Preparing for the flight to the Lower 48

I awoke to flapping sounds Friday morning. Unable to go back to sleep, I got up and began packing the rest of my things. Rick and I were headed for the Outside. That's what the Lower 48 is to people in Alaska. And flying over Seattle late last night, I understood why.

But until 1:20pm, I had to continue living as normally as possible in temperatures hoovering around 20 degrees. It had snowed on Thursday and stuck. Driving to work on Friday morning, I dove slowly while my heart raced. Several hours before my flight. Sunrise was not expected until 9:30am but there were hints of dawn in the sky.

After scrambling to get everything possible done at work, I rushed over to the bank and then P.O. On the way to the post office, I passed Sarah and Tryson in the van. She and I had coordinated our travels so that she could drive the van back from the airport.

With the road construction on Shore Avenue buttoning up for the winter, cars were parked randomly near the Eskimo building for the morning mail run. Pulling up near Shore, I was awed by the snow-covered mountains across the Sound. So struck was I by the beauty of the Sound with its ice blocks forming that when I stepped out onto the hardened snow, I slippe. On the way down, I hit my shoulder. Sarah appeared as a Godsend and helped me up. She went into the post office while I waited in the van to regain my balance.

When Sarah reappeared, I was ready to drive the short distance to the airport. Focusing on the road, there was a new pain in my left shoulder. Sarah assisted in bringing into the Alaska Airlines terminal, my big suitcase filled with a ten-day supply of clothing. After checking in, we hugged and I watched her walk away.

The terminal was crowded for this non-stop flight to Anchorage. I sat next to an elderly woman for a short time and then, feeling her discomfort, stood up to locate another seat. There was another open seat in the second row of chairs next to some young men who were flying to Anchorage for an adventure.

A blast of cold air brought in the passengers from milk-run Flight 152. Greetings were shared by loved ones who had waited for their arrival. Flying in Alaska is a way of life and has been for many years. Distances are not measured in miles but in flight duration. While some are very uncomfortable flying, they have accepted it as part of normal life above the Arctic Circle where goods and services are in short supply.

Finally walking towards the plane, I looked around to capture the images of home: snowy tundra and the  buildings of Kotzebue. After finding my assigned seat, I puled off my orange, REI jacket. The thick lining would have to be removed soon or I would roast. Out the window, the wind was gusting at 30 miles per hour. Confident in the regularity of flights in these conditions, I knew we would be safe. Snow blew snow across the paved surface of the airstrip. Temperatures had warmed to 21 degrees as the attendants directed us to read the safety cards in the seat pocket in front of us. The engine sounds began to roar and soon the plane raced towards the tundra, wheels lifting from the runway before olliding into the hill in front of us. Off we went.