Head above water

On Saturday morning I dropped off my car at the mechanic and found myself meandering about Anchorage, moving generally in the direction of my house. The sky was blue, the air was crisp and it was an altogether lovely morning. I came upon a lake near my neighborhood and decided to sit on its banks for a little while. Inspired by the many ducks poking their head in and out of the water, I got out my camera. My lens happened to be pointed at this one when, instead of diving into the water, he decided to flap right out of it.

Moose encounter

Background: One of the most fantastic things about the place I now live is that it's located right next to the trail system that webs throughout Anchorage. This means I can get both to my university and to downtown without touching a road.

Story: Last night I was biking home from APU. It was dark out and I peddled slowly so as to be able to follow the beam from my LED headlamp. Although most of the trail home is wide and kept up, the cut off trail that leads to my neighborhood is overgrown, covered in leaves and has eerie graffiti reading, for example, "RIP." Most of the time I'm not much fazed by these few hundred yards. If I can handle hiking for days in the middle of nowhere I can handle an acre of forest, right? Maybe it was the rain last night, or maybe it was the moonlight glancing off the branches, or maybe it was the rustling from the wind, but I was positively freaked out as I peddled on this last stretch of trail. "Only 100 more feet, 60 more feet, 40 more feet," I thought almost out loud. End in sight, I picked up my velocity.... and then two seconds later clamped my breaks. At the trail's entrance, not 20 feet away, two green eyes starred me down. Behind those eyes a moose's body shifted in the shadows and a full rack spiked off the head. I dismounted from my bike and began backtracking, one small step at a time. At this, the moose lurched forward, loping directly at me. I scuttled off the trail, pressed my shoulders into the overgrowth and positioned the bike frame in front of me. The moose passed, feet away, and continued down the trail. Heart beating, I mounted and finished the short ride home.

Moral: You gotta love living in a place where big game encounters are just as possible in the middle of a city as in the middle of the wilderness.

Life without fear

Before I left for Central America I was bombarded with comments such as: "Be Safe," "be careful," and "be smart." Additionally, I had to write a multi-page risk management plan for my university. An interesting assumption is included in all of this -- Going to Guatemala is effectively going into a danger zone. I admit neither the Guatemalan transportation network or downtown Guatemala City are inviting places to spend time, but I also note that life in America has threats of its own.

Take my hometown of Evergreen for example. Evergreen is a middle to upper class mountain town in Colorado. It's one of those places where a sense of safety seems to prevail... where community, not caution, is emphasized.

Yet the site of the Columbine shootings is a half hour from my house in one direction, while the recent shootings in Baily occurred a half hour from my house in the other direction.

Shortly after Columbine happened, an exchange student from Russia was scheduled to arrive at our home. I distinctly remember the phone call we received from her family asking if it was safe for their daughter to continue with the trip. Of course our family recognized Columbine as a single incident and assuaged their worries. Olga spent the happy month of May with us.

But the conclusion is this:
1) Things aren't as scary in other parts of the world as the media would make it seem.
2) While we ought to live wisely, we cannot live in fear... doing so would limit us from even stepping out the front door.