WHAT A FORMER ALASKAN MISSES (AND DOESN’T

For all the advantages of returning to his Oklahoma roots, there won’t be a lot of opportunities for Paul Atkins to catch chum salmon like he did back in Kotzebue, Alaska. Fishing was “one of my favorite things to do,” Atkins says of his two-plus-decades there. “So much so that it’s hard not to break out the rod and reel before setting camp.” (LEW PAGEL)

MISS IT OR DISS IT?

WHAT A FORMER ALASKAN CAN AND CAN’T DO WITHOUT NOW THAT HE’S LEFT THE ARCTIC

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

It’s weird how different things are now when I look at my old life versus my new – or at least a newer one to me anyway. It’s almost like I live on a different planet.

I feel like I’ve been transported in time. It’s not a bad thing, but it is very bizarre to me when I think about it. I’m talking about my life in Oklahoma now compared to my home in Alaska, where I spent the last 20plus years.

Many people have asked me, “Do you miss it?” I say, “No, not really.” But I do; just not all of it. I’m glad to have retired from teaching. It was a great 23 years spent teaching the kids of the northwest Arctic, but there at the end I was getting a little burned out; no, a lot burned out, especially with COVID and the in-school, out-ofschool teaching schedule that we were required to do. It was brutal.

LOOKING BACK, THE WORST times were during the cold, dark months, and ironically that is what most people ask me about today more than any other topic. “How did you stand all that dark and cold?” they ask. I reply simply, “You just get used to it,” and then I’ll say, “It’s a ‘dry’ cold and you dress for it,” fully realizing they have no clue what I’m talking about.

But if I’m being honest, I don’t miss the cold weather. I don’t miss stepping outside every day for months in subzero temperatures, which numbs the mind and dulls the senses, especially during the work week. And even though I’m not there anymore, I’m reminded of it every day by the scars on my cheeks from years of frostbite. They don’t hurt, but they’re there.

I don’t miss shoveling snow either in those dark mornings of late winter after drifts have built themselves up during the night into huge wind-blown piles in front of

our door. So much so that I could barely see the car from the steps of our threebedroom castle. It was back-breaking work; with only a scoop shovel it took at least an hour. It was fast and furious work. Once it was done, the wind – that awful wind that I have written about so many times before – would blow the stuff I just shoveled back in. It was miserable.

I don’t miss those mornings when nothing wants to start, which means my vehicles specifically: the car, the fourwheeler, the snowmachine. It didn’t matter what engines were in play; they wouldn't start, even though we plugged them in during the cold night.

We bought our car, a 1995 Subaru, in 2007 from an elderly couple that was leaving town and only had 8,000 miles on it. With only 9 miles of road and a 1-mile drive to and from work, you can see why it had low miles, but it was as reliable as any car I have ever owned. It would start in most all weather conditions, the heater worked and so did the windshield wipers, along with the lights – four features that represent the bare necessities for what you need in a Kotzebue car. But if the temperature dipped below minus 33 it would not start, even if it was plugged in. It was almost like a magical cut-off point or something.

There were many days that I would finally get it started and then just leave it running all day in the school parking lot. That wasn’t cheap with gas at $6 to $8 a gallon during those years, but I didn’t have to worry about starting it after school or ask for a jump!

I don’t miss the high prices and bad vegetables either. Living in the Arctic has its challenges, none more so than the cost of living. Everything from gas to a can of soda is expensive, and it has nothing to do with being marked up or price gouging (most cases, anyway). It simply costs money to ship items to the Arctic. Everything must be flown in by an airplane of some kind, and we have no roads that go from one place to another. What we get comes with an extra price tag.

When I first arrived a gallon of gas was $3.89; now it’s $5.49, but I saw it as high as $8 about 10 to 12 years ago. I saw $12 price tags for a gallon of milk and a Butterball turkey going for $90. Crazy, huh? But it’s all relative. You live here, you work hard, and they pay you well. I guess it works itself out.

After taking so many trips into the wilderness, the preparation became second nature. “We knew exactly what to pack and how to load it on the boat for a smooth ride upriver,” Atkins says. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

IT SOUNDS LIKE I’M doing a lot of complaining and I may be, but I stayed and made this corner of Alaska my home for 23 years, so it must not have been all that bad. There are many things that I do miss and as each day goes by, I think about them more and more. I also notice that time in the Lower 48 goes by much faster than it did in the Arctic. It scares me a little.

The things I miss are many, some of which are big and some minute. They’re things that maybe only my family or a close friend would know. I for sure miss hunting with my good friend Lew. That probably has been the hardest.

I miss Lew’s boat and cruising upriver together while catching pike and chums and shooting bears. I miss gathering wood and sitting around our campfire drinking whiskey and reminiscing about our glory days. I miss cutting meat in his shop.

I miss Halloween too. Why? It’s the day I married my wife Susie, but as teachers it’s also a day – or I should say a night – that we got to see every kid in town that we’ve had in our class from past to present, and most cases the future. The Halloweeen candy was expensive but well worth it to see them all dressed up and in a different setting.

I know a lot of Kotzebue residents would disagree with me on this one, but I miss ravens – those big, black, smart, beautiful birds that tear your trash apart no matter how tight you get the dumpster lid on.

These birds, if trained probably, can be fed like a dog and sing on command. But most importantly – and I truly believe this – ravens will lead you to where the game is if you’re out in the country, especially when things are frozen and white. They’re intelligent.

I miss blueberries and cranberries; not so much the berries themselves, but the act of picking them. Each fall, usually in mid-September, Susie would beg me to go pick berries with her. I would complain about it and say I didn’t want to go and cite the many reasons why: The mosquitoes are too bad, or the berries aren’t ripe, or it takes forever to fill a gallon jug – in our case, a coffee can.

None of my excuses worked. So, after a short drive around the loop road, I would find myself with bug bites and stained knees while sitting on the tundra with Susie filling our cans. It was worth it in the end. There is nothing quite like pancakes and muffins made from true Alaskan berries.

Even though spring hasn’t arrived, and it isn’t even close to April yet, I know I’m going to miss ice fishing. Heck, I’m missing it right now while sitting here at this computer in Oklahoma. I’m going to miss the whole escapade – the snowmachine drive to our secret spot, unloading the sled, drilling the hole, and then dropping the line. That slight jigging motion on your rod, and then, boom – the pull and the hookset and the hand over hand, eventually pulling the big sheefish through the ice.

There aren’t many scenes quite like it and it’s something I can’t get in America’s Heartland.

What Atkins doesn’t miss is the cold, which he spent a great deal of time in during his Alaska stint. He points out that it was minus 33 degrees when this photo was taken while he and Lew Pagel searched for muskox. At his Arctic home, the same low temperature reliably killed his Subaru, even if plugged in overnight. (LEW PAGEL)

Food in Alaska brings both good and bad memories for Atkins. The prices at the supermarket? “Costs are expensive due to shipping and there is no way around it,” he says. “Whether it’s $6 gas or $90 dollar turkey, things cost money in the Arctic.” But picking wild blueberries with his wife Susie outside town is cherished. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

HOWEVER, THERE ARE SOME memories I’m on the fence about when it comes to whether I miss them or not. The post office is one. For those who don’t know, a post office in an Alaska village is the epicenter of the community. Everyone goes there at least once a day – sometimes more than once – and you see people that you don’t normally see anywhere else. If you have a package that needs to be picked up, they will place a yellow slip in your box and then you get in line to get it.

This can be a good or bad thing, depending on how you look at it. The busiest times are noon and 4 p.m., when most people are on their lunch or off work. The line can get long and those people you don’t normally see get to visit with you for a long period of time. That’s the good and bad I was talking

Seen here from the south, Kotzebue, where Atkins and his family lived, is a beautiful village in the wintertime. There were many times the sight of town in the distance as they returned from a trip meant Atkins and his party were just about safely home. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

Oklahoma has some chilly winter days, but not enough to ice fish as regularly as Alaska offers locals throughout the snow and ice season. “I will miss this come March and April,” Atkins (above) admits. “It was a ritual, a rite of spring. Pulling a big fish through the ice is what Lew (right) and I lived for, as do many who live in and around Kotzebue Sound.” (LEW PAGEL) about. Anyway, there were times that I waited over an hour to get a package. If not for the thought of getting something I needed or something sent from home, I probably wouldn’t have stood there. But looking back now, it was a place of comfort, a familiar place filled with a lot of those people I got to visit with who I miss now.

Take-out delivery is another one. I miss Friday evenings and our weekly callout order. Every Friday after a long week of teaching we would call for take-out Chinese food. We have been doing this for at least 20 years. It was the highlight after a long week at work. Kotzebue restaurants such as Bayside, Empress and Bison Street Store were all favorites. But favorites or not, I don’t miss those prices! Whoever thought Chinese food could be that expensive?

BUT OF ALL THE little things and the big things I miss or don’t miss, I long for the Alaska rivers like the mighty Noatak and the Kobuk and what they hold.

Being anchored up to a sand bar either to fish or wait for bears to show up along the river bank was always so exciting and new each time Atkins and Pagel experienced it. “We had such a grand time,” Atkins says. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

And what does this Alaskan and Oklahoman miss most of all now that he’s back in the Midwest? The rivers like the Noatak, where he’s enjoyed so many memories. “This is our old base camp. Will I ever see it again? I hope so,” Atkins says nostalgically. (PAUL D. ATKINS) Those were cool and crisp rides up into the country to see what we could see. Where we could find solitude, a place to camp and a flat spot to pitch a tent. Where there was plenty of firewood and the mosquitoes weren’t too bad. Where bear tracks lined the bank and the chums splashed out front in the slow current while waiting on the flash of a pink Pixie. I miss eating MREs sitting in a camp chair. I miss my friend. I miss Alaska. ASJ

Editor’s note: Paul Atkins is an Oklahomabased outdoor writer and author formerly of Kotzebue, Alaska, and who is also a regular contributor to Alaska Sporting Journal. He’s had hundreds of articles published on big game hunting in Alaska and throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the Arctic. His new book Atkins’ Alaska is available on Amazon and everywhere good books are sold. It can also be ordered through his website paulatkinsoutdoors. com. For an autographed copy, contact Paul at atkinsoutdoors@gmail.com.

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