ALCOHOL WAS A FACTOR: Wintering at a Weekly Newspaper in Rural Alaska
A Good Pair of Winter Shoes
I came to southeast Alaska with two pair of what I thought were decent shoes.
One is a pair of Merrill hiking boots, the other an insulated pair of Uggs from Australia.
Both worked in the Nevada desert.
In Alaska, both leaked.
December in Haines means slush in the streets; lots of it — snow cone stuff.
The Merrills just weren’t made for this kind of weather. The Uggs had a few hairline fractures along the heels and I added several coats of waterproofing before I left San Francisco; all to no avail.
Each morning on my way for coffee, I would feel the slow seep of cold water. Like a diver whose dry suit has lost its seal.
Do you know what it feels like to know that your socks are already wet at 9 a.m. and you have another 10 hours to go, with many more trips into the snowy soup.
Today was the worst. The sleet wouldn’t stop. Knowing I would pay twice the going rate for anything I buy here, I began nosing around a local sporting goods store for a pair of requisite southeast Alaskan boots.
They called Xtratufs and everyone wears them, from the fishermen to the little old lady who rings me up at the IGA.
They weren’t cheap. A pair of clompers in size 13 cost at least a hundred bucks, more if you wanted Neoprene insulation.
I was ready to pull the trigger, even though I know my time here is short, and that next week the temperatures are supposed to plummet into the teens and that any extra-tufs might be extra-useless.
Then my man Russ came to my rescue.
Russ Lyman is a former Alaska river guide who has led groups on some of the most scenic waterways in the state. He has the outdoor sense of a John McPhee, who wrote the definitive book on the fate of the Alaskan wilderness, “Coming into the Country.”
Russ is the co-author of the book “The Complete Guide to the Tatshenshini River (Including the Upper Alsek River.)
His job was to bring everybody back alive and he achieved that. But he eventually he tired, not of the scenery but of the people. Being a river guide was like being a Sherpa. People expected him to carry their belongings and cook their meals, not just interpret the beauty of the places they traveled and know which river forks to turn down and which ones to avoid.
So Russ changed professions. For years, he sold ads for the Chilkat Valley News, but has recently taken on layout responsibilities.
On Wednesday nights, I lean over Russ’s shoulder and help him write headlines.
Russ is a terrible speller; worse than me, if that is possible.
He says he didn’t need to spell on the river.
He once spelled the word “committee” so badly I didn’t recognize it. What came out was a twisted, gnarled and wounded thing any good river guide would have put out of its misery.
I like Russ. He looks a bit like Ron Howard, but I have never told him that. When he’s not laying out papers, he does physical therapy and deejays a local radio show he calls “Flashbacks and Fresh Tracks.” I’m going in soon for a session, to help him pull records.
Russ heard of my boot miseries and offered a solution. Why pay a hundred clams when he had a friend who could loan me some boots.
So Russ brought in a pair of Tingley fishermen boots, with the number 13 stenciled in white, things that are at the same time ugly and beautiful.
I love my Tingleys. Xtra-who?
I bought some insulated soles and am ready to trudge home.
It’s dark and it’s still raining.
Slush waits.
Wish me luck.
Thanks Russ. I’d ride in your river raft any day of the week.
