All in a Day's Work

One part of my job is to drive the Toolik Taxi to Deadhorse, Alaska. Deadhorse is the oil industry settlement on Prudhoe Bay of the Arctic ocean. It is a three hour drive from Toolik on the Old Haul Road (Dalton Highway).

It's a depressing place. The only thing that people do there is work for lots of money drilling oil to pipe south. The buildings are all hulks of metal, and scraps and equipment for the work is lined up or strewn about everywhere. Pipes, giant machinery, and the basics of food and shelter for all the workers in an extremely harsh environment. This is a way of life for many people . . . no thank you!

Along toodles to the Toolik Taxi, full of environmental scientists, with binoculars and granola bars in their backpacks. I enjoy making the trip, because of the chance to see some wildlife, and talk to the researchers about where they are from and what they do. (Not that I understand all of it.) Usually we go first to the one stop in town: The General Store. This store sells all sorts of strange souvenirs and household items for a high price, and is on a floor above a huge hardware store. Inside the hardware store is the post office, so everything is pretty much covered in one stop. There is no grocery store . . . everyone who works in Deadhorse seams to be fed and housed by their company, which is probably supplied by the same trucks that come into Toolik: Food Service of America and Sysco. Anyway, you can pick up some magazines, or post cards featuring the great pipeline, or a sweatshirt for your Dad, or a fake plastic ice-cube safe for the freezer with LED lights to dress up a cocktail.

The van was filled with birders on my last trip to Deadhorse. And, interestingly, the lakes and ponds in the town have quite a variety of birds, being so close to the ocean. I stopped the van frequently for bird-watching, on our way. The highlight of my day was the 7 pacific loons in the middle of town . . . loons are so elegantly marked. While we were stopped in the road, pickups passed us with disgruntled oil-field workers. While I was waiting outside the General Store, a wiry red-mustached man went stomping to his truck and shot at me, "May I offer you a suggestion? Don't stop in the middle of the road to look at a damn bird!" I smiled and shrugged . . . "Birders," I said.

I took the birders to the airport, saw them off, stood around with a sign that said "Toolik Taxi," with the possibility of meeting somebody that might come in. They didn't, so when I was the only person standing in the terminal with my silly sign, I walked out to the van, unpacked a sandwich and some candy and started the three hour drive home. Well, since I get cell-service in Deadhorse, I first called a few people and left some "Hello from the Arctic Ocean" messages.