The Yukon
I had set up a place in town, which meant I no longer had to stay at Tamsen's. Before I moved out, there was the matter of taking a road trip into Canada. Irene and Jared were persuading me to drive them to Whitehorse, and although I wanted to go there myself, the 244 mile drive was daunting. Though Haines was in the throes of a snowy season, temperatures stayed mostly in the 20-30 degree range. In contrast, the temps in Whitehorse were in the -20's. I had never experienced such extreme temps--I mean, temps that can actually kill a person! I wasn't sure if I felt comfortable making a long drive through absolute wilderness with temps that could kill (Haines Junction, 148 miles from Haines, was the only gas stop until Whitehorse).
Now I knew that Buck had gotten me to Alaska just fine. We had done our share of driving through open places with few towns in between, but with temps in the -20's, it was a completely different story. If something happened and the car broke down, we'd be stranded along a stretch of road which few cars traveled. Not only that, but I was concerned about conditions at the pass. By this I mean Chilkat Pass, just beyond the Canadian border. Many times the pass would shut down because of conditions. Though the weather looked clear for our trip to Whitehorse, there was no saying what it would be like on the way back. It was possible that we would get trapped in Haines Junction. The whole thing was nerve-wracking. But I suppose there was one last adventure to be had with my fellow helpers, so I succumbed to the pressure and agreed to make the drive.
I had driven up to the border at the beginning of my stay in Mosquito Lake. As it was only 13 miles from Tamsen's it wasn't much of a drive, and I kind of thrilled in the idea of living so close to the border. I mean, if things went pear-shaped in America, it was a comfort to have Canada right in the backyard. Passing through the border is pretty straight forward. We were welcomed with a "Hello" and a "Bonjour." It's to be noted that Canada is supposedly bilingual, with Quebec being one of the provinces. I found this charming, as I've always had an affinity for the French language. With passports checked, we were wished a good journey, and we were on our way.
The road ahead of us was plowed. It was a relief to find that the Canadian part of the Haines Highway was well-maintained, even more so than the American side. The road steeply rose, hemmed in by thick forest. As we rose higher, the trees thinned out and shortened more into bushes, and then we came to just snow, as far as the eye could see. The pass was clear and it offered spectacular views of towering mountain peaks. I don't know why, but I felt we had entered into a whole new territory, even though Mosquito Lake was merely miles behind us. This felt completely alien, with a white so bright it hurt the eyes.
The drive turned out to be a piece of cake, namely because there was no traffic. I didn't expect a whole lot of traffic in the middle of winter, but this was almost eerie. The odd car that did come our way had what looked like a sheet of cardboard over the front grill. The temperature was constantly on our minds as Buck's display read -22 F. Thankfully it was nice and toasty inside as the three of us finally laughed and talked, free from the confines of the homestead.
The first part of Haines Highway past the border is some of the most spectacular scenery that can be found on Earth. Part of British Columbia, it mostly consists of sharp mountain peaks and yawning wilderness. I get chills thinking about this landscape. I'm thankful to say that I didn't burst into tears like I had in Banff National Park--by this time I had been broken in with wonderful scenery in Haines. But I was in constant awe. How beautiful our planet is! I challenge anyone to drive that stretch of highway and not be moved by it.
About 100 miles into the drive, we came to the Yukon border. We commemorated the moment by getting out and taking a picture in front of the Yukon sign. I didn't dare turn Buck off, in fear of him not restarting. From that point on, the mountain peaks weren't as steep, but the wilderness was just as fantastic with rivers and wide stretches of frozen lake.
We pulled into Haines Junction, population 589. It was like a ghost town under the weight of the cold; nothing moved but a few cars. We made a stop to fill up with gas, mindful that this was the only gas available between Haines and Whitehorse. Pulling out of the station, we found that we had the option to drive onto Fairbanks, or Anchorage, as the Alcan Highway meets up with the Haines Highway (thus the name Haines Junction). It was thrilling to think that we could just keep driving. Yes, Fairbanks was like 500 miles away, but at least we had that option. It takes living in an isolated place, such as Haines, to really appreciate the open road and the opportunities it brings.
From Haines Junction to Whitehorse it was an easy drive. Away from the Coast Mountains, this section the Yukon was merely hills instead of mountains. Still, the scenery was fabulous, offering sweeping views of forest.
As daylight hours are short in this part of the world, it was already getting dark as we pulled into Whitehorse. The capital city of the Yukon is a proper metropolis in the emptiness of the territory. It was a relief to see chain stores and restaurants as we pulled onto the main strip--civilization at last! One thing that impressed me right off the bat was the number of tire places. This was a good thing, seen as how Buck was now reeking of gasoline. I had never had this problem with him before and had me very concerned. The smell was so strong it making us swoon.
We found our hostel off a street in the main downtown area. The hostel, called The Beez Kneez, was the cutest, friendliest place. It seriously felt as if we were staying in someone's house. We were the only guests, but shared a room with bunkbeds. I asked if there was somewhere sheltered I could park the car; after all, most Canadians in these parts either had garages or engine heaters. I hated to think of Buck being exposed to the elements. He had gotten us to Whitehorse, which was good of him, but I didn't want to abuse him further, especially with him leaking gas. The lady informed me that there were no garages to park, but suggested we start the engine throughout the night and let it run in order to prevent the gas line from freezing. Irene and Jared offered to take this on, seen as how I had driven them all this way. They'd be taking shifts through the night.
We headed down the street in search of food, deciding to walk instead of drive. My white poof coat, which had surrounded me like a comforting pillow in Haines, now had turned to crinkle wrap. The cold air bit my fingers through my thick gloves. I kept my face under the collar of my coat, but my breath steamed up my glasses, making it hard for me to see. Wow, was that a cold walk. We walked eight blocks, which was pretty considerable. I guess we didn't drive because we wanted to drink. And drink we did, as soon as we reached the Gold Rush Inn. What a haven that place was, with its comfort food and flowing booze. There was a hint of the frontier in the Gold Rush, though it was mainly a sports bar. With poutine on the menu, and hockey jerseys on the wall, there was no mistake that we were in Canada, especially with Jared talking away (he had been so quiet at Tamsen's, but on this Yukon trip he was a talkaholic), ending every other sentence with a "hey?" as if asking us to agree with his thoughts.
We must have spent a few good hours there, luxuriating in the thrill of being back in civilization, and a bar at that, away from goats and cluttered kitchens. Irene and Jared were so cheery that they decided they were going to find some cigarettes to smoke. They were informed that a convenience store was located about a mile down the road. They actually said they would walk it. I thought they were crazy--there was no way I'd be walking that far--so I left them and headed them back to the hostel. The town was lit up for Christmas, and looked very festive, at least it seemed that way through my fogged up glasses. The sky was cloudy so there was no hope in seeing Northern Lights, much to my dismay. But still, this was quite the Yukon experience, braving killer temps through the empty streets on the way back to the hostel. The walk back was even colder, if that was possible. I worried about Irene and Jared, who were venturing out into the cold night with even less protection than I had. They had been liquored up and in good spirits. Were they in the right frame of mind to be walking the streets in this cold? I got back to the hostel and waited for them. When they didn't come back, I got in Buck (who thankfully started right up) and drove through the streets looking for them, expecting to find their frozen figures on some corner. I found them several blocks from the hostel, still laughing and jovial from booze.
The next morning, my priority was to get Buck seen to. The smell of gas had been alarming, and I wanted to make sure that Buck was in top form before heading back into that isolation. I took him to Canada Tire where they gave him a once over. They informed me that nothing was wrong and that sometimes the cold did weird things to Subarus. They charged me nothing for this service, and I was very impressed by their generosity. I was also relieved that Buck was in good shape for the drive. I was told to try to put cardboard across the front of the car, just like we had seen other cars on the highway. This is to prevent the cold air from freezing the engine. I had never heard of this, but apparently this is true. When the air gets far below zero, it can actually freeze a car in its tracks, even if it's going 60 mph. So Jared, Irene and I went through dumpsters in the back of Canada Tires, trying to find just the right piece of cardboard. The only thing was, we couldn't figure out how to get it under the grill. We left the cardboard off and braved the journey without it.
Before leaving Whitehorse, Irene and Jared wanted to see more of the town. I was concerned about getting back to Mosquito Lake before dark, but because we had spent so much time at Canada Tire, they felt they hadn't seen enough. I understood, so I allowed them an hour in town. The downtown of Whitehorse is really charming with trendy cafes and an old-time train depot (there's a train that runs between Skagway and Whitehorse called the White Pass and Yukon Route). The town echoes with the history of the gold rush, with the frontier-facades of the buildings and the Yukon River (frozen then) running through the town. I loved the place, and knew I'd have to come back. After all, Chris had relatives that lived in Whitehorse, and we had yet to meet them.
The drive back was very long. I hadn't slept well the night before, ironically worrying about the car and the drive. I don't know why I didn't let Irene or Jared help with the driving; I suppose I felt I wanted the safety to lie in my hands. By the time we reached the pass, the dark had set in, and so had some bad weather. The wind was blowing fiercely, producing almost white-out conditions. Thankfully the road was very wide at the pass, with high rods in place to mark the shoulders (for the snowplows I can only surmise). It was a relief to pass through the US border and make the short drive to Mosquito Lake and sit before the fire.
It was one last hurrah with Irene and Jared. It had been a great little trip, and I was glad I had seen a bit more of Irene and Jared and their unfettered personalities. We had all been so polite with each other at Tamsen's; it was refreshing to experience their loud, talkative side. I think we all needed that trip. But I had to say goodbye to them, for I was soon to become a townie.
The Easy Life
It wasn't comfort I came to Alaska for, but it was certainly welcome after a month's worth of shivering at Tamsen's. Instead of a wood stove, I now had radiant heating. On top of that I had soft carpet to lounge around on, and--get this--a heated bed. No more sleeping with a hot water bottle; instead, I slept in the nude. This was the height of luxury for me. No having to get out of bed to stoke a fire, no dogs howling through the night for their owner, and no housemates to tiptoe around. Oh, and no more bidets. I was back to living the bachelorette lifestyle with frozen pizzas and junk TV. After all these years with Chris and in the UK and abroad, I was back to simple living, my version of the American dream.
I loved it, especially because everything was taken care of. I had paid three months' rent up front, and there were no utilities to pay, so all I could do was spend my money on clothes, movies and music. The house felt more like a cave, as I kept most of the shades drawn. Seen as how I was at work for most of the daylight hours, there was no reason to try to let sunlight in. I had absolute privacy, which was good for I was back to exercising to workout videos. Someone would have to steady themselves on a ladder to look in the only unshaded window (the kitchen window) to watch me work on my Pussycat Dolls routine. I probably will never have such a cushy existence again, and I relished the time spent in town.
Mountain Market was still my place of employment. Instead of a hour and half roundtrip drive each day, I now could walk to work. This was ideal on snowy days when I couldn't be bothered to unbury Buck. I found it strange that so few Alaskans had garages. This made no sense. If there ever was a place to park a car inside, it would be Alaska. But like everything else in Haines, corners are cut in the way of construction, and this could very much to due to the price of materials. There are no building codes in Haines, and this can be both a good and bad thing. Good in the way of saving money--bad in the way of slapdash building. The variety of houses to be found in Haines is very interesting, to say the least. Some people live in teepees, some in chalets, some in one room cabins without running water; some people even live in tents year round. I thought this was absolutely crazy, but then again, many people move to isolated towns like Haines to break all the rules of society. I kind of admire that kind of living.
But living rough was not for me. The roughest it got for me that winter was my walk to work. As all residents are responsible for their own safety, none of the shops shoveled their sidewalks, so many times after a heavy snow I 'd have to walk in the road. And even that wasn't easy, as the borough wasn't interested in salting. These Alaskans were tough, both when it came to walking and driving. Everyone had AWD vehicles with studded tires. And when walking, they wore "grippers," chains to wear on the underside of your boots. I had brought my collection of high-heels to Haines; I was beginning to see how utterly useless 3/4 of my shoes were. A good pair of boots, grippers, a heavy coat, and good gloves--that was all that was needed. Nobody was impressed with fashion; nobody cared if you wore the same clothes ten days in a row. Many Haines residents lived in cabins with no running water, which meant they only took a shower once a week at the laundromat. Many of these people you could pick out from the smell of their clothes and their unwashed hair--but it was ok! This was Alaska!
My job at Mountain Market was alright, but nothing terribly exciting. I was surrounded by a cast of interesting characters; some of them were quirky, but many of them clearly had social disabilities. My spirit had been broken from the first day, when I realized just how anal and micromanaged the place was. Not just the management, but the workers who only had one way of doing things. To give an example, though I had spent many years working in a kitchen, apparently I didn't know the appropriate way of spreading mustard on bread and was told I was doing it wrong. This is just one example of the many things I was corrected on. And here I was supposed to be trained to be a manager? Somehow I got the sense that I would never be manager in a place as regimented as this. So I spent many days with my head down just doing my work. My favorite part of work was burning waxed cardboard outside in a burn barrel. As the fire had to be supervised, and stand there and enjoy its warmth and crackle while looking at the mountains. These were peaceful times for me, like I was in the middle of camping.
Another thing that crushed my spirit is that none of the younger workers (by that, I mean my age or younger) cared about my story--where I came from, my life experiences, my humorous anecdotes. At first this stung, as I had been used to attention in the UK for being an American, and in the Midwest, of course, everyone is interested in hearing your stories. I'm used to exchanges in conversations, with questions of interest being asked, followed by questions of interest back. I did my part in asking questions, but had no questions asked in return. If I tried to tell a story about myself, I'd be overtalked, or one-upped with someone else's story. The social dynamics in the kitchen really set me back, and I retreated inward. This is something that definitely affected me from the outset and drove me on a course of isolation. I felt it was easier to keep silent and protect my thoughts rather than to face disinterest or disdain. I felt very alone at Mountain Market, but back in my cave with my heated bed, things were lovely.
The In Crowd
There was one guy at work I really got on with, and that was Ashley, the first guy I had met in Haines. He was more or less a free spirit with a booming voice and a shaggy, beardy appearance. He was always good for laughs. One day when he was eating lunch, I heard him laughing about his radio show. He said it was so bad that he had to apologize for it on air. I was impressed with the idea of DJing and asked how he had gotten his own show. He told me it was voluntary and the local station KHNS was always looking for DJs. I had never thought of doing a radio show, but I wasn't doing a whole lot else through the winter, so I considered volunteering at the station.
There didn't seem to be a whole lot to do in town in the winter. Most of the restaurants were closed down, and there was no bowling alley, movie theater, or mall. What did people do for fun in this town anyway? Well, as Christmas was approaching, the town came alive one day. I was finishing up my shift, the sun had already gone under, and I was ready to go home, but there was a commotion out on the street. "It's the parade," one of my coworkers told me. I thought it was odd that a parade would be held in the dark, but apparently it was a parade of lights, complete with a Chinese-style dragon--the Snow Dragon. Irene and Jared came into the cafe, all aglow with holiday spirit. They said they were going to the library for the town party. Seen as how my shift was over, I joined them. The library, located next door to Mountain Market, was the best library I had ever seen (indeed, it has won awards for the best small-town library). Decorated to the hilt for Christmas, it was a warm and cozy place with a winter backdrop showing through the huge picture windows. The whole town seemed crammed into a small space, and I found it amusing that the number one hot spot in town was a library. This should say a lot about the town. (I've been told that per capita, Haines has the most college-educated population in America). I was beginning to see the town outside of the workers and customers at Mountain Market. The thought crossed my mind that I should make an effort to get out and meet people.
Around this time, a poster was put up on the front door of Mountain Market. It was promoting a Masquerade Ball for New Years. Like Cinderella, I really wanted to go to this ball. I ended up asking Ashley, and to my surprise he didn't have a date set up, so he said yes. I was over the moon, and spent hours online trying to find the perfect outfit.
Though my Christmas was spent alone in my cave (with music and rum to keep me company, as well as Chris on Skype), I got out soon after as I was invited to my boss's birthday party. Though others at work had been invited, most wimped out. I got the feeling that the elite of Haines would be at this party, so I wanted to make a good impression, dressing up in a skirt and heels (yes--heels!) Driving into the dark woods, I searched for a house with a long driveway. Well, my luck with Buck ran out on that long driveway as I backed into a snowbank. Actually I was lucky, as I had been within inches of missing the bank and almost ended up in a ditch, but as it was, I was stuck. This was my great introduction to Haines society, as I sought help from party goers. My first rescuers were the town's newspaper editor and his wife. Because Buck still wouldn't move, no matter how much I spun the tires, a group emerged from the house, offering advice and frivolity. My suede heel boots were destroyed, but this was great fun. Finally, the owner's husband had to pull a tractor out of his garage and pull Buck from the snowbank. I felt like an idiot but nobody seemed to mind. This kind of stuff apparently happened all the time. I spent the rest of the night drinking expensive wine and engaging in conversation with the town's elite. Finally, I had found my kind of people! We were talking religion, we were talking travel, we were talking politics. This was the kind of stuff I had been hungering for, and I was so happy to see that the workers at Mountain Market had been but a sad representation of Haines folk. Everybody I talked to had fascinating stories to tell. By far, most of them were from somewhere else (very few people in Haines were born and raised there) but had moved to this far corner of Alaska to experience something different. Haines was not boring, not by a long shot, as I found the town to be full of intelligent, creative, progressive-thinking, adventurous, life-loving people. Without any pretensions, I might add. I left that party feeling that I had turned a corner somehow, and I had so much to look forward to in this place.
Things just got better as the Masquerade Ball approached. I felt like Cinderella, emerging from the kitchen at Mountain Market to be escorted to the ball by the handsome Sir Ashley. Well, actually, Ashley came for me in his car, and although I was dressed like some kind of pirate wench, Ashley was wearing a ballgown. The look worked for him in an ironic way, as he wore this purple frock with heavy winter boots. He looked a bit Trent Reznor from the 90s, slightly goth and edgy cool with his beard. Together we made a fine pair.
The ball was held in the Chilkat Center for the Arts, a huge barn-like building in the fort (Fort Seward is the historic part of the town with large white houses and buildings layered on a hill). Located up a tiny street called Soap Suds Alley, this building was quite impressive for such a small community. The ball was actually held in a large auditorium. Though there is no movie theater in Haines, the residents get their fill of plays and other artistic productions. Again, this should say something about the people in the town and the things they value.
Ashley informed me that the radio station was located upstairs in the Chilkat Center. I didn't check it out that night, but I had already set up an appointment with Amelia, the music director, to start training for a show. In fact, it was KHNS who had put the ball on. The decorations were outstanding, particularly on the stage, where the bands were playing. Parachutes were hung like a chandeliers over the stage with all sorts of drapery. It felt both elegant and creative and really gave the impression that this was the coolest event in town. It seemed that everyone had put an effort into dressing up, which I really appreciated. More and more I was realizing that this was my kind of town.
The Masquerade Ball of 2012 was one of the best nights of my life, particularly because it was New Years, and it was the best New Years experience I had ever had. The bands were good and it seemed that half the town was up there on stage dancing. The booze was flowing, and though Ashley was often off, crashing around the stage with his big boots, I found I could dance with a number of groups. There was a real community spirit, as if everyone were friends. It's that feeling you long for at a concert or a show--sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. But this was a whole town that had come together. Well, not the whole town, just a particular demographic of the town, but it was a demographic I could relate to, and my life in Haines got so much better from that night on.
Though I had drank and danced the night away, I was up at a decent hour the next morning, for I was to start the new year right with the Polar Bear Plunge. I had heard about it from the newspaper editor at the birthday party. He informed me that every year, on January 1st, the town had a polar bear plunge down at the cruise ship dock. I had never envisioned doing such a thing, but naturally I was intrigued. After the few parties I had attended in short succession, my confidence had grown and I was down for anything. I had invited Ashley to come, but he had had too much fun the night before and was down for the count. Proud that I wasn't suffering a hangover on New Years Day, I still felt the need to punish myself with this strange ritual.
The air temp was around 35 degrees, which is rather warm for winter in Alaska. But the sea was cold--very cold--I was told. Though seawater doesn't freeze this far south, it is still on the chilly side, enough to give a person a heart attack really. I was nervous standing there on the beach with all the others. A Tlingit elder offered a prayer, and then there was a countdown, and then everyone ran into the ocean. It was a shock to the system, particularly when I put my head under. My muscles froze up, and I sincerely worried that I wouldn't be able to stand back up. But my frozen legs heaved me upward and numbly stumbled back onto to the beach. Somehow I ran, my eyes focused on the blazing bonfire. Though the water was a shock, it was easy to warm up with the fire and the cups of hot chocolate being passed around. I went home and took a nice hot shower, feeling triumphant. The Polar Bear Plunge was an experience, displaying another example of community participation. I'm glad I did the plunge, but seen as how I had been inducted into the Polar Bear Club, it's somewhat of a relief that I never have to do it again.
What a way to start off a year. I had turned a corner in Haines, Alaska, and now there was so much to look forward to. I was sending emails to Chris, telling him how cool this place was. Though he sounded interested, he was set on creating his own adventures, planning a trip around Europe, which I yelled at him for. Weren't we supposed to be saving for life in Alaska together? We were oceans apart, literally and figuratively. I couldn't place him in Haines. He wasn't sure if he could either and was noticeably nervous about the whole thing. Though I squashed his dreams of backpacking around the Baltic, he still spent a month in Poland, where he did his share of Help-Xing. The issue of his Green Card was unresolved. He felt he would never get it, and I was tired of trying to reassure him. There was a gap in communication, and in this time, my security in Haines grew. With or without him, I was here to stay.
About a Dog
That December and January, I sat out the worst of winter. But in the back of my mind, the end of February loomed. My house-sitting/renting gig would be up, and then where would I be? Places were hard to come by in such a small town, especially in the winter months. A lady at work told me about a place that would be available around that time, a place called Stone House, just 8 miles down Haines Highway. I was told it was historic, a one of a kind house built entirely of stone. The location, though right off the highway, was directly across from the river and the Cathedral Peaks, some of the most impressive peaks in the area. Not only that, but it was located on five acres of land, all which I could hike and make use of. This all sounded wonderful, and the rent was reasonable. But when I went to check the place out, it was very run down. The front section of the house, all windows, looked out over those Cathedral Peaks, but the glass was thick and streaky with age. Also, the previous tenant had been a smoker; every inch of wall and ceiling and furniture were covered with tar and there was a stale smell coming from the carpet. Though there was a separate cabin on the premises, it was completely trashed. Garbage had been left behind and everything seemed really run down. But my options were limited, and there were a lot of pros about the place, namely the location, and also, the fact that I could have a dog. A dog! It was time to get serious about my Alaskan existence.
Getting a dog is serious business for me, particularly because I had to give up my six year old husky/malamute when I moved to the UK. This was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and it was done only as a last resort as I couldn't put my dog through that move and possible quarantine. I swore I'd never give another animal up again. So getting a dog meant that I was in America to stay. I didn't entertain the possibility of Chris remaining in the UK. If he did, that would be his choice. I for one wouldn't be moving back.
It's funny because when I was staying out at Mosquito Lake, I was captivated by the two beastly dogs which regularly assaulted my car. I was told they were akitas, though with a touch of something else, possibly husky. They might have come across as aggressive, but when I met them outside of the car, they were friendly and lovable. They were basically big balls of fur with big smiley faces. I started doing some research on breeds and found that the cutest mix of dog was actually a Sheptika, a mix of German Shepherd and akita. I had it in my mind that I wanted a Shepkita.
A guy named Steve was a regular customer at Mountain Market. I was told to talk to him about adopting a dog, as he was the director at HARK, the animal shelter in Haines. He informed me that he had a dog available for adoption, one that had been brought in with a group of other dogs from the Yukon. He said that the dog was an akita/husky mix, but in the pictures the pup looked like a German Shepherd, only extra fluffy with short, adorable ears. Basically he looked like the dog of my dreams. So I headed down to HARK to check him out. As I walked through the door, it was more like him checking me out, as he was very curious about me, jumping up and putting his mouth all over me. It was a bit disconcerting with me sitting on the floor with his teeth grazing every inch of me. Steve said he was feeling me with his mouth, but I had never seen a dog do this before. He was adorable, no doubt about that, but he seemed to be a lot to handle. His story was patchy: he had been handed over to a shelter in Whitehorse with some other dogs that had been neglected, but much of his background was unknown. Had he been abused? Did he have trust issues? How did he get along with other dogs? He and one of the other dogs brought in had been fighting, and Horton (for that was his name) had ripped the other dog's leg upon. He was a big fella too, about 80 lbs. They didn't even know his age; they guessed around 3 or 4, so he still had a lot of energy. I wondered if I could handle of dog like this. I had raised a husky/malamute from puppyhood, and that dog had taken up so much of my time her energy and issues. This was a full-grown dog with a sketchy background, with some potential problems. Did I want to take this on? Was I ready for a dog like Horton? There was only one answer: Yes.
I came to visit him a second time, and his mouth-feeling proved to be a one time deal (I've never seen him do that with anyone else). We played out in the fenced area behind the shelter, and though he was enthusiastic, he was rough. It was as if he didn't understand his boundaries. He jumped and bit at my big puffy coat and nipped at my gloves. I found that if I took my gloves off, he wouldn't bite down on my bare skin, yet he figured any fabric or material was fair game for nipping and tugging. He also made me nervous, the way he'd run around almost spastically with bursts of energy. This was a dog that could do serious damage. In fact, I came home from our play date with all kinds of scratches and bruises.
I had my concerns about Horton, but I was resolute in my decision to adopt him. Though I wasn't a fan of his name, he came when I called it, so figured I had to keep it. The name has grown on me over time, and is quite cute when you consider he's a Canadian (Tim Horton's is a chain restaurant in Canada). Most people associate his name with Dr. Seuess's Horton Hears a Who, which is ok by me. Chris and I decided his full name should be Horton of the Yukon, and we often sing to him using that name. Chris likes to remind me of an email I sent to him, telling him of dog I met, "His name is Horton, but his name should be changed to Awesome."
Horton proved his awesomeness when I took him out of that fenced area and onto a proper trail. He was a snow dog through and through, but he stayed close to me on the trails, coming to me when I called him. His energy was directed at the snow, and this worked well as he wasn't jumping and roughing me up. He would have these crazy bursts of energy on a trail where he would turn and face me, a devilish look in his eye, and just charge me at full speed. Of course he would brush right past me, but then he'd turn around and do it again from the other direction. He would continue this charges until he wore himself out. This is something he still does on a hike, like he's got so much energy he can't contain it. I wonder where this game came from, but it never fails to bring a laugh. That crazy dog.
Because Horton was so good on our hikes, I knew I had made the right decision. Horton is the perfect hiking dog. I dare say, he's the reason why I've been able to hike as much as I have in Alaska, as his presence serves as protection against bears and other predators. Or more like a deterrent, as bears don't want to mess with dogs, especially big ones like Horton. After being scared by the stories told to me at Tamsen's, I wondered if I'd be able to hike alone, but with Horton, I knew I'd be in better shape in the wild. A girl and her dog: this was meant to be.
HARK was good to let Horton stay with them until I was ready to move to Stone House. I've never known a shelter to do this before, to hold a dog like that, but they felt it was good match so they invested extra time to make sure it would work. This meant that he stayed at the shelter for a month longer, but I came to visit him every day, no matter how bad the roads were. With the sun setting at 4 in the afternoon, I had to drive out to see him directly after work and make use of the daylight. I would look forward to these visits, taking Horton on little trips, either to the beach or to a snowy trail. Sometimes I'd take him back to the house I was renting, but those times were few, as I didn't completely trust him in another person's home. Indeed, the first time through the door, he peed on the rug by the entrance. This was done so matter-of-factly that I got the impression that he was marking his territory. Yes, Horton certainly had his quirks. He still played roughly, but I tried to get him to play with my shirt sleeves pulled up. I would also bop him on the nose to get him to stop biting. I've done this with puppies before, but it's more challenging with a full-grown dog. For the most part, he listened to my corrections and eventually gave up these bad behaviors. For instance, he used to be obsessed with my feet; he'd bite at them and carry my slippers around his mouth, but after some strong reprimands, he's given that up. I've been able to deduce that Horton hadn't been properly exposed to things as a pup. There were so many things he didn't get, like what to do with a ball, or a bone. He seemed to suffer from insecurity, like he didn't feel worthy to be on the couch or the bed. I can only imagine that his interactions with humans must have been very limited. But it didn't seem like he had been abused, as he took discipline well. More likely he had been neglected, deprived of affection. Til this day he acts like he's being molested if we give him hugs or kisses. He doesn't know what to do with affection, how to receive or return it. It's one of his quirks, I suppose. But he's a lovable boy all the same, and I adore my Horton of the Yukon, my Shepkita.
We headed down the street in search of food, deciding to walk instead of drive. My white poof coat, which had surrounded me like a comforting pillow in Haines, now had turned to crinkle wrap. The cold air bit my fingers through my thick gloves. I kept my face under the collar of my coat, but my breath steamed up my glasses, making it hard for me to see. Wow, was that a cold walk. We walked eight blocks, which was pretty considerable. I guess we didn't drive because we wanted to drink. And drink we did, as soon as we reached the Gold Rush Inn. What a haven that place was, with its comfort food and flowing booze. There was a hint of the frontier in the Gold Rush, though it was mainly a sports bar. With poutine on the menu, and hockey jerseys on the wall, there was no mistake that we were in Canada, especially with Jared talking away (he had been so quiet at Tamsen's, but on this Yukon trip he was a talkaholic), ending every other sentence with a "hey?" as if asking us to agree with his thoughts.
We must have spent a few good hours there, luxuriating in the thrill of being back in civilization, and a bar at that, away from goats and cluttered kitchens. Irene and Jared were so cheery that they decided they were going to find some cigarettes to smoke. They were informed that a convenience store was located about a mile down the road. They actually said they would walk it. I thought they were crazy--there was no way I'd be walking that far--so I left them and headed them back to the hostel. The town was lit up for Christmas, and looked very festive, at least it seemed that way through my fogged up glasses. The sky was cloudy so there was no hope in seeing Northern Lights, much to my dismay. But still, this was quite the Yukon experience, braving killer temps through the empty streets on the way back to the hostel. The walk back was even colder, if that was possible. I worried about Irene and Jared, who were venturing out into the cold night with even less protection than I had. They had been liquored up and in good spirits. Were they in the right frame of mind to be walking the streets in this cold? I got back to the hostel and waited for them. When they didn't come back, I got in Buck (who thankfully started right up) and drove through the streets looking for them, expecting to find their frozen figures on some corner. I found them several blocks from the hostel, still laughing and jovial from booze.
The next morning, my priority was to get Buck seen to. The smell of gas had been alarming, and I wanted to make sure that Buck was in top form before heading back into that isolation. I took him to Canada Tire where they gave him a once over. They informed me that nothing was wrong and that sometimes the cold did weird things to Subarus. They charged me nothing for this service, and I was very impressed by their generosity. I was also relieved that Buck was in good shape for the drive. I was told to try to put cardboard across the front of the car, just like we had seen other cars on the highway. This is to prevent the cold air from freezing the engine. I had never heard of this, but apparently this is true. When the air gets far below zero, it can actually freeze a car in its tracks, even if it's going 60 mph. So Jared, Irene and I went through dumpsters in the back of Canada Tires, trying to find just the right piece of cardboard. The only thing was, we couldn't figure out how to get it under the grill. We left the cardboard off and braved the journey without it.
Before leaving Whitehorse, Irene and Jared wanted to see more of the town. I was concerned about getting back to Mosquito Lake before dark, but because we had spent so much time at Canada Tire, they felt they hadn't seen enough. I understood, so I allowed them an hour in town. The downtown of Whitehorse is really charming with trendy cafes and an old-time train depot (there's a train that runs between Skagway and Whitehorse called the White Pass and Yukon Route). The town echoes with the history of the gold rush, with the frontier-facades of the buildings and the Yukon River (frozen then) running through the town. I loved the place, and knew I'd have to come back. After all, Chris had relatives that lived in Whitehorse, and we had yet to meet them.
The drive back was very long. I hadn't slept well the night before, ironically worrying about the car and the drive. I don't know why I didn't let Irene or Jared help with the driving; I suppose I felt I wanted the safety to lie in my hands. By the time we reached the pass, the dark had set in, and so had some bad weather. The wind was blowing fiercely, producing almost white-out conditions. Thankfully the road was very wide at the pass, with high rods in place to mark the shoulders (for the snowplows I can only surmise). It was a relief to pass through the US border and make the short drive to Mosquito Lake and sit before the fire.
It was one last hurrah with Irene and Jared. It had been a great little trip, and I was glad I had seen a bit more of Irene and Jared and their unfettered personalities. We had all been so polite with each other at Tamsen's; it was refreshing to experience their loud, talkative side. I think we all needed that trip. But I had to say goodbye to them, for I was soon to become a townie.
The Easy Life
It wasn't comfort I came to Alaska for, but it was certainly welcome after a month's worth of shivering at Tamsen's. Instead of a wood stove, I now had radiant heating. On top of that I had soft carpet to lounge around on, and--get this--a heated bed. No more sleeping with a hot water bottle; instead, I slept in the nude. This was the height of luxury for me. No having to get out of bed to stoke a fire, no dogs howling through the night for their owner, and no housemates to tiptoe around. Oh, and no more bidets. I was back to living the bachelorette lifestyle with frozen pizzas and junk TV. After all these years with Chris and in the UK and abroad, I was back to simple living, my version of the American dream.
I loved it, especially because everything was taken care of. I had paid three months' rent up front, and there were no utilities to pay, so all I could do was spend my money on clothes, movies and music. The house felt more like a cave, as I kept most of the shades drawn. Seen as how I was at work for most of the daylight hours, there was no reason to try to let sunlight in. I had absolute privacy, which was good for I was back to exercising to workout videos. Someone would have to steady themselves on a ladder to look in the only unshaded window (the kitchen window) to watch me work on my Pussycat Dolls routine. I probably will never have such a cushy existence again, and I relished the time spent in town.
Mountain Market was still my place of employment. Instead of a hour and half roundtrip drive each day, I now could walk to work. This was ideal on snowy days when I couldn't be bothered to unbury Buck. I found it strange that so few Alaskans had garages. This made no sense. If there ever was a place to park a car inside, it would be Alaska. But like everything else in Haines, corners are cut in the way of construction, and this could very much to due to the price of materials. There are no building codes in Haines, and this can be both a good and bad thing. Good in the way of saving money--bad in the way of slapdash building. The variety of houses to be found in Haines is very interesting, to say the least. Some people live in teepees, some in chalets, some in one room cabins without running water; some people even live in tents year round. I thought this was absolutely crazy, but then again, many people move to isolated towns like Haines to break all the rules of society. I kind of admire that kind of living.
But living rough was not for me. The roughest it got for me that winter was my walk to work. As all residents are responsible for their own safety, none of the shops shoveled their sidewalks, so many times after a heavy snow I 'd have to walk in the road. And even that wasn't easy, as the borough wasn't interested in salting. These Alaskans were tough, both when it came to walking and driving. Everyone had AWD vehicles with studded tires. And when walking, they wore "grippers," chains to wear on the underside of your boots. I had brought my collection of high-heels to Haines; I was beginning to see how utterly useless 3/4 of my shoes were. A good pair of boots, grippers, a heavy coat, and good gloves--that was all that was needed. Nobody was impressed with fashion; nobody cared if you wore the same clothes ten days in a row. Many Haines residents lived in cabins with no running water, which meant they only took a shower once a week at the laundromat. Many of these people you could pick out from the smell of their clothes and their unwashed hair--but it was ok! This was Alaska!
My job at Mountain Market was alright, but nothing terribly exciting. I was surrounded by a cast of interesting characters; some of them were quirky, but many of them clearly had social disabilities. My spirit had been broken from the first day, when I realized just how anal and micromanaged the place was. Not just the management, but the workers who only had one way of doing things. To give an example, though I had spent many years working in a kitchen, apparently I didn't know the appropriate way of spreading mustard on bread and was told I was doing it wrong. This is just one example of the many things I was corrected on. And here I was supposed to be trained to be a manager? Somehow I got the sense that I would never be manager in a place as regimented as this. So I spent many days with my head down just doing my work. My favorite part of work was burning waxed cardboard outside in a burn barrel. As the fire had to be supervised, and stand there and enjoy its warmth and crackle while looking at the mountains. These were peaceful times for me, like I was in the middle of camping.
Another thing that crushed my spirit is that none of the younger workers (by that, I mean my age or younger) cared about my story--where I came from, my life experiences, my humorous anecdotes. At first this stung, as I had been used to attention in the UK for being an American, and in the Midwest, of course, everyone is interested in hearing your stories. I'm used to exchanges in conversations, with questions of interest being asked, followed by questions of interest back. I did my part in asking questions, but had no questions asked in return. If I tried to tell a story about myself, I'd be overtalked, or one-upped with someone else's story. The social dynamics in the kitchen really set me back, and I retreated inward. This is something that definitely affected me from the outset and drove me on a course of isolation. I felt it was easier to keep silent and protect my thoughts rather than to face disinterest or disdain. I felt very alone at Mountain Market, but back in my cave with my heated bed, things were lovely.
The In Crowd
There was one guy at work I really got on with, and that was Ashley, the first guy I had met in Haines. He was more or less a free spirit with a booming voice and a shaggy, beardy appearance. He was always good for laughs. One day when he was eating lunch, I heard him laughing about his radio show. He said it was so bad that he had to apologize for it on air. I was impressed with the idea of DJing and asked how he had gotten his own show. He told me it was voluntary and the local station KHNS was always looking for DJs. I had never thought of doing a radio show, but I wasn't doing a whole lot else through the winter, so I considered volunteering at the station.
There didn't seem to be a whole lot to do in town in the winter. Most of the restaurants were closed down, and there was no bowling alley, movie theater, or mall. What did people do for fun in this town anyway? Well, as Christmas was approaching, the town came alive one day. I was finishing up my shift, the sun had already gone under, and I was ready to go home, but there was a commotion out on the street. "It's the parade," one of my coworkers told me. I thought it was odd that a parade would be held in the dark, but apparently it was a parade of lights, complete with a Chinese-style dragon--the Snow Dragon. Irene and Jared came into the cafe, all aglow with holiday spirit. They said they were going to the library for the town party. Seen as how my shift was over, I joined them. The library, located next door to Mountain Market, was the best library I had ever seen (indeed, it has won awards for the best small-town library). Decorated to the hilt for Christmas, it was a warm and cozy place with a winter backdrop showing through the huge picture windows. The whole town seemed crammed into a small space, and I found it amusing that the number one hot spot in town was a library. This should say a lot about the town. (I've been told that per capita, Haines has the most college-educated population in America). I was beginning to see the town outside of the workers and customers at Mountain Market. The thought crossed my mind that I should make an effort to get out and meet people.
Around this time, a poster was put up on the front door of Mountain Market. It was promoting a Masquerade Ball for New Years. Like Cinderella, I really wanted to go to this ball. I ended up asking Ashley, and to my surprise he didn't have a date set up, so he said yes. I was over the moon, and spent hours online trying to find the perfect outfit.
Though my Christmas was spent alone in my cave (with music and rum to keep me company, as well as Chris on Skype), I got out soon after as I was invited to my boss's birthday party. Though others at work had been invited, most wimped out. I got the feeling that the elite of Haines would be at this party, so I wanted to make a good impression, dressing up in a skirt and heels (yes--heels!) Driving into the dark woods, I searched for a house with a long driveway. Well, my luck with Buck ran out on that long driveway as I backed into a snowbank. Actually I was lucky, as I had been within inches of missing the bank and almost ended up in a ditch, but as it was, I was stuck. This was my great introduction to Haines society, as I sought help from party goers. My first rescuers were the town's newspaper editor and his wife. Because Buck still wouldn't move, no matter how much I spun the tires, a group emerged from the house, offering advice and frivolity. My suede heel boots were destroyed, but this was great fun. Finally, the owner's husband had to pull a tractor out of his garage and pull Buck from the snowbank. I felt like an idiot but nobody seemed to mind. This kind of stuff apparently happened all the time. I spent the rest of the night drinking expensive wine and engaging in conversation with the town's elite. Finally, I had found my kind of people! We were talking religion, we were talking travel, we were talking politics. This was the kind of stuff I had been hungering for, and I was so happy to see that the workers at Mountain Market had been but a sad representation of Haines folk. Everybody I talked to had fascinating stories to tell. By far, most of them were from somewhere else (very few people in Haines were born and raised there) but had moved to this far corner of Alaska to experience something different. Haines was not boring, not by a long shot, as I found the town to be full of intelligent, creative, progressive-thinking, adventurous, life-loving people. Without any pretensions, I might add. I left that party feeling that I had turned a corner somehow, and I had so much to look forward to in this place.
Things just got better as the Masquerade Ball approached. I felt like Cinderella, emerging from the kitchen at Mountain Market to be escorted to the ball by the handsome Sir Ashley. Well, actually, Ashley came for me in his car, and although I was dressed like some kind of pirate wench, Ashley was wearing a ballgown. The look worked for him in an ironic way, as he wore this purple frock with heavy winter boots. He looked a bit Trent Reznor from the 90s, slightly goth and edgy cool with his beard. Together we made a fine pair.
The ball was held in the Chilkat Center for the Arts, a huge barn-like building in the fort (Fort Seward is the historic part of the town with large white houses and buildings layered on a hill). Located up a tiny street called Soap Suds Alley, this building was quite impressive for such a small community. The ball was actually held in a large auditorium. Though there is no movie theater in Haines, the residents get their fill of plays and other artistic productions. Again, this should say something about the people in the town and the things they value.
Ashley informed me that the radio station was located upstairs in the Chilkat Center. I didn't check it out that night, but I had already set up an appointment with Amelia, the music director, to start training for a show. In fact, it was KHNS who had put the ball on. The decorations were outstanding, particularly on the stage, where the bands were playing. Parachutes were hung like a chandeliers over the stage with all sorts of drapery. It felt both elegant and creative and really gave the impression that this was the coolest event in town. It seemed that everyone had put an effort into dressing up, which I really appreciated. More and more I was realizing that this was my kind of town.
The Masquerade Ball of 2012 was one of the best nights of my life, particularly because it was New Years, and it was the best New Years experience I had ever had. The bands were good and it seemed that half the town was up there on stage dancing. The booze was flowing, and though Ashley was often off, crashing around the stage with his big boots, I found I could dance with a number of groups. There was a real community spirit, as if everyone were friends. It's that feeling you long for at a concert or a show--sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. But this was a whole town that had come together. Well, not the whole town, just a particular demographic of the town, but it was a demographic I could relate to, and my life in Haines got so much better from that night on.
Though I had drank and danced the night away, I was up at a decent hour the next morning, for I was to start the new year right with the Polar Bear Plunge. I had heard about it from the newspaper editor at the birthday party. He informed me that every year, on January 1st, the town had a polar bear plunge down at the cruise ship dock. I had never envisioned doing such a thing, but naturally I was intrigued. After the few parties I had attended in short succession, my confidence had grown and I was down for anything. I had invited Ashley to come, but he had had too much fun the night before and was down for the count. Proud that I wasn't suffering a hangover on New Years Day, I still felt the need to punish myself with this strange ritual.
The air temp was around 35 degrees, which is rather warm for winter in Alaska. But the sea was cold--very cold--I was told. Though seawater doesn't freeze this far south, it is still on the chilly side, enough to give a person a heart attack really. I was nervous standing there on the beach with all the others. A Tlingit elder offered a prayer, and then there was a countdown, and then everyone ran into the ocean. It was a shock to the system, particularly when I put my head under. My muscles froze up, and I sincerely worried that I wouldn't be able to stand back up. But my frozen legs heaved me upward and numbly stumbled back onto to the beach. Somehow I ran, my eyes focused on the blazing bonfire. Though the water was a shock, it was easy to warm up with the fire and the cups of hot chocolate being passed around. I went home and took a nice hot shower, feeling triumphant. The Polar Bear Plunge was an experience, displaying another example of community participation. I'm glad I did the plunge, but seen as how I had been inducted into the Polar Bear Club, it's somewhat of a relief that I never have to do it again.
What a way to start off a year. I had turned a corner in Haines, Alaska, and now there was so much to look forward to. I was sending emails to Chris, telling him how cool this place was. Though he sounded interested, he was set on creating his own adventures, planning a trip around Europe, which I yelled at him for. Weren't we supposed to be saving for life in Alaska together? We were oceans apart, literally and figuratively. I couldn't place him in Haines. He wasn't sure if he could either and was noticeably nervous about the whole thing. Though I squashed his dreams of backpacking around the Baltic, he still spent a month in Poland, where he did his share of Help-Xing. The issue of his Green Card was unresolved. He felt he would never get it, and I was tired of trying to reassure him. There was a gap in communication, and in this time, my security in Haines grew. With or without him, I was here to stay.
About a Dog
That December and January, I sat out the worst of winter. But in the back of my mind, the end of February loomed. My house-sitting/renting gig would be up, and then where would I be? Places were hard to come by in such a small town, especially in the winter months. A lady at work told me about a place that would be available around that time, a place called Stone House, just 8 miles down Haines Highway. I was told it was historic, a one of a kind house built entirely of stone. The location, though right off the highway, was directly across from the river and the Cathedral Peaks, some of the most impressive peaks in the area. Not only that, but it was located on five acres of land, all which I could hike and make use of. This all sounded wonderful, and the rent was reasonable. But when I went to check the place out, it was very run down. The front section of the house, all windows, looked out over those Cathedral Peaks, but the glass was thick and streaky with age. Also, the previous tenant had been a smoker; every inch of wall and ceiling and furniture were covered with tar and there was a stale smell coming from the carpet. Though there was a separate cabin on the premises, it was completely trashed. Garbage had been left behind and everything seemed really run down. But my options were limited, and there were a lot of pros about the place, namely the location, and also, the fact that I could have a dog. A dog! It was time to get serious about my Alaskan existence.
Getting a dog is serious business for me, particularly because I had to give up my six year old husky/malamute when I moved to the UK. This was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and it was done only as a last resort as I couldn't put my dog through that move and possible quarantine. I swore I'd never give another animal up again. So getting a dog meant that I was in America to stay. I didn't entertain the possibility of Chris remaining in the UK. If he did, that would be his choice. I for one wouldn't be moving back.
It's funny because when I was staying out at Mosquito Lake, I was captivated by the two beastly dogs which regularly assaulted my car. I was told they were akitas, though with a touch of something else, possibly husky. They might have come across as aggressive, but when I met them outside of the car, they were friendly and lovable. They were basically big balls of fur with big smiley faces. I started doing some research on breeds and found that the cutest mix of dog was actually a Sheptika, a mix of German Shepherd and akita. I had it in my mind that I wanted a Shepkita.
A guy named Steve was a regular customer at Mountain Market. I was told to talk to him about adopting a dog, as he was the director at HARK, the animal shelter in Haines. He informed me that he had a dog available for adoption, one that had been brought in with a group of other dogs from the Yukon. He said that the dog was an akita/husky mix, but in the pictures the pup looked like a German Shepherd, only extra fluffy with short, adorable ears. Basically he looked like the dog of my dreams. So I headed down to HARK to check him out. As I walked through the door, it was more like him checking me out, as he was very curious about me, jumping up and putting his mouth all over me. It was a bit disconcerting with me sitting on the floor with his teeth grazing every inch of me. Steve said he was feeling me with his mouth, but I had never seen a dog do this before. He was adorable, no doubt about that, but he seemed to be a lot to handle. His story was patchy: he had been handed over to a shelter in Whitehorse with some other dogs that had been neglected, but much of his background was unknown. Had he been abused? Did he have trust issues? How did he get along with other dogs? He and one of the other dogs brought in had been fighting, and Horton (for that was his name) had ripped the other dog's leg upon. He was a big fella too, about 80 lbs. They didn't even know his age; they guessed around 3 or 4, so he still had a lot of energy. I wondered if I could handle of dog like this. I had raised a husky/malamute from puppyhood, and that dog had taken up so much of my time her energy and issues. This was a full-grown dog with a sketchy background, with some potential problems. Did I want to take this on? Was I ready for a dog like Horton? There was only one answer: Yes.
I came to visit him a second time, and his mouth-feeling proved to be a one time deal (I've never seen him do that with anyone else). We played out in the fenced area behind the shelter, and though he was enthusiastic, he was rough. It was as if he didn't understand his boundaries. He jumped and bit at my big puffy coat and nipped at my gloves. I found that if I took my gloves off, he wouldn't bite down on my bare skin, yet he figured any fabric or material was fair game for nipping and tugging. He also made me nervous, the way he'd run around almost spastically with bursts of energy. This was a dog that could do serious damage. In fact, I came home from our play date with all kinds of scratches and bruises.
I had my concerns about Horton, but I was resolute in my decision to adopt him. Though I wasn't a fan of his name, he came when I called it, so figured I had to keep it. The name has grown on me over time, and is quite cute when you consider he's a Canadian (Tim Horton's is a chain restaurant in Canada). Most people associate his name with Dr. Seuess's Horton Hears a Who, which is ok by me. Chris and I decided his full name should be Horton of the Yukon, and we often sing to him using that name. Chris likes to remind me of an email I sent to him, telling him of dog I met, "His name is Horton, but his name should be changed to Awesome."
Horton proved his awesomeness when I took him out of that fenced area and onto a proper trail. He was a snow dog through and through, but he stayed close to me on the trails, coming to me when I called him. His energy was directed at the snow, and this worked well as he wasn't jumping and roughing me up. He would have these crazy bursts of energy on a trail where he would turn and face me, a devilish look in his eye, and just charge me at full speed. Of course he would brush right past me, but then he'd turn around and do it again from the other direction. He would continue this charges until he wore himself out. This is something he still does on a hike, like he's got so much energy he can't contain it. I wonder where this game came from, but it never fails to bring a laugh. That crazy dog.
Because Horton was so good on our hikes, I knew I had made the right decision. Horton is the perfect hiking dog. I dare say, he's the reason why I've been able to hike as much as I have in Alaska, as his presence serves as protection against bears and other predators. Or more like a deterrent, as bears don't want to mess with dogs, especially big ones like Horton. After being scared by the stories told to me at Tamsen's, I wondered if I'd be able to hike alone, but with Horton, I knew I'd be in better shape in the wild. A girl and her dog: this was meant to be.
HARK was good to let Horton stay with them until I was ready to move to Stone House. I've never known a shelter to do this before, to hold a dog like that, but they felt it was good match so they invested extra time to make sure it would work. This meant that he stayed at the shelter for a month longer, but I came to visit him every day, no matter how bad the roads were. With the sun setting at 4 in the afternoon, I had to drive out to see him directly after work and make use of the daylight. I would look forward to these visits, taking Horton on little trips, either to the beach or to a snowy trail. Sometimes I'd take him back to the house I was renting, but those times were few, as I didn't completely trust him in another person's home. Indeed, the first time through the door, he peed on the rug by the entrance. This was done so matter-of-factly that I got the impression that he was marking his territory. Yes, Horton certainly had his quirks. He still played roughly, but I tried to get him to play with my shirt sleeves pulled up. I would also bop him on the nose to get him to stop biting. I've done this with puppies before, but it's more challenging with a full-grown dog. For the most part, he listened to my corrections and eventually gave up these bad behaviors. For instance, he used to be obsessed with my feet; he'd bite at them and carry my slippers around his mouth, but after some strong reprimands, he's given that up. I've been able to deduce that Horton hadn't been properly exposed to things as a pup. There were so many things he didn't get, like what to do with a ball, or a bone. He seemed to suffer from insecurity, like he didn't feel worthy to be on the couch or the bed. I can only imagine that his interactions with humans must have been very limited. But it didn't seem like he had been abused, as he took discipline well. More likely he had been neglected, deprived of affection. Til this day he acts like he's being molested if we give him hugs or kisses. He doesn't know what to do with affection, how to receive or return it. It's one of his quirks, I suppose. But he's a lovable boy all the same, and I adore my Horton of the Yukon, my Shepkita.
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