The Same, and Different

Friday, 27 January 2023, Jackson WY

Call it my traveler's version of Groundhog Day, a week early - even as I move forward, life seems stuck on 'repeat'.

Red Eye Rides picked me up on schedule at 6:00 p.m.. But would I arrive on schedule? Since my flight wouldn't alight until 2:55 a.m., it didn't fluster me when Angel saw a youngster she knew walking down the street, picked him up, and took him back downtown. It didn't phase me when she returned to her house to drop off a package. Angel (co-owner of the service) knew I wanted to glimpse the Northern Lights, so she pulled off of Seward Highway (twice!) in dark spots to see if her camera might pick up auroras that our eyes had missed. No such luck, but thanks for trying, Angel! I appreciate it!

Even delayed an hour, I still had over five hours to kill at the Anchorage airport. They wouldn't let me check my suitcase until four hours before the flight, which postponed my going through TSA for another 90 minutes. The seafood café I tried two days earlier beckoned, and I ordered another cup of salmon chowder. The manager noticed me, asking, "Didn't you just arrive here two days ago?"

I managed to catch a smidgen of shuteye before the flight and on the plane to Seattle. At that airport, with the sun coming up, I answered the burning question, "What is more rare than seeing people walk through the airport wearing a Covid mask?" The answer: "Seeing someone in the airport wearing a gorilla mask." (I didn't ask.)

The lingering brain-fog from the cold and snow, along with an accumulating lack of sleep, must have dulled my senses. Walking through SEA, I wondered how many years had passed since I'd flown through this north-west hub. As I wandered through an open, airy plaza filled with various eateries, with morning light streaming in through the windows, I thought it looked a touch dingy. Then I realized I had wandered through this same plaza only 8½ days earlier en route to Fairbanks, and had been impressed by the plaza lit by electric lights. (It was my lead photo for the travel-day blog.)

While waiting for my flight into Jackson Hole, I checked the forecast: 4½" of snow, a mirror image of what I encountered in Healy. Temps in the 20s today, topping out at 15° tomorrow. Forecast for snowmobiling Yellowstone on Sunday: -20°, climbing to -2°. Shades of dogsledding! Praise the Lord and pass the thermies.

At the gate, the pilot had an ominous warning: "Visibility at Jackson Hole is bouncing between ½ mile and 1½ miles. If it drops to ½ mile again, we can't land, and will have to divert to Salt Lake City..." Which is a five-hour drive from Jackson, of course. But he still boarded us, pointed the plane southeast, and took off.

Over an hour later, the plane erupted in cheers when the the pilot announced that the visibility hit 1½ miles again. In a follow-up, he said, "The control tower says we're the first plane they've cleared to land all day." Talk about winning the travel lottery!

Fun fact: anyone landing at JAC can log their first 'unique experience' in a National Park, and start their own quest. How so? The Jackson Hole airport is the only commercial airport in the United States that physically lies within a National Park (Grand Teton). Not that anyone could see much of the surrounding scenery, with the snow still flurrying and clouds racing about. (Not that 'flying here' was my anticipated adventure for the park. I had other options.)

At my hotel, the desk clerk asked me, "Are you here for the skiing or for the sled dogs?" The mushing had apparently followed me here, with a series of seven stage races (think Tour de France with canine locomotion) beginning tomorrow. People teemed in the town's main square, watching the portable Jumbotron showing sled-race videos, lined up to see the dogs in the ceremonial race start, or catching the skating artists in the square's ice rink.

After a week-plus in remote Alaska, the crowds felt suffocating. (Jackson Hole attracts throngs of skiers - I remember it as one of my favorite ski areas from my skiing days, decades ago.) Thus, I quickly left the masses and headed down the street for a nearly-deserted diner. After a delicious meal, I wandered back to a less-crowded square. The race had ceremonially started, and people had wandered off to warm up in their favorite activity. (I'm sure the Million-Dollar Cowboy Bar was hopping.) I spent a few minutes soaking up the winter-fest atmosphere, watching the skaters glide across the rink, looking at the antler arches.

Hard to believe my winter wandering would come to a close in only two more days...