“You figure we’ll get out today?” Chris, a fellow Bering
Straits administrator asked as we sat at the Alaska Airlines gate.
“Oh, yeah,
we’ll make it out of Anchorage,” I answered, “but my fear is we get stuck in
Nome.”
Anchorage
to Unalakleet is normally a straight shot flying on RAVN Alaska. Lovingly referred to as the cookie plane by
bush dwellers, RAVN flies a DeHaviland Dash 8 between Anchorage and Unalakleet
once a day. It has a bathroom, drink
service, and large cookies (hence the name) that the flight attendant hands out
to passengers during the flight.
However, the seats for the return flight had sold out before the
district was able to secure enough to fly us all back.
The Bering
Strait School District sends its administrators to Anchorage twice a year for
meetings, getting them away from site so that they can sit still long enough to
pay attention. Texts still come in, but
being in Anchorage means that we can’t get up and let the teacher who is locked
out back into the building and she has to solve the problem in another way.
I secretly
hoped that Alaska Airlines would check weather in Nome, see freezing rain and
wind blowing 40 miles per hour and opt to just stay on the ground. I wanted to get home to my wife and young
daughter, but if I was going to be stuck, it might as well be someplace
comfortable with a treadmill and reasonably priced stores.
“We’ll
begin our preboarding of those passengers with children as well as people
needing assistance in boarding the plane,” was announced over the intercom.
“Well, here
we go,” I said to myself.
The flight
was smooth and I read my book while I enjoyed a good cup of coffee. Even the approach into Nome was without
bumps, but as we dropped below the clouds, rain blowing sideways quickly coated
the windows. Landing in Nome in the jet
always feels like the pilot is trying to stop a runaway horse, and today was no
different. I imagined the pilot sitting
at the controls saying “wow, big fella,” as he applied the brakes and put back
pressure on the yoke.
“We will be
exiting the plane by going down stairs directly outside,” the flight attendant
instructed, “please be careful not to walk below the wing or slip on the ice on
your way to the terminal.”
Wind and
water blasted into me as I stepped down on the ice coated concrete. I mentally made note to zip my coat before
getting off of the plane next time. I
did a quick shuffle, passing two other passengers awkwardly skating on the ice
on their own journeys to escape the weather.
After a
short wait inside for my Alaskan luggage (a 15-gallon rubber made tote), I made
my way back outside (coat zipped this time), and again shuffled through the ice
and slush of the parking lot soaking my running shoes and socks in the process,
but just happy that I didn’t end up on my back in the middle of an ice water
bath.
My feet
were wet, I was cold and hungry, but the layover was supposed to be short and I
would be able to take a shower and get some home cooked food after the short
flight from Nome to Unalakleet. I sat
down and pulled out my book.
Thirty
pages later, a young woman entered the terminal, walked over and sat down in
the vacant chair next to me.
“I hear you
guys are on weather hold, ah?” she said addressing me.
“I think
you know more than we do,” I responded, “we haven’t been told anything.”
“Yeah,
Bering Air is shut down for the day, and the runway in Unalakleet is closed due
to ice,” she informed me.
Evidently
RAVN was continuing to work on its standard reputation for communication with passengers,
I thought to myself. I began to wonder
if I should contact one of the local hotels as well as questioning when a trunk
wielding John Candy would waltz in trying to sell shower curtain rings.
“Passengers
heading to St. Michael, Stebbins, and Unalakleet: your flight has been
canceled. Please come up to the counter
to reschedule your flights,” a young RAVN employee said sounding as official as
possible.
We
dutifully headed to the counter.
“Yeah, we
don’t have any seats out tomorrow on Sunday,” the young woman informed me, eyes
never leaving her computer screen.
“Earliest I can get you out is Monday morning.”
I quickly
dialed the competition but heard a similar report from Bering Air.
In the back
of my head, John Candy’s voice could be heard saying, “While you were trying to
reschedule your flight, I was calling the Braidwood Inn…”
The Aurora
Inn, the nicest hotel in Nome, was in the process of remodeling, leaving them
with fewer rooms available.
“Sorry, we
just gave out our last room a couple of minutes ago,” the receptionist informed
me as she stared at her computer screen, “there is the Nugget just down the
road.”
Rain poured
down outside as I made my way past a couple of questionable characters who
recognized me immediately and greeted me by name. I said a quick hello and ducked through the
door.
Inside the Nugget I informed the
woman working behind the steel bar protected desk, “I’m kind of stuck in Nome
and need a room for the night.”
“Oh yes,”
the receptionist smiled at me before turning and talking to the woman behind
her in some Asian language.
“One-seventy-five,” she said as she turned back to me.
“Wow,
okay,” and I took the key, a large metal one with an enormous plastic key ring
denoting which room I was staying in.
Only a hubcap could have been more subtle.
As I walked
up the stairs I thought about how much cheaper it would be to just stay outside
in the freezing rain. Upon opening the
door to my room, I thought about how much warmer it would be to just stay
outside in the freezing rain.
In Nome,
AK, $175 rents a room with a queen bed, desk from the early 1980s, a college
room fridge and microwave, a small television mounted 6 inches from the
ceiling, a small shower, ancient toilet, and an inoperable sink. Upon further inspection, I discovered a 1980s
dresser under the balled-up comforter in the corner. Interior design style: northern Michigan deer
camp.
 |
| $175 just doesn't get what it used to. |
I plugged
in the space heater (sparks from the outlet confirmed it was working), turned
on the television and found the Michigan State game, shivering on the bed while
I watched them lose. It was around 3:00,
and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but my mind played tug of war with the
conflicting ideas of it being warmer in the room or warmer walking down the icy
sidewalks in the rain to get to Milano’s down the street a half mile away.
 |
| Part of me wondered if the hotel would still be there after dinner due to me plugging in the space heater. |
My stomach
finally won out and I bundled as much as I could in the city clothes I had
packed for the journey. Ice skates would
have been a better choice than my running shoes, but those were back home in
Unalakleet. Somehow, I managed to stay
upright and only soak one shoe jumping from slush free spot to slush free
spot. Milano’s was a warm, dry oasis
with a familiar face sitting at one of the tables already. Frank, another stranded school administrator
who was also stuck… lodging at The Nugget, had made the trek to the restaurant
earlier in the same search for warmth.
He had long since finished his pizza, but sat nursing a beverage as an
excuse to remain at his comfortable table.
Milano’s is
definitely not run by an Italian family, but they make a pretty good pizza, as
well as Sushi, tempura, burgers, French fries, onion rings… they try to cover
all their bases. I inhaled all but two
pieces of a medium almost forgetting to cache some away for breakfast. If the Nugget had a complimentary breakfast…
I think I would pass on it.
Frank and I
continued to nurse beverages in order to keep our table. Though The Nugget is decorated like a deer
camp, there is none of the camaraderie one would associate with one. I imagine a similar amount of drinking takes
place as on the night before opening day of hunting season, but the comparison
really stops there. 6:30 and we decided
it was time to call it a night. Neither
of us would be what I would consider night life kind of people, and definitely
not the kind of night life Nome had to offer.
We made our
way past the bars of Front Street: the famous Board of Trade, Anchor, Polar,
and again ducked into The Nugget.
Frank bid
me, “Good luck and stay warm,” as we parted ways.
It seemed
like a much more appropriate thing to say upon parting at The Nugget than good
night. I opened my door and was greeted
by warmth. The space heater was doing
its job in pushing back the cold that seeped in around the plexiglass of the
bathroom window. Duct tape, though
fashionable, was not working all that well to seal the gaps around the
replacement.
 |
| If it can't be fixed with duct tape, it can't be fixed. |
I was glad
that I would not need to rescue the comforter from its ball in the corner. The design on it looked like something from
the 70s, and Hoffa could have been hidden under it for all I knew. No need to uncover him now. With the heat, I decided I would sleep on top
of the covers.
 |
| If you look closely, you might just find Jimmy Hoffa |
A couple
laps through the television channels proved that there is truly nothing good on
television. Without a treadmill though, my
finger at least got a work out pressing buttons on the remote. As I closed my eyes, my final thought for the
day was the fear associated with not knowing where my morning coffee would come
from.
My alarm went off at 6:00 am in
order to start my calls to the airlines early enough to get on a morning flight
should space prove available. I got
dressed, packed my stuff, and started my calls greeted by answering machines at
both of the airlines… every half hour until around 9am when they finally
started opening for the day.
“Sorry, we are all sold out and won’t
have any openings until tomorrow,” Bering Air informed me… or was it RAVN. Both airlines were reading from the same script.
Bering Straits School District owns
its own plane, but it would be flying around picking up volleyball teams and
wrestling teams. It would not be coming
for us.
My phone buzzed, “Bering has found
a plane and they want us at the airport at 11:30,” Kris had texted. “I’ll be by the Nugget to pick you guys up.”
I still had to find coffee. I threw on my shoes I had dried in front of
the space heater, found some dry socks that did not stink too badly yet, and
grabbed my stuff.
Frank was in the lobby already and
he took one look at me and moved to the correct conclusion, “I went down to the
Café,” he said, “to get some coffee.”
I dropped my stuff, which Frank
agreed to watch and made my way out the door into the slush filled
sidewalks. I don’t know why I didn’t
just wade right into the puddles. I had
some strange hope that I would keep my feet dry amidst puddles a foot deep and
rain coming down sideways. Somehow I
made it through to Polar Café with dry feet just in time to receive a text from
Kris informing me of a good little coffeeshop three blocks in the opposite
direction.
Good coffee was worth the walk, and
nothing against Polar or Folgers, but that is not what I reach for in the
morning. Back down the sidewalk in the direction
I had just come. A carryover from
childhood, when I reached a two-foot puddle filled with ice water, I figured if
I just jumped and pulled my feet out quickly
that my feet would stay dry. My experiment
proved that theory false and I grumbled under my breath about city engineers
and properly draining streets.
I made it up the steps of the
coffee shop without baptizing my other set of toes to be greeted by a sign
stating, “Closed, but still awesome.”
“I disagree,” I complained to the
sign and turned back to go to the café that I was standing just outside of ten
minutes earlier.
Back at Polar Café, both feet icy
and wet, I ordered a nice tall cup of Folgers wishing I could just inject the caffeine
instead of experiencing “the best part of waking up.” I took a sip and discovered how to make
Folgers palatable: walk three miles through icy slush in rain going
sideways. I won’t say that it tasted
awesome, but I wasn’t about to pour it out either.
I met my ride at The Nugget and
headed out to Bering Air. I poured the
water out of the lid of my Alaskan luggage (15 gallon rubber made tote), and
weaved through a lobby full of Kotzebue elementary basketball players.
“I have a seat for sure?” I asked
the agent behind the desk.
“Yes,” she replied.
“For today?”
“Yeeeees,” she drew out the e as
though she wondered why I should ever ask.
On the plane, all of the passengers
(mostly school employees trying to get home), were not comfortable enough
yet to celebrate. It wasn’t until I could
see Ellen sitting in the passenger seat of the car as I walked across the
parking lot in Unalakleet that it was real.
--> “I love you too, Daddy,” Ellen yelled through the open window.
 |
| Loaded up in the King Air and heading for Unalakleet. |
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