The two visits I’ve had in Fairbanks were such a colorful kaleidoscope of connections and experiences, many of which collide with each other and others that flow together.  So, it was a struggle to pick just a few interactions and things to write about in Fairbanks.

The LGBTQ community feels quiet in this conversative stronghold, but still easy to find with online networking.  Environmentalists flock to this city to study the unique landscapes of Alaska’s rapidly changing interior, and find themselves living in a college town with some of the most polluted air in the United States.  The cultures of Alaska Natives are visible through huge events like the Eskimo Games, while the very name itself, ‘Eskimo,’ is rightfully denounced by many as a racist term that was widely used by white colonizers of their land.  Both tourism and the U.S. military are huge drivers of the local economy, but resented and viewed by some as more forces of environmental destruction and modern day colonization of local culture.  

The climate itself is also one of paradoxical extremes. I struggled to sleep during my last week long trip here in July, trying to block out the glaring sun at mid-night while car camping in a parking lot.  I would finally feel tired enough to sleep under the slightly dimmed sky with the sun hiding just under the horizon, then soon feel my car heating with beams of sunshine again by 4AM.  The city is a frenzied ball of energy and events and food harvesting in the summer under the perpetual daylight, while winter darkness quiets the city almost into a state of hibernation. 

Reclaiming Queer Terms from Native History

Standing under a city bridge covered in graffiti, David’s two fire dancing props lit up his long, flowing dark hair and glittering fingernails that were freshly painted.  Over the course of my visit here, David and many other people helped me become better acquainted with the quirky and vibrant alternative scenes and Native cultures that this politically conservative city is home to.   

David described the process of reclaiming a queer term from his Inupiaq heritage.  This is part of how he describes the term he uses for his gender: “Sipiniq is a gender role, but doesn’t reflect your sexuality. Sipiniq could, and did, have relationships with other Sipiniq, along with men and women. It wasn’t gay or queer to be romantic with a Sipiniq.”   He elaborated on this rich history further, clearly having a passion to learn more about his culture that has been lost in many ways.  He also expressed the challenges that come with being openly queer within the communities he is advocating to preserve and save. 

David is not the first person I met reclaiming a historical term to describe their gender identity.  Some Alaska Native people I met who are in my age range (30’s) expressed that it wasn’t uncommon for people in our grandparents’, and great-parents’ generations to celebrate what we call two-spirit identities and the equivalent of other modern day queer identities.  However, in their parent’s generation, this acceptance was lost and replaced with the values of churches that rapidly colonized their cultures in the 20^th century.  

Native cultures here have seen outside forces invading and depleting their resources for centuries.  However, geographic isolation kept their cultures from being completely dismantled during centuries when Native cultures in the lower 48 were being systematically eradicated.  Alaska wasn’t even proclaimed a state until 1959, so the American dismantling of Alaska Native cultures is still fresh in the living memories of many, and in many ways still continues today.  

As someone who is not an expert of the history and cultures of Alaska, I am merely speculating that this stinging history is behind some of the inspiration to reclaim historic terms celebrating queer identities.  The wounds of this history are still fresh in people’s families and communities to include the harsh loss of queer people having a visible and celebrated place in their communities.  Now younger generations are boldly pushing to reclaim this visibility where they are at least as celebrated as any other person in their culture. 

On a Different Note: The Outhouses of Fairbanks

A local gym where I stopped for a workout and shower was a juxtaposition of populations in itself.  The weight floor was filled with mostly military men (judging by the distinct haircuts), one of whom felt the need to give me workout advice after complimenting my physique.  Then I walked into the locker room, where a line of women wrapped around the inside while waiting for one of ten shower stalls.  They were mostly local residents living in homes without plumbing, not necessarily because they couldn’t afford it, but because Fairbanks has an unusually high number of households without running water. 

During my first trip to Alaska’s interior the year before, I started looking for affordable lodging that would work for my higher maintenance travel partner while staying within my low travel budget.  Anywhere north of Wasilla, I struggled to find accomodations that were close to $100/night … unless, you are willing to go without running water.  So, we paid around $90/night for two nights in a glamping tent a few hours south of Fairbanks. We made a heavy comforter into a cocoon to stay warm as the first winter winds blew through the tent in September.  After leaving the cocoon, I scrambled to put more layers on for a short walk to the bathroom.  An outhouse had only half a structure to shield naked bottoms from the wind and nearby eyes, while the open aired top half allowed for epic views of the colorful tundra and mountains during my midnight pee.  I think my partner just didn’t use the bathroom for most of those two days, being afraid of bears and understandably averse to smelly holes in the ground. 

Next, we spent three days in Fairbanks, paying $110/night for a beautiful cabin.  Here, it was a longer trek to the toilet, through a stand of dark pine trees, to a throne that sat atop four steep stairs, and had a curtain that you could hold in front of you in case another cabin renter approached at the same time.  I was amused that these were the most luxurious urban options within my budget, but am not sure my partner found the same amusement in our outhouse adventures on his vacation getaway. 

Many permanent Fairbanks households are off grid with no running water due to a range of reasons that are unique to Alaska’s northern climate; a statistic I found pointed to 15-20% of households in the Fairbanks area not having running water or on-grid electric services – how crazy is that in the second largest city of the largest state?!  The entire state of Alaska has more than 6x the number of off-grid homes as communities in the lower 48 do.  On my second trip back to Alaska, I would learn more about off-grid lifestyles in the harsh climate of Fairbanks from a couple people I photographed.

That Time My Car Met a Moose: My Last Night in Fairbanks

On my last evening in Fairbanks, I made a second trip to the hot springs pool that was an hour drive from town. It was glorious spending a couple hours intermittently soaking in a large pool surrounded by pine forests.  Oh, and there’s an ice castle next door … perhaps a little touristy but the curated setting in the wilderness is surely Instagram worthy.

On my way back to town, I cruised down a two lane road at 45 mph, and started noticing 3-4 drivers accumulating behind me.   Maybe I should pick up my pace to the speed limit at 50mph.  Nah, they could pass me on this straight road if they were impatient … I was mildly worried about wild animals making an entrance from the high vegetation that hugged the narrow road.  I tapped the brakes to make it easier for the driver tailing me to pass.  They didn’t take me up on it, so I picked up my speed again.  

A minute later, a bull moose (let’s call him Lucky) made a grand entrance from the high grasses on the left side of the road, galloping at full speed.   The large bull moose with an impressive set of antlers entered the narrow road perhaps less than 100 feet from the front of my car.  I punched the brake pedal down to the floor as I saw the whites of Lucky’s panicked eyes and his massive body fill the whole visual field of my windshield. I thought of a Facebook connection who was recently hospitalized in severe condition by a moose collision, and briefly wondered if today was the day I was going to die.  My high mileage car skidded down to around 30 mph as her front right bumper met Lucky’s hind legs with a loud resounding thunk. 

Lucky’s momentum from his full gallop carried his tank of a body forward and away from my car, then towards the next ditch where he seemed to fall on his face before scrambling into the forest.  In those moments I was simultaneously expecting to feel an impact from the driver behind me, and let out a sigh of relief when it never came.   All four drivers behind me had also been alert enough to stop in time. 

I pulled over to see what my car looked like.  My heart was still hammering in my chest as I examined the perfectly intact hood of my car.  I was dumbfounded.  There was only a wide streak of light scratches that dragged up over the top of the hood.  I had just clipped a full grown bull moose moving at full speed.  I was okay, and the car that needed to take me 6000 miles back home in 6 weeks was also okay.  

The local driver who had been right behind me jumped out of her car to ask if I was okay.  “Yeah…”  “Wow!!  You did it girl!”  She slapped me on the back, “good work, great reaction time … you’re still here! Wow – where the hell did that come from … he didn’t even slow down…”  It was an Alaskan stamp of approval.  My friends later joked that a moose collision meant I was now officially an Alaskan. However, I think I may still fall short with never having wintered in Alaska.  

I checked in with the three other drivers who slowed down or pulled over to survey the situation.  Everyone had stayed on the road, and no one was rear ended.   A Texan tourist who had been driving a rented RV at the end of the line was scouting the woods with his cell phone camera.  He asked me, “did you see that moose?  We’re so bummed it ran off … we’ve never seen a moose before!!”  I almost choked trying not to laugh.  Yep, I saw the moose.    

Thank you for being on these QueerVentures with me! To continue journeying north another 200 miles on this Alaskan road trip, check out the next blog post at the Arctic Circle.