Velcro Phil

Riverfront property in Marshall, northwest of Bethel.


In Mountain Village, we huddled in the truck in the low light of midmorning on the Yukon. The temp dropped to about -20, but the wind made it seem much colder. When the plane pulled up, a 6 seater from Hageland Air, we reluctantly hauled our meagre bags to the side boxes, knowing full well that our shampoo, toothpaste and food would be frozen solid for a good 4 hours after we arrived.

"Oh, good", Jennifer said. "It's 'Stick It, Phil!'". His other name is Velcro Phil, so named because he can stick a landing, even in the roughest weather. I'm riding with him! The sturdy looking pilot, Phil apparently, jumped out onto the tarmac, wearing his Carhardt insulated bibs and coordinated jacket, a beaver hat and bunny boots. Is it a tarmac if it's dirt covered with a foot of hard packed snow? Anyway, he said, "Anybody supposed to go to Scammon? You ain't goin'...it's all dogshit downriver there". Mary and someone else got back in the truck, not unhappily I think. We stepped the 3 feet up into the plane, tangling our snowboots in the shoulder harness and struggling with the cold stiffened seat belts. I got mine finally fastened about the time the plane jumped off the short runway into the air.

The frozen Yukon River intersected our path far below every few minutes as we took the crow's route. When we approached Marshall, we were hugging the window to spot the moose, about 50 on the island between the slough and the Yukon. "Wolves brought them down", was the simple answer. It was impressive though, thinking about all that meat and wildness clustered together just outside the tiny human settlement. Lots more pounds of moose than people, I thought.

We spent the day and the next day working in the school with kids. A quick trip to the store helped us appreciate that we'd brought our own food- lots of duct tape, tobacco and Mountain Dew, no veggies, yogurt or fruit juice. The volleyball team pounded the ball around the gym, getting ready for the big tourney in Nunam Iqua starting the next day. When the lights went out that night, from our sleeping platforms of blown up airmattresses on the floor in the kindergarten, we could hear the late night pounding of ballers in the gym and the roar of snowmachines just outside in the starry night.

Working in the school helped remind me of why I retired. Good work. Meaningful work. Hard work. Kids coming late, struggling with academics, hungry and tired and suspicious, expecting miracles. Contracting to fly in, give it my best and fly back out works for me.

Sharing letters, but never enough to spell anything much.

Back home here in the -3o in Fairbanks, but snug and warm with plenty of time, food and family, it seems surreal. Hard to believe that the same full moon is seen by Ben in China, Erin in Chicago, Virginia in California, and Bosco in Marshall.

This dog has his own TV. Bush life sure has changed.