Geese pass by the sun; Mona, Jobe, Larry and Jim - Pioneer Peak at dusk, Joe Miller sign beneath

I headed for Anchorage about noon, picked Larry Aiken up at his hotel and then drove to the airport to meet his special friend, Mona, who had flown down from Barrow to stay with him during his cancer treatment.

As we waited at a stoplight, we saw some geese coming.

I still have not located my pocket camera (although I know it is here) and I had forgotten to bring a DSLR. That left only my iPhone and it was buried deep in my pocket. I did not think I could get it out and into camera mode in time and so decided just to let the geese pass by, unshot.

But no! To quit is not the natural way of Alaskans and it is not my way. I dug into my pocket, pulled out the iPhone, switched it to camera mode, raised it to the window and then could see nothing in it but the intense glare of the high-noon sun.

So I shot blind. I got my geese. 

Pretty soon, I expect to get a call from MOMA* in New York. As soon as they learn about this photo, they will want to hang it on their wall.

I don't know what I will do, if I will let them hang it or not. I will have to think about it.

Here is how you can know:

Go to New York, or stay there if you are already there. Visit MOMA. If you see this iPhone photo prominently displayed on the wall, then you know I said, "yes."

If you don't, then you know I said, "no."

I can be quite particular about just who I let show my photographs.

*Museum of Modern Art.

After we got to the house, Jobe charmed Mona.

Then Jim came out, to charm both Mona and Larry. 

I hardly took any pictures. I just visited and ate. I ate too much, and I still feel it today.

Jacob and Lavina came out and so did Melanie and Lisa. Caleb was already here. Only Rex and Ama were missing. They must have been out getting in some good times before she departed back to San Francisco Bay, for just a short stay.

At dusk, I drove Larry and Mona back to Anchorage.

Although it is not at all obvious in this blog-sized version, if you could see this image at full 5D II resolution, you would clearly see that the little white rectangle with the dark in the middle down at the lower right is a campaign sign pushing Joe Miller for Senate.

Given all that has come to light, it is kind of strange to see such a sign, yet, there you have it.

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Arctic people join Larry Aiken in Anchorage to celebrate his birthday and wish him many more; I drive home through snow, atop ice

Yesterday was Larry Aiken's 56th birthday. In the early evening, I drove to Anchorage for the party. As recently noted, Larry has come down from Barrow to get his cancer treated.

We gathered around for pie and cake. Celebrants filled their cups with lemonade and Pepsi and then made a toast to Larry on his birthday - a toast for long life and many more birthdays.

There were others who came and went during the course of the party, but these are those who were present with Larry when I took this group picture: Charlie, Candace, Lloyd, James (who had come down from Anaktuvuk Pass for eye surgery), Martha, Art and Harley.

Everybody sang happy birthday.

Then there was another toast.

Of course, I was there too and I took this picture to reflect my presence - us, gathered together in lightness and warmth in defiance of the cold dark beyond the window.

Yet, even beyond the window there was warmth. We went out. A light, wet, snow was falling. We gathered around the fire. Larry spoke about how much the warmth and support of his friends meant to him now. He has felt fear, and has shed tears. He will feel more fear and shed more tears, yet in friendship and love he finds courage and faith.

Although we could not hear it here, we all knew that in Barrow, many people were calling in to KBRW's daily "Birthday Program" to wish Larry a happy one.

Martha took my camera away from me so that she could take some pictures that included me. So here is the one that I like the best - me, Larry and Art.

I think I will post it as my Facebook Profile picture for awhile.

The drive home was a bit nerve-wracking. The rain that had begun in the afternoon had now turned to snow. The temperature stood right at freezing. The highway was slick and dangerous. Some drivers, apparently new to this place and this kind of thing, creapt along at 10 mph. Others, overconfident, proud and impatient, weaved and shot their way through the traffic in their big four-wheel drive vehicles at 60 plus - until finally the flow just bogged down to an unpassable 40.

These are the ones that you most often see turned over at the side of the road - big, four-wheel drive vehicles driven by people who do not understand that the laws of physics also apply to them.

Fortunately, I saw no bad mishaps on this drive home.

For a Thursday night, the traffic seemed pretty heavy to me. I wondered why? Sarah Palin had thrown a rally in Anchorage for Joe Miller. I wondered if that might be the reason - thousands of Palin/Miller supporters streaming back into the valley after a rousing rally for Joe Miller.

But no... according to news reports, only 300 to 400 people attended - and that includes the Anchorage people as well as the valley.

So that wasn't it.

Maybe the traffic just seemed heavy, because weather conditions caused drivers to bunch up.

It took longer than usual, but finally I was in Wasilla, where the snowfall greatly eased. Then I was on Brockton, approaching the very dark corner ahead. Fortunately, I have good headlights. They cut through the darkness before me and showed me the way to the warmth and light of home.

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To help him stand up to the trials ahead, Larry Aiken begins a self-portrait and gets a kiss; Art Oomittuk and his mask: Kalib falls asleep

Three or four days ago, I received a Facebook message from Larry Aiken, a friend of mine from Barrow, who whaled with the Kunuk crew during the years that I followed them. He had come to Anchorage, where he expects to spend the next nine months in treatment for esophageal cancer. He had known for a few months that something was badly wrong and the doctors had done some tests - except for the one that needed to be done - an EDG endiscopy, a scoping of the esophagus from the throat to the stomach - but had not found a cancer.

Larry insisted that they send him to Anchorage, where he got the EDG and the fast growing tumor was found. Monday, he starts radiation therapy and on Tuesday, Chemo. 

He knows that he faces an ordeal, but his doctor has been encouraging, friends and relatives back home are raising money and praying for him and he has faith that he will beat it.

Larry is a talented artist. To help build his courage, he decided that he would paint a self-portrait of himself harpooning a bowhead whale. He would begin by sketching the scene out and then would paint it in.

Yesterday, from inside the room where he is staying at the Springhill Suites hotel located near the Alaska Native Medical Center, he sketched this scene. The man behind him with the shoulder gun is George Adams, the captain that Larry now whales with.

So we decided that I would take a picture of the sketch as it now it is and later of the painting that it will soon become.

But when I set about to take the picture, I found the situation vexing. The light in the room was not good. Plus, I wanted the dolls and other items of Native art in the showcase behind him to show up in the picture, but when I found the angle that would have Larry, his art and the dolls more or less lined up, I discovered that the lights on the ceiling cast a horribly distracting reflection upon the showcase window.

I did not immediately know how to deal with and so I did what I usually do in this kind of situation - I just started taking pictures that I knew were no good, hoping that the answer would come to me as I shot.

Instead, I saw the hands of a person enter into the scene from the right and I knew that the whole person would soon follow.

Another distracting element!

And then the whole person materialized. It was Martha Whiting from Kotzebue, a lady who I have known for decades and who also knows Larry and knows what he faces. Martha stepped into the picture, knelt down beside him and kissed him on the head.

And so there you have it - Larry Aiken, with the beginnings of his self-portrait. In the showcase window behind him hovers a symbol of his own culture - the culture that will give him strength, matched with Martha's spontaneous showing of the kind of love and support that will also help him get through this.

Martha gives Larry a hug. I should note that Martha is the Mayor of the Northwest Arctic Borough. 

For decades, Larry has been a volunteer with the Barrow Search and Rescue and in his work with them has been instrumental in saving many lives. Last winter, he did a rescue inland on the Slope in temperatures in the -70's.

In about April, although he did not yet know why, Larry found that he began to tire easily. The endurance that he had always had was not there. He went out on a couple of hunting trips from which he had to return early, with the help of others, because he grew too weak to continue.

Then, earlier this month, during the same time that I was in Kaktovik, he was at Barrow Rescue Base when word came in on the radio that a propane tank had exploded inside an aluminum boat that had gone out for the fall hunt. One other boat had been in sight and the occupants had seen flame blow out the windows and shoot up through the roof. The boat itself had risen an estimated four to five feet above the water, then had fallen back into the water.

Now, the boat was drifting, dead in the water. The crew could not be seen.

Although the rescuers have faced many things over the decades, this was a new situation and the news was greeted almost with disbelief. Larry did not feel that there was any time to waste and soon he was out on the water with two other volunteers and three EMT'S they had picked up from the fire station.

When they approached the boat, it was quiet and still. They could see no one. A sick feeling came upon them. Then a hand appeared at window, followed by a face. All the occupants had survived, with no life-threatening injuries - although bones were broken and skin was burned.

Along with the other rescuers, Larry did his part to supply the victims with medical care and get them back to shore and to the hospital.

During all that time, he did not feel weary. The exhaustion that had plagued him earlier had retreated.

Once it was all over and he was home, the adrenalin left. He laid down upon his bed and collapsed.

The next day, he flew to Anchorage, where his cancer was discovered.

Another person that Larry sent a Facebook message to is Othniel Oomittuk of Point Hope, better known as Art. As it happened, Art was in Anchorage working as an actor in the major feature film, "Everybody Loves Whales," about the Great Gray Whale Rescue of 1988.

Ever since receiving that message, Art has been giving Larry his full support - spending time with him, taking him shopping and out to dinner. Most importantly, he has been his friend.

As Larry visited with Martha, Art disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with this mask that he has been making.

The face is made of ugruk (bearded seal) skin and the hair comes from a sheepskin rug that once sat on the Amsterdam floor of his European girlfriend.

Larry and Martha study the mask. Art is known around the world for his fine art.

Art in his mask.

Afterward, I took Larry, Art and Lloyd Nageak, who is staying with Larry until his girlfriend can come down from Barrow, over to meet Marige, Jacob, Lavina, Kalib and Jobe. It was a good visit, but we must do it again when Jacob and Lavina will have a chance to cook and feed them properly.

After they left, Kalib fell asleep in his new chair. The chair is based on the movie, Cars, once his favorite. Kalib has now moved onto a new favorite, one about Vikings and dragons. One of the stars of that movie is a black dragon by the name of Toothless - who does indeed have fearsome teeth - and who, in personality, character, and movement, seems to be a recreation of my good black cat friend, Jim.

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Patty Stoll, the Fit Lady: Her face brightened my walks, my bike rides, my ski journies, but I will never again see her energetic smile

This morning, I received an email from Otto, who I had sometimes met when he was walking or biking with Patty Stoll and I was out doing the same.

"Patty has lost her battle with cancer," he informed me. "...I know you will miss her dearly, as I do, she was such a positive in my life and I don't think anyone will be able to fill the void."

Despite the cancer that nearly a year-and-half ago her doctor had told her would kill her within two or three months, that there was no point treating it for it was hopeless and that she best prepare to die, the news came as a shock.

Patty did not heed that doctor, but fought, and gained much more life - high quality life - than he was willing to believe she could. "It just wouldn't be right," she explained me. "If I could not be here to enjoy this beautiful place."

When last I saw her, at the corner of Seldon and Wards, during one of my brief periods at home early in the summer, she looked good. She felt good and was looking forward to future years. I did not take a picture that visit or mention it in my blog. 

It felt to me like one of those occasions when it was best to just visit and talk and not worry about documenting every thing and to not even bother with the subject of cancer.

I can't remember precisely when I first met Patty, but it was not long after we first moved to Wasilla some 28 years ago.  I was out walking in the woods behind our house when she came walking in the opposite direction - young, blond, fit, energetic and friendly. We stopped and visited.

And so it was from then on - I would frequently meet Patty coming in the opposite direction as we walked, mountain biked and cross country skied. "We've got to stop meeting like this," she would say. Most often, we would stop and chat - although sometimes her bike was moving fast and mine was too and we would just shout, "hey...!"

That was really the only way I knew her. We did not get together at each other's homes, hang out, go to dinner - we just met, out on the trail. Yet that was enough to recognize and respect each other as friends, to see that we were people with many common interests. 

And when they built the Serendipity subdivision and robbed us of the woods that we had so freely walked, skied and mountain biked through, we both mourned the loss of something so wonderful, just outside our doors.

We kept walking and biking, though, and kept meeting like this.

Once, she left for a summer to sail a boat up the east coast from the Caribbean to Canada.

I will keep walking and biking through this neighborhood. I will continue to enjoy it. But, just as I have felt the ache of loss of the woods to Serendipity each time that I have set out on a walk or bike ride in the past half-dozen years or so, I will now walk with a new ache, knowing that I will never again encounter the smiling and energetic face of Patty Stoll, the woman who I affectionately and admiringly called, The Fit Lady. She kept such good care of herself. Always ate right - got plenty of good exercise.

It was - 24 degrees (-31 c) when I took this picture in late December, 2008, but Patty didn't object. She loved it, she thrived in it.

Otto tells me her ashes will be scattered at Gold Chord Basin in Hatcher Pass.

After I learned the news, took a walk. I planned to take a photo of Patty's empty house, but when I reached it, people - family members - children and siblings - had just come out the door and were climbing into their cars.

I had never met any of them before. At left is her son, Willie, who she once so proudly told me was running in the New York Marathon even as we were talking, her daughter, Erin, the artsy one - the graphic designer and her son Erick, who describes himself as "the motor head" of the family. He loves to work with any kind of moving machine, be it a car, snowmachine, fourwheeler, boat motor...

From them, I learned that Patty had done well all summer, that her death Tuesday took everybody by surprise, for she had appeared fit and healthy just one week before. 

"Cancer does not play fair," a sister said.

I then continued on my walk. Tequilla, the sweetheart dog who always feels that she must act tough, barked at me.

I saw a grader coming down Tamar. It is October 1 - see how the leaves here are mostly gone now? It was that big wind that was blowing when I left for Barrow one week ago that took them.

This is Bill, the driver of the grader. Hired through contract by the Borough, Bill was working to fix up the road and to prepare it for freeze-up, which should come soon. On clear days, the morning frost has been heavy for some time now.

On the day of his dad's first Chemo, Branson brandishes a hockey stick; Metro Cafe is one year old; moose, dog - truck for sale on trail

When I turned off Lucille Street into the drive-through lane of Metro Cafe, I saw a tiny, heavily- bundled and padded figure run across the parking lot on the blade protectors of his hockey skates. It was five-year old Branson, who then posed for Through the Metro Window Study, #2081. True, he was outside the window, but I could still see through it to the customers behind.

Branson's father Scott had just undergone his first chemo treatment as part of his fight against the colon cancer that he is determined to beat. Today, Branson will attend his first day of kindergarten. While he is trying to prepare himself early, his first official hockey practice will not happen until late September.

I had not seen Carmen since before I left for Barrow, but she was here when I pulled in and so she came to join in with Branson. She let me know that today also marks the first anniversary of Metro Cafe's opening. She pondered all that has happened in that short year, from the family efforts to create a new kind of place in Wasilla to Scott coming down with cancer to Branson now entering kindergarten.

It has been quite a year for Carmen, Scott, Branson and Metro Cafe.

And on top of all this, Alaska buried Senator Ted Stevens yesterday.

As I drove home the long way, sipping my Metro order, this moose crossed the road in front of me. See how summer's colors have begun to give way to fall's?

Very soon, the colors will all be fall. And then, once again, it will be white... I hope. The weather just keeps getting stranger and stranger and that which we could once take for granted can no longer be counted on.

I had not walked down this way in a long time, but now I did. Tequila greeted me just as she always did in the past - barking, growling, acting tough, but I knew better. She didn't scare me.

This is one of those situations that my daughters would derisively describe with the phrase, "That's so Wasilla!" As you can see, this truck is parked across the trail that borders Seldon Street, with a "For Sale" sign on it. Another sign faces the road, so that those driving by can see it. 

This is a busy trail, used by many. Pedestrians use it, adults and children pedaling bicycles, mothers and fathers pushing baby strollers, people on four-wheelers.

It is a very busy trail, but what the hell. Someone wants to sell a truck.

So, if perchance you are looking for a truck and you are interested in this one, here is the price and phone number. Give a call, make the deal, take the truck. You will be doing many trail users a favor.

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