Someone actually sent a picture! Thanks PE of the SRD. What an awesome picture of a banana!

Fresh fruit. Seems like a normal everyday thing. Doesn't it? Well, the existence of such whole food escaped my memory; or, at least sunk so deep into the recesses of my mind that only the syrupy aroma and even, dense texture of canned peaches would surface when the word fruit came to mind. That is, until the other day. A recent run of visitation by Observers from the delivering vessels has introduced me to things that I've been lacking in the few months I've been here; foremostly, conversation. These Observers come forth from the dock teetering on their abstinent sealegs and bring an offering of friendship for my services as 'Social Coordinator for Vessel Observers'; which, according to a prior Observer who has been in this game for some years, is THE primary, though unofficial reason that there is a Plant Observer. I ensure their access to booze and they reciprocate novel things. For the record, I prefer bartering as a form of economic exchange. The two most notable offerings have been fresh fruit - OMG I didn't think an orange could taste so good! - and toilet paper, which I won't expound upon. Just like everything else here, TP is expensive. In the vain of fruit, additionally, a banana is something I've not seen in a while. Some sea-going peoples believe bananas are bad luck to have onboard while out to sea, which may or may not explain the absence of them from Adak. I'm beginning to wonder if these tasty, wholesome, and yellow sticks of easily bruised goodness actually exist, or if they could just be a figment of my imagination stemming from an acid flashback. Either way, I'd like to have one... or at least, know that they exist. Please send pictures.

The complete lack of bananas is just me whinging. The food here really has been sufficient and I can't complain about a salad bar available at every meal. I thought to myself the other day - as I learned that my Peace Corps group had just completed their "Three Month Challenge" - that those PCVs would have full authority to subject me to a brutal castigation when/if they learned of my diet for these past three months. When drawn in scale to their bountiful diet of rice and sauce (term applied loosely to any MSG-laden, hot oil-based pulverization of onions and tomato paste with or without the addition of dried fish or something culinarily known as 'bushcat' in The Gambia), who am I to complain that the waffles weren't quite as fluffy as I would have liked them to have been and the bacon a little too crisp. Or, that the prime rib, though rather well-seasoned, was a bit overdone and the au jus was tepid. So yes, I have been eating well, despite the prison-like atmosphere that this assignment has recently reminded me of. The coffee, however, sucks. It embodies a dilute earthiness in fluid form that resides somewhere in the middle of the continuum of Stale and Burnt.

A fellow observer, after I reported the list of my daily activities to him for comparative purposes to his in Kodiak, replied saying that my assignment sounded hilarious and spawned notions of prison when I told him I usually spend a few hours each day shooting hoops and lifting weights in a Spartanly cold, dimly lit gymnasium and am transported to and from the plant and the galley in a white school bus that has tinted windows. Objectively speaking, it does sound like prison and I thaaaank him for bringing that to MY attention. To some degree it only lacks shackles because I have heard stories of people pulling knives on each other while on the bus and I do at times fall asleep at night to the sound of a seemingly large rat that inhabits the walls of my apartment and gains access to the interior space by a disturbingly large hole in the drywall behind our dryer.

However, as far as going bananas - to continue upon the headline - for those of you betting on my break down due to the instabilities arising from movements halfway across the world twice in the past eight months, well, I'm sorry to report that I'm not there yet. For many valid reasons I have staved off insanity. First off, I have done the equivalent of jackshit, roughly, since I arrived. Contrarily, depsite that this sounds like a hefty contribution from the realm of insanity, it has not been. I have exceeding amounts of time to read and have totally avoided anything that resembles stress.... well, save for transitively sharing stress of a fellow observer whose boat half-sank while tied to the dock. Financially, two months of salary without any true indication that I have worked is embarrassing, but nice. [Note: My personal definition of work does not include my tasks of responsibility here.] I mean, let's be honest, I wouldn'tbe here if it wasn't for the money anyway. This job is not aligned with many of my scruples, which have been temporarily suspended to make a buck. The federal branch to which I report my data is in the Department of Commerce. I mean, come on. The popular view of fish to these folks is the decapitated and eviscerated form meant for human consumption and not the curiously inspiring life forms that swim about in the depths of the cold, cold North Pacific. I've yet to do any sampling and literally all that I have been doing is 'Delivery Weight Verification'... which isn't really work. I look at papers to make sure the numbers match up. I'm sure some behavioral scientist somewhere has tested the cognitive abilities of primates with more challenging tasks.

Sadly, to be honest, I must report that I did talk to myself the other day, which I never do. When walking around the harbor and listening to my iPod I glanced up at the alpenglow posturing for its brief encounter with the evening and matter-of-factly said, "Wow, that's nice lighting." I realized that I said this aloud and quickly looked to make sure no one else was around. And, of course, no one was. I don't know why I didn't keep the thought to myself and it left me wondering if talking to oneself is a first sign of senility. Regardless, I snapped a nice pic and moved on.

In other news, with the recent frequent visitation by booze-seeking observers I've had ample opportunity to failingly test the limits of my tolerance. Drinks seem to be free flowing when in the midst of money making fishermen and one must only listen to how his third ex-wife "took him to the f**king cleaners" during his most recent divorce in order to enjoy a night out. Of course, you have to sidestep a drunken, grappling brawl or two but from what I have seen fishermen are honest, clean fighters. Bystanders assure no outside involvement and prudently clear away broken glass before the scrappers throw themselves upon the potentially piercing object. Luckily, yet bitter sweetly, the coinciding ending to the federal season for cod that produced these visitations and events has now ended and the fishermen and observers are back out to sea for the time being. I can return to my normal schedule of prison-like punctuality and regularity and peacefully, soberly, and intrepidly finish my tour in Adak.

A bit disjunct, however worth mentioning is how I much better enjoyed the wintry view of Adak. The snows have receded to expose the true maligned state of the town. Formerly buried rusting heaps of vehicles show their skeletal remains. Now, not only is it a rendering of a post-apocalypse suburbia, but the lack of a true municipal waste system (and probably more importantly, the cut-and-run maneuver that the Department of Defense pulled 10+ years ago) provides all the aesthetic faculties of a developing country. Seemingly ossified remains of animal excrement have shown themselves like mammoth froms melting permafrost. Rampant litter blows through the vacant, cracking parking lots and provides a haven for what I am calling the "Land of Misfit Eagles" (That's a reference to the classic Christmas special with Rudolph.). These bald eagles do not invoke the aura of majesty and reverence that you think our national symbol of pride would. No, no. These shameless birds, with their dirty capes and soiled wings pilfer whatever they can get their raspy beak and grubby talons on. They feast in the open dumpsters and are competed against for their bastions of refuse only by the menacingly intelligent ravens. I'll post some pics of a downtrodden eagle perched on a heap of rubbish when I have access to a better internet connection.

Long story short, I'm not worrying about anything for a few more weeks... actually, I think I'm past worrying about shit. What happens will happen, and I'm healthy (which I couldn't say a few months ago), can get a job doing something no matter what, BUT it looks like I will have a small chunk of change to travel with for a while after I'm done here. I'm happy, again. I think I'm over my disillusionment from returning from Africa, finally, also. Meeting with some returned Peace Corps Vols who are now Observers has helped with that tremendously.

Alright folks, if I have anything else worth saying in my remaining time in Adak, look for it here. I anticipate making some posts later in the year from Spain and who knows where else. Stay tuned. As always, hope all is well with everyone.

Here's some recent accounts of things that have happened in Adak. I've been mentally noting instances that strike me as unique in the moment that I experienced them and I now think I have enough - if I can recollect them all - to make a legitimate entry for your reading delight, hopefully.

First off, since I've been having a lot of free time, as the fishing season way out, out on the Aleutians has not come into full swing yet, but it is fast approaching, I dropped by the school a few weeks ago to see if they would be willing accept a character like me to volunteer and assist with whatever is going on in the class. I was a little nervous going into the school and wondering if my offer would be thankfully declinded, outright rejected, or passively accepted. Actually, none of those happened and the teacher seemed genuinely pleased that I could help. So, I've been invited to come whenever I can for however long I can stay. I was happy to hear this because, mainly, I was worried that my appearance wouldn't come off exhibiting the traits of a person who could assist in a K-5 classroom. Why? Well, since being here, I've shaved my head (and maintain it that way) because I perpetually wear a stocking cap and my hair was staying in a matted, greasy mess that was gaining an ever increasing affinity for the smell of fish no matter how much I shampooed. However, my beard remains, and I can proudly say, taking shape to its length quite nicely. This appearance looks a bit intimidating, I think. I was also worried that my limited wardrobe, which consists of a couple of fleece shirts, one wool jacket, one pair of Carhartt jeans, and two pairs of rubber boots would not be professional enough for the classroom.

However, as you might imagine, the organizational rules of etiquette and civilized society make the 1200 mile trip out here just about as well a dozen eggs, some broken, some OK; which, in addition, is reflective of the mental states of some residents that I've met. Anyway, the classroom is casual, as a lot of kids go in sockfeet during the day, and oriented to each student as an individual learner. With so few students, and few the same age, the classroom setting, if you ignore the computers and other modern educational materials, is much akin to the ol'timey one room schoolhouse of a bygone era. Thankfully, the teacher is entrusting me with some responsibilities and I've been working with some kids one-on-one in the classroom helping them with math and reading. Today, I was helping one kid with "Opposites" and "Analogies" and when we were doing a lesson on what material objects are made of, which was building to an analogy exercise, I asked what a blanket was made of. He promptly responded, "Animal fur." The exercise book was looking for "cotton", but I had to agree with him in the situation. Considering his present location, fur seems more logical than cotton.

Let's see, what else. I firmly believe that if some higher authority removed a certain four letter expletive that begins with 'f' from the lexicon of fishermen and others in the commercial fishing industry, then all activity would cease from an inability to verbally communicate and the fish would be left rotting in the holds of the vessels. The word, in every form applicable to a grammatical structure, permeates in every facet of communication regarding anything to do with the fishing business. Sometimes I can't even figure out what is being talked about - but it is never my businness as I'm the proverbial "fly on the wall", as an observer - because the meaning of a statement is lost in the replete use of the 'f'-bomb.

In other news, I witnessed a roommate in a tiresome delirium return from working a 19-hour shift, which he had been doing for a few days consecutively, place his dirty clothes along with detergent in the dryer (not the washer), turn it on, and then pass out on the couch. Needless to say, this did not produce the desired result.... but it did bake-in a fishy odor into the dryer for a few days.

The weather here has been fair in the past few days, but a week or so ago I became stranded at the plant overnight. I had finished my observing duties and wanted desperately to go home and go to bed, but there was a tempest outside typical of the Bering Sea's offerings. I've been told that when the wind blows as hard as it was (50 mph sustained, 60-70 mph gusts) to not go walking outside. First off, lingering debris from the failing, decrepit buildings is prone to become airborne, as is possibly a small caribou, across the flat plains of town. At times when I'm walking to and from the plant the wind is so intense that an upwelling of nothing but anger arises and just makes me want to stomp a tantrum like a 5 year-old. It hits from the front, then whips around to the back, only to counter another blow from the side.... all within two or three steps. The wind alone can be frustrating enough, but when it is coupled with the locally endemic 'snain' (the locals' word for the wintry mix) it can be outright impossible. With one eye shut, the other squinted, one hand to my face, and a shoulder dug into the wind I attempt to slide as unimposed as possible like - well, I imagine this to look like - an injured, off-balance, and drunk cross-country skier, sans skis, searching for hardpack to gain traction through the whirling vectors of air accompanied by the strident voice of the winds, which I swear are the shrieks and cries of Mother Earth, herself, yelling her disapproval of man's blemished existence on this island. Yet, to further worsen matters, if the temperature is low enough to banish the 'snain', introduced are swarms of marauding snowflakes, or rather, tiny ice daggers, malicious in nature that kamikaze into my outer clothing, rendering me into a likeness of the abominable snowman, and then, upon a sudden change of direction literally steal the breath out of my mouth and airway, escaping with my oxygen and trailing away leaving only their hissing banshee-like cries of success. This all leaves me slightly asphyxiated and wondering why I find a perverse, yet exhilarating satisifaction in testing my limits of tolerance of climatic and geographic variations.

Well, other than some random conversations talking about things like crabbing on the Barents Sea north of Russia where on one particular bad trip out the boat lost one man overboard (never to be found), suffered the maiming of a couple with badly broken arms and legs, and one gent having a lower arm pinched off in a gnarly and gruesome fashion, all is normal here in Adak, as far as 'normal' can be applied. To note, the guy who was telling me war stories of crabbing in the Barents said it is normal to lose a comrade at least every third trip and, as you might imagine, morale is not high on those vessels.

Hmmmm... I guess that wraps up my dispatch. I know I'm forgetting some of my experiential snippets, but some stuff, per my position as an observer, would not be appropriate to tell. Will write more later. Hope all is well!

So, I have resurrected my blog from the edge of its near demise. I can't really say that life was going along all that happily when I returned from my shortened Peace Corps assignment. However, I am feeling more realigned with this life in these past few weeks and I am trying to turn the corner by fully coping with coming home meant. Thus, the post below is the union of three mentionable mass emails that I have sent since my return from The Gambia. I hope to continue to remain dedicated to this virtual sharing ground. My primary motivation for this return to the blogging world is because I am seriously entertaining additional extensive travels within the year; and hopefully to continue through the years to come. I'll keep everyone posted on my plans as they become more certain. 'Til then, I'll be in Adak most likely through March.

Northward Bound! (Originally posted 12/24/07)

Well, first off, a fond "Merry Christmas" to you all. Some of you know this, some of you don't yet, but I just want to let you all know that I am heading back to Alaska tomorrow; yes, on Christmas day. I've been hired by Saltwater Inc. as an observer biologist to work on the North Pacific Groundfish Observer Program for the National Marine Fisheries Service, which is administered by NOAA. I'll be in Anchorage for three weeks in a training class learning all about the type of data collection I will be responsible for. After training I will be deployed and will be sent to a port (most likely Dutch Harbor, or elsewhere along the Aleutian chain) to begin an assignment on a fishing vessel. The specifics of the assignment vary in nature, but I could be working on anything from a small shore boat that only fishes for 1-3+ days, OR a 180'+ monster long-liner that stays out to sea for upwards of 30+ days, OR I could be assigned to a 600' floating processing facility (the least desired) where I would be trudging and waiting through fishguts up to elbows. There are several other variations on these assignments and the ones mentioned above are just examples. Each assignment has its own advantages and drawbacks, of course, and represents a sliding scale of ratios involving prudence/safety:adventure/danger. My goals for the employment include seeing another piece of this world that would otherwise remain not experienced, learning more about my self as it relates to discerning an understanding of humanity, hardening my abilities to work/live in popularly-regarded unsavory conditions, making a lil' pocket change to further perpetuate the prior aforementioned goals, and avoiding becoming an orca-pop, of sorts; or rather, survive. Anyway, I've included a link at the bottom that will show some videos that will describe what I'm going to be doing better than I can explain at the moment. So, enjoy the holidays and I hope you all are doing well where you are.

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Tsunami Alert! (Originally posted 1/13/07)

Hey all,Well, I've just finished my training class and am now a certified National Marine Fisheries Service Observer for the North Pacific Groundfish Program. I came up thinking I would be sent to Dutch Harbor to work aboard a fishing boat on the Bering Sea.... just like the guys on the Discovery Channel show "Deadliest Catch". However, once I passed training I was informed that I would be sent to Kodiak to work on near-shore vessels in the Gulf of Alaska. Turns out, none of that is true and I just found out that my first assignment will be in Adak at the processing plant there. This is an abnormal assignment for a 'newbie'. You see, plant positions are highly coveted by the tenured, salty prior observers who have put their time in on shady, small, pain-in-the-ass captained boats. First off, plant positions are coveted because they are shore-based (obviously) and afford the opportunity to have a non-rocking bed and are within striking distance of the town bar. Secondly, evidently, plants can have little responsibility associated with them if, for instance, there is not any fish being delivered. Hence, no fish, no work. One guys claims to have been at a plant for 36-ish days and done approximately 8 hours of real work. Once again, no fish, no work. Seems like everything is "coming up Millhouse" for me.I'm excited to go there because it is the westernmost town in the States. It is closer to some Asian cities that most American ones. Check out the link to the official town website: http://www.city-data.com/city/Adak-Alaska.html

Anyway, I should have some internet connection, albeit not a reliable one. Still, it is not 100% cut-off like it could be if I were on a boat. Give me a holla' and I'll do my best to keep in touch from the middle of the North Pacific.

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Anchored in Adak (Originally posted 1/20/07)

I have now arrived in Adak and am still settling in to what I anticipate will be about three months here, but that could change quickly. Nonetheless, I am here and have already seen a great deal, which can't be taken away from me now. Adak Island is perhaps the most surreal place I have ever been despite that being an over applied word. There is absolutely no reason why human life should be supported on this island, so far out on the Aleutian chain. If John Q. Taxpayer hadn't funded the US government to build out here doing WWII (and subsequently during the Cold War), then I would dare say no one would be living out here, regardless of its prior settlers in history. Luckily, the day of my flight was clear and without the notoriously harsh weather that typifies the Bering Sea. As we made our descent sheer white mountain sides became punctuated and ascened thousands of feet from the cold abyss below, like the frosty knuckles of some gigantic sea creature. As we circled for our landing approach we could see herds of hundreds of caribou scurrying about looking for forage in the blanket of snow. Evidently, these island caribou, counter to biological intuition, actually are quite larger than the mainland populations. They have no natural predators and can reach 700-800 lb, according to locals. Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to become acquainted with the 'town' and walked around in the hours following my arrival. I visited the post office, grocery store, police office, school, rec center, med unit, and the restaurant, which encompassed just my first stop as they are all in the same building, the former high school. The police office is closed most days and the post office is open the day prior to and the day of the arriving flights, which are on Thursday and Sunday only. So that you can have some frame of reference, during my visit to the grocery store, which had pretty much all that anybody could want/need, I did some price comparisons. A gallon of milk costs $13. A package of bologna costs $7. Internet access (the grocery store also serves as the internet cafe - only one terminal, though) is $15/half hour and is connected via a dial-up that must then pass through a satellite to get off the island. The connection speed is 33.6 k/sec... which is equivalent to mainland techonology so the mid-90s. (BTW - send small photo files, if you send any). I don't know what a gallon of gas costs, but the entire town runs off of a diesel generator and the town charges 35 cents/kW hour for electricity. As for the town, hopefully I'll be able to upload a photo or two eventually so you can witness for yourself the amount of infrastructure here. The town obviously has a bay for fishing boat access and the docks are adjacent to the plant where I will be working. The residential part is laid out in a typical American suburbia pattern with curving streets even though there is no need for curves and cheesy names to each neighborhood like "Eagle Cove". The structures are of varying ages, but the majority of the homes are less than 20 years old. They are mainly two-bedroom, three bath duplexes in three or four different color schemes with a large living room, a solarium, a master bedroom, and even a one car garage with a pull-in from the street. It is mind boggling and laughable to see this amidst the massive, snow-covered mountains and howling winds that cause the snow to fall upwards (No shit, this happened last night. Snow was falling, but at some point it whipped upwards at about a 20 degree angle.... right into my face.) Only the US government could afford building this 1300 miles southwest of Anchorage. Speaking of which, last night we went out with some people who have been around a while and journeyed up into the hillsides above town into the older military barracks that reflect the truly paranoid state that our government harbored during the Cold War. Within the tunnels exists a large movie theater, swimming pool, rec center, library, TV and radio station, multiple offices, mess hall, and just about anything else that you can think that comprises a working community, and which escapes me at the moment. Since there isn't any electricity in that area anymore, I must say that it was bit creepy wandering the maze of tunnels with only flashlights that reflected ghostly glints of yesteryear as if a nuclear holocaust actually did strike the island. We stopped off at the one and only bar (which is operated by the chief of police - sweet irony -, who I also think is the ONLY policeman) and cavorted with some Russian, Polish, and Icelandic guys who are currently on the island doing some contract work for the plant. Not much to report from a bit of drinking with some northern Europeans who make slanderous comments about America's excuse for beer besides that Iceland now seems like a place I'd like to visit. The Icelandic gent and I talked about the advantages of long-stay traveling because you get to bump elbows with the working class people who really give a place its character, instead of the manufactured image that popular tourism produces. He has been in 47 countries over the past few years for work; ranging from Saudi Arabia to Niger to Australia and, of course, Adak, Alaska, which at this points seems the most unlikely of all the aforementioned destinations. So, I feel like I am getting settled in... after a small earthquake my first night (this place is one of the most seismically active in the world) and a surprise visit by three drunk fishermen the second night who let themselves in my kicking in my front door (it was already broken anyway) only to entertain me on topics like poaching caribou (I was invited to come along, but JUST haaaad to decline) and discussing whether or not murder is the worst thing someone could do all the while alluding to the possibility that one of them has killed someone before. I felt a little on edge during their visit, but it ended with drunken, forced hugs as they promised to bring me some of their catch when they returned to shore. I also got some new roomies today - a father and son from near Guadalajara via North Hollywood. The father speaks a limited amount of English, so I ought to be able to rekindle some of quickly fleeting Spanish skills. They seem like uber-good people. Anyway, still no fish, but maybe I'll see some in the 4 or 5 days coming. I'll be flat out soon enough with an erratic work schedule trying to cram in minutes of sleep when I can followed by coffee I am sure. My mom is sending up my range-top espresso maker, so I'll be set.

Hope all is well with everyone. Take good care.