Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

We landed in Adak in bursts of tricky crosswinds, as the fire department stood vigil. It may be that they scramble for every landing, and not just those that might provide them some business, but it still makes you wonder when you espy them out the window as your wheels grope for the tarmac.  Adak is also known as “the birthplace of the winds”, and wind velocity can reach a sustained 100 knots during storms.  While we were there, they were a relatively placid 20 - 25 knots.

During WWII, nearly 100,000 troops bivouaced on Adak, amassed there to push the Japanese off the Aleutian islands of Attu and Kiska (who stole the Kiska?). After the war, the military presence evolved into a Naval Air Station. At the height of the 80s military buildup, nearly 6,000 Navy personnel and their families lived on Adak. The Navy built tremendous infrastructure there, including comfortable housing units and a high school that any affluent suburb would be proud of.   After the fall of the Soviet Union, the base was downsized, then abandoned for good in 1997.  The base property now belongs to the Aleutian Native Corporation.  Only 72 people permanently reside on Adak now, and all the housing units sit unoccupied like a modern ghost town.

I didn’t have much time to cavort around or explore the island, but one night after dinner I was able to borrow a mountain bike and take a bit of a ride. This picture was taken at about 10:30 pm, as the northern latitude and daylight savings time afforded useable light until well after 11. There are no trees on the island, just a tundra-like surface covered with coarse grass.   Because the Aleutian chain verges southward as it extends, Adak is not as far north as it would seem - it’s on the same latitude as northern Vanouver Island.  There are snow-covered mountains on the island, but the entire time I was there, a low-lying shelf of cloud obscured them.

A lot of the island is a wildlife sanctuary, and there are a lot of bald eagles hanging around, feasting on fish guts or the odd caribou carcass. The plane I came in on had a group of bird-watchers looking to fill out their birding dance cards with seabird species there. It turns out that bird-watchers provide a mini-tourist industry, though there’s not much to spend your money on in Adak.  A woman on the plane from North Carolina introduced me to David Sibley’s marvelous bird books and illustrations, and I began to see how I could be hooked into this compulsive hobby, an adult version of the license-plate game our parents had us play on long car trips.

Alaska Airlines only operates two flights a week onto and off of the island. I flew in on Sunday, and was expecting to fly home on Thursday. However, my client had business that was urgent enough that they chartered a flight to Anchorage (a Lear jet, dahling!) on Tuesday, and 5 of us rode to Anchorage in style.

When I found out about the charter, I scrambled to get a flight from Anchorage to Seattle, and, with some magic certificates was able to negotiate a first-class upgrade as well.  However, our Lear arrived in Anchorage just minutes before my Alaska flight was to depart, and I was resigned to standing by for a later flight, arriving in Seattle after midnight and, most certainly, losing my upgrade.  When I checked in, the agent said that my plane was delayed, and that if I ran to the gate, I might be able to get on.  Inspired, I hotfooted to the concourse only to find that, owing to my one-way ticket purchased the day before, TSA had “randomly” selected me for special screening.  So, off with the shoes, out with the arms, apart with the legs - you who travel know the drill.  I knew I was doomed, but hustled to the gate anyway. 

As I stood in line, I heard the agent tell a couple that the flight was “closed”, meaning it was still at the gate but ready to depart.  I presented my pass and the same agent told me the same thing, and I was ready to walk away when an angel of sorts appeared behind the agent and said, “Oh, MacchiattoMan, this way, please”.  I followed her to the jetway and, as she passed her card through the key at the door and welcomed me onto the flight, I felt the piercing stares of those not possessed of the MacchiatoMan’s aura.  Dinner in seat 2F was pork tenderloin stuffed with dried apricots and prunes, accompanied by a nice dry white wine, and I was home by 9.