind of entertainment. The best part being the trio of shifty young men trying to set off a potato gun on the beach. Everytime the police would come by, bleating that fireworks weren’t allowed (an exercise in pointlessness) they would quick hide it in the grass, looking innocent. Apparently, the engineering behind a potato gun had proved too much for these enterprising fellows, and they gave up fairly quickly. But, what to do now? Well, there are plenty of aersol cans containing hairspray and engine starter around, and we have lighters, so…
Well, there is nothing quite like a crowd of drunken Alaskan’s all armed with blow torches, hooping and hollering. Byrne and I kept moving around, trying to make sure we weren’t behind any of them. People were writing their name in flames on the sidewalk, people where singeing eachother’s backsides, there was a dog who took particluar interest in fireworks and kept running towards any hint of fire and explosion. It was a pyro maniacs convention gone intoxicated. It was also the most forthwright expression of American freedom and values a good patriot could have hoped for.

This also lead me to dream that I was setting people on fire in a major airport. I was struck with deep remorse, and was going to turn myself in, right before I woke up. Nice to know my moral sense is still active in the subconscious.

The other recent surreal experience was TAM class. For my job at Mountain Market, I need to be have certification to sell the booze. This meant I had to go to the Techniques of Alchohol Management class. This was held at the American Legion building on Monday. My first problem was that I unthinkingly put on a German military shirt before going, which lead to me sitting very uncomfortably surrounded by militaristic Americana. But truly, the class was like something out of John Waters film. The woman who taught the class had projection that would make me weep if I had it in an actress, and elongated all of her words into small arias of nasal vocalization. The cross section of people there was also fascinating, including the people from whom you had the impression that they didn’t have any place better to be. They insisted on regaling us all with tales from the alchohol business, which were long and pointless. There was the fellow across from me who had recently fallen off his motercycle and sat there picking the largest scab I have ever seen. Happily, I got my card, and am now a certified member of the alchohol selling community. Oh, and it tastes good.

Must be at work soon, so I’m off to another rainy day on the lake. Don’t drink and play with fire.

Well… here is how things work in the world of getting a job in Alaska…
As with most places, what really counts is who you know, but this is taken to whole new heights in Haines. Knowing Byrne definitely gives me an in, considering he has been here for about ten years and is something of an oddity to people (not many people around here cinephiles and puppet enthusiasts). So, people know him. This helped me secure my first job, working at Mountain Market, or rather, Mountain Spirits. Mountain Market is a combination of deli, coffee shop, organic and health food store, with a liqueur store attached. I, principally, work at the liqueur store. This means telling people what wines they should buy and staring longingly at the belgian beers. We easily have the best selection of alchohol in town, which is nice, since I get a ten percent discount.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. The first day I was in Haines, Byrne took me by Mountain Market, knowing they were looking for extra help. I spoke to Mike, the manager, who gave me an application, which I dutifully filled out and handed back in. He called me a few days later, asking me to come in for an “interview.” I came by, went up to the office, sat down, prepared to be vetted, and he handed me a schedule. I had the job when I walked in. So this clued me in a bit, too how things worked. There wasn’t a lot of scrutinizing of character, or consultation of references. If you could spell your name, you were in the running. Also, things tend to get done without a lot of ceremony, or warning.

My Mountain Market experience would pale in comparison to my job with a tour place here in town. There was an ad in the paper looking for kayak guides. I figured I had some experience, rafted a few times and enjoyed the water. I might as well try it out. I went out, filled out an application, quite honest about how limited my experience was and how I had no certifications what so ever, but was enthusiastic, and could smile. A few days later, I receive a call, asking me to come in for a uniary analysis. Apparently, to ensure that I was not a junkie of some sort, or that I didn’t eat poppie seed muffins. After providing my sample, I had to sign some paperwork, and the secretary said, “oh, well, you may as well sign the rest of your paperwork too” and proceeded to hand me a W4 form and an employee hand book and employee guidlines to sign. Apparently, the urine test was not a prerequisite, but the only thing standing in the way of my duties as a kayak guide. I asked her when I would hear from them, and was told some time next week.

I don’t here from them sometime next week. I go by the office, wondering whats up, only to be told they are waiting for my test results, and that they will call. I get no call. finally, today, I go by, again, to find out whether or not they have decided to hire me. The man looks up and says “we have been trying to call you for days…” and this is where my mother comes in.

You see, my mother is prone to being scatterbrained, and to make a long story short, I had sent out an email giving friends and family my contact information. My mother calls me a few days later, telling me I have transposed the last two digits of the phone number, and that she only reached me by transposing them herself. I assume I have made a mistake, and immediatly send a correction email and even go by the places I have sent an application too and give them the allegedly correct number. This proves problematic. My mother had transposed the numbers herself, and then retransposed them to get ahold of me, telling me that I had done it all myself.

So, now that I am standing there in front of the kayak guide, who has been frusterated in his efforts to contact me and was about to hire someone else, I ask what the plan is. He tells me to be there next morning at eight o’clock. I ask about training. “You’ve kayaked before, right?” “Well… yes, but not in this area.” “Just follow the other guides.” “Gear?” “you know, kayak stuff” he says vaguely as he motions his hands as if to indicate that I ought to be clothed in some fashion. This is not helpful.

In the end, Byrne took me around, showing me what to get (I am now in the possession of $230 dollars worth of kayaking equipment, including personal life vest.) and will start work tomorow, as a guide, never having kayaked in Alaska in my life, and not having kayaked period in over three years.

I’m really not sure whats going to happen.

in picking up where i left off, let me say something about the house i’m living in. haines itself is divided into haines proper and fort seward, which is where byrne lives. fort seward is built up around the bay, kind of a greek theatre shape around the boat docks. byrne lives about a hundred feet from the water, in a house designed as a traditional, native dwelling. its essentialy a long room with a curved roof, the outside painted red, and surrounded by pine trees, with a few vegetable beds and a bit of a yard in the back, that tends to be overgrown, but isn’t now because i just mowed.

the first thing you notice when you enter is the smell of earth, and herbs. the entry way into the house is cluttered with boots, skis, a table covered in things found in the world which could be put to use. byrne has several herbs growing there, the only place you could try and grow herbs with alaska’s weather.

after pulling aside the blanket, you get into the rest of the house. as i said, the house is a long room, but because its been divided up, its a long hall. the fron area opens up to the kitchen and dining room on the right and the living room, television, cd and record player on the left. ahead of you is the lp and cd library, with his 8000 lp collection on the right and 3000 cd collection on the left. finding things requires learning some esoteric secrets about byrne’s filing system. to the left of the living room is the film library and behind the dining room is the library. this all sounds very expansive, but isn’t, everything has been done with an eye to maximizing space. the library in particular is a space of narrow, tight shelves.

at the end of the hallway lined with cd’s and lp’s, there is a door. i live on the other side of it, in the back part of the house. this is mostly divided up into rooms for when people come to stay. my room has to beds, a sort of ramshackle dresser, a few drawings and a large, bulbous headed puppet face made out of rags set up on a wire frame. at first i thought it was a paunchy ghost, but byrne told me its designer called it the couch potato, so now it reminds me to get going on my day.

well, we are out of propane, so an elaborate breakfast of spicy fried noodles and black coffee is sadly out of the question, but i should go get something eaten. more later on the adventure of seeking employment in alaska.

this all happened a week a go, so it is a bit fuzzy, but here goes.
i boarded the boat at bellingham docks under a cloudy sky. i had been told that for those of us who don’t have the money to shell out for a cabin, the best course of action is to get up to the upper deck and grab a cot on whats called the solarium. really, the back deck is half covered with heat lamps, and the rest of the deck is open. ideally, you get a spot under the covering, and don’t have to go inside at night. because i had be warned ahead of time, i managed be the second person up there, which was great because i was able to set up wherever i wanted. i camped out in a spot right up next to the wall on one side, close the front. this would be my home for the next few days. other people began appearing on the upper deck, some under the the covering, others setting up tents on the deck.

by the time the malaspina bellowed forth and pulled out from the docks, the upper deck had become a chattery, crowded and bustling place. many of us had never done this before and where comparing stories as to why we were going to alaska, and sharing amazment at the people putting up tents on the deck.

alaska attracts a strange collection of people, which any conversation on the boat revealed. there was the great grandmother in her mid-eighties whose only plan was to drive every road in alaska. when i discovered her name was george, it only completed the picture of her as a totatally odd and eccentric woman. there was the fellow going to be stationed up in anchorage by the army, who declared he loved being deployed in iraq, and would go back a thousand times if he could. not sure what to make of people like that. there was the woman from new zealand, for whom alaska was part of trip around the world which included an overland trip through thailand, nepal, tibet and india and culiminated in london.

and then there was me. i went back and forth from reading (chesterton, borges, melancthon and belloc) and talking to my fellow passengers, and of course, watching the land go by.

the northwest passage is a maze of islands and spits, penninsulas and fjords, and one never really gets out of them. the boat went from narrows to sounds, but one always got the feeling of being in a labyrinth of land, and never getting the open sea. i immediatly felt like i should have brought a long a collection of iclandic sagas, to fit a wilder and colder land.

the first night, it rained and the wind was fierce. i awoke next morning to discover that there was about two tents left, where last night there had been at least five. apparently, many of them gave up trying to stay dry about half way through the night. they all looked miserable that morning.

as belloc points out, all trips are infinite, and one could spend an eternity just describing the things i saw and the people i talked to on that trip. i made it to haines, safe and sound, at aroudn 2:30 in the morning, saturday, june 9th. the sun was coming up, and byrne informed me that he had watched dawn on one side of the peninnsula and dusk on the other. we drove to chilkoot lake and stared over the glassy water, the mountains and the trees in a ripply, doubled world. i said goodmorning to alaska, and promptly went to bed.