10 years, really?

I often ask myself, "where has all my time gone?" 

1999

moved to Fairbanks Alaska to begin a masters program in creative writing

2000

switched my focus from creative nonfiction to poetry 

got a summer job as a tour guide in Alaska's Arctic 

crossed the Arctic Circle for the first time

2001

dry cabin living --- got it down finally but never got over the slop bucket

Amy and Aaron came to visit from Nashville, TN

summer: guide

2002

graduated with an MFA in creative writing - poetry focus

considered nursing, looked into the program, decided against applying 

summer: guide, swam in the Arctic Ocean for the first time

winter: doll maker, attempt at my own business --- attempt failed

2003

agreed to be a dog handler for the Yukon Quest (the most out-of-character event of my life) Amy came to visit in the winter from Nashville, TN

summer: guide

winter: drove to WI with my dog, continued the drive to TN to visit Amy and then to FL to visit my brother (this marks the last time I've seen him to date)

2004

early winter: drove back to Alaska with my dog, it was very cold

summer: guide, met Doug and fell in love for he first time

winter: sewer and got paid for it

2005

summer: guide

met Rebecca, who was also a guide, and she changed my life forever by teaching me the importance of exercise and getting me over my fear of the gym

winter: sewer still being paid

2006

began taking prerequisite courses for nursing

trained for the equinox

summer: guide

ran the equinox

winter: HR (whatever that means?)

2007

turned 30, death ski 2007 happened

moved out of a dry cabins and into an apartment with running water (first time I lived without an outhouse and slop bucket since moving to AK in 1999) my extended camping trip --- over

summer: guide, flew to Barrow

Rebecca turned 30, hiked Chena Dome, lost a few toenails

Mom came to visit for a week in July, awesome

continued taking prerequisite courses for nursing

accepted into a fairly competitive nursing program, to my surprise

2008

began the clinical program in nursing (January)

Emily came to visit by working for the summer in Coldfoot, Alaska

summer: guide (after 9 summers of guiding, this was to be my last)

First solo hike in the Brooks Range

2009

summer: not a guide!!! lived in Coldfoot and worked at the Arctic Interagency Visitor Center in order to hike in the Brooks Range

finishing my last semester of nursing school (coming in November!)

I no longer wonder if I will ever leave Alaska, but I am constantly surprised to think it's been ten solid years. If anyone would have told me all this was going to happen, I would have punched them in disbelief. 

From this reflection I have learned...

a) I like it when family and friends come to visit

b) family and friends do not travel to Alaska often

c) it is true, what they say... 

we only get one chance; I am mostly happy for mine

d) Being a true Wisconsonite at heart, I feel like I deserve an anniversary gift, HI maybe?

favorite season, second favorite tree

Summer Birch

Fall Birch

Only a moment longer:

approaching winds vibrate leaves 

in a belly rubbing samba

toward their winter graves

What I Learned on My Summer Vacation

During this past summer, the summer of 2009, I learned two of the most important lessons of my life.

This is a pretty good average considering that before this summer I had learned only two essential life lessons to speak of. The first I learned during a college environmental studies class in which the professor outlined the one extra credit assignment we all could achieve. Go for a purposeless walk every day.

This I took to mean that life is what comes to us, not what we go out to discover.

Around the same time, my brother offered a bit of wisdom about motorcycles, “never ride a bike you can’t pick up when it falls over.” After a brief pause Shadd continued, “in fact, Steff, that goes for about everything you do.”

This I took to mean that I shouldn’t take on more than I could handle.

So back to the lessons I learned this summer…

L E S S O N   # 1

Oatmeal can be eaten directly out of the packet

I spotted my good friend Whitney dumping a half-cup of water directly into the paper pouch of her cinnamon flavored oatmeal. I was shocked, amazed, overwhelmed and… my camping life would never be the same again. Gone are the mornings of scrubbing dried oatmeal goo out of the pan; or worse, wiping out the goo before dinner because I was too lazy to clean up after breakfast. I hope to wear in this lesson like a good pair of running shoes before my life is over. Never again will I frown as I stuff packet after packet of flavored oats into my backpack. Now I happily unpack my summer food supply of oatmeal wondering what genius came up with the secret idea of oatmeal in a bag/bowl and how on earth did Whitney discover such a small miracle?

 

L E S S O N   # 2

In river crossings, the goal of the group is to protect the weakest member

One day our boss sent us to the river to learn about safe river crossings from coworker well-versed in Brooks Range back country travel. Before we began, four of us stood along the river’s edge listening as Bob explained the most important rule of crossing the river. I expected something like, “don’t slip because that might be your last fatal move” or “unbuckle a heavy pack so it doesn’t bring you down.” Instead something so simple yet so essential to every aspect of life, the group is only as strong as the weakest member; therefore the goal of the group is to protect its weakest member. Standing there in the hot arctic sun, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander into a mythical world where we apply this lesson to everything we do.

Imagine a world where the winner of the competition is the person who helps the red lantern make it to the end. Imagine a world where the goal is not individual success, but rather the success of others. Imagine a world where we cared deeper in the face of another’s weakness. At a previous job another man I respect lives his life under the assumption that everyone is doing the best they can at any given time. This idea returns to me occasionally, most recently during a long day of nursing school lectures. Combining these two ideas, it seems I have finally met an ultimate goal for myself when confronting life’s biggest challenges: protect the weakest and remember the weakest might be the one crossing the river alone.

 

 

What's in a Name?

Since this blog began several people have commented on my name: Fannie

This, of course, is a nickname originating from the latter half of my first name: Steffanie

As a little girl my family used an alternative nickname: Steffi
this I did not enjoy beyond the age of 12

My older brother had another name for me: Toughy Teffy
my assumption is that this name originates with a fair amount of irony, considering I was neither a tough nor big child, tears my constant companion

There were other nicknames during high school: better left to the imagination

Several years ago this, my most recent nickname, began to take hold when a coworker and friend, Kathleen, announced my arrival in the office day in and day out: Stef-FANNIE

I still see her at the local coffee shop where she is a barista, the door ding consistently followed by Kathleen's excitement: Stef-FANNIE

The final straw, nursing school, where my closest friends test out alternative names that will make us laugh during intensive study sessions. Unbeknownst to us, a part of one of these names stuck: Fannie Babinski

After dropping the Babinski, I was left with the nickname: Fannie

A shocking number of people (mostly men) refuse to refer to me by my nickname. What's in a name? Well, I've determined there might be more in it than letters, syllables, pronunciations... stories, there are always stories.

A Notorious Mountain

Geo Caches: eco junk
Is No Place Safe?




It was pointed out to me earlier this summer that Sukakpak Mountain is likely the most climbed mountain in the Brooks Range. I hesitantly agree with this assumption.




During a climb last September, I began thinking about the times I’ve climbed to the top of this famous mountain at the Southern rim of the central Brooks Range. For a brief moment when the sun is in the right position, the Dalton highway revels in the shadow of Sukakpak Mountain.



This behemoth piece of rock due East of the road lures many a hiker with its close proximity to the road and relative fame thanks to both older and newly emerging guide books that explain the hike something like this:

A challenging day hike, Sukakpak offers spectacular views of the Koyukuk and Bettles River valleys below.




In my life now, I’ve climbed this mountain somewhere between six and twelve times. Earlier this summer when I walked to the top and looked around at the mountains I wondered, will this be the last time for me.



It’s not that I want it to be the last time nor do I anticipate the last time while I am hiking; however, I notice subtle changes in the land that beckon me to hike elsewhere, tell fewer people about the route, talk less, be more selective, let wilderness be wild. The first time I hiked to the top, I felt elated to have made it. No obvious human trails emerged from the landscape. There were, however, skinny imprints of long used sheep trails across the top that splayed out in many directions. Today, looking back from the summit, there exists a distinct footpath in the heavily trodden soil, a footpath that screams to me:

I have been walked on before

You are not the first

This is the direction; I dare you to try another path



Inherently, we stick to the trail no matter how many times we are told not to. Even in my best efforts to stay off the trail, after several mindless minutes of climbing, I look down to see that distinct, heavily trodden path at my feet. When I look out at the Brooks Range, across the mountaintops, I see opportunities: places where no paths exist.



It is not the path to the top of the mountain that disturbed me about my climb to the top this summer. Instead, what I found at the top is really the cause for my angst and new desire to keep my hill climbs a personal and private matter. At the very top of the mountain, nestled under a pile of neatly placed rocks:



One orange, rusty, worthless lighter whose fluid had drained many months or years prior
A bar of soap, wrapper barely attached, from a bathroom at the Inn in Coldfoot Camp
A yellow, inch and a ½ shotgun shell
A plastic compass/whistle keychain combo that is very unlikely to save anyone in the wilderness
One half (or maybe a quarter) empty a power bar wrapper
A raspberry flavored gel pack, packed with calories, vitamins and minerals



Here along the highway and the pipeline, red tin cans are nestled at the top of many mountain summits. These cans contain a small notebook and pencil wrapped inside a plastic bag. Summiteers can sign their name, jot down a thought or two and be on their way. Like the age-old game of Simon, each new summiter adds to the list and the lucky winner may later recall from memory a few (if not all) of the names in years to come. Aside from the first to place the can, no one leaves anything behind but a few words, a name; however, everyone takes something down the mountain even if their pack is not heavier.



Although I cannot say whether I will climb this mountain again, I can be certain that I will climb others. When I do, it is my hope that I never, ever find another piece of plastic at the top. Junk, even strategically placed junk, is still junk.

Summit Photos from more than a few years time...

Satisfying Day Hikes: part 1

ARE TRIP: It’s So Awesome

Born to Hike, Forced to Work

Tales of an Arctic Journey as experienced by Root & Reed 

D A Y   W O N  

Beginning the day at nine, Root & Reed had no idea what was about to unfold given that they had previously been co-workers, not friends… they’ve since learned that they are eerily alike. 

Even though the ipod sat between us on the truck’s end-to-end bench-seat, never once could the distraction of Amy Winehouse pull us from our non-stop conversation. Of what we discussed neither of us remember (or we’ll never tell). Somehow we arrived at our destination 100 miles north of Coldfoot, AK but we weren’t there --- according to the GPS. Oh yes, we both saw one another but somehow, we still weren’t there. How mysterious? Perhaps the GPS knew something we didn’t. We decided the GPS must be right (and useless) so it was left behind on the bench seat of our temporary companion, an over-used Dalton Highway truck.

We were immediately awestruck by two realities:

1.           unimaginable weather; clear, piercing blue skies

2.          flowers; abundant and varied, at the peak of their short summer bloom in Alaska’s Arctic

Our trek up the Molar began with determination, a determination that fizzled quickly when met with a pact we take with us wherever we go: make the most of every hill climb and never, ever be in a hurry. Excellent conversation ensued and our friendship blossomed like the flowers across the tundra…

Suddenly we saw what Whitney thought was a massive caribou atop the ridge. Upon closer investigation it was a large male Dall sheep accompanied by several others across the steep yet grassy hillside. As we pressed on, they seemed hardly bothered by our existence, only occasionally looking in our direction as we plodded on.

What happens next may surprise some of you…

So give us a break. We’re really white, and we never expected to encounter anyone; although we did just five minutes after the pants returned to their proper location.

Heading back down, we leaped upon a gently rolling, flower-filled meadow. What better place for a picture of said leaping?

The glorious day was quickly punctuated by the horror of the tundra: mosquitoes. The strangest thing, a sharp dividing line, like the gateway to hell, we walked directly into what both of us consider the worst mosquitoes we’ve ever encountered. One second, no mosquitoes in sight; the next second, swarmed (and swarmed is a vast understatement; however no words can describe the horror).

We made our way back toward the road where the truck awaited. As we approached the truck Steffanie was certain she saw a bear, but it was pretty darn black so Whitney offered a suggestion, no, no, she said, it’s a musk ox.

Why yes, the color surely indicates musk ox, we nod in agreement. A scurry to the truck, out down the road southbound (opposite our soon-to-be camp) only to be met with a frenzied laughter and crushing embarrassment.

But the Musk Box may have been a good thing because as we looked for a turn around, we came upon a fox nearly motionless in the shade of a guardrail in the middle of the Dalton Highway. Minutes passed without movement. We pulled ahead, turned around and still the fox remained, content to swipe the occasional mosquito from its nose and laze away the day on that dirt & arctic road.

Figuring our day couldn’t get much better with wildlife sightings, we headed north to camp, mindlessly enjoying the blue, arctic blue against green, tundra green. When Steffanie spotted a caribou. What? A caribou? Yes, a caribou… under the pipeline… in the shade the line creates. In this treeless terrain, the shade of a 48-inch diameter pipe can be a welcome treat to a caribou. Whitney, incredulous says, I’ve got to see this and turns around. Mmmm, crushing embarrassment.

Unsure where we should camp Steffanie suggests we stand outside for a minute to see how bad the bugs might be. “hmmm, not so bad.” For the first two minutes. Both of us have always wanted to be discovered… not this way. Neither of us have ever been so popular in our lives.

H U N G E R

The tundra two-step is no easy feat. After a full day of sun and walk we needed nutrients --- bad.

Day won’s menu:

            Macaroni & cheese, one entire box

            Turkey hot dogs, five total, chopped delicately and mixed with love

Preparation time: 12 minutes

Consumption time: 5 minutes (possibly less!)

Dessert: milk chocolate covered blueberries… consumption time and amount undetermined

To finish the day, we retired to our cozy Kelty.

In this video Whitney says it all when speaking of the mosquito horror!