When I enlisted in the Navy in the summer of 1986, I really didn’t know much about what I wanted to do.  I thought maybe avionics would be interesting (my father, after all, had been a fire control technician in the Air Force for 20 years), but I would have to wait months for the A-School to have an opening and spend my time as a boatswain’s mate in the meantime.  No thanks.  So, I signed up as an Operations Specialist – operating radar and tactical data systems.

But months after arriving on board my first command, the U.S.S. Haleakala (AE-25), I learned of a chance to do a collateral duty as ship’s photographer.  When growing up, I had this little Kodak Instamatic X-15 camera that I took everywhere; even saved it from drowning when I fell in the creek back home on a summer adventure. I thought that learning how to be a photographer would be fun.  So, I volunteered to take on the role as Ship’s Photographer and immediately went to the base exchange to buy my first single lens reflex (SLR) camera: a Minolta X-700.  I really didn’t know anything about setting exposures and taking pictures.  Fortunately, the Navy sent me to a naval base in Yokosuka, Japan, to attend Intelligence Photography School.  In a few weeks, I learned exposure control, the basics of composition, and how to develop my own black and white film – Kodak Tech Pan 2415 film. It was also around that time I took on another complimentary collateral duty – the role of Enlisted Intelligence Assistant, which elevated my Secret clearance to Top Secret.  I would become an integral part of the intelligence gathering capacity of our ship when we encountered Soviet craft.

But my role as a photographer on the Haleakala went beyond leading the “Snoopy Team” to photograph and document encounters with Soviet aircraft and ships; it became a way of life that consumed me during my times off watch or when in port and we had “knocked off ship’s work.”  I was called upon to photograph re-enlistment ceremonies, fire drills, visiting Admirals, and whatever else was needed.  I beamed with pride to see my first photo published in the Apra Harbor Naval Station (Guam) newspaper: a shot of a Soviet AGI we had encountered out at sea.  I even photographed my first wedding, a traditional Navy wedding on the signal bridge of the ship, officiated by the ship’s Commanding Officer.

When I transferred to my second command, a Spruance Class destroyer named the U.S.S. David R. Ray (DD-971), I continued to serve as Ship’s Photographer, but in a much expanded capacity.  The David R. Ray had just completed a long drydock period to convert her forward box launchers to a new vertical launch system (VLS) to accommodate her new contingent of Tomahawk missiles.  A lengthy sea trial period followed, where we tested the Tomahawk land attack missiles (TLAMs) and Tomahawk anti-ship missiles (TASMs).  We also tested a new Rolling Airframe Missile (RAM) launching system.  And all along, part of my job was to document the testing.  It was amazing what I was capable of doing with a manual focus lens and no motor drive – just the manual crank to advance my film.  I was also tasked with taking the new post-drydock official photo of the ship – from the open door of a CH-47 Chinook helicopter.  And again, ceremonies, visitors, ports of call; all came part of my growing development as a photographer, as a photojournalist.

My passion for photography had grown so much, it lead me to the inevitable conclusion: I needed to cross-rate from Operations Specialist to Photographer’s Mate. And the timing was perfect.  It was coming time for me to re-enlist, the natural time to make the change from one rating to another. If I had stayed on as an Operations Specialist, I would have collected a re-enlistment bonus of $17,500, would have made E-6 within a year, and would only have to re-enlist for four years.  In contrast, my re-enlistment to become a Photographer’s Mate would have been a mandatory six years, I would essentially have to start all over as an E-5 (and thus greatly extend my advancement to E-6), and there would be no re-enlistment bonus.  It was an easy decision; I wanted to be a photographer full-time. But there was one catch.  Cross-rate switches from a low CREO (Career Re-Enlistment Objective) group to a high CREO group was automatic.  But crossing from a high one to a low one – that is, from Operations Specialist to Photographer’s Mate – would have required special consideration.  My Executive Officer, who despised Operations personnel, refused to submit the paperwork: “It’s a waste of the Navy’s time,” he said.  This he said to a sailor who had been selected as Junior Sailor of the Year on his first command, was awarded Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist status as a Petty Officer Third Class (unheard of in 1988), and had been awarded the Navy Achievement Medal.  “A waste of the Navy’s time.”  With that, I left the Navy, took my GI Bill, and went to college.

While I did not major in photography when I attended college after leaving the Navy, I took some classes and continued to develop as a photographer.  After college, I worked for a national portrait company as well as a local sports photography company.  I delved into nature photography as a result of working for two summers as a canoe guide in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of northern Minnesota.  And then, in Law School, I was shooting freelance for the University of Minnesota campus paper as well as being the lead photographer and photo editor for the Law School newspaper.  And then, in 1999, I moved to Alaska – more than a decade after I had volunteered to serve as Ship’s Photographer on the Haleakala.

And over the decade that followed, my photography exploded. I started my own photography business and provided photo services for many clients, from local businesses to the internationally famous Tony Robbins.  I captured portraits and preserved the wonder of weddings.  I photographed hundreds of sporting events, from every high school sport played in Anchorage, to the Iditarod and the Great Alaska Shootout, to serving as the team photographer to Alaska’s first professional football team, the Alaska Wild.

My photography work took me from the southeast of the state in Juneau to the farthest reaches north of the oil fields of the North Slope.  And along the way, I was never denied access.  I was able to acquire the necessary media credentials to photograph in the restricted areas for the Iditarod and the Great Alaska Shootout, to access military installations such as Fort Richardson and Elemendorf Air Force Base.  I was even granted access to the most restricted region of the entire state of Alaska – the oilfields of the North Slope inside the British Petroleum security zone.  I even had the pleasure of serving the Navy again, capturing crew portraits of the U.S.S. Peleliu (LHA-5) as she transited from San Diego to Pearl Harbor.

But I haven’t just had a diverse photographic career with an impressive client list, I am slowly building a strong list of publications, awards and artist residencies.

So, when the Office of the Major of Anchorage sent out an invitation for the media to attend a briefing and receive media credentials for the arrival and commissioning of the U.S.S. Anchorage (LPD-23), I jumped at the opportunity. I attended the briefing, took copious notes, collected a media briefing packet, and looked forward to having the access to document the first Navy vessel ever commissioned in my new home state.  It seemed a perfect merging of my photographic origins and where my photography has taken me – to Alaska – with great credit to the opportunity that the Navy provided me so many years ago.

And then, the Navy dropped another bowling ball on my head.  I received an email later that day from a Navy PAO (Public Affairs Officer) telling me that unless I was employed by credentialed media (like a newspaper), I would not be granted media access to the ship.  I wrote her back, told her I was a professional photographer represented by Alaska Stock – Alaska’s premiere photo stock agency – and that I was a Navy veteran who had served as a ship’s photographer.  She wrote me back, thanked me for my service, and told me I could try my luck with the other 285,000 people living in Anchorage for a shot at 4,000 tickets to have access to the commissioning ceremony.  All of the tickets were gone the first day they were available, given out at a time I was unable to even attempt to get any.

When I read the Anchorage Daily News‘ account of the commissioning ceremony, I read of the proud Navy veterans who live in Anchorage and were able to attend the ceremony.  Well, here is one proud Navy veteran who owes his career as a photographer to the Navy, and I was specifically told to stay away.  How’s that for irony – and twice in my life that the Navy has not only denied me opportunity, but denied itself the opportunity to reap the fruits of its own investment in me.  And, quite frankly, from the published photos I have seen of the Anchorage and the commissioning ceremony, the Navy would have been wise to let me come on board.

Sometimes things can take on a life of their own.  This is especially true if you are traveling with a group of photographers fresh from a sleep-deprived high of some spectacular aurora photos the night before – March 8, 2012.  With space weather forecasts suggesting another good night for aurora borealis displays, we headed out to the Kenai Peninsula.  It seemed to be the only place in our region where the clouds might be clear.

With clouds enshrouding the Turnagain Arm area, we pressed through a snow storm in Turnagain Pass, turning instead of toward Seward but down to Cooper Landing.  This small town on the Kenai Peninsula is ideally situated for landscape photography – high mountain ridges rise up on both sides of the town, which rests at Kenai Lake and the headwaters of the Kenai River.  A bridge on the Sterling Highway that crosses those headwaters marks the key launching point into the river, which also presents an opportunity to photograph the landscape in the flowing waters of the river.  Scattered clouds allowed us to view the tandem of Jupiter and Venus in the western sky, and even a bit of a green aurora glow rising up above the mountains to the north.  But before the aurora could grow and present a stronger display, the clouds rolled in.  We had come too far to turn around and head north of Anchorage – so we continued on down the highway toward Homer.

Most of the trip down to Homer was a blur for me, as I sat in and out of consciousness in the back seat of one of the two vehicles making the photo convoy. At one point I awoke to us being pulled over by Alaska State Troopers because the vehicle I was riding in had one headlight that was inoperative.

Before I knew it, we were at a well-known overlook that presents sweeping views of Kachemak Bay, the Gulf of Alaska, and the Homer Spit.  A nearly-full moon was blasting its way through a strong cloud canopy that swallowed the sky.  I captured several images, drawing upon the various tonalities in the scene and textures represented in the clouds and mountains on the far side of the bay.  After a while, we headed down to Bishop’s Beach, a public beach adorned with driftwood and rocks polished and shaped from eons of tumbling in the surf.  Surprisingly, we easily spent a couple of hours playing with low light photography, long shutter speeds, rolling surf, and various compositions of deadwood and stone. While not stellar images, it was fun to take advantage of being all the way down in Homer in the middle of the night and making the best of a cloudy night.

Shortly after 3:00 a.m., we headed back to Anchorage.  Again, I dozed through most of the four hour drive, catching glimpses of clouds, darkness and falling snow.  By the time we got back to Anchorage, the skies had opened up and the sun was shining. No aurora, but a photo adventure that ably reflected the craziness that can ensue when a group of photographers decide to head out and try to capture some nighttime magic.

It’s hard to believe that I have been listening to The Shannyn Moore Show since it first aired on KUDO 1080 in Anchorage.  Over the years, I have had occasional email, Facebook or even telephone conversations with Shannyn about everything from the aurora borealis to judicial selection in Anchorage.  But what brought me to my first face-to-face conversation with her, in her studio at KOAN 1020, a local Fox Radio affiliate, was nothing less than the greatest conservation challenge facing Alaska today – the proposed development of the Pebble Mine at the headwaters of two of the main five watersheds that contribute to the amazing Bristol Bay fishery.  I was the guest during her second hour on December 20, 2012 (you can download the Podcast for free on iTunes.)

One of the problems with the jury system is that our minds tend to fill in the blanks when we want to visualize something but don’t have all of the information.  During a mock jury experience, in a case where a driver’s speed could have been a contributing factor to the accident, the jurors assumed a speed limit based on how the streets were described – mixed residential and commercial.  No one had told them what the speed limit was.  Unfortunately for the plaintiffs in that case, the jury assumed wrong.

But some things you can get right.  Shannyn always refers to her show producer as “Chris in the Box,” which lead me to visualize that he was in a very small control room.  I got that much right.  How I pictured Chris, however, was all wrong.  How I pictured his system and how he called up bumper music or other sound materials was also all wrong – I was thinking old school to some degree, but instead, everything is pulled up on the Internet, typically through YouTube.

I also incorrectly pictured the actual studio setup, thinking more of a side-by-side orientation between host and guest; rather, I sat across a rather wide table.  It felt like a bit of a barrier so I did my best to lean in on the desk to interact more with Shannyn during the show.  The discussion was rather free-flowing, and I thought I did fairly well … until I listened to myself on the Podcast.  Oye.  Early on, a thought started to scream through my head as I listened, “State your thesis, dammit, and make a point soon!” I realized as I listened that I did not state at the outset what my photo project was, exactly, that I had come to talk about.  I got there in a rather roundabout way.  I also missed an early opportunity when Shannyn mentioned how she follows my aurora chasing on Twitter.  It would have been a great time to discuss a recent blog post I did on how social media has changed the aurora experience.  But instead, I brought it to people contacting me to see where and when I was going to watch the aurora and if they could come along.

But, Shannyn was very gracious and never let on that I was having a logorrhea problem.  She even invited me to come back again to discuss my Bristol Bay project.  With a pending trip for my last chance at winter fieldwork and the impending launch of the project website, I think it may be time to go back again soon.

Chris-in-the-Box in his box

I have been trying for a couple years to capture a good aurora borealis photo in the Portage Valley of Chugach National Forest, located just a few miles south of Girdwood, Alaska. I have always loved winter landscape photography in that valley.  It’s magnificent for sunrise photography in the winter because the sun rises right down the valley, allowing early light to hit the ridges on the north side of the valley and light up its features with pink alpenglow.  It is isolated enough from nearby artificial lighting sources to make it a great spot for nighttime photography.  Portage Creek stays open all winter, even when it is -20F outside, giving it an additional feature not readily available in other valleys. Plus, it is only a 45-minute drive from home, which is a bonus.

What makes Portage Valley great for winter landscape photography also makes it a prime location for capturing a dynamic landscape with the aurora borealis.  But it took me a few years to be in Portage Valley when the northern lights magic finally struck. The first time I went I captured a dim aurora that faded fairly quickly, leaving me to take a one-hour star trails photo that contained a dim glow of green aurora residue.  The next two times I went down specifically to capture the aurora borealis, I ended up instead with star trails photos and nothing else.  But in one of those cases, it produced a marvelous image showing the sky circling around the Northern Star. 

Then, in November of 2012, I was out there with a couple of other photographers after we captured some magnificent aurora over the Twentymile River Valley along Turnagain Arm.  While we did capture a nice aurora borealis display with some greens and vivid pinks, my picture did not turn out as I hoped because, unknown to me, my Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 AFS lens had been damaged when I dropped it the previous week, creating a distorting effect in the lens optics.  The result was an image that was sharp in the center, and out of focus and distorted around the edges.  While it is an interesting effect, it was still not what I hoped for.

Then, the Luck of the Irish finally came to my aid.  Joined by fellow photographers C.J. Kale and Nick Selway of Lava Light Galleries in Kona, Hawai’i and Nolan Nitschke of Bishop, California, we headed out on the evening of March 16 to try Portage Valley again. This time, we had more confidence due to a forecast by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) indicating it would be a KP6-level event.  We arrived at the planned location and took our time setting up as there was not even a glow in the sky. As is good practice, we set up compositions and started to test exposures and focus.  A waxing crescent moon provided enough light to give the landscape detail without being too bright in the sky. After a while, we started to notice a deep purple hue showing up in the sky.  Soon, it had spread across the whole sky.  While not visible to the naked eye, the long exposures in the camera captured them.  As the purple built, I told the other photographers that early purple in the sky like that indicated it would be a strong aurora event.

Then, the purple started to fade as a dim green glow started to develop in the space of sky in between the peaks on the ridgeline before us. Building like a slow sunrise, the green rose to the summits of the peaks and then started to spread further skyward.  Then, the green turned into a chorus line, dancing in a line on the edge of the ridge to the west. The dance line then rose above the ridge and spread out into the sky, producing spikes and undulating curtains in greens with hints of red and pink.  After a while it calmed down, and we headed up to our cars to regroup and consider moving to another location.  It started to build up a little bit, so we headed back down to the creek, took some more photos and posed for a group picture.

When we had gone up to our cars, I placed my camera bag in the back of my car, leaving me with just my camera and a 24-70mm lens on a tripod.  During the mild buildup, I took just my camera and tripod down to the creek, leaving the bag (and my 14-24mm lens) behind.  Down at the creek, the show started to build a little bit more.  At one point, I was back on the road as we had again contemplated moving to another location.  Then, with little warning, the moderate show started to erupt.  I moved down the road a little bit to get a different vantage point, with the creek in the foreground right and a spruce tree in the middle.  Part of my decision in the position related to using the tree to cover CJ, Nick and Nolan who were down at the creek.  I didn’t want to have to spend the time to remove them later in Photoshop.

But the aurora display continued to build and build, making it too large and covering too much sky to capture with just a 24mm lens.  I internatlly debated for a while running back to my car to grab my bag and my 14-24mm lens, and ultimately knew I had to do it.  So, I took the time to stop shooting, sprint about 100 yards back to my car, grab my bag, and tell my nephew Daniel, who was sitting in the car watching the reboot of “V” on the iPad, to get out and watch this amazing show. I ran back to my where my tripod waited, pulled out the lens, removed its cap and promptly dropped it, lens face first, into the snow.  Loudly cursing while I frantically used my lens cloth to clean off the lens, I managed to afix the lens to my camera just in time to position for a vertical composition of a double question-mark shaped aurora curtain forming over the spruce tree in the middle. 

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur, with all of us scrambling and changing to multiple locations to bring diversity to our compositions. A red aurora so bright it was visible to the naked eye pulsed over the south side of the valley, complimented by a split red-green corona. There were many exclamations of wonder and delight, I slightly fell into the creek after slipping on some ice (fortunately, my Baffin boots kept my feet warm and dry), and after a while, the dancing, undulating rainbow display of colors settled into a constant shimmering of white-green aurora.  When the craziness calmed down to this constant white-green overhead wash, we posed for another group photo, this time with a background sky completely full of aurora.  I took another portrait of Daniel under this brilliant sky.  By 3:00 a.m., we decided it was time to go out and explore more photo opportunities on the Turnagain Arm.

More photos from this night and other northern lights adventures can be found and purchased in my Aurora Borealis gallery.

When we order from the menu or purchase from our local grocery store, we rarely think about the process that goes into place to get that food on our plate.  I use the term “we” to refer to those of us who do not catch, shoot or gather most of our foods, like many in Bristol Bay. But knowing that story of how that food ends up at the grocery store or restaurant helps to explain how vital a successful sockeye salmon fishery is to the survival of the Bristol Bay region.

The precise steps vary from operation to operation, but in most cases, delivery of sockeye salmon to market goes something like this.  The first and most crucial step for Bristol Bay is that the Alaska Department of Fish & Game (ADF&G), after consulting the salmon return numbers, declares that there will be an “opener” for the Bristol Bay commercial sockeye salmon fishery.  ADF&G will establish a date, time and duration for the opener, as well as which districts are affected, and also identify what type of commercial opener it is – drift or set.  There are very strict rules with tough penalties if a commercial fishing crew jumps the gun on that opener.

Once the opener is underway, crews will work furiously to catch as much fish as possible during the window – often approximately six hours at a time.  During that time, the fish are stored onboard the vessel in totes filled with ice – canneries will provide cash bonuses of a certain number of cents per pound if the fish is delivered at or below a certain temperature.  Very few fishing vessels have their own CSW (chilled sea water) system, so ice is the norm.

Once the opener is closed, the skipper drives the boat to a waiting tender, typically at anchor in the mouth of a river near the district line location.  There is at least one shore tender operator in Naknek that takes delivery from boats on the beach in the form of a truck with chilled totes.  The tender takes delivery of the fish by lowering a crane with a hook and scale that lifts up the fish, bale by bale, and dumps the fish into the cargo hold of the tender.  As the fish is being transferred over, it is weighed and the ship’s catch is recorded.  Some canneries will have a quality control person on board the tender who tests a certain number of fish from each catch for quality and temperature.  When I was on an Ocean Beauty tender in the Ugashik District, the quality control person told me she was testing a pre-selected percentage of boats (approximately 45 vessels) and checking them for overall quality (no physical damage to the fish) and temperature (using a digital thermometer).  The observer also tagged approximately ten fish, with each tag indicating the date and time the fish was delivered, so that Ocean Beauty could then follow the fish all the way through processing to meet its own standards of how quickly the fish was processed and delivered.

Once on a tender, the salmon is chilled most often with CSW.  The amount of fish each tender can carry depends on the vessel.  I spent a couple of days on the tender Westward, which was skippered at the time by a man named Todd.  He told me the Westward could carry 100 tons of fish in its lower hold, and an additional 40 tons in its uppper hold if needed.  But, it had been 5 years since the Westward had returned to port fully loaded.  But it takes time to unload the catch from an opener, with dozens of boats lining up to deliver a catch that can range from 4,000 to 20,000 pounds.  Once the full opener’s catch is delivered, a tender will pull anchor and deliver its catch to the cannery – if the cannery is located on the same river.  If not, the tender waits until its replacement arrives, and then returns to port where the cannery is located.  For the more distant locations, a tender may be on station to receive salmon for up to 48 hours, and it can take several hours to return to the cannery.  For example, when I was on the Westward, I rode it from the Ocean Beauty docks in Naknek down to Ugashik, spent a couple of days on a drift boat (the F/V Chulyen), and then rode back with the Westward to Naknek.  Each way is approximately 80 nautical miles, and the cruising speed for the Westward is about 8 knots, making for about a ten-hour trip each way. 

Once back at the docks (each cannery has its own delivery dock), the salmon is delivered through large flexible tubes that suck the salmon from the cargo hold into the cannery for processing.  For the larger processers, this is an assembly-line process featuring dozens of workers, each assigned different tasks in handling the fish.  For smaller processers, like Naknek Family Fisheries, it is only a handful of people, including the owners, who individually process the fish for packaging and marketing.

Marketing and delivering to the ultimate market varies greatly, depending on size and product.  Some salmon is sold directly to consumers, while others goes through seafood wholesalers before ultimate delivery to a store or restaurant.  Again, with a smaller processor like Naknek Family Fisheries, they are able to personally handle quality, marketing and delivery. 

Then, eventually, we as the end users consume the sockeye salmon, which has undergone an amazing journey since its catch, a journey with no less drama than the lifecycle of the salmon itself.  With so many hands involved in the catching and delivery of sockeye salmon in Bristol Bay, it makes sense that so many are concerned about development of the Pebble Mine, which could put this very mainstay of Bristol Bay life in jeopardy.

Aside from the challenge of funding for doing fieldwork on my Bristol Bay project is simply making connections with the right people at the right time of year to capture the images I need for the project.  (For background on my Bristol Bay project, visit the project’s Facebook page.)  For example, I have a specific wish list of what I want to capture this winter.  But finding the people who know people who can help me accomplish this wish list, well, that’s another story. 

Part of the challenge is that this winter has been a bit short on snowfall for the Bristol Bay region.  A certain amount of snow is required in order to provide the ground cover necessary to get out to certain locations on a snowmachine, the most common mode of travel.  Another challenge is scheduling, finding people who are available when I have the time in my schedule to go out. 

But, in the hopes that someone out there knows someone, here are the photo needs I want to meet this winter (which pretty much means between now and March 15):

1.  Trapping – setting traps and checking trap lines;
2.  Caribou hunting;
3. Ptarmigan hunting;
4. Dog mushing; and
5. Lake Iliamna harbor seals.

For each activity, I want to be able to learn from the person about this part of the way of life in Bristol Bay.  As with all people I meet, I take audio or video recordings to document the activity and the interview, and use that content to include on the project website, which will be launching soon.  Any stills of the person and the activity will be potentially included in the book. 

I am willing to pay gasoline or other expenses for anyone who takes me out, and am happy to bring out any needed supplies (like fresh produce).  So, if you know someone who can help (or can help yourself), please give me a call at 748-7040.  I am available February 4-11 and then on March 8-17.  I may also be able to go out the last week of February.  Thanks a bunch!

It is our first vacation in two years, and our first road trip vacation.  Our plan – fly into Las Vegas on the red eye to get an early start, maximize the days.  I had been in touch with one of my high school buddies, Bill, whom I have not seen in twenty years.  He is going to pick us up at our hotel and take us on a hike in a wilderness area near Vegas – a perfect start to our desert Southwest vacation.  The anticipation for this trip was palpable – not only had we not had a vacation together in two years, Michelle had spent the last year busting her ass on a big project for an important client.  This trip was our reward in so many ways.

The first leg of the trip was a direct, non-stop flight from Anchorage to Portland.  We had not been able to secure First Class seating for this leg – the longest leg of the trip to Vegas – but we had for the second leg.  I earned a MVP upgrade and we paid for an upgrade for Michelle’s seat.

I have enjoyed the slightly-elevated level of privilege of being a MVP member ever since flying to Africa last year to do some photo work for Tony Robbins during one of his Platinum Partner outings.  Michelle and I were both Club 49 members, so that gave us some additional perks, like free checked bags and the opportunity to purchase flex fares at reduced rates.

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to go through security and have a couple of drinks before going to the gate.  When we arrived at the gate, we learned that our flight was going through Seattle on the way to Portland.  “That’s not right,” I said to Michelle, “this is supposed to be a direct, non-stop flight to Portland.”  Well, I wasn’t wrong, it was supposed to be a direct, non-stop flight.  What had changed?  Alaska Airlines had determined that the current aircraft crew would exceed its authorized time in air if it went all the way to Portland.  The solution?  Divert to Seattle and pick up a new crew there.  No, not contact a standby crew in Anchorage (of which there were plenty), divert to Seattle and pick up a new crew there.  While it was mildly inconvenient – I would not have uninterrupted sleep all the way to Portland – it wouldn’t mess with our connection.  We made sure to arrange a connection that would give us enough leeway in the layover if there were problems on the first leg of the trip. The gate attendant stated that the estimated arrival time in Portland would be 6:00 a.m., giving us a full hour to make our connection to Las Vegas.

We arrived in Portland right at 5:00 a.m. local time.  The pilot announced we would be going to the gate, disembarking some passengers, and working to swap crews.  The disembarking passengers were added to the flight when the Seattle leg was included, allowing the airline to get these passengers to their destination – an ever-important opportunity during holiday travel.  It was, after all, Christmas Eve.

Everything happened as planned – we pulled quickly up to the gate, the disembarking passengers lined up and were quickly off.  The crews silently made their switch, and then, we waited.  Silence.  After a while, a flight attendant announced that additional passengers would be disembarking; the only way to make their connecting flights was to get them off and adjust their travel.  The attendant called off about twenty names, and told those people to grab their things and head toward the exit.  I dozed for a little bit during this process, woke briefly to hear that a fuel truck was on its way, would refuel us, and we’d be on our way.

I woke up an hour later expecting to look out and see clouds below.  Instead, I saw the asphalt of the tarmac, right where we had been an hour before at the gate.    Not really sure of how much time had elapsed, I turned on my phone to see – it was now 6:45 a.m.  Our connecting flight in Portland that would take us to Vegas was leaving in 15 minutes.  I depressed the attendant call button.  A flight attendant came to our aisle, and I started with, “Our connecting flight to Vegas is leaving Portland in 15 minutes; what’s going on?”  What followed was a flow of flimsy apologies, an assurance that reservation staff were aware of many passengers with connecting flights and that it was being dealt with.  I asked, why were other passengers disembarked so they could make flights but Michelle and I were still on the plane, and no one had called our names?  The flight attendant again apologized and said that everything was being done that could be.  No answer, though, as to why we were still there and when we were leaving.  Shortly thereafter there was an admonishment over the speakers reminding us to stay in our seats with the seatbelts secured; we were, after all, on an “active taxiway.”  Really?  We were still at the gate; the only difference was the ramp was no longer attached.

We ultimately took off at 7:15, a full two hours and fifteen minutes after landing.  During take off, the ensuing half-hour flight, and on landing, neither the crew nor the pilot said anything indicating that anything out of the ordinary had happened.  The usual scripts were followed all the way through to Portland, right up until we pulled up to the gate.  Then, finally, an apology was issued for the delay, but still no explanation.  We deplaned and proceeded immediately to the gate customer service counter.

We had three concerns: we wanted the next flight, we wanted our First Class seats, and we wanted some sort of compensation and acknowledgement for the screw up.  When we finally had the chance to speak to someone (there were only three people at the counter, and only two of them were handling the changed travel needs of passengers), we wanted to make sure we were on the next flight.  He confirmed that we would be on that flight – five hours later – but we were lucky; the couple next to us was only on standby for that flight, and could only be guaranteed a spot on the 8 pm flight to Vegas.  I also mentioned that we originally had First Class seats for the Las Vegas leg of the flight.  The man on the other side of the counter noted, “Oh, but that was just an MVP upgrade.”  Actually, I responded, “we paid for an upgrade.”  His attitude took me more seriously once he realized that cash had been exchanged (apparently MVP status really means “Meaningless Vile People”). Ultimately, he told us not only were there no First Class seats available for the next flight at 1:05 p.m., there were none for any of the return legs on our trip, either.  He made it clear that all he could do was get us set up for the next flight available; if we wanted some sort of satisfaction for the serious inconvenience – ruining the first whole day of a long-awaited vacation – we would have to call the national customer service number. He helpfully provided us the toll-free number to call.

Once we were speaking to a real person on the phone, they asked Michelle if we were still in travel status.  Yes, Michelle responded.  Well, Alaska Airlines explained, they could not process a complaint ticket until our travel was completed.  What did that mean?, Michelle asked.  Did that mean once we were in Vegas or once the entire trip was done, when we were back home in Anchorage in almost three weeks.  The latter, of course, was the response from customer service.  “That’s not acceptable,” Michelle responded.  They relented and said that they would process a complaint and get back to us on December 26 (I will update this blog if they do respond).

So we hung up and started thinking about our options of how we would spend five hours of unanticipated layover in Portland.  Then we remembered – they had an Alaska Airlines Board Room.  Michelle suggested that perhaps we could spend time there – didn’t my MVP status or our Club 49 status count for something?  Apparently not, I learned after doing a little research on the Alaska Airlines website.  You had to buy into the privilege, and a day pass was $45 per person.  Didn’t Alaska Airlines at least owe us that for sticking us in the airport for five hours?  We called the customer service number again to inquire; they did not have the authority to issue any compensation while we were in travel status, we would have to speak to local customer service personnel.

We returned to the customer service counter we had dealt with before to find it completely abandoned.  Fortunately, we ran into someone from Operations, who also explained that they would not have the authority to issue a complimentary pass to the Board Room either.  (She did offer food vouchers – something the customer service counter had not offered – but we had already paid for breakfast.) She was aware of what had happened with our flight, and noted it was the first time in 15 years that she had seen a plane diverted for a crew change.  After chatting with her for a while, we learned of the “official reason” for our 2+ hour wait on the tarmac at Seattle – our plane was too heavy to be authorized for a flight to Portland.  Our minds did a double- and triple-take.  Yes, FAA requires that whenever a plane leaves an airport, it must have a backup airport to go to, and the backup for Seattle was Portland, and our plane was too heavy to fly from Seattle to Portland, so they had to offload passengers.  But, they did offload passengers, about 30 of them, we explained, and yet we took on more fuel and stayed at the gate for another two hours.  “Yes, but you were still too heavy,” she responded.  “But if we had not diverted to Seattle, and instead flown straight from Anchorage to Portland, we would  have been heavier because we had more passengers and bags,” we responded.  “Yes, but you were not too heavy to fly to Portland from Anchorage.”  Wait a minute, we were not too heavy to fly into Portland if we left from Anchorage, but we were too heavy to fly into Portland from Seattle?  She made it clear that we didn’t understand the intricacies of managing weight balance of aircraft.  Of course, as Alaskans, we routinely have to deal with managing weight issues of aircraft, whether on a small plane or helicopter.  Both of us have been required to leave things behind in order to meet weight requirements; heck, I even got bumped off two flights out of Holy Cross earlier this year because of weight issues.  Before we went too deep into the rabbit hole, we decided to disengage with the lady and move on.

We stopped into an electronics store, Soundbalance, because we needed to get a splitter to listen to two headphones with the iPad.  A salesperson, Michael, was not only helpful in finding us what we needed, he graciously listened to our story, which I tried to make funnier than it really was.  He and his coworker were very sympathetic and appalled at our story.  When we made our purchase, he reminded us we would need batteries, so we picked those up as well.  While I continued our story, he stripped out the splitter from its package, added two batteries, and threw away the trash for us.  It would also be the only satisfactory customer service experience we would have during our entire travel period.

After leaving Soundbalance, we decided to see if the Alaska Airlines Board Room itself would appreciate our situation and offer us a complimentary visit to the Board Room to help ease our ordeal.  In the end, I felt like I was living out the scene of a Charles Dickens story, or perhaps that flashback scene from “Lost” when Jin Kwon was working as a doorman at a prestigious hotel and a pauper and his son ask to be able to come into the hotel to use the bathroom. The visibly squirming boy simply can’t make it to the nearest public restroom, and, hey, aren’t you from a fishing village, too, don’t you understand?  Jin ultimately relents, knowing he is going to get into trouble as his boss had earlier warned him to not do such a thing.  Don’t let the lowly street rabble into the hotel; we have standards.

Well, apparently, the Alaska Airlines Board Room has standards as well.  When we entered the Board Room, there was a kind-looking gentleman in a suit standing behind the type of reception counter you find at an expensive hotel.  “Is this where we check in?” I asked.  “Yes,” Frank responded, “you can either show me your boarding pass or your Board Room membership card.”  “Well,” I answered, “we’re not exactly members,” I said.  And as I proceeded to tell him our story and how we were hoping that he could help us with a complimentary pass, his previously warm and embracing demeanor changed to one of practiced politeness supported by a forced smile.  They could not issue such complimentary passes, he explained, because they had limited capacity and they needed to make sure there was enough space for paying Board Room members.  As I looked out at the only 30% capacity with an exasperated look on my face, Frank anticipated my next move: “If we let you in now, then we would have to do it for everyone and soon we wouldn’t be able to support our members.”  “Are you telling me,” I responded, “that the sort of fiasco we have experienced today is so commonplace with Alaska Airlines that you would be overwhelmed with similar requests?” No, he responded, and then proceeded to present the usual dominoes theory justification for whey they couldn’t let us in.  The ultimate reason was simply that allowing us in “would diminish the value” for the Board Room members who pay for the privilege of using the space.

Of course, if we wanted to pay $45 each for a guest day pass, we would be welcome to stay.  But they would not let us in as compensation for losing a whole day of our vacation due to Alaska Airlines’ gross incompetence.  Well, we didn’t think we should have to pay to have a place to relax because of their screw up.

I have been an air traveler for 39 years.  My first flight was from Rapid City, South Dakota to Phoenix, Arizona, when I was six years old.  A few months later, I made my first Trans-Pacific flight on Pan American Airlines from LAX to Guam.  Since then, I have flown into or out of South Korea, Japan, Hong Kong, Bahrain, London, South Africa, Zambia, and a whole host of cities in the U.S.

I have flown countless miles on countless airlines, and never in all of those years of travel have I ever been subjected to such incompetence (the original scheduling fiasco that forced us to make a diversion just for a crew change to the 2+ hour wait on the tarmac that ensued) and such indifference (from the customer service counter to the national number to the operations person to the Board Room).  We heard a lot of apologies, but not one single offer of compensation for the value of our lost time.  From its marketing campaigns to its Club 49 program, Alaska Airlines makes a nice show of caring for its customers, particularly its Alaskan customers (despite its name, Alaska Airlines is based out of Seattle).  Today’s experience has shown that it is all smoke and mirrors.  Alaska Airlines’ message:  We don’t care if you see that man behind the curtain; we just don’t give a shit what you think of our operation because you are a captive audience.  You are, after all, only Alaskans, and we have standards.

In many ways it was a busy year, in others, it could have been much, much busier.  There were essentially two things that drew my attention the most this year: my Bristol Bay project and the aurora borealis.  In between, I had some opportunities to photograph the nearby landscapes, chase critters (not literally, that would be illegal) up in Denali National Park & Preserve, and to study the night sky when the aurora wasn’t cooperating.  Almost all of my travel was within Alaska, but it took me to many places: Barrow, Nome, Holy Cross, Dillingham, Naknek, Nondalton and Sitka.  I also had the pleasure of visiting Yellowstone National Park for the first time in over a decade, and enjoyed the opportunity to hang out with fellow photographer Nick Fucci. 

Click here to view my 2012 Year in Review gallery.

While I have a few stories from field trips out into the Bristol Bay region I need to enshrine in this blog, there are some current developments that are worth noting. 

First and foremost, I have launched a new crowd funding effort on USA Projects. USA Projects is a program created by United States Artists (USA), a nonprofit grantmaking and artist advocacy organization that has awarded over $17 million to America’s finest artists in the last six years.  I was able to raise $5,000 earlier this year to fund fieldwork in Nondalton, Iliamna and Dillingham, as well as Seattle, Washington and Butte, Montana.  My new fundraising effort has a minimum goal of $6,000, which must be met by February 4, 2013 in order to retain those funds for my project.  If that goal is met, I will be able to earn as much as $40,000, the amount needed to complete all fieldwork for the book by September 2013.  You can visit the fundraising page, which includes an introductory video, and make a tax-deductible contribution.  One-to-one matching funds are currently available from the Rasmuson Foundation, so you can really maximize your contributions and get some great contribution perks!

Next, I will be on the Shannyn Moore Show this evening (December 20) to talk about my project!  Shannyn Moore has been very active in promoting the protection of Bristol Bay from harmful development.  As a former commercial fisherman and an avid angler, Shannyn has spent a lot of time out in Bristol Bay and has a lot of passion.  Plus, she’s just a hoot to talk to or listen to.  I am honored and excited to be able to appear on her show.  I will be on the air from 7-8 p.m. Alaska Standard Time (that’s four hours behind EST), so you can either listen locally on the radio at 95.5 FM or 1020 AM, or stream online.

Finally, for the last year, the main source of information about this project was the project Facebook page.  Soon, the dedicated website for the project, designed and produced by BuzzBizz Studios, will be available.  The graphic design for the site is complete, and they are creating the content right now.  Content will include a gallery, information about project partners, stills and video of scenery and wildlife, biographical descriptions of people in the region, as well as audio and video of people I have interviewed for the project.  This is going to be a gorgeous site and a fantastic resource for people who want to virtually experience what Bristol Bay is all about. 

More updates and stories will be coming soon, so stay connected!

In December of 2010, I was one of the attorneys sitting at the table on the Plaintiffs’ side of the courtroom in Nunamta Aulukestai v. State of Alaska, a lawsuit filed in 2009 challenging the constitutionality of the State of Alaska’s exploratory permitting scheme for upland hardrock mineral exploration.  Namely, the State of Alaska had (and still has) a practice of not conducting what is called a “best interests” determination before allowing hardrock mining exploration, while requiring a best interest finding for similar activity for oil and gas exploration.  The lawsuit focused on the 20+ years of exploration conducted at the Pebble Prospect – it was a perfect illustration of why such findings should be conducted: the State would have to take a hard look at the long term benefits and impacts of such activity and allow the public the opportunity to comment on the project.  In its 20+ years, the Pebble exploration effort itself had not been subject to public comment to any State agency – and it still hasn’t.

During the trial, one of the Plaintiffs’ experts was Lance Trasky, a fisheries biologist with extensive fisheries and wildlife management experience after a career in the Alaska Department of Fish & Game.  His opinion focused on the impacts of Pebble exploration to wildlife and the adequacy of Pebble’s mitigation measures involved in water use to protect fish.  On cross-examination, the Pebble attorney, Matt Singer with Jermain, Dunnagan & Owens, sought to discredit Mr. Trasky’s opinion by pointing out that Trasky had not relied on all available information to form his opinion.  Namely, Mr. Singer sought to point out that Mr. Trasky had not considered data reported in wildlife sighting logs maintained by exploration drill rig crews.  All crews on site were required to write down in this log the wildlife sighted while out at the work site.

After establishing that Trasky had not relied on the logs, Singer then went on to question Trasky about why he hadn’t relied on them.  Wouldn’t other wildlife experts preparing an opinion rely on such a document?, Singer asked.  No, Trasky replied.  He didn’t rely on them because they were unreliable, Trasky said.  And why were they unreliable?, Singer queried.  Because one of the reports noted that the crew observed mountain goat in the region, a species not present in that part of the state.  But that wasn’t the real problem.  The same crew had also reported sighting a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  Outburst of laughter in the courtroom, with Mr. Singer looking like he wished he would have personally examined that exhibit before presenting it to the expert witness.

I was reminded of this the other day with a report from the Alaska Dispatch about Matthew Terry, a young fishing guide from Alabama who spends his summers helping to catch fish on the Kasilof River on the Kenai Peninsula.  It turns out that Mr. Terry has caught the unfavorable attention of Alaska State Troopers with his logbooks from his summer 2012 catch.  Among the species that Mr. Terry reported harvesting with his clients were tuna, blue whale, “jack” beluga (adopting the term from “jack” king, which is a juvenile king salmon that has returned too early), and Chupacabra.  Yes, Chupacabra, the mythical monster from Mexico that is famous for its fondness for goat bloodletting, and featured in the “X-Files” episode, “El Mundo Gira.”  Unfortunately for Mr. Terry, Alaska’s fish and game enforcement officers expect guides to take seriously their responsibility to accurately report their catch, leading to their issuing a summons for his appearance in court.

Alaskans take their fish and wildlife and laws related to them rather seriously.  You can earn stiffer penalties for poaching than for your first (or even probably second or third) DUI.  (Not that I agree with such results – DUI penalties should be much stiffer than they are.)  The abundance of fish and wildlife resources are among the things that make Alaska truly special.  One of the important tools for fisheries or wildlife managers is knowledge of the population.  The State lacks the initiative (certainly not lacking the money with a $15 billion budget reserve) to actually go out there and conduct population counts on major fish and wildlife populations at all locations in the state, so one of the things that the Alaska Department of Fish & Game relies on is self-reporting.  Individuals who are out there in the country (for example, drilling crews) or harvesting fish or wildlife (users and guides) will have much more opportunity to report on population status than state biologists.  Part of keeping track of that population is the consumption of it.   Knowing the harvest levels of certain species aid fisheries and wildlife managers in determining harvest levels in the future.

And while the Pebble drilling crews or the young man from Alabama provide us some much-appreciated entertainment value, their creativity in reporting on official documents – and the reaction to those reports – highlights that in Alaska, you don’t mess with fish and wildlife management.