Barrow, Alaska
Days Walking - Negative 3
Sunrise: 11:37am.....High: -9 °F / -22 °C
Sunset: ..5:46pm......Low: -20 °F / -28 °C
Max Wind Speed: 26 mph / 42 km/h
At this very moment, it's eight degrees below zero (that's Fahrenheit, folks) here in beautiful Barrow, Alaska. But with the wind chill, it's -33. I don't even know why a meteorologist would bother telling you the mean temp, if the actual temp, with the constant wind, is -33. It's stark and sharp and cold, and the wind bites the skin and is angry.
Barrow, Alaska: 71°16'N, 156°48'W
Named for Sir John Barrow, 2nd Secretary of the British Admiralty. Barrow's Eskimo name is known as Ukpeagvik (place where owls are hunted). Barrow, the northernmost community in North America, is located on the Chukchi Sea coast. Archaeological sites in the area indicate habitation from 500 to 900 A.D. Archaeological remains of sixteen dwelling mounds from the Birnirk culture exist today.
Inupiat traditionally depend on subsistence marine mammal hunting, supplemented by inland hunting and fishing. Whales are a large part of the Barrow way of life. Bowhead, gray, killer and beluga whales migrate near Barrow every summer. Continuing an ancient Inupiat tradition, an annual bowhead whale hunt and festival is held every spring." Source: explorenorth.com, welcometoalaska.com
Jake did a trick he learned in Minnesota, where you throw a cup of boiling water into the air, and it turns into snow before it hits the ground, I shit you not. The funny part was when Jake ended up wearing about half the cup, when the wind shifted in mid-demonstration.
There's about a foot of snow on the ground, it's that flavor that goes "crunchy-squeaky!" with each step. A lot of freeze dried water is blowing around and sandblasting (iceblasting?) everything. It boggles the mind that I got a sunburn just a few days ago in La Paz. It's just starting to peel and feels soo good. Earlier I was scratching up against the wall like a coy, sunburned bear. It's hard to be ladylike while your skin is coming off. Am I going to molt into something scaly and fanged?
We're staying at the illustrious King Eider Inn, which has an embarrassing array of modern conveniences. I called Marina earlier and shyly admitted that I was, in fact, in the Jacuzzi. Yes, naked, who brings a bikini to Alaska in February. When you announce to all and sundry that you are giving up the good life in order to rough it, live off the land, camp under the stars, tough it out, find yourself, and Walk the Earth, you don't slip into a Jacuzzi on the first day of said pilgrimage. But there I was. I didn't go looking for frothy heaven - - it comes with the room.
But the Inn is non-smoking, which is good. I need to stop anyway and this gives me a good reason. Plus Jake stole my last pack of cigarettes. So it's destined, you see, that I stop killing myself with delicious wicked beloved tobacco.
- - Begin Church's journal entry for this day:
It's a weird night. We're leaving soon, and we've only just arrived in Barrow. It's going to be strange taking on this new fate thread, say it three times fast and it sounds like fated. Carrying the heavy pack will take some getting used to, but even worse is all the clothing. The multiple layers and ply's and polys and space age fibers choking out my skin's ability to breathe. I want to sneak out, right now it's three in the morning. I want to sneak out in the nude, pad down the hallway to the exit door, and pray no one is on their way for a little hotel bucketful of ice to chill their raspberry iced tea, bought for an extravagant sum from the gift shop. Tip toe my bare toes down the hall, and throw the exit door wide and let the winter assault my bareness. Let the goosebumps flare and swell and grumble about their abrupt awakening, how rude, who does she think she is.
I want to see if I have it in me to resist or accept this cold dark night we're so cheerfully marching into. I threw the comforter around my bare shoulders and wearing nothing else I charged into the hall before I could lose my nerve. The hall is warm, the warm is lie on this cold night, it misguides me with thoughts of actually making it through the exit door, which I don't I can't I'm too afraid. I stand there in front of the door, with that wide pushbar quick-exit mechanism. The wind screams outside and rattles the pushbar, which is stainless steel or aluminum and has frost on it. Frost on it, despite the warmth of the hall. I can't bring myself to push the door open. I stand there and let the comforter drop around my ankles. I can't bring myself to open the door, but I can in a small way touch the outside. I lean forward - pressing my bare skin against the pushbar and my nipples harden almost painfully, drawing up into infuriated points hoping to draw blood. I ran back to my room and couldn't get rid of the chill until after breakfast the next day. - - End Church's journal entry for this day.
I had sex in an igloo last night, I shit you not. I can report that said igloo was toasty warm, well appointed, and had a surprising amount of headroom. Yeah, and as promised Eric appeared, on time and as jaw droppingly sexy-adorable as always. He even got a haircut. He brought me all sorts of little goodies for the trip, most of which I can't really use. (Sorry Baby) I thanked him over and over, and praised him for his thoughtfulness, and we made the sweet sweet love in the igloo.
...Then I broke up with him while we were lying there snuggly in the faux fur, after. During the post-coital-glow phase. I've always thought that right after sex would be a good time to break up, and I was right. He took it in stride, he's a trooper. He had to have seen this coming, and it showed. I felt kinda bad though cause he hurt his ankle during the lovemaking. I'm going to miss his smell, his neatly trimmed toenails, muscled arms, and frankly, his amazing penis.
I'm starting this new blog for a couple of reasons.
One, apples are not oranges.
Two, my old blog took a dump and Blogger is looking at me with wide-eyed innocence: "Do I know you, Miss? Have we met? Your login, which you used JUST TWO DAYS AGO is not on file. Are you sure you're not insane?"
So my old blog is gone daddy gone. Maybe the CIA found my conspiracy theories too worrisome? Maybe a server went up in flames? Jilted lover, solar flare, I don't know. What I do know is, the old blog is POOF. If one of you loyal readers is of the stalker variety and has been archiving my posts, I will call down blessings on your family and ancestors if you just send them to me. I know you're out there, I read the mail you send. Yes, I read it, even if I can't always respond.
So the truck is late and I'm sitting on the floor of my room, looking out the window, and my laptop - er - notebook pc is starting to burn my legs. It's a Toshiba and I love her she's my baby. We (as in The Group, not my laptop and I) were supposed to start walking as of sunrise tomorrow, which will be at 11:32am, local time. No, that is not a typo. It's winter, and I am at 71' North. You do the math.
But, ah - I have not explained why the truck is late, or why it is coming, or with what it is filled...
Tune in Next Post for the why's and wherefores.
Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.
Litany Webb, signing off.
No Previous Post Dammit..........FAQ..........Next Post
Sunrise: 11:37am.....High: -9 °F / -22 °C
Sunset: ..5:46pm......Low: -20 °F / -28 °C
Max Wind Speed: 26 mph / 42 km/h
At this very moment, it's eight degrees below zero (that's Fahrenheit, folks) here in beautiful Barrow, Alaska. But with the wind chill, it's -33. I don't even know why a meteorologist would bother telling you the mean temp, if the actual temp, with the constant wind, is -33. It's stark and sharp and cold, and the wind bites the skin and is angry.
Barrow, Alaska: 71°16'N, 156°48'W
Named for Sir John Barrow, 2nd Secretary of the British Admiralty. Barrow's Eskimo name is known as Ukpeagvik (place where owls are hunted). Barrow, the northernmost community in North America, is located on the Chukchi Sea coast. Archaeological sites in the area indicate habitation from 500 to 900 A.D. Archaeological remains of sixteen dwelling mounds from the Birnirk culture exist today.
Inupiat traditionally depend on subsistence marine mammal hunting, supplemented by inland hunting and fishing. Whales are a large part of the Barrow way of life. Bowhead, gray, killer and beluga whales migrate near Barrow every summer. Continuing an ancient Inupiat tradition, an annual bowhead whale hunt and festival is held every spring." Source: explorenorth.com, welcometoalaska.com
Jake did a trick he learned in Minnesota, where you throw a cup of boiling water into the air, and it turns into snow before it hits the ground, I shit you not. The funny part was when Jake ended up wearing about half the cup, when the wind shifted in mid-demonstration.
There's about a foot of snow on the ground, it's that flavor that goes "crunchy-squeaky!" with each step. A lot of freeze dried water is blowing around and sandblasting (iceblasting?) everything. It boggles the mind that I got a sunburn just a few days ago in La Paz. It's just starting to peel and feels soo good. Earlier I was scratching up against the wall like a coy, sunburned bear. It's hard to be ladylike while your skin is coming off. Am I going to molt into something scaly and fanged?
We're staying at the illustrious King Eider Inn, which has an embarrassing array of modern conveniences. I called Marina earlier and shyly admitted that I was, in fact, in the Jacuzzi. Yes, naked, who brings a bikini to Alaska in February. When you announce to all and sundry that you are giving up the good life in order to rough it, live off the land, camp under the stars, tough it out, find yourself, and Walk the Earth, you don't slip into a Jacuzzi on the first day of said pilgrimage. But there I was. I didn't go looking for frothy heaven - - it comes with the room.
But the Inn is non-smoking, which is good. I need to stop anyway and this gives me a good reason. Plus Jake stole my last pack of cigarettes. So it's destined, you see, that I stop killing myself with delicious wicked beloved tobacco.
- - Begin Church's journal entry for this day:
It's a weird night. We're leaving soon, and we've only just arrived in Barrow. It's going to be strange taking on this new fate thread, say it three times fast and it sounds like fated. Carrying the heavy pack will take some getting used to, but even worse is all the clothing. The multiple layers and ply's and polys and space age fibers choking out my skin's ability to breathe. I want to sneak out, right now it's three in the morning. I want to sneak out in the nude, pad down the hallway to the exit door, and pray no one is on their way for a little hotel bucketful of ice to chill their raspberry iced tea, bought for an extravagant sum from the gift shop. Tip toe my bare toes down the hall, and throw the exit door wide and let the winter assault my bareness. Let the goosebumps flare and swell and grumble about their abrupt awakening, how rude, who does she think she is.
I want to see if I have it in me to resist or accept this cold dark night we're so cheerfully marching into. I threw the comforter around my bare shoulders and wearing nothing else I charged into the hall before I could lose my nerve. The hall is warm, the warm is lie on this cold night, it misguides me with thoughts of actually making it through the exit door, which I don't I can't I'm too afraid. I stand there in front of the door, with that wide pushbar quick-exit mechanism. The wind screams outside and rattles the pushbar, which is stainless steel or aluminum and has frost on it. Frost on it, despite the warmth of the hall. I can't bring myself to push the door open. I stand there and let the comforter drop around my ankles. I can't bring myself to open the door, but I can in a small way touch the outside. I lean forward - pressing my bare skin against the pushbar and my nipples harden almost painfully, drawing up into infuriated points hoping to draw blood. I ran back to my room and couldn't get rid of the chill until after breakfast the next day. - - End Church's journal entry for this day.
I had sex in an igloo last night, I shit you not. I can report that said igloo was toasty warm, well appointed, and had a surprising amount of headroom. Yeah, and as promised Eric appeared, on time and as jaw droppingly sexy-adorable as always. He even got a haircut. He brought me all sorts of little goodies for the trip, most of which I can't really use. (Sorry Baby) I thanked him over and over, and praised him for his thoughtfulness, and we made the sweet sweet love in the igloo.
...Then I broke up with him while we were lying there snuggly in the faux fur, after. During the post-coital-glow phase. I've always thought that right after sex would be a good time to break up, and I was right. He took it in stride, he's a trooper. He had to have seen this coming, and it showed. I felt kinda bad though cause he hurt his ankle during the lovemaking. I'm going to miss his smell, his neatly trimmed toenails, muscled arms, and frankly, his amazing penis.
I'm starting this new blog for a couple of reasons.
One, apples are not oranges.
Two, my old blog took a dump and Blogger is looking at me with wide-eyed innocence: "Do I know you, Miss? Have we met? Your login, which you used JUST TWO DAYS AGO is not on file. Are you sure you're not insane?"
So my old blog is gone daddy gone. Maybe the CIA found my conspiracy theories too worrisome? Maybe a server went up in flames? Jilted lover, solar flare, I don't know. What I do know is, the old blog is POOF. If one of you loyal readers is of the stalker variety and has been archiving my posts, I will call down blessings on your family and ancestors if you just send them to me. I know you're out there, I read the mail you send. Yes, I read it, even if I can't always respond.
So the truck is late and I'm sitting on the floor of my room, looking out the window, and my laptop - er - notebook pc is starting to burn my legs. It's a Toshiba and I love her she's my baby. We (as in The Group, not my laptop and I) were supposed to start walking as of sunrise tomorrow, which will be at 11:32am, local time. No, that is not a typo. It's winter, and I am at 71' North. You do the math.
But, ah - I have not explained why the truck is late, or why it is coming, or with what it is filled...
Tune in Next Post for the why's and wherefores.
Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.
Litany Webb, signing off.
No Previous Post Dammit..........FAQ..........Next Post
posted by Litany @ 2:23 PM
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