Killing Dogs: An Alaskan Specialty

The Iditarod looms, along with the specter of racing dog deaths
As an Alaskan (now living Outside) I have struggled with my feelings about the Iditarod since childhood. It's true that these dogs love to run, they were literally born to run, every fiber of their being tells them to RUN. But the older I get, the more I think that, as their caretakers, we owe it to our dogs not to run them to death.
And when you get right down to it, the Iditarod is a voluntary activity. No one has to do it. People choose to do it, and that's fine. But is it right for people to choose the Iditarod for their dogs? Shouldn't we be better conservators for them? A dog cannot, after all, really offer informed consent. It can just do what you ask it to do, and unfortunately what we ask them to do every year is risk their lives for a sporting event.

It is a fact that dogs die in the Iditarod. They die for a lot of different reasons, but they die. The last two years saw zero dog deaths, which is startling and unprecedented. In 2009, six dogs died during the race. 
There are few other precedents for this kind of thing. Occasionally, in the sport of horse racing, a horse will stumble and be injured and have to be put down. But imagine a situation where every year at the Kentucky Derby, several horses die - and everyone acts like it's no big deal. Accidents happen! They try to reduce the injury rate! They have vets there! Everything gets checked out! But nevertheless, every year horses died at the Derby. The world would be up in arms. 
Not to mention if fatality was just an everyday occurrence in a human sport like the Boston Marathon or the Tour de France!
The best thing I can say about the Iditarod is that they have managed to weed out most instances of outright animal cruelty. Mushers have been vilified, if not disqualified, for abusing their animals during the course of the race. Kicking, hitting, beating the dogs - this almost never happens (these days). 
But the race is incredibly difficult, and even with the advances we have made in canine health science, some dogs will die. Maybe they will tangle with a moose, maybe they will get gravely ill, or maybe their hearts will just burst. But they will die, I guarantee it.
Mush on, you huskies. 

Alaska's Amazing Volcanoes

"Alaska has over 100 volcanoes and over 40 of them have been active historically, according to the U.S. Geologic Survey. "

Remember the millions of travelers stuck in European airports when that unpronounceable Icelandic volcano blew? Remember the misery of those travelers trying to get home by any means possible? Well, that could happen again if Alaska’s Mount Cleveland decides to erupt full-scale kablooey. The remote 5,676-foot fire mountain out in the Aleutians has been gassing up again, bulging out a lava dome 130 feet in diameter. If it blows, as it seems it might, ash clouds could extend up to 20,000 feet.

Which would mean big trouble for international travelers once again, as 20,000 passengers pass through Anchorage’s airport every day. And not only travelers could be delayed, 90% of air freight from Asia to Europe and North America flies over Alaskan air space on the way. The last time Cleveland blew its top was in 2001, and spewed ash clouds about seven miles into the sky.

Alaska has over 100 volcanoes and over 40 of them have been active historically, according to the U.S. Geologic Survey. While most of Alaska’s fire mountains run out into the ocean on the Alaska Peninsula and the Aleutians, some are in Cook’s Inlet and not too far from Juneau and Fairbanks. Since 1996, volcanic activity occurred in 11 of Alaska’s lively volcanoes.

While Cleveland has only rumbled and puffed out minor ash clouds so far, the Alaska Volcano Observatory has raised the alert level from yellow to orange, which means increased chance of eruption. Air travel hasn’t been cancelled or delayed as of yet, but the big air carriers are keeping a weather eye out for one of Alaska’s specialities--active volcanoes!

Death: A REAL Alaskan Specialty

So many interesting ways to die in the Last Frontier!
Today my cozy complacent Pacific Northwest world was turned upside down. The temperatures dropped INTO THE TWENTIES. And SNOW fell on the ground! I was scrambling to keep my chickens warm, dressing up to go outside, hanging up damp clothes to dry, and cursing the entire time.
Of course, that's life in Alaska the entire winter. Heck, you're lucky if the temperatures get up into the 20s, that's a balmy day! And what do you do? Acclimate, mostly. I know people who have chickens in Alaska, and who don't really do too much extra for them. They might lay down some straw to keep their feet out of the snow, or turn on a heat lamp when the temperatures get below zero. Horses in Alaska don't wear jackets, they just grow extra-thick winter coats. And people don layers and layers of clothing.

And if you don't? You die. I remember walking my dog in the woods when I was a kid, long before the advent of cell phones or GPS. I suddenly realized that if I slipped and broke my leg out here, I would literally die before anyone could find me. The weather was in the teens, several feet of snow on the ground, we had hiked about three miles from the trailhead, and the sun was going to set in about an hour. In that scenario you get maybe an hour or two tops if you're lying on the ground, and that's only if you really keep your wits about you. The likelihood that anyone would realize I was gone before I had died of hypothermia was almost nil.
There are plenty of other ways to die, of course. It's not just the weather, it's the terrain (steep and remote), the water (death within five minutes, year round), and of course the animals. Bears, wolverines, moose (both trampling and lumbering out in front of your speeding car). I know a man who nearly died when he was gored by an angry caribou. The antlers just barely missed his important bits, and he survived with permanent liver and spleen damage.
On a more prosaic note, drugs and alcohol kill a shocking number of Alaskans. Both directly, through the consequences of long-term addiction, and indirectly, through fatal DUI and other accidents.
Oh, and all the other people, of course. Alaska has one of the highest rates of interpersonal violence. There are virtually no "stranger crimes." Unless you count the serial killer who worked at the doughnut shop where my friends and I used to buy our breakfast before school, that is.

The Fur Rondy

As unique as it is unlikely
Even though it has been over twenty years since I moved away from Alaska, when February approaches I always think "Fur Rondy time!" 
The official name is "The Fur Rendezvous Festival," but everyone just calls it "Fur Rondy." Mostly because "rendezvous" is a difficult word to spell, but also because it's not easy to decide how to pronounce it. You can pronounce it the right way, the French way, and come off like an effete hoity toity smarty pants. Or you can pronounce it the local way, the American way, and sound like some kinda redneck hick.
Or just call it "Rondy." That's safer. 

In a nutshell, Fur Rondy is the practice of putting kids on fairground rides in 20 degree weather. Doesn't that sound great? Brisk! Invigorating!
Let me tell you something: vomit freezes really fast at 20 degrees. And it doesn't melt, either. What are they supposed to do? You can't hose it off, the hoses are turned off for the winter. You could try rinsing it off the pavement with a bucket of hot water, but then the water will freeze and turn your walkway icy, and someone will slip and fall and sue your ass. 
The festivities also include a fireworks display. Which is actually pretty cool, because in Alaska you don't get a lot of chances to see fireworks. There isn't actually any darkness for the Fourth of July, so the obligatory twilight fireworks are a huge disappointment. But in February we have nothing but darkness. You can start your fireworks display at 6PM if you want, it's plenty dark by then. Temperatures will have fallen well below zero, but you can start 'em.
The Fur Rondy also comes with collectible lapel pins. Typically there are two pin styles: a cheap button-maker kind, which has a design created by an Anchorage school child and chosen by committee. And a more expensive, fancy button, made of nice metal with cloisonné. Every year, there is a lot of anticipation about the buttons. Are they for sale yet? Have you seen the designs? Where did you get yours? Oh, I went there, but they were sold out.
Unfortunately, the awesome pins also give rise to a hugely obnoxious practice, which is (predictably) terrifying to small children. If you get caught by one of the mock-police on Fur Rondy grounds without a button, you can be put in "jail" until you get "ransomed" by purchasing a button. 
But hey, what wintertime festival would be complete without a dose of potential childhood terror and trauma?

Moose Poop Souvenirs

Swizzle sticks, earrings, and more!
The idea of reindeer sausage might be a little bit mind-blowing to some people, but it's nothing compared to this little nugget of amazing: in Alaska, you can buy souvenirs made with moose poop. I don't know what insanity first prompted someone to shellac some moose poop and try to make a gag gift out of it. All I can say is, Alaskans are resourceful, and sometimes you have to work with what you've got.
Moose poop is a common find anywhere in Alaska that isn't actually paved. Moose are everywhere, and hundreds reside within the Anchorage bowl alone. You can find piles of moose poop in your yard, at the park, or on a nice stroll around the lake.

Biologically speaking, moose are basically very large goats. If you have ever seen goat or rabbit poop, you know that it comes out in a big pile of pellets. In the case of moose, these pellets are about the size of the first joint of your thumb. Moose are very economical feeders, unlike cows and horses who emit big smelly piles of sloppy stuff, moose poops are small dry nuggets, almost like compressed pellets of sawdust.
Combine that with Alaska's cold dry climate, and you have a product that doesn't degrade. It's just lying out there in giant piles all over the place, free for the taking. Is I guess the thought process. I don't really know.
Someone along the line decided it would be pretty funny to shellac a moose nugget and stick it on a swizzle stick. Oh and you can make earrings. And necklaces. One of those weather forecasters (if the poop is wet, it's raining out, etc)! How about embedding it inside a block of soap? Or just bagging it up and calling it the "Alaska State Turd."
I guess once you start thinking about making crafts out of wild animal poop, the sky's the limit.
Needless to say, I thought this stuff was hilarious when I was about eight years old. I remember a Christmas where I gave everyone moose poop gifts. I bet they thought I was the worst kid ever. (They weren't wrong.)
Of course, I was eight back in the 1980s. I was surprised to discover that you can still buy this stuff today, some thirty years later. That is a pretty strong local cottage industry, if you think about it. Maybe other states should turn their wildlife poop into souvenir gifts, too.

Reindeer Sausage

Yep, it's a real thing!
When I tell people what it was like to grow up in Alaska, I have learned that reindeer sausage is one of those things that really blows their mind. Like they want to be cool, they know that Alaskans don't all live in igloos or commute to work by dog sled. But reindeer sausage? That can't be a real thing, can it?
Oh yes, it certainly can. Most places offer it as a pizza topping, and a lot of restaurants offer it as a breakfast option.
And it's… okay, I guess. Honestly, I don't think anyone would ever be able to pick reindeer sausage out of a reindeer sausage line-up. If you did a blind taste test with seveal different kinds of sausage, do you really think you could tell the reindeer sausage from the beef, turkey, or pork sausage?

The truth is, sausage is sausage. And one reason why you turn a meat into sausage is that it wasn't that good to begin with. Wild meat is notoriously "gamy," which is one of those slippery terms that are difficult to define. You know "gamy" when you taste it. It's like the taste of chicken dark meat, times a hundred. An acquired taste, to be sure. 
I always found it somewhat irksome that it gets called "reindeer sausage" in the first place. Obviously the name is a bit of clever Alaskan branding, designed to tweak the sensibilities of Outsiders. (Which is what Alaskans call everyone who is not from Alaska.) The idea of eating reindeer makes you think of Santa and Rudolph. But in sausage form.
That's what passes for humor, in Alaska. Rudolph sausage.
In reality, it should be called "caribou sausage," because that is what we call them. No one calls caribou "reindeer," it's a term that only comes into play when you are trying to sell overpriced sausage to tourists. 
I shouldn't knock the practice, though. Caribou husbandry is an important source of income for Alaska Natives. Most of the reindeer farming is done with animals imported from Sweden and Norway, since they are smaller and somewhat more tolerant of humans. Alaskan Caribou proved to be too wild, and too gripped by the urge to migrate thousands of miles a year. 
The reindeer sausage doesn't come from caribou feed lots. The animals are free range, allowed to wander as they wish. These days they are tracked by satellite collars until it's time for the round-up and slaughter. They have a much better life than the other animals we turn into sausage. So even though it's silly and overpriced, reindeer sausage is still pretty great. (Seriously though, it just tastes like sausage.)