The Travels of Kari Rightfoot: An Alaskan Adventure

Every once in a while, I get an email from an old friend who goes by the name Kari Rightfoot. Kari’s been visiting her mom up in Alaska and has been dividing her time between Anchorage and the Midwest. She writes these road-poem emails that detail her experiences and what she’s seen. I received the latest missive from her yesterday, and this one was especially epic and well wrought. It even included some photos, which was a nice addition (scroll down for the photos). I hope Kari doesn’t mind, but I wanted to share with the readers of Manufactured Environments Kari’s tale of going north of the arctic circle. So without further ado, here is “Where the sun don’t not shine.” Update: I looked up Coldfoot, Alaska on Google Maps.

Where the sun don’t not shine
by Kari Rightfoot

preceding and during these early summer days,
there’s a land where it’s light all night—
someplace where the sun rises one day,
and stays in the sky for weeks!
it seems so distant…and yet,
part of this place is right here in this country….

for many—alaska, too, seems so far away
(though it’s more accessible than one might think),
but for some—it’s so close we can step out and breathe it in.
living in the northland at this time, now knowing how fleeting life is,
i intend to take every opportunity to explore this great land.
this piece details one of many intentional alaskan adventures.

so there’s an invisible line that crosses alaska
(perhaps you’ve heard of the arctic circle…),
and north of this border is the true land of the midnight sun.
recently i discover something:
you can drive there!
…now that’s accessible!
in this moment, my summer solstice plans begin to form….
referring to the official state of alaska highway map hanging above my bed,
the first dot i see located on the map north of the circle is called coldfoot.
somehow i feel drawn here…a familiarity….
i choose this place as my celebration destination.

about sixteen hours before the summer solstice moment—
i start driving north from anchorage at a leisurely pace,
making a few extended stops along the way.
by the time i get directions in fairbanks
(just past my halfway mark in mileage),
en route to the dalton highway,
it’s already approaching the midnight hour.
thus begins my night of racing the sun.
i set out again with determination that
tonight, for me, the sun does not set.
i drive for about 90 more miles to the dalton,
where the real adventure begins….

my first surprize on alaska highway 11 is the gravel,
along with the road sign that says 50 mph—
for the next 400-something miles….
what’s most shocking to me
is the thought of driving that fast on this road!
so i begin to wonder about this bright idea
as i realize why ‘they’ say to bring spare tire(s!),
not just the temporary tire like the one i have along….
the next sign i see says it’s 175 more miles to coldfoot—
yet i have 175 miles in my head from fairbanks,
thinking i now have only 85 miles left to go….
so reading this second sign really gets me having second thoughts,
emphasizing my doubts about going all the way.
175 more miles driving this slow into the sun
on this terrible road, sleep deprived and road weary?
maybe this is a little crazy…
(maybe?).

well i keep driving as i’m going back and forth in my head about it.
should i turn around now—after coming this far already?
maybe stop at the circle?
as i continue, i keep covering ground.
and after 20 miles or so, i hit pavement—hey, hope!
i pick up speed…
and rush upon the craziest potholes!
as though there were explosions in the road!
it’s common on roads in alaska and canada
to find frost heaves from the permafrost shifting.
however, the others i’ve encountered
are typically experienced as rolls in the road—
more like a roller coaster ride.
these on the dalton are erupted,
making for wildly treacherous driving conditions—
potentially detrimental to the health of your car…!
just as i think it’s safe to pick up some speed,
i discover the real threat of vehicle and tire damage!
here i remember that caution is a friend of mine
(and the car!) as i continue on—
getting further and further down this chosen path,
even as that doubtful part of me keeps debating the call.

i shoot a few photos through the windshield as i drive—
and as i stop for a view, i wonder:
why am i shooting through this glass barrier
when i can open the window for a shot?
i quickly find that there is reason to the reasoning,
when within seconds—with no time for the blink of an eye—
dozens of bloodthirsty mosquitoes are buzzing at the window,
darting (and surely plotting to dart) their way into the car!
and these are vicious #&%*^?! that give vicious itches!
so i quickly close the window,
and proceed to indulge in a massive killing frenzy
in an attempt to recreate a safe driving environment inside the car.
this murdering thing gives me something new to bounce around in my mind
as i continue on this northbound journey.
generally, i live my life being peaceful, nurturing, non-violent…
but when it comes to mosquitoes, somehow i can kill with no mercy
(and very little remorse)…how can this be…?

soon i notice i’m passing signs which foretell of nearby road construction.
i roll up to a stop sign.
it occurs to me that perhaps this is like a four-way stop,
as there’s no one in sight, so i begin to go again.
this does seem strange, as i notice there’s really only one stopsign,
so i’m not startled by the waving appearance of a reflective-vested man.
noticing my minnesota plates, the flagger walks over to chat with me.
i roll down my window—only to let in more buggin’ mosquitoes…!
i try rolling it up enough to keep out the pests while keeping a conversation going.
it just doesn’t work, so i jump out of the car.
now i’m compelled to keep jumping, as well as start my arms flailing,
in an attempt to shield myself from my attackers.
construction worker joe stands remarkably steady
as he waves his zap racquet through this insect cloud with an air of nonchalance,
shocking bug after bug with tiny electrocutions.
i cannot fathom such calm coexisting with these bloodsuckers.
i’m certain i’d hear the hum of the sum of millions of these tiny itchy beasts
across miles and miles of surrounding tundra—
if only i could hold still enough to listen….

as i jump back in the car, a pilot car approaches.
i follow silently as we slowly wind through the construction zone
where working ‘round the clock requires no artificial lighting.
when finally the lead car pulls over to loop back,
leaving me to face the open road alone again,
i feel a sense of sadness as i continue in solitude on this strange journey.
in this brief moment i experience an intense feeling of loneliness
which quickly subsides as i become centered in myself again.
i know i’m not alone.
along with this centering comes a certainty to complete my planned route.
there’s no turning back now.

at the moment of summer solstice, i remain on the road.
by now, however, i’ve reached the zone above the arctic circle.
i’m happy to have made it this far.
i stop at an access point to the alyeska pipeline,
a massive example of humans honoring the economy over mother nature.
i hadn’t realized i’d be driving alongside this major artery of the oil industry.
i realize now that the dalton highway wouldn’t even exist without the pipeline.
and without this road, i wouldn’t be road tripping to the arctic circle.
life is full of these logically counter intuitive opposites,
yet we can’t know the light without also knowing darkness.
we cannot exist in a world without shadows cast in relation to the sun.
i grab my ukulele and pluck out a few notes.
at coldfoot, in a drowsy half-awake moment,
this becomes a summertime lullaby.

my tripometer reads 620 when i arrive at coldfoot camp.
it’s the first morning of summer.
here there is a cafe/gas station, a post office (open 3 days a week),
and both short and longterm sleeping accommodations.
across the highway to the west is a visitor center and
the koyokuk river which winds around the foot of coldfoot mountain.
early in the day i take a walking (and talking) tour with a new local friend.
we try to move faster than the mosquitoes, and mostly we do.
they are a reoccurring topic of our conversations,
and a common topic in these parts—like the weather.
we share some songs as my eyelids finally begin to droop,
then i sleep on and off in my hot car for most of the afternoon.
the sun doesn’t set, yet it hides behind coldfoot mountain for a few hours.
i meet more locals—“co-workers” as they call themselves
(a clear distinction from the visitors, called “guests”),
and join them as they spark up a solstice bonfire down by the river.
this is exactly what i had in mind for a summer celebration,
though i didn’t know it, exactly.
i write postcards all night,
appreciating connections near and far—old and new,
appreciating this life and this light.
nighttime daylight.
summer in alaska.
love.

[click the thumbnails to view the photo]

photo 1 shows a rainbow (one of many), captured on film in nenana

photo 2 shows some strange trees along the dalton highway

photo 3 shows a wooden bridge crossing the yukon river (top) & a coldfoot camp’s co-worker hallway (bottom)

photo 4 shows trucks at coldfoot + just the foot of coldfoot mountain (right side) & yes that’s me + the guest residence—right side, white (bottom)

photo 5 shows coldfoot mountain behind a dark cafe (top) & the foot of coldfoot mountain (left side) at the koyokuk river

photo 6 shows the dalton highway and the alyeska pipeline (from the north)