Riding around in the Kobuk Cab on a Sunday night while the wind blew freezing rain gave me an appreciation for the ever changing climate of this place. Calls filtered in on the radio, "803," "Teacher Housing," "1000 A-2" and more as the cab filled and emptied. I wondered when it would be my turn to be let off this merry go round of travel through meandering streets. Numbered places whirling about while the passenger in the front seat wrote them down. And then another cab driver jumped into the fray, "I'm here. Where should I go? What do you need?" The list of house numbers recounted over the radio.
Extreme weather and darkness is a way of life here in the Far North. As the cab pulls up to our apartment, I take off my insulated gloves to pull the twenty out of my down coat. As the door opens, I look at our fellow passengers in thin fleece jackets and hats. Hoping my blood would thicken soon, I draw down the zipper of my earth-colored coat and feel the warmth of the bodies next to mine in the four-door Subaru.
Stepping out of the economy car, I thank the cab driver, and then he's off to Bayside Restaurant to drop off another passenger. An icy path dimly illuminated by building lights, I successfully navigated the way by doing the Alaska shuffle. Strong gusts of wind impede my progress to the 10 steel steps in front of me.
Once on the porch, I look out from under the eave to watch the icy rain blowing like crazy in the amber-colored light. Unsecured metal objects threaten to give way in the whirling wind. While it was only 7 pm., the sun had set a little more than three hours ago. With less than five hours between the sun mustering an appearance and it touching the horizon again, the darkness captures more and more of each day.
The morning will bring more darkness. Each day the light of the sun hangs lower in the sky and the temperatures normally would continue to drop. But somehow this week, the weather has warmed to a little above freezing. We appreciate the break from the cold. The freakish chinook winds bring warmer temperatures and an abundance of rain, sometimes mixed with snow and then hail. The ice on Swan Lake and the lagoon behind our apartment thins and disappears.
Rick and I walked to the fire hall this afternoon to check in on the team of experts who had come to survey its operations. Shuffling over the icy spots, Rick holds my hand and navigates towards the slushy areas for better traction. Feeling the strong blowing at our back, Rick comments about the strong wind that will hit us on our return trip. My camera bumps on my hip as I wear the strap like a sash. Buttoning up my down coat up higher on the neck, the hood pulls away from my hat-covered head. Instead of returning on foot, we coordinate some transportation so that we can stop by the club to check the timing of the birthday party event that I will oversee in the late afternoon.
We pick up Rick's rig and head back to the fire hall to drop off the other vehicle, thankful that we did not have to walk the distance and back. Transportation has high value in the village, especially during the winter months. Roads are plowed by public works employees working rotating shifts. An occasional truck is buried into a bank of snow having slipped off the road. No one is hurt. Traffic moves cautiously through the paved and unpaved streets.
Outside the wind continues to blow rain about. Temperatures hoover around 35 degrees. Shedding layers of warmth, I close the door upon entering our apartment tonight. Fur-lined boots are cast aside for slippers. Wet down is hung on the bathroom door to dry. The moisture will be sucked out dry from the entryway floor, dry the coat and boots. It's good to be home.
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