Jim and Sarah's Adventures in the Aleutian Islands, Alaska
2.27.2009
Swiss Jesus
In the chapel near Trident, there is a library with a small piano wedged into a corner. Fishermen from the plant come here for quiet, and we found this notebook (with its soul-baring contents) lying on the bench. The hard-to-remember lyrics of the old country song "One Day At A Time, Sweet Jesus," must have brought peace to some lonely soul in that chapel. Certainly Kris Kristofferson would be proud, but we were just wondering if swiss Jesus goes better with turkey or ham.
We headed over to the processing plant here after work one day this week, and as the winds were reaching 100 mph in and around Akutan, most of the fishing boats were huddled at Trident for the day. Lorraine took us on one of the boats (her husband is an engineer at Trident). Trident's Akutan shore plant is the largest seafood production facility in North America, sustaining a year-round frozen seafood operation capable of processing over 3 million pounds of fish per day. Depending on the season, it produces a full range of products (fillets, blocks, surimi, fishmeal and oil) from Alaska pollock. It processes Alaska king and snow crab, as well as Pacific halibut. It can house as many as 825 employees at a time.
As indelible a fixture to this town as the word "AKUTAN" he's written in permanent marker across the front of his hat, Boris Bear has already secured a place in our memories forever. He is the self-appointed night watchman, who trudges up and down the boardwalks all night, then sleeps until early afternoon. After that, he can be found pedaling around on his bicycle (of which he says, "I always wanted a red bike, so I found this one and painted it"--almost every square inch of it), back and forth from town to Trident. Boris is known around here as a treasure hunter. He digs through Trident's trash, then comes back into town, "Jill, what size jacket do you wear? Because I've found this lovely size small leather bomber jacket up the road..."
Sarah found him yesterday rummaging around the old store that's about to be burned down, hunting "for a porthole I heard was in here." Instead, he emerged with a fishing gaff. "See?" he says, "This is just what I was looking for." Then he rides off toward Trident on his red bicycle.
This friendly clinic has three employees, Lorraine (an Akutan native and Community Health Aide--it's an Alaska thing, we'll talk about it later), Darryl (a PA from Minnesota who has been here 6 months), and Karen, the secretary (also an Akutan native). They really don't seem to mind us always being in their way. Jim and Mami are set up with a portable dental chair in a closet, and Sarah works on a rolling bench out of the "ER." It's a quiet place, in the middle of the village. Like in other villages, it seems the town revolves around it.
Akutan is one of the Krenitzin Islands of the Fox Island group in the eastern Aleutians. It is 35 miles east of Unalaska/Dutch Harbor, and 766 air miles southwest of Anchorage. Akutan is a fishing community, and the site of a traditional Unangan (Aleut) village. Less than 100 people are year-round residents; the majority of the population are transient fish processing workers from Trident. There are 38 houses here, and 50% of the population lives below poverty level. There are no roads, only a boardwalk system, as in most bush villages.
The Grumman Goose amphibious aircraft was used by the U.S. military during WWII. They used to be equipped with machine guns and depth charges, but of the 345 that were built, only about 60 are airworthy today. The one used by PenAir is a Grumman G-21 Goose, first modeled in 1937. Its adaptability (it can land and take-off from land or water) has been useful in civilian service in places like Alaska. Besides by boat, it is the only way of getting to Akutan. This video footage was taken by Jim from the cockpit, except for the scene of the plane landing in the distance, which was taken yesterday when it landed as it does daily, weather permitting.
After loading our luggage in the front compartment, our pilot, Bill, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans (see below a 1966 Seattle Times article describing a pipe-smoking Goose pilot from that time), shook our hands as we boarded, and asked Jim to sit up front in the cockpit with him. Sarah and Mami found seats in the cabin while Bill hopped on and made his way to the cockpit, mumbling something through his thick mustache to the effect of, "Here's an exit, can't smoke, wear your seatbelt, hold on." We soared through the air, hugging the coast, with breathtaking views of the land jutting out into the sea, foamy waves crashing onto the rocks, tiny fishing boats creeping along below like plastic bathtub toys. And then the land disappeared, and we were suddenly flying over an expanse of open water. At once, we learned that the land had been protecting us from the great winds, as we dropped out of the sky and sideways several feet. With our stomachs left suspended in the air above us, ours was the type of fear found in circumstances so wildly out of one's control, the only choices are to fling oneself to the floor, seizing and babbling in holy terror--or to laugh. So, we laughed--and enjoyed the ride immensely.
Thus affected by the scene below, Sarah had the surprising kind of tears that originate from some inexplicable, deep appreciation of beauty. We were both left with the unmistakable impression that this could not have simply "banged" into being. From experiencing the strength and skill of our cowboy pilot, Bill, to the phenomenal landscape below, dotted with bald eagles and buttressed from the sea by rock walls decorated with waterfalls spilling into the ocean--it would be outrageous not to wonder if this achievement had a Creator. Landing in the water felt more familiar than we expected: the plane became a boat, and we motored to the landing to be greeted by village children and new friends from the clinic.
Already our neighbor and friend, Mami is EAT's new dental assistant. She has proven herself an excellent traveling companion, and it's nice to have someone from home with us. She is a fast learner and skillful assistant, and she's just plain smart. She understands the way it works, passes the traditional "assistant test" of already knowing the cardinal rule of never getting in someone else's light, and she's friendly, easy-going, and good to be with. She and Jim work well together, and she and Sarah share scrubs (except Mami has to put rocks in the pockets so she doesn't blow away when she walks to work).
After a few days in Anchorage, we headed down to Akutan. We landed in Dutch Harbor to change planes and had about an hour to look around. Found a little restaurant and explored while we waited for our food. Up the road was the famous Russian Orthodox church (these are on all of the islands, but this one is world renowned). You can see the effects of the weather on the homes. Dutch was quiet, and a storm was approaching.
We fly up to Anchorage tomorrow, then down to Akutan next week. Jim spent the last couple of days packing the travel dental equipment he'll need, and Sarah packed one box of Diabetes clinic supplies. We're pretty enthusiastic about getting to Akutan, but a few days in Anchorage will be just about right. We can only think of one thing: pizza. And fountain coke. So that's two things. And we might catch a theater movie, too. And go to REI. And Costco.
Tundra Treats: Redefining the Image Of the Creepy Ice Cream Truck Guy
Johnny and Little Suzy: "Oh mummy, mummy, please can't we buy some tundra treats?!"
Mother: "Now Johnny, dearling, you know the last time you had some your little sister had to have her stomach pumped in the ER, but maybe just this once..."
In the chapel near Trident, there is a library with a small piano wedged into a corner. Fishermen from the plant come here for quiet, and we found this notebook (with its soul-baring contents) lying on the bench. The hard-to-remember lyrics of the old country song "One Day At A Time, Sweet Jesus," must have brought peace to some lonely soul in that chapel. Certainly Kris Kristofferson would be proud, but we were just wondering if swiss Jesus goes better with turkey or ham.
