The faint reception of the college radio station plays Ra Ra Riot as we cruise along the mountains. It's my first full day in Alaska; totally not used to the continuous mountain scenery, I stare intently out of the window. Joe's hula girl bounces her hips back and forth as I take photos from the car. Hmpf, what a tourist. I can't help myself as I proclaim "Look at these fucking mountains" every 30 seconds. Joe responds with a meek "Yeah, I guess they're nice". My companion, who has been living in Anchorage for the past two years, looks like he's become jaded for the majestic scenery that surrounds every inch of Alaska.
Joe, who is also a habitual hiker and outdoorsman, is taking me to climb a geographically anomaly formation of a butte* (aptly called, The Butte). I have minor panic attacks; yes, I have been working out for months for this trip, but I'm wondering how much my YouTube and kettlebell workouts will come in handy. I don't want to seem weak in front of Joe, although I'm sure- as he's the nicest person on earth- doesn't give a shit.
*A butte is an isolated hill with steep, often vertical sides and a small, relatively flat top; buttes are smaller than mesas, plateaus, and table landforms. Thanks, Wikipedia.
REINDEER FARM, PALMER
We overshoot the trailhead parking for the Butte, and we figure we'll just turn around at the next opportunity. The next opportunity, as it turns out, is a reindeer farm. I'm sure there are reindeer farms in the lower 48, probably scattered across Santa's Villages across the nation, but this one is seemingly dropped into our laps (and not one Santa reference in sight). On first sight we see what appears to be a dead horse (upon closer inspection, it is definitely sleeping and definitely alive) and chickens. In other words, enough to pique our interest in parking and getting out of the car.
After a brief introduction from an overzealous employee, we pay our $9 fee and wait to start our tour. We met a pig named Donna and we are more than welcome to go inside the chicken coop and look for eggs. The size of the chickens have me scared, so I pass, but a brave three-year-old, covered in mud and hay, crawls out with one shiny, speckled egg.
We learn about the velvet on a reindeer's antlers (it's nothing but nerve underneath, and it hurts them greatly if touched) and we have one woman on the tour, who very much likes to let everyone else know that she has been on the tour before (I like to imagine she knows all the names of the reindeer and goes onto reindeer message boards and types all in caps LOL- but this is just an assumption). She warns us about buffalo safety as Joe comes face to face with a bison named Dolly. I don't believe I've been that close to a buffalo before, it is quite a sight to see. For a brief moment I am overly patriotic as I was thinking how proud I am to have the buffalo as our national mammal now. Listen, it was a 9 hour flight and I am still tired.
We are handed a small container of what I assume are called 'reindeer pellets' and are guided into their pin. It started out pretty terrifying, because as dumb as reindeer look, they were smart enough to know this was a tour and it was time to be fed. Four reindeer hurdle straight towards me and I have no option but to cower in fear. I try not to bump their antlers ("I don't want to hurt you!") as I hold out my hand and they begin to nom away. I can hear Joe yelling from a distance after three reindeer bombarded him, "This is totally worth $9!"
POV of reindeer attack. Photo c/o J Besl.
THE BUTTE
But this would require a volume, while here I have only space to add — Go to Alaska, go and see.
As I huff and puff my way up the Butte, I tell Joe of my preparation for AK: John Muir's Travels in Alaska. While we aren't camping out in the 1800s and exploring uncharted territory like the great author, it's still easy to see what he was talking about. Expansive nature surround us in every direction- roaring mountains and glaciers, flowers and trees, the massive Knik River, all together at the same time. As something like Muir would like to say, only in this Alaskan wilderness...
EKLUNTA
An onion-domed church stands at the edge of a forest; a little donation box greets us upon entering. We wander through the graveyard, although as an unabashed self-proclaimed lover of cemeteries, this one was unlike anything I have seen before.
Russian missionaries came to the village of Eklunta in the 1830s. The Dena'ina tribe began converting into the Orthodox church. Before, the tribe had cremated their dead, but the church forbade them from creating human remains. As a result, they constructed spirit houses, so the spirits had some place to go.
About 100 brightly colored little homes, each adorned with the Orthodox cross, are clustered by the edge of the trees. They have windows and balconies, but many are left in disrepair. Interestingly, they are left to rot and decay, so the spirit can come and go to the earth as they please, slipping through the cracks for the rest of enternity.