Out walking Kenai and I saw one of things I truly love about Nome, and the Arctic as a whole (okay, Nome is about 150 miles south of the Arctic Circle but it is the same damn biome. Gonna call it Arctic and any pedants out there can go read a punctuation blog instead). On cold, clear, calm nights we get an effect you rarely see elsewhere. The exhaust of homes, people, dogs, and such rise and condense directly over town, and on the rare days without wind it just hovers. On truly cold days it stays at ground level as ice fog, which has some fantastic prismatic effects. But even on relatively mild nights like tonight (single digits F) it stays over populated areas and absorbs/reflects the light produced in a gorgeous nimbus reminiscent of artists' rendering of Venus or Saturn in the Cosmos days. Back before our societal fetish for high-resolution photography took some of the mystery out of the Solar System.

But don't all cold weather communities produce this effect? Yes Johnny, and thanks for trying to pop my balloon you little punk. I love Nome's nights not just because I populate them, but because our isolation makes for a very defined area of light pollution, particularly now that the mine has closed. This effect in Fairbanks is common, but since the entire area is lit you have no contrast. In Delta Junction the concentration of lights is not great enough to make for a truly bright display. Nome huddles together as the only significant light source in hundreds of miles, producing an intense spot surrounded by utter blackness and more stars than you will ever see outside of Laser Floyd.

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate...."
Roy Batty

Just to get it out of the way, here is the oft requested Palin Picture:

Is it truly an anabasis if no greeks are involved?

I begin this missive with the hope of illustrating the worldview of that most ignored minority, well-educated middle class white American males. Too long have we labored in obscurity, and the rise of Obama has inspired me to become an activist as well, to tell the world our story, to claim our spot in the sun.

Actually, I do this out of respect for my slacker peers and forebears. Many of my friends and coworkers have asked me to keep them updated regarding my journeys, but I can barely answer my current emails, ignore more Facebook games than I participate in, and have actually had this bloody account for three years before posting. So rather than offend by negligence on an individual basis I will seek to offend via flippancy on a mass network.

To give credit where it is due, my efforts are inspired by that rock of British machismo, my personal hero and soon to be yours; Martin Robards and his blog "Mother Carey's Kitchen" http://mrobards.blogspot.com/. Of course he has been too busy chasing a beautiful lady about the subcontinent and hobnobbing with the walrus elite in DC to post since September, but I will endeavour to learn from his failings.

So what? Well, the point will be chronicle the adventures of a sheltered, introverted lad of the subarctic during his midlife crisis in New Zealand. I'm going for Faulkner meets Hillary (the climber, not the clinton) but anticipate something more of a shel silverstein, if I am fortunate. But that, like all good backstories, will have to wait for the next issue.