Springfisher

I ventured last week into a snowstorm — hopefully one of this season’s last — and was blessed to encounter this kingfisher. The bird’s chatter through whirling snowflakes led me back 40 years to my time living in Alaska’s upper Susitna Valley. Then, I traveled on snowshoes nearly every winter day. Against a tapestry of muskegs, spruce forests, and ice-covered lakes and streams, I hiked uncounted miles, starting daily before dawn and continuing through the bright hours into dusk.

At my cabin late in the evenings, worn from the winds, drifts, and adventures of the day, I would kick off my snowshoes, knock the snow from my boots, and follow my headlamp beam into the darkness where a wood stove waited to be lit and fed. Dinner came next — maybe moose stew and biscuits, black bear roast with canned peas, or simply beans and salt pork with a hunk of crusty sourdough bread — then I would fall asleep to firelight dancing on the log walls, images of wild tracks, windblown snow, and events of the day lingering in my dreams.

Eventually I traded wilderness living for a conventional urban routine, though my snowshoe days never really left me. The smell of spruce smoke on cold winter mornings or the sight of sunlight falling like gold over snow-covered hills can stir familiar longings.

In a similar way, this kingfisher and the storm stirred the wild passions that live on within me. We would both agree, I’ve little doubt, that winter here in Southcentral Alaska has lasted quite long enough. Time now to make way for spring, and warmer posts to come.

— km