A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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Sunday
Aug152010

Signs for politicians, including one who once sold an airplane that later crashed with me at the stick

I am back in Wasilla for what I expect to be a fairly brief time. I was unable to post my last couple of days in Barrow or yesterday in Fairbanks and I do need to catch up a bit and to say something of that time and I will. But I am too tired right now. I just want to go to bed and get some sleep. Yet, I need to put something up, so that readers know I am still blogging. So here you have the something - the only picture that I have taken since I arrived back in Wasilla late this afternoon. I took it when I had to stop for about 1 second for a red light at the corner of the Parks and Palmer-Wasilla highways, where people were campaigning for their candidates in the upcoming primary. See the blue sign? The one that says, "Gatto"? That is Carl Gatto and he is the man from whom I bought my now crashed airplane, the Running Dog, back in 1986, for $15,900. At the time, Gatto told me that he didn't really want to sell it, but his wife had had enough of him being an aircraft owner and flying around risking his life and so he was selling it. I did not yet have my pilot's license, so we agreed that I would come over to his house, where he had his own private airstrip and he would fly the plane with me in it to Palmer to the mechanic who was going to annual it for me. When I arrived, the ceiling was maybe 1500 feet, not bad at all, but Carl looked at it and said it was too low and he was not going to be able to fly me over this day. He just didn't want to part with the airplane. So I drove to Palmer where my mechanic waited for me. I told him that Carl had refused to fly because of the "low ceiling." My mechanic looked at the clouds, said that was ridiculous and so we headed back to Carl's airstrip and we stole my own airplane - right off Carl's strip. After the annual, Carl called me up. He wanted to rent the airplane from me, but I wouldn't let him. I will always be grateful to him for selling me that airplane, but that doesn't mean I would ever vote for him. I've told this story before, but what the hell. I just told it again. I'll probably repeat it again sometime in the future. As there is only one image in this post, I did not make a slide show, but if you want to see the picture bigger, just click on it. It looks better bigger.

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Reader Comments (3)

well i never heard the story before :), have a good (short) time home

August 16, 2010 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

Glad you are back, for however short a time. I'm also glad you shared the story. I hadn't heard it before, either.

August 16, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterDianne Woodruff

I'm old. I forget stuff, so even your repeated stories sound new to me.

August 16, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

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