| Alaska |
| Stories | |
| Written by Bob & Jake White | |
| Sunday, 04 May 2008 21:18 | |
 As many of you know from last week's essay, my eighteen-year- old son is bound for Alaska after his high school graduation. He'll be working at Bristol Bay Lodge as a jack-of-all-trades and guide trainee. Today's image was painted for my dear friend, Jack Crossfield. Jack was my best man, when Lisa and I were married at the lodge in Alaska, on a bright summer night, thirteen years ago. Most importantly, he was my teacher and mentor, and a hero to me as a young guide. The title of this oil painting, "Crossing Over", is perhaps the best description I can think of to describe the next four months of my son's life. If he's very lucky... he'll find a friend like Jack to teach him about life while he plays the role of guide. This is a difficult time of year for high school seniors; a long chapter of childhood will soon come to an end, and the uncertain future as an adult looms ahead. Add to this the warm spring days and a host of other distractions, and it's no wonder that I found Jake hunched over my writing desk late at night, struggling to complete an outline for his creative writing course... an outline that was due in the morning. "How's it going?" I asked. "It's not." He answered truthfully. "I'm supposed to write a story about something that I feel strongly about... and I don't even know where to start." "Well, what do you feel strongly about?" "I don't know." He answered with a sigh. It was one of those sighs that told me he was a hair's-breadth from giving up, and taking an incomplete on the assignment. "How about Alaska?" I prompted. "I know you're excited about that." "I don't know where to start." "Go back to the beginning," I suggested. "Write about your first trip north, when you were eight-years-old." One of the things I've learned, as a parent, is that you can plant a seed and water it... but staring at it and waiting for it to sprout doesn't help anyone. "I'll be down in the house watching the news." I said. "Call me if you need any help." Several hours later, and at the risk of being nosey, I crept up to the studio to find Jake putting the final touches to this... Short story assignment As a young child, I always asked my father why he went to Alaska for the summer when we could finally play outside, go fishing, or canoeing on the river. My father would explain to me, "Jakob, I go to Alaska because I'm a fishing guide and that's what I do." It was always a hard time of the year for both of us, but we managed the best we could. Both of us waited all summer long until the day when "jack frost" would come and brush the leaves with his cool ice as my father always said he would. But not this year, there would be no such waiting to see Dad. I was going to Alaska! I got the news one day, after playing outside with my buddy Adam, tearing up my mother's gardens with bike jumps, pieces of 2x4s, and dismembered bikes, never to be reassembled after failed attempts at "performance modifications". Tracking mud through the house with my partner-in-crime on our way to the refrigerator, we were stopped dead in our tracks. No words were needed. The stare of a mother, who had just finished mopping, could be felt a mile away. Adam and I slowly walked back to the door and removed our mud-soaked shoes. "Adam, could you wait outside?" My mother said in a serious tone. "I need to have a word with Jake." Adam looked at me with the deepest remorse possible from an 8 year old, and slowly backtracked a path that followed his muddy footprints to our back yard. He looked as if his best friend might well be on his way to the guillotine. I thought to myself; the bar of soap? Possibly, the wooden spoon? Maybe, a time out? Or, even worse.... a nap! Which would it be today? But, my mother started to grin, and I had no idea what was coming next. To my surprise, she asked if I could sit down on the couch with her for a second. A genuine smile began to creep from the corners of her mouth. "Jake, how would you like to go up to Alaska to see your dad"? I was speechless; the world paused for a brief second before I hopped and danced my way out of the house. " I-get-to-go-to-Alaska... I-get-to-go-to-Alaska!" I said over and over again, just so our neighbors across the St. Croix River could turn green with envy. The deal was set; the wheels were in motion. I was going to Alaska! The days slowly ticked by, and time stood still while I waited to see my dad. The St. Croix River was my daily destination, and I spent endless hours there, letting the fine golden sand scorch my feet. Even though it was the time of summer when all the eye could see was green in every direction, and there was plenty of mischief to take part in, it all seemed to lose its essence compared to what lay ahead. On the day that I was to see my Dad the hours crept by as if they where months, if not years. I tried to stay occupied, knowing it would help pass the time. Instead of sitting in the driveway as I had the previous hours that morning I decided to add a couple inches of dirt to the bike jump, when I saw a bright yellow taxi pull into the driveway. DAD! I ran to see my father as he got out of the taxi. It was an incredible feeling to see him this time of summer; I would not for many years to come. I said goodbye to my mom (which at the age of 8 was a pretty difficult thing to do) but I was excited and could only imagine what lay ahead. My father and I hopped into the taxi and we were off on our great adventure. Father and son. It was a long trip, but we arrived in Dillingham, Alaska, in what seemed like a blink of an eye. The Airport was much smaller then the ones back home. No restaurants or big buildings, only a few hangers and a couple of small planes. My father and I where greeted by a man not much taller then my dad. "Hi, I'm Joe Houston and I'll be your pilot today!" "You must be Jake." Joe said, with the friendliest smile I've ever seen. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about you and your sisters, and its nice to finally put a face with the name." We loaded the plane with our gear, and with a couple of chugs, the engine roared to life. Although I could barely see over the dash, I got to sit up front with Joe. All sorts of knobs and levers, dials and compasses confronted me. I wondered what they did. I finally got my first taste of flying in Alaska, and it was what I always imagined it to be. We flew over enormous white-capped peaks, which I later learned to be the Kilbuck Mountains. Over the roar of the engine, Joe glanced at me and with a smile said "So Jake, I've heard you have always wanted to fly." Images of loop-to-loops and barrel-rolls shot through my head, and soon after that followed thoughts of a fiery death on the massive white peaks to our left. "I better not, but thanks, Joe." I said. "Well Jake, you see the yoke right there. If you pull it towards you, we'll go up. Push it in, and we'll go down. Turn it to the right and we go right, and to the left, and we go left." Joe said. "It's easier than riding a bike." I took the yoke although the thoughts of the explosion where still residing in the back of my mind. Up and down, right and left, more fun than any amusement ride know to man. "Hey Jake, I'd better take over now. We're getting close to the lodge, and The Boss will have a field-day if he sees you flying." I handed over the yoke with a smile, and then had my first glance at the lodge. This is where my father's summers where spent. This was what it was all about. It's been 10 years since that sunset at the gravel bar and the days are once again ticking down slowly in anticipation of another great adventure. Now, I get to stand on that gravel bar and look out on a wild Alaskan river... but this time on my own. What my father wrote to me all those years ago still rings true: "I don't know that I can fully explain to you at this age; why I go to Alaska for the summer. I tell you that I have to go because I'm a fishing guide, and that's what I do. How can I tell you at this age that my soul and energy comes from the Alaskan sky, from being on the water, from being a more intimate part of our natural world. I suppose you'll hear this time and time again over the years. I hope you'll come to understand what I'm talking about; that you'll understand because we'll work together, side by side, on the water, with the wind in our faces." Bob White ©2008
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| Last Updated ( Sunday, 11 May 2008 22:58 ) | |
