Years ago, I read one of those Alaskana books telling tall tales of Gold Rush prospectors who had trekked to the Last Frontier to make their fortunes. One story held my attention especially. During those years, supplies were freighted out to the remote western areas of the state using river boats, much like those found traveling the Mississippi. Only up here, the boats plied the silty waters of the Yukon River. As the river winds through the state it eventually reaches a vast and flat expanse known as the Yukon Delta. One old miner wrote, when asked just how best to describe that area: "It's so flat out here, ya kin see them river boats three days away."
One day in 1973, about a year after arriving in Alaska, I stopped for coffee and a sandwich at Tryph's Roadhouse on the Richardson Highway, on my way into Fairbanks. I sat at a table and, for the want of something to do while waiting, I read the place mat. It was one of those disposable, scalloped- edged sheets of paper printed with the Alaska flag, a totem pole, several cartoon-ish but recognizable Alaskan animals and the following heading: Alaska Trivia.
While I don't remember all of the bits of useful information listed, a few have stuck with me over the years. The very first item of interest was the news that (as of whenever that place mat had been printed) there were more people living on the 25th floor and above in New York City than in the entire state of Alaska. Somehow that amazed me. All those people living so far above the ground. My thoughts went wild with all sorts of notions, images and silly scenarios.
Then I focused on the next item: Alaska has more coast line than the rest of the United States combined. That bit of information coupled with what I read next filled me with awe: If the state of Alaska ever divided into two states of equal size, Texas would then be the third largest state.
This was followed by yet another bit of trivia that left me in wonder: Not to be outdone by "The Land of 10,000 lakes;" Alaska is the land of three million lakes. I was curious about who counted them all so that our great state could make such a claim. Hey, I am all for it and even if someone fudged a few thousand here or there, it would take a considerable amount of the rest of the contiguous, Lower-48 states to come close to our Riparian bounty.
Folks elsewhere have no idea just how vast Alaska really is. It's no wonder when the national weather forecasters always represent our state as a tiny bit of land floating in the Pacific just west of California. Our geographically challenged society doesn't have a chance under such conditions.
Of course, on that day as I sat in the old log roadhouse owned and operated for many years by Tryph (her full name was Tryphina but she had a look about her that dared anyone to be fool enough to mention such out loud), a true, tough-as-nails Sourdough, I wasn't worried about how the rest of the country saw Alaska. While I ate my grilled ham and cheese sandwich, I watched this amazing woman talk to other customers; some of whom were obviously well-known to her. I wondered if ever I'd have such status among old-timers. I doubted it. Somehow, I knew even back then that people like Tryph were a dying breed; passing into history with no one around to take their places. They'd lived here, built here and survived here when that actually meant something. Even in 1973, the modern world had encroached sufficiently that we newcomers, aka Cheekakos, would never face the challenges they had. Thus, we'd never be able to claim the same accomplishments with their fierce and well-deserved pride.
A few years back, I finally got the chance to visualize vastness on an Alaskan scale. My husband and I visited Nome (a trip I highly recommend to anyone thinking of visiting Alaska; and to Alaskans who want to see more than just what's on the road system). I've never been a flat lander type. I need mountains- I need contours. I'd go nuts living where I couldn't see peaks and plateaus, valleys divided by meandering rivers and gorges dug by glaciers tens of thousands of years ago.
We rented a truck and spent our days traveling the dirt roads with a hamper of lunch and a thermos of hot tea. The third day, the weather finally cleared and the skies were cloudless. We crested a hill and this valley spread out before us that seemed to be the size of Missouri. We used binoculars to see it's eastern edge where a cluster of low hills didn't block the glimpse at yet another, equally vast expanse which finally disappeared into hazy, distant mountains. My husband said when the caribou come through the area they walk west across the valleys and over those hills in such numbers they cover the ground with waves of dark, moving dots, much like an army of ants on the march.
Looking out over that valley and then onto the next one, I finally understood what that old prospector meant about 'vast.'
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