Dressing Up Christmas

Anchorage, Alaska

We have dressed the tree and the apartment with earth-friendly LED lights that are fluorescent and not at all pretty to an eye that is accustomed to the warm glow of fuel-guzzling old school globes. Maybe after time we will forget about the warm glow. Already I am looking at our little tree with more pleasure.

Tree Traditions

Anchorage, Alaska

In Australia we have a family tradition of walking up the mountain to chop down a pine tree for Christmas. I brought this tradition with me. Yesterday Brendan and the dogs and I headed off on bicycles equiped with a Japanese hand-saw for an urban adventure.



We preyed upon the rough stand of forest inbetween Chester Creek trail, a large apartment complex, and the community garden. It was snowing steadily. There was a small quibble over which tree would be sacrificed, in keeping with tradition. I wanted a full sized tree, Brendan wanted a table-top tree. We selected the miserly upper-half of a tree so that it would fit inside our apartment, and so that no lives would be lost in the process, the tree could keep growing.

It was over very quickly. As Brendan says, "You can't chop down a twig". We strapped the tree to my bike, strapped Dinkum to my bike, and rode home.

Winter Music

The Tap Root, Anchorage, Alaska

Sunburst on the Weekend

Turnagain, Alaska



Here starts the training sessions. I make Dinkum walk behind me on a lead because if I let him off the lead he chases whatever human or animal he can see at the top of the mountain. We skiied at Sunburst on Saturday and then again on Sunday this weekend. On Saturday Dinkum shot off ahead of us up the mountain and was not seen for hours. I climbed as fast as I could, finally catching up with the speedy party of 5 people that had attracted him. Sweaty and exhausted, I clipped Dinkum back onto the leash. That night I got a migraine from the exertion. The next day I was out again, back in the saddle, Dinkum on a leash, and my ski-pole upside-down in one hand, knocking him on the head everytime he came forward on the back of my skis. He came forward onto the back of my skiis almost every step. I relentlessly tapped him in the face with the handle of my ski pole feeling half a good parent, and half a bad parent.

Luckily when we ski down the mountain Dinkum knows what to do and keeps out of trouble. He bounds through the snow like a dolphin through the waves. He's small, but big enough.

Cycling through Snow

Anchorage, Alaska

It's my first winter cycling in Alaska. I bought snow tyres for my bicycle last week for $100 a pop. The tyres are made of rubber that stays soft enough in freezing conditions to grip the road, and have metal studs mounted on the top of the tread that grip the snow and ice. I was surprised at the cost but now that I'm out on the trails I feel like I am riding an unstoppable tractor. There has been older snow on the trails for the last week with no real ice, and many bare areas with clean pavement to ride.

Yesterday and last night snow fell in great chunks from the sky. This morning I had a chance to really test my new rig. Snow lay thick and clotted on the trails about 6 inches deep. My tractor bike baulked at first, and then, catching momentum, I was off and running, proudly riding through snow.

When I arrived at work I was far more sweaty and tired than any other day of the year that I have riden to work. I discovered the experience is similar to riding through soft sand, and takes a little more energy than riding across smooth pavement. This is a small price to pay for feeling hard core. I am now a proud winter bicycle commuter.

First Ski of the Season

Hatcher Pass, Alaska

The first ski of the season was a success. We got out in the snow, hiked up a mountain on skis, and skied down the mountain. Snow conditions varied from ridge to valley from hard sun crust to sugary loose snow, and it was difficult for me to achieve anything resembling a telemark turn. I brushed up on my old technique of full-body slams into the slope. It was rewarding simply to be out in the sunshine on the white stuff.


Skiing was delayed on arrival when Dinkum the New Dog decided to remind us how he ended up as a stray at the pound. We set him loose and he sprinted towards the first distraction that hit his brain, a family sledding about 500m up a different slope from the one we were heading. After much running, calling, and shouting from one group of people to another, someone finally handed me the dog back in the car park where we'd started out 30 minutes beforehand. At this point in the day Dinkum was failing his test as a ski dog. Dinkum was then confined to the leash, and released only once all other people were out of sight further up our ascent of the mountain. From there, aside from chasing the odd snowball back down the slope, Dinkum kept with us on the way up, and had no problem following the lead skier on the way down. Reviewing his performance as a whole for the day, for a novice he did quite well, and I will probably take him skiing again.