Alaska

Act 1

My Spotify wrapped list released. My top song for the year 2025 is “Love in Alaska” written and performed by Boss Mama – my auntie Colleen. “Yeah baby, I’m happy – that’s what your love does to me.” The data proclaims that I had listened to the song 108 times. Colleen wrote it for my cousin’s wedding; Em and Nat. Two veracious lovers of the outdoor, in their early twenties, they moved to Alaska.

For as long as I can remember I have always dreamt of visiting. An early memory: a carving of a little bear. A gift to my dad from a friend who was a researcher, somewhere in the deep of the arctic. The mystery surrounding the origin of the object impressed a deep sense of wonder in my young and malleable mind. What sort of man makes bear carvings? Björn means bear. Why was I named that? What were they thinking in that moment? Aren’t there lots of bears in Alaska? Twice I made soft plans to make the journey and twice it didn’t materialize. That is until a few weeks ago.

As I write and remember back to being on the tarmac in Zürich en route to Anchorage, my heart races. I could sense it then — impending metamorphosis, born from digging for answers to unanswerable questions. Confronted with inescapable change. Life and death as one — briefly graspable for a fleeting moment of temporary insight. An off-kilter call from unbelievable depths.

Act 2

Radio headset on. “You might have to eat that mic a little bit more, it’s kinda hard to hear you.” [Adjusts headset] “Is this better?” “Yep, that’s good. I’m going to accelerate and then hit the breaks to test the condition of the surface.” [VRRRRRRRRRROOM] We lurch forward, Nat, the pilot, hits the breaks, triggering the plane to fish tail back and forth. I look back and gesture a thumbs up to the crew in the back. Uncertain faces stare back at me, swaying no. “Hey umm, the folks in the back look a bit uneasy. Only do this if you’re absolutely confident — no need to push it on our behalf.” “Yep all good.”[VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUM] Flight.

The Knik river dominates the world below. Growling gray clouds hang about the horizon. The air begins to speak. Aria. She roars from the mountain tops and makes herself known – playfully smothering the aircraft in turbulence. “Man, this is something else. I’m getting emotional at the might of it all.” “Wild isn’t it?” Up there, if you squint a little, you can see the world before time, right in front of your eyes. I take inventory of as much as my mind will take. Something about the grandeur illuminates the absurdities of earthly worries, like waking from a dream. It’s all going by so fast. What sort of living do I want before I die?

We approach the runway from the air at minimum viable speed. “We’re going to roll out without touching the breaks, so we need to slow down as much as possible before we hit the ground.” In a seemingly continuous glide the aircraft gracefully touches down and gradually comes to a slow on the snowy strip. Delightful.

Act 3

Emily and Nat have a healthy baby boy – Rylan. At five weeks old he’s accompanied his parents on snowmachine rides, to ice hockey games, and on road trips across hundreds of miles of frozen frontier. His uncle Tom is always in the mood to talk about the big questions. In a cozy living room basking in the glow only the company of a baby emits, we try and inevitably fail to solve the world’s greatest mysteries with logical arguments and debate. In the moment, the irony is lost on us. Lacking indoctrination, the newly born demonstrate what it means to be in touch with instinct and free of inhibition. Pure possibility. Hunger. Light. Waking. Sleep. So much love.

My last night in Alaska, I’m gifted a t-shirt adorned with graphics of two wide eyed Salmon and a human skull encircled by tiny naked people. It reads: “SPAWN TILL YOU DIE.”