Stepping Into The Last Frontier

It happened nineteen years ago, today. sometime around 7:50 pm AST.

It was something that I'd been long dreaming about; since even before I'd even paid my first visit as a nine-year-old in August of 1980. There was something about the exotic wildness of our last frontier that called and beckoned to a kid who was constantly re-reading and enamored of the Wintapi Estate from Jim Kjelgaard's Big Red series of books.

The desire grew ever stronger with each of the previous three summers that I'd worked up here.

I was finally finished with college and this particular adventure started the night before, back in Boston, about 10 pm. Those were the days when loved ones could still escort travelers down to the gates and, as my plane taxied away from its gate at Logan, I could see my mom anxiously following its path through every possible window until we finally made a turn out away from the terminal to taxi onto the runway.

Losing sight of my parents, my dad's words that "only those who don't fit in with the rest of the Lower 48  move to Alaska" continued to echo in my head; as did my response of, "and your point is, Dad?"

I got my first ever glimpse of Las Vegas about 3 am as I changed planes to head up to Seattle.

6:30 am and I had to take everything and pay to have it stored at Sea-Tac due to the long layover. One of my cousins, who was living in Seattle at the time, was a real life saver and met me at the airport with bagels and orange juice on her way into work. We talked for about a half-hour and she gave me a bus map and some ideas for how to get around the downtown area.

I took the bus into Seattle proper and spent several hours there for my first of many visits to Pike's Place, trying hard not to fall asleep at the waterfront as I ate a lunch composed of all sorts of goodies from the different vendors.

During the flight from Seattle to Juneau, I sat next to a gentleman from Connecticut who was coming to Alaska for his first time. His sweet dog curled-up at his feet (she was considered a service dog and could ride in the passenger compartment), he was coming to Southeast to teach search and rescue. I kept my chuckle to myself as I watched him white knuckle during the landing for the stopover in Sitka when he realized just how small these runways can be.

 And, so, on July 16, 1994, I stepped off of an Alaska Airlines Boeing 727 (they still flew them back then) at the Juneau airport in order to step into my life in Alaska.