The biologists at the fisheries office in Nome, Alaska, gave me a tip: There were still late-run sockeye 40 miles inland on the Nome-Teller Road at the outlet to aptly named Salmon Lake. The drive was one of those peak experiences you never forget.
At that latitude, the sun shines at a sharp angle all day, which makes the rust-and-umber foliage of the landscape luminous. And as I drove, I viewed it through the cracked-in-three-places windshield of an old mud-encased Jeep while listening to my new favorite radio station, KNOM, for as long as the signal held. Because Alaska is so big, the region-by-region weather forecast takes almost 10 minutes. Then comes the salmon report: Chums are way up the Yukon River and in bigger-than-usual numbers. Another preoccupation is the current prices for gold and silver. Then hunting: Moose season in subarea RM 840 is closing at 11:59 a.m. because hunters have already taken 23 bulls. And messages from family members to loved ones to get in touch with them, and from others to their families saying they’re OK, and they’ll find a job soon and be fine. Quintessential Alaska.
It was September, and Nome was busy being a remote Alaskan outpost with its usual fixation on gold, but with minimal tourist interest. That comes in March, when the Iditarod mushers end their 900-mile dash from Anchorage at the finish line in
