There’s No Place Like Nome

I landed in Nome in a light drizzle after spending two hours above the overcast following the Alaska Range from my window. Its loftiest peak, massive Denali (Mt. McKinley) topping out at 20,320 feet glowed brilliant white in the morning light. With the briefest of introduction to my crew boss, I was whisked away immediately in a small skiff to the Western Anchorage in four-foot ocean swells wondering why I had come but knowing very well. I called the Western Anchorage a “boat” from the beginning, not knowing how big a vessel has to be to be called a “ship.” In any case, it was 200 feet of seismic research vessel owned by Western Geophysical out of Houston – and charged with plying the Bering Sea and Arctic Ocean for remotely-sensed evidence of oil and gas beneath the seafloor. As opposed to the “seamen” (wait for the laughter to subside) who were in charge of normal ship operations, I was to be a seismic technician (a “seismo”), the newest and most inexperienced crewmember to date. No lower rank was possible on the Western Anchorage.

Like Timbuktu or Shangri-la, Nome conjures images beyond the edge of the civilized world, where men tackle their darkest fears and greatest pleasures and are sometimes consumed by them. For me, Nome was a one-syllable passage to places unknown. Before I left for Alaska, I became acquainted with the book “Arctic Dreams” by Barry Lopez. It is an extraordinary work of natural history and historical non-fiction that describes everything from the remarkable structure of polar bear fur, to the habits of sea ice, the significance of pingos, and the numerous attempts on the Northwest Passage. The landscape, the plants and animals, the climate, and phenomena you have never heard of – it’s all there. I suspect a more complete compendium of the Arctic world exists, but Lopez’s book is engaging and informative beyond measure. He described Nome in some detail, and the book served as a literary mantra for my months in the far north.

I had come to Nome the long way (is there a short way?). Freshly graduated from college and packing a bachelor’s degree in geology, I had found local job opportunities in my home of Reno to be sparse that June of 1984, so I accompanied my brother Chris on an adventurous overland trip to Anchorage where he spent the summer remodeling a friend’s house and I handed out resumes. Money was tight, so while I waited for my ship to come in (so to speak), I served Cokes at Burger King, waited tables at a Mexican restaurant, and carried luggage at the Hilton. But I was abruptly turned down for the bouncer job at a nightclub. “You got a resume, kid? You ain’t qualified,” said the owner. Western Geophysical eventually took the bait and handed me a one-way ticket to Nome.