When it comes to the joys of connecting with nature, you can’t beat Alaska.
There’s just a feeling up there, like you are always one step from adventure.
And you need only look as far as your backyard to find the Call-of-the-Wild. At
least, it did if you lived in the Goldstream Valley outside of Fairbanks. I had
this house, well, cabin really, and a couple acres, and it came with a view that
inspired poetry. It was rustic, warm and cozy, had a great open floor plan with
an upstairs loft, and I positively adored it. For about a year I had everything
a body needed, except for one small thing. My house was completely without
indoor plumbing.
Well, to be fair there was a forty gallon water tank upstairs that gravity
fed to the kitchen sink, so it wasn’t completely plumb free. The situation came
with a few issues of course, but I’m adaptable and took it all in stride.
Besides, the view was worth a few sacrifices. Like hot water for instance. If I
needed it, I boiled it. Want a shower? Catch rain water in a cistern and shower
outside. It does amazing things for your hair, really it does. I almost hated it
when winter arrived and I had to buy a shower card at the local general store
where I did my laundry.
Okay, by now you’re thinking – no running water? But that means…an outhouse.
That’s right! I had a nice one too. It sat a good distance from the cabin, all
tucked in the trees with a lovely little path to its door. Wonder what happens
in the middle of the night when you have to…ahem…answer the call? Well, you snug
into the fuzzy slippers and scurry through the woods. Talk about adventure! One
September day I saw a moose while visiting the privy. And don’t get me started
on the northern lights. When it comes to potty business, it doesn’t get any
cooler than that.
Credit:
www.fotosearch.com
Now for those of you who think this is all a bit unusual I’m going to tell
you that if you lived outside the city limits, an outhouse was not at all
uncommon. At least it wasn’t in the mid-eighties. I assume it’s still common
today. But back then it was so predominant that the neighboring community of
Chatanika sponsored the annual Chatanika Days Outhouse Races. Oh, the fun of it
all!
Picture this: It’s March, the ground is still frozen and covered with snow,
and hundreds of people gather 30 miles north of Fairbanks to watch a mile long
race featuring outhouses on skis.
Credit:
http://trevorpng.blogspot.com/2007/04/chatanika-days-outhouse-races.html
Sound crazy? Well, this is a big wintertime event and let me tell you, people
take it serious. It takes skill to build an outhouse aerodynamic enough to keep
up speed and maneuver tricky curves, yet solid enough to hold its rider while
four team members push, pull, or drag the jazzed up potty across the finish
line.
This is excitement folks. Its science and mayhem, all rolled into an
afternoon of pure unadulterated fun. And it starts at the Chatanika Lodge, a
circa 1930’s roadhouse where folks warm up at the saloon by drinking hot
toddies. Then you bundle up and snowmobile over to claim a spot by the road. My
favorite was at the bottom of the hill where the big wipe-outs occur. Whoooeeee,
I saw some fabulous topsy-turvy crashes that could rival Nascar!
But that’s not the best part. You really haven’t lived until you’ve laid eyes
on a zany tricked-out outhouse. They come in all shapes and sizes, from the
standard half-moon traditional to antique roadsters to things unrecognizable.
The sky’s the limit and there’s only one catch, team costumes are required and
usually tailored to the privy. There are definite crowd favorites that enter
every year, like ‘Old Faithful’ the Lodge’s timeless and proven number. Then you
have upstart newbies engineering marvels of supreme pottyness that boggle the
imagination. One year I bet on this stunning Viking number and won enough money
to buy a round of drinks for me and my friends at the saloon.
Still, in the end looks and design don’t matter, wipe-outs, fancy maneuvers,
and outlandish costumes don’t matter. What counts is that you cross the finish
line and have a good time doing it, that you give frozen residents and visitors
a reason to cheer, and spend an invigorating day at a winter carnival filled
with high-spirits and camaraderie.
The races are one of my fondest memories of Alaska. And I can’t bring them up
without a nod to Chatanika. The town goes down in my list of favorite places
too, winter or summer. It’s small, historical, and built around a 1928 gold
mining camp. Right across the street from the Lodge sits a fabulous relic of
those bygone days – a massive gold dredge just itching to be explored. It’s
perched on the edge of a 60 or so acre pond that it dug itself and to get to it
you have to climb over some pretty tricky tailing piles. I’ve heard of people
finding gold nuggets while doing so. I was never that lucky.
Credit:
www.fegoldcamp.com
***
Monica McCabe writes
romantic adventures set in far-flung locales and has a secret wish to be a
travel writer and get paid to be on perpetual vacation. Until then you can catch
up with her on her website at
www.monicamccabe.net
and read about her Alaskan adventures.
