I woke up this morning and it occurred to me that while I had documented my travels to and from Alaska, I never really talked about living there. I have met several people who have lived in Alaska and I can honestly say that I have never encountered anyone who seemed indifferent to the state. You either love it, or you hate it. There doesn’t seem to be much of a middle ground. I suppose this is because Alaska is a land of extremes. Everything is kinda the same in Alaska, but yet it is different.
Okay, what do I mean about kinda the same, but different? Sometimes it was the little things. One of the first things I noticed driving around Fort Richardson was there were these six-foot tall red metal bars with a three inch “Flag” welded on the end, attached to every fire hydrant. These were laying over (It was June) and my wife asked me, “What is their purpose?” I replied, “They turn them up to a vertical position in the winter, so that the fire department can find them in the snow.” In most places, you don’t have to be concerned with so much snow on the ground for so long that you lose sight of important things, like “Where is the damn fire hydrant?”
Another insight that I was moving in to a brave, new world was when I went to the Central Issue Facility (CIF) to draw my field gear. At every military post, you were issued your standard field equipment for the region (your field equipment issue varied from region to region) and Alaska was no exception. What was unusual was the volume of equipment we were issued. At most posts, CIF issue required a duffle bag to hold all your specialized field equipment. Helmet, pistol belt, load bearing equipment or LBE (A harness you attach to the pistol belt to allow you to carry several pounds of equipment on it.) a liner for your field jacket, sleeping bag, a rucksack and mat to sleep on, were all part of this equipment. The difference here was you were issued so much more equipment.
Aside from the basic stuff you got at every assignment, here you also received:
We were issued a bunch of other items, (total issue was five large bags of equipment) and when you were finished, you signed a hand receipt with a value exceeding a month’s gross pay. So, okay, this place was a tad bit different than I was accustomed to, when I was assigned to Fort Hood, Texas.
Next came some specialized ARCTIC training which every newly assigned soldier was required to complete. The first training requirement upon arrival was your Cold Weather Indoctrination class (CWI). CWI was a two-week class on how to survive in an arctic environment. It felt weird taking the class in the middle of the summer. It was 65 degrees outside and you were learning how to avoid freezing to death in the winter. Then I occurred to me that while it was mid-July, winter in Alaska started a mere six weeks later, in September. CWI was taught in the summer, but the final exam was not given until later in the fall.
The final exam required one thing, cold weather. On the first night, when the weather was forecast to be minus 20, all the “Arctic Cherries” (People who had not experienced the Alaska winter.) were informed that after retreat (5 PM for you civilians), to report for their final CWI exam. You brought your rucksack, sleeping bag and mat etc., and you had to be ready to go at 1800 hours. The exam was simple. We were trucked out to a field site in the local training area and dropped off in the woods. We would be picked up in the morning in time to go to breakfast, have fun. Our task was surviving the night and not getting frostbite in the process.
The senior Non-commissioned officer (NCO), a Staff Sergeant, was in charge and he merely told us to stay within eyesight of one another. We all picked out our spots to bed down for the night. There were no tents, cots or heaters, only a porta-john because pollution regulations and the impracticability of trying to dig a latrine in the frozen ground. We were all on our own to deal with the elements. I didn’t like to take chances with the weather so I chose a spot to bed down under an evergreen (just in case it snowed). There I laid out my bed roll and sleeping bag. We didn’t waste much time milling around as it was soon dark. As night fell, all you really wanted to go was curl up inside that sleeping bag and get/stay warm.
We were taught dressing in layers. Everyone was wearing long underwear and several layers of cold weather clothing. I took off my mountain boots, then climbed into my arctic sleeping bag fully clothed (it was below zero already. The temperature dropped fast as it was a clear night). The one thing you could not do, was sleep fully clothed. Sleeping fully clothed resulted in your sweating and moisture condensing in your clothes was one of the fastest ways you could freeze to death. I waited until I was warm enough in the sleeping bag to almost break into a sweat, then I opened the bag and removed a layer of clothing. I laid these inside the sleeping bag alongside my legs, laid back down and zipped up again. You repeated this process until you were down to your skivvies and then you zipped up for the night. I slept well enough and woke up all warm and toasty. I unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up, lit a cigarette (I had that nasty habit then) and basked in the morning light until I started to get chilly, then I dressed for the day. Passing the CWI test gave you confidence in what you learned and we were signed off on that requirement when the platoon sergeant picked us up that morning.
Fort Richardson is located in the suburban shadow of Anchorage, the largest city in Alaska. One of the other survival techniques we were strongly encouraged to follow was to keep adequate survival supplies in our personal vehicles. Food, clothing, blankets, spare parts for the vehicle, extra spare tires, were all recommended. If you drove ten minutes out of the Anchorage city limit, in any direction, you were five minutes into the wilderness. That doesn’t seem like a lot until your vehicle breaks down and you hike five miles back to civilization in four-feet of snow in sub-zero temperatures. It was always in the back of your mind that this place was always trying to kill you. Alaska knows no mercy, it was up to you to know how to survive.
Alaska was one of the first places I was stationed with a standardized physical training (PT) uniform. When I joined the military in 1978, we were still old school and the standard PT uniform was fatigue pants, tee shirt and combat boots. Somewhere between 1978 and 1984, some genius decided that combat boots and a duty uniform was unhealthy to run in. Physical training needed running shoes and sportswear. At my first assignment, PT uniform was civilian sportswear. (Running shoes, shorts and tee shirt, sweatshirts and sweatpants when it got cooler etc.) At Fort Richardson, there was a specified uniform. Artillery Red (Yes, this is a real color) sweatshirts emblazoned with the battalion logo and navy-blue sweatpants (you still could pick your own shoes). The only modifications were as it got colder, the balaclava and trigger-finger mittens were added. I also learned through painful experience also to add a sock strategically located in my underpants to keep a prized appendage of mine warm too. PT was conducted no matter how cold, no matter how much it snowed. If there was snow on the ground, then exercises were done inside the motor pool shop. (It had an open area the size of a small warehouse and was heated.) The only time I ever saw PT cancelled was when it rained.
We ran in formation to cadence just like everywhere else, but there were little differences. Take a four mile or longer run for over half an hour period. In freezing temperatures, you will see and experience some interesting things. We wore knit blue full-face balaclavas, red sweatshirts and blue sweatpants. At the end of the PT run, we’d all be covered in frost. (We looked like snowmen.) As you ran and worked up a sweat, the sweat evaporated and passed through your clothing. There it would condense and freeze and, you ended up covered in frost from the top of your head to your feet. You learned to run with your head turned slightly to one side so you didn’t run through your breath. This was to prevent freezing your eyelashes shut from the moisture you exhaled.
We’d been in Alaska a few weeks and we’d moved into housing on post. My assignment had been changed on arrival and we were re-directed from Fort Wainwright to Fort Richardson. Our household goods however, had been shipped to Fairbanks thus delaying their delivery. For a while, we lived using temporary furnishings from housing. My wife, only had a radio for her source of news and entertainment. (Our household goods were still in Fairbanks.) One day she was telling me about a reported problem with Aleuts she’d heard on the radio news. She wondered why game wardens couldn’t just shoot them? (Aleut was an unfamiliar term and she assumed they were some sort of indigenous wildlife.) I had to break it to her that Aleuts were Alaskan Indians and that they might take a dim view of being shot at.
Nothing humbles you more than the Alaskan winter. Alaska has four seasons, just like the rest of the world, they are name them differently; June, July, August, and Winter. This became very apparent to me the day I planned to winterize my trusty Ford F-150 pickup truck. It was a Saturday morning in late October, 1985, a day that I’ll never forget. The Friday before had been a beautiful fall day and then I woke up to a deep freeze. The plan was to change to a lighter weight engine oil (In Texas I’d used fairly 10w40 weight oil) to avoid any trouble starting it during the winter months (Another lesson from CWI). The sudden temperature change had caught me by surprise and now, just like I’d been warned, the engine wouldn’t crank. I assumed the battery was old and weak (I’d bought the truck used, the summer before my Alaska assignment.). My neighbor took me to the post auto parts store to buy a new battery. Lo and behold, after installing the new battery, the truck still would not turn over.
We tried to jump start the truck without success and when It finally occurred to us that the 10W40 was so thick that the starter could not turn the crankshaft through the oil. This was confirmed as it took four hours to drain most of the oil from the engine. After adding enough warmed 5w30 winter weight the engine finally started. By noon, since the temperature was slightly above freezing, we took that opportunity to also install a coolant heater. The coolant heater percolated coolant so that the truck engine would stay warm at night. In Alaska, power outlets mounted on posts in front of your primary parking space for that purpose. In winter months, when you parked your car for the night, you turned on the defroster and left it set, before you shut down the engine. This allowed coolant to circulate through the heater core. The heat would rise up the open defroster vents and keep the windshield free from ice and the cab toasty warm too.
To be continued ….
Okay, what do I mean about kinda the same, but different? Sometimes it was the little things. One of the first things I noticed driving around Fort Richardson was there were these six-foot tall red metal bars with a three inch “Flag” welded on the end, attached to every fire hydrant. These were laying over (It was June) and my wife asked me, “What is their purpose?” I replied, “They turn them up to a vertical position in the winter, so that the fire department can find them in the snow.” In most places, you don’t have to be concerned with so much snow on the ground for so long that you lose sight of important things, like “Where is the damn fire hydrant?”
Another insight that I was moving in to a brave, new world was when I went to the Central Issue Facility (CIF) to draw my field gear. At every military post, you were issued your standard field equipment for the region (your field equipment issue varied from region to region) and Alaska was no exception. What was unusual was the volume of equipment we were issued. At most posts, CIF issue required a duffle bag to hold all your specialized field equipment. Helmet, pistol belt, load bearing equipment or LBE (A harness you attach to the pistol belt to allow you to carry several pounds of equipment on it.) a liner for your field jacket, sleeping bag, a rucksack and mat to sleep on, were all part of this equipment. The difference here was you were issued so much more equipment.
Aside from the basic stuff you got at every assignment, here you also received:
- An ARCTIC sleeping bag (rated for below negative 20 F)
- Field Shirts (Similar to old army green fatigues but made out of the same material as a wool army blanket.)
- Field pants with suspenders. (Worn over your normal uniform pants to form a second layer.)
- Arctic parka
- Arctic over-whites (White covers for your parka and field pants)
- Trigger-finger mittens (Mittens with one finger for your index finger so you could fire your rifle in the cold.)
- Arctic mittens (For when it was so damn cold you didn’t worry about firing the rifle.)
- A full-face balaclava
- Arctic face mask (for when the balaclava wasn’t enough)
- Arctic boots (Also known as Mickey Mouse boots. Cold weather boots to keep your feet from getting frostbite in sub-zero weather)
We were issued a bunch of other items, (total issue was five large bags of equipment) and when you were finished, you signed a hand receipt with a value exceeding a month’s gross pay. So, okay, this place was a tad bit different than I was accustomed to, when I was assigned to Fort Hood, Texas.
Next came some specialized ARCTIC training which every newly assigned soldier was required to complete. The first training requirement upon arrival was your Cold Weather Indoctrination class (CWI). CWI was a two-week class on how to survive in an arctic environment. It felt weird taking the class in the middle of the summer. It was 65 degrees outside and you were learning how to avoid freezing to death in the winter. Then I occurred to me that while it was mid-July, winter in Alaska started a mere six weeks later, in September. CWI was taught in the summer, but the final exam was not given until later in the fall.
The final exam required one thing, cold weather. On the first night, when the weather was forecast to be minus 20, all the “Arctic Cherries” (People who had not experienced the Alaska winter.) were informed that after retreat (5 PM for you civilians), to report for their final CWI exam. You brought your rucksack, sleeping bag and mat etc., and you had to be ready to go at 1800 hours. The exam was simple. We were trucked out to a field site in the local training area and dropped off in the woods. We would be picked up in the morning in time to go to breakfast, have fun. Our task was surviving the night and not getting frostbite in the process.
The senior Non-commissioned officer (NCO), a Staff Sergeant, was in charge and he merely told us to stay within eyesight of one another. We all picked out our spots to bed down for the night. There were no tents, cots or heaters, only a porta-john because pollution regulations and the impracticability of trying to dig a latrine in the frozen ground. We were all on our own to deal with the elements. I didn’t like to take chances with the weather so I chose a spot to bed down under an evergreen (just in case it snowed). There I laid out my bed roll and sleeping bag. We didn’t waste much time milling around as it was soon dark. As night fell, all you really wanted to go was curl up inside that sleeping bag and get/stay warm.
We were taught dressing in layers. Everyone was wearing long underwear and several layers of cold weather clothing. I took off my mountain boots, then climbed into my arctic sleeping bag fully clothed (it was below zero already. The temperature dropped fast as it was a clear night). The one thing you could not do, was sleep fully clothed. Sleeping fully clothed resulted in your sweating and moisture condensing in your clothes was one of the fastest ways you could freeze to death. I waited until I was warm enough in the sleeping bag to almost break into a sweat, then I opened the bag and removed a layer of clothing. I laid these inside the sleeping bag alongside my legs, laid back down and zipped up again. You repeated this process until you were down to your skivvies and then you zipped up for the night. I slept well enough and woke up all warm and toasty. I unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up, lit a cigarette (I had that nasty habit then) and basked in the morning light until I started to get chilly, then I dressed for the day. Passing the CWI test gave you confidence in what you learned and we were signed off on that requirement when the platoon sergeant picked us up that morning.
Fort Richardson is located in the suburban shadow of Anchorage, the largest city in Alaska. One of the other survival techniques we were strongly encouraged to follow was to keep adequate survival supplies in our personal vehicles. Food, clothing, blankets, spare parts for the vehicle, extra spare tires, were all recommended. If you drove ten minutes out of the Anchorage city limit, in any direction, you were five minutes into the wilderness. That doesn’t seem like a lot until your vehicle breaks down and you hike five miles back to civilization in four-feet of snow in sub-zero temperatures. It was always in the back of your mind that this place was always trying to kill you. Alaska knows no mercy, it was up to you to know how to survive.
Alaska was one of the first places I was stationed with a standardized physical training (PT) uniform. When I joined the military in 1978, we were still old school and the standard PT uniform was fatigue pants, tee shirt and combat boots. Somewhere between 1978 and 1984, some genius decided that combat boots and a duty uniform was unhealthy to run in. Physical training needed running shoes and sportswear. At my first assignment, PT uniform was civilian sportswear. (Running shoes, shorts and tee shirt, sweatshirts and sweatpants when it got cooler etc.) At Fort Richardson, there was a specified uniform. Artillery Red (Yes, this is a real color) sweatshirts emblazoned with the battalion logo and navy-blue sweatpants (you still could pick your own shoes). The only modifications were as it got colder, the balaclava and trigger-finger mittens were added. I also learned through painful experience also to add a sock strategically located in my underpants to keep a prized appendage of mine warm too. PT was conducted no matter how cold, no matter how much it snowed. If there was snow on the ground, then exercises were done inside the motor pool shop. (It had an open area the size of a small warehouse and was heated.) The only time I ever saw PT cancelled was when it rained.
We ran in formation to cadence just like everywhere else, but there were little differences. Take a four mile or longer run for over half an hour period. In freezing temperatures, you will see and experience some interesting things. We wore knit blue full-face balaclavas, red sweatshirts and blue sweatpants. At the end of the PT run, we’d all be covered in frost. (We looked like snowmen.) As you ran and worked up a sweat, the sweat evaporated and passed through your clothing. There it would condense and freeze and, you ended up covered in frost from the top of your head to your feet. You learned to run with your head turned slightly to one side so you didn’t run through your breath. This was to prevent freezing your eyelashes shut from the moisture you exhaled.
We’d been in Alaska a few weeks and we’d moved into housing on post. My assignment had been changed on arrival and we were re-directed from Fort Wainwright to Fort Richardson. Our household goods however, had been shipped to Fairbanks thus delaying their delivery. For a while, we lived using temporary furnishings from housing. My wife, only had a radio for her source of news and entertainment. (Our household goods were still in Fairbanks.) One day she was telling me about a reported problem with Aleuts she’d heard on the radio news. She wondered why game wardens couldn’t just shoot them? (Aleut was an unfamiliar term and she assumed they were some sort of indigenous wildlife.) I had to break it to her that Aleuts were Alaskan Indians and that they might take a dim view of being shot at.
Nothing humbles you more than the Alaskan winter. Alaska has four seasons, just like the rest of the world, they are name them differently; June, July, August, and Winter. This became very apparent to me the day I planned to winterize my trusty Ford F-150 pickup truck. It was a Saturday morning in late October, 1985, a day that I’ll never forget. The Friday before had been a beautiful fall day and then I woke up to a deep freeze. The plan was to change to a lighter weight engine oil (In Texas I’d used fairly 10w40 weight oil) to avoid any trouble starting it during the winter months (Another lesson from CWI). The sudden temperature change had caught me by surprise and now, just like I’d been warned, the engine wouldn’t crank. I assumed the battery was old and weak (I’d bought the truck used, the summer before my Alaska assignment.). My neighbor took me to the post auto parts store to buy a new battery. Lo and behold, after installing the new battery, the truck still would not turn over.
We tried to jump start the truck without success and when It finally occurred to us that the 10W40 was so thick that the starter could not turn the crankshaft through the oil. This was confirmed as it took four hours to drain most of the oil from the engine. After adding enough warmed 5w30 winter weight the engine finally started. By noon, since the temperature was slightly above freezing, we took that opportunity to also install a coolant heater. The coolant heater percolated coolant so that the truck engine would stay warm at night. In Alaska, power outlets mounted on posts in front of your primary parking space for that purpose. In winter months, when you parked your car for the night, you turned on the defroster and left it set, before you shut down the engine. This allowed coolant to circulate through the heater core. The heat would rise up the open defroster vents and keep the windshield free from ice and the cab toasty warm too.
To be continued ….
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