Howdy. It’s finally Friday, my only day off, so I took the bus downtown to get a cup of coffee and update the ol’ blog. It’s a sunny day here in downtown Juneau and the din of saws and hammers echoes through the area as businesses prepare for the annual tourist inundation. I’m curious to experience the phenomenon of streets going from empty to packed in a matter of minutes as cruise ships unload their upper middle class cargo.
I’m all finished with IOE and I’ve been flying the line on my own for about a week now. My landings have gotten much smoother and I’m really having a blast.
A couple days ago, I was flying the company’s founder Haines to Juneau in a Cherokee Six. As we were taxiing for departure, he asked how many hours I had. When I told him, he said “Well, you oughtta be headed for the airlines soon!” I shrugged, indicating my indifference to the “normal” career path.
“Yeah,” he said, “After World War Two, I could have flown the fastest planes in the world, but I thought it’d be more fun to land Super Cubs on Mountains!”
Makes sense to me.
As we leveled off for the short cruise down Lynn Canal, the oil door on top of the cowling popped open and started flapping in the wind. I wasn’t terribly concerned, but the veteran worried that it could cause uneven airflow around the cylinders causing hot spots that could shorten the life of the engine. We decided to head back to Haines where he hopped out and closed the spring loaded door. As we climbed out again, he fell asleep until we leveled off again and again the oil door popped open. He awoke and growled, “Meh, we’ve got to get there for a meeting. We’ll just have to take our chances with the cylinders...” That logic always baffles me, but I didn’t perceive an immediate threat. We were loaded pretty light and the air was cold. A Six ought to limp along all right on five cylinders in those conditions. His concern was more with replacing cylinders or a $30,000 engine than having to ditch into 33 degree water on the 20 minute flight down to Juneau which was in fact uneventful.
Last week, Juneau hosted the Alaska Folk Festival. People, from all over Alaska and elsewhere showed up to play in the nightly shows. Many of the performers came from tiny Alaskan villages and I got the impression that for many of them this was the only time during the year when audiences had the privilege of witnessing and praising their talents. I also enjoyed watching the Contra and Square dancing that took place in the National Guard building across from Centennial Hall. I saw at least one fisherman in sequins dancing the female part.
The Alaskan Hotel and Bar was really hoppin' all week too. One night, we watched a top notch blue grass group who before their break announced a "Crazy Hair Contest" and asked for volunteers to man the clippers. I raised my hand and I was giddy that they picked me. How often do you get the chance to go wild on other people's hair with a pair of electric clippers?! My first clients were a couple, both of whom had their hair cropped to about an eighth of an inch. The guy wanted lightning bolts on the sides, and the gal wanted me to give her a wide mohawk. She went to the bathroom, didn't like the results (I thought it looked great!!) and I ended up taking it all off. Down to the skin. I gave another guy a reverse mohawk by shaving down the middle of his head. I'm glad I wasn't around any of those people when they woke up the next morning!
The charming, home grown Folk Festival experience exuded an authenticity that is emblematic of my experience since I arrived in Juneau. Somehow everything here seems super-real. I think the extremeness of the terrain and the real risks so many people take to work and live up here contribute to a refreshing atmosphere of truth and immediacy. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been as concerned with existential questions since I got here. Just existing is satisfying enough.
