A surprise send off

On a different note (than the post below) ...
I got a fabulous surprise send off from co-workers and freelancers yesterday ...
I was totally occupied with finishing up the community calendar and cooking a veggie burger ...
so I didn't really think much of it when people starting drifting into the office.
(There's always a lot of people coming and going around the Star).
All of the sudden everyone converged on my very surprised self.
They gave me a really sweet card, a bottle of wine and a skiing goody bag, filled with all the essentials, including wax, hand warmers, a snow crystal card, a binding repair kit and goggle defogger. (Very thoughtful!).
They brought out some really delicious cakes too - chocolate and tiramisu.
It made me feel all warm inside! As I said ... a fabulous send off.

To be a liver

It's a little unnerving to delete, recycle and throw away so much stuff in one day ...
It's also refreshing.
I spent the better part of the day today sorting through the last year and half. File cabinets cleared out, computer hard drives cleared out, e-mail inboxes cleared out (thousands of e-mails gone in a moment).
When it was all said and done I walked away with a CD player, four plants and two boxes - one containing copies of every single paper I oversaw as editor and the other filled with the pictures that hung on my office wall. I also loaded to maximum capacity a 4GB jump drive.
My office felt so vacant. The purple, orange and yellow walls, which I painted to help keep the short winter days bright, were all that remained of me.
Now it's the same process all over again, but on a bigger scale.
My lil' cabin it's time to say goodbye.
Simplifying - while not always easy - opens the way to great freedom.
It's a way to focus on what's important in life, release unnecessary attachments and allow beautiful moments to unfold spontaneously.
It's with that philosophy that I announce ...
I'm no longer a managing editor ...
I'm now a liver (not the organ, my made up noun from the verb "to live.")

Off to see what I can find out

I took a major leap Friday ... some may say off a cliff ... but I prefer to think of it as a leap of faith in life and the potential it holds. I turned in my two weeks notice at the Alaska Star and am headed to Jackson Hole for a winter of skiing, working and new adventures.

This weekend, as I've begun to think about preparations (what I'm going to take, how I want to travel down there, what I want to give away, what details I need to get in order, etc.), I've felt, well, me.

The side of me that loves randomness, adventure and a moment-by-moment life, has largely been stuffed into the back corner of a closet during the last several months. It's nice to take it out, dust it off and welcome it back into the fold. It balances out my responsible, dedicated and perfectionist side. When put together these two sides create a sort of wholeness.

I've learned so much from working at the Alaska Star, and the paper will always be near and dear to my heart. I believe strongly in the role of journalism in communities, cities, states, countries and the world ... and I am in many ways sad to no longer have that be part of my daily mission ... but when the voice from within speaks, it's always best to listen.

So off I go, in the words of Cat Stevens, "to see what I can find out."
amy

Moving up to the big leagues

Kind of cool thing happened today ... One of the articles I wrote for the Alaska Star got picked up by the Associated Press, which then got picked up and put on the front cover of the Anchorage Daily News. I just looked at my article on the adn Web site and it ranks number one as the "most read" and "most e-mailed."

Here's the link: Chugiak woman makes coupons pay -- and then blogs about it

Paragliding high in Eagle River's sky

Here's the next installment in the periodic outdoor adventure series, called Outside the Ordinary, that I write for the Alaska Star. This article was published in May ... it's taken me a bit to get it up on the blog. (The story is below the photos).











By Amy Schenck
Alaska Star

It’s a ubiquitous late spring and early summer sight: brightly colored dots suspended in the skies above Eagle River.

A handful of local residents make paragliding more than a pastime, they make it a lifestyle.

Scott Amy fits this bill. He has been certified to paraglide for almost two decades, and has worked as an instructor for nearly as long. When not soaring with his glider, he can be found piloting planes - and more recently - helicopters.

Scott offered to take me out on a tandem flight April 21 to give me an off-the-ground feel for what the sport is all about.

We met at the McDonald Center in the late afternoon, near a large open landing field, and caravanned to Mount Baldy’s trailhead. Seven paragliders had already launched into the blue canvass above - a sure sign that conditions were ripe.

On the drive Scott gave me a few pointers and explained how to launch: wait for his cue, run until you’re feet are flapping above the alders and keep you’re weight forward, he instructed.

Once in the air, I would need to help maneuver the flexible aircraft through leaning my body weight to the “left,” “far left,” “right” and “far right,” he continued.

We also discussed thermals, the mysterious rising air currents that would keep us aloft - mysterious to me anyway, there’s actually quite an in-depth body of scientific knowledge on how thermals work - as I later learned from talking to Scott and reading a book about paragliding.

To put thermals into elementary terms, the sun hits the ground, the ground heats the air, the heat rises and we, the paragliders, catch that upward lift.

But watch out! On either side of a thermal, cold air sinks toward the ground in a mad dash to fill the space left behind by the warm air.

Throw wind into the equation, and now you have upward and downward currents being tossed this way and that by sideway currents.

The moral: it takes some skill to handle a glider.

At the Baldy parking lot, we grabbed our gear - glider, harnesses, helmets, reserve parachute, warm clothes, water and a device called a vario, which is short for variometer; it tracks distance traveled and tells the pilot the rate of climb or descent. We then headed for the launch site.

Baldy touts convenience. The launch site - a grassy knoll - is but a 5-minute walk from the trailhead.

As we arrived, we waved at a fellow paraglider circling overhead. We then put on our harnesses and spread out our wing. After ironing out a few minor tangles in the line, we clipped into the glider. I waited for Scott to read wind direction and other air movements, and then give the go ahead.

On Scott’s cue we ran forward; a few seconds later wind pulled us backward; Scott kited the wing into the oncoming gust; we once again took a few steps forward, and within seconds lifted softly into the sky - a far cry from the so-called thrill jump many envision when they think of paragliding.

“Wow!” I thought. “Wow!” I thought again, and dozens of more times after that.

Crystal clear doesn’t fully describe the day. The Alaska Range jutted out of the horizon and Mount Redoubt puffed proudly to the south.

We began caressing the side of Eagle River’s landmark mountain, zooming back and forth in search of the magic thermals (Again, magic to me).

A light wind knocked the thermals around, making upward mobility a bit of a scavenger hunt.

Luckily we had a clue: follow the bald eagle swooping easily through the air.

We began to find thermals. When we hit them, we immediately spun the glider into a tight twist, riding the air column up. To spin we pulled one side of the wing in and shifted our body weight “far left” or “far right.”

Scott called it an air dance - a fitting description and great way to think about the sport.

After some time and work, we climbed above Baldy’s peak into the peaceful void beyond, where we heard nothing more than the vario’s soft beep, letting us know when we gained or lost elevation.

Total freedom, total quiet and a totally cool view! Eagle River seemed to be nothing but an ant farm, with Denali the ants’ hill.

An hour or so later we steered the glider toward our landing pad next to the McDonald Center. (I use the term “we” with a note of pride, as Scott let me take control of the aircraft for some minutes.)

When it was time to land we hovered far above an open field, eyeing an orange windsock. And then - in the same way we climbed high - we pulled into a tight spiral, catching cold, sinking air.

Warning: this activity is not for the faint of stomach, as evidenced by a not-so-delightful little mess I left on the ground - thankfully after touchdown. (I hear you adjust to the twirling and spinning after a few flights).

Before landing we shook out our legs, preparing to once again carry our own weight, and then floated onto the ground running.

We rolled up the glider methodically, carefully attending to the strings and removing air from beneath the folds in the rip stop nylon fabric.

Sun still showered the area as we threw our gear into the car and headed home.

Alaska Paragliding and Midnight Sun Paragliding offer lessons and tandem flights in Southcentral Alaska. Learning how to paraglide costs $1,500 and includes about 75 hours of hands-on training, ground work and a couple of written tests. Lessons include three to four tandem flights at different stages, with the first few days of instruction spent on shallow slopes and flat ground learning how to handle the glider.

Scott recommends taking an introductory tandem flight before deciding if you want to invest time and money into lessons.

The schools use several sites for training, spreading from Gridwood to the Mat-Su Valley.

“The training can be done safely, as can the flying, proved by many with thousands of flights and years of flying with no injury,” Scott said.

What kind of person flies a flexible aircraft?

“Most would be surprised to know that the most common demographic is men 40 to 60 years old. There are a few young guys, but for the most part it’s mid-aged professionals and a few fortunate retired folks, from every walk of life you can imagine,” Scott said.

There are about 70 members of the Arctic Airwalker Association, and about 10 of them are women pilots.

In spring and early summer Eagle River paragliders often gain a couple of thousand feet in elevation and take cross-country trips down Eagle River Valley, or to farther away destinations like Turnagain Arm or Chikaloon.

For more information about paragliding visit: www.alaskaparagliding.com, www.midnightsunparagliding.com and www.arcticairwalkers.com.

The beat goes on

Photo by Joshua Borough

Shawn Stockwell, 10, kisses his 8-week-old kitten named Lucifer, who goes by Lucy for short.

By Amy Schenck
Alaska Star

If you walked into the Stockwells’ home on a recent Friday night - and didn’t know any better - you’d describe their life with adjectives like typical and normal. Mom Trista was exhausted from a long week. Dad George got home from work just after 6 p.m. Kids Shawn, 10, and Haley, 6, ran around the house, shrieking and giggling as they played with a new kitten. Teenage daughters Sam, 13, and Amanda, 16, were off scampering around Eagle River with friends.
“It’s nice to be back to worrying about Ds on report cards,” Trista said.
Last July Shawn received a heart transplant at the Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital in Palo Alto, Calif. - a lifesaving procedure that came just in the nick of time.
Shawn was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, which meant he was missing the left side of his heart. When he was first listed for a new heart, doctors gave Shawn eight months to live; it ended up taking more than two years to find him the right match.
“We barely survived it,” Trista said.
Two days before Christmas Shawn and his family arrived home to Alaska, showered by tears and hugs from the entourage of family and friends who met them at the airport.
It had been two years, eight months and nine days since Shawn, Trista, Haley and Amanda had seen the Chugach Mountains, rooted for the Aces hockey team or slept in their own beds.
At any given time Shawn couldn’t be more than two hours away from his California hospital because “the call” could come at literally any moment.
George and Sam lived in Eagle River, caring for the house and pets, while the rest of the family was away. George earned the family’s sole income, working as a foreman for a roofing company.
Trista described the family’s first week back home as “euphoria.”
Everywhere, it seemed, people greeted them and welcomed them home.
But then reality started to set in. Trista had to re-learn the little things, like how to navigate Anchorage’s road system - a place she’s lived since she was 13 years old - and how to use the new TV.
Their home seemed to have Goldilock’s touch. While the family was away, George launched into a painting project as a way to keep himself occupied, and Trista isn’t quite sure where all their framed photos or many other things, like her collectables, ended up.
George said it was hard when the family first moved back in together.
“It’s like being single and then getting married,” he said.
Also, the couple, for the first time in years, had time to grapple with how the whole experience has affected them.
Everything sort of crashed in on her, Trista said. Doctors diagnosed it as acute stress syndrome.
“Very few parents stand in the room while their child codes. Usually the doctors will see it coming and they’ll usher them out,” Trista said. “George and I stood and watched everything happen around us.”

Giggles and goofy grins
This time last year the Stockwells were just barely hanging on. Instead of planning for the future, they talked about Shawn’s funeral. At night they listened to parents wail inside the 47-unit Ronald McDonald House where they lived.
They knew that even if Shawn’s heart didn’t fail, another illness called protein losing enteropathy after fontan, which causes the body to stop processing protein, would eventually kill Shawn. (The heart transplant also reversed this condition.)
“I think everyday of those mornings I almost lost Shawn,” Trista said, while sitting cross-legged on the sofa.
Her words mingled with Shawn and Haley’s light-hearted giggles, as the pair played with their 8-week-old kitten named Luicfer - Lucy for short - and gobbled up jellybeans.
Haley pranced around in pink polk-a-dot pajamas - her choice attire for pajama day at Alpenglow Elementary School, where she recently started kindergarten.
Shawn wore a manly dark red “Stanford” T-shirt, which covered a swollen belly and thick shoulders - water weight caused by one of his 23 medications.
“He’s ready to look like himself again,” Trista said, as she held up Shawn’s toes, marveling at the fact that they’re no longer blue and clubbed.
If Shawn’s upcoming biopsies go well, doctors will change his medications and he’ll return to his normal weight.
Above the mantel a family photo showed the Stockwell kids and their cousins neatly arranged for a studio portrait. Except instead of angelic smiles and stately postures, the kids cried, pulled each other’s hair or displayed goofy grins - a portrait of pure and genuine chaos.
Trista chose to enlarge and frame the photo because it shows life the way it is, she laughed.

A Corvette engine
When Trista talked about the night of Shawn’s heart transplant tears softened her cheeks and eyelashes. At first she felt overjoyed, she said. When she called George the night of July 31, 2008, she didn’t even have to tell him the good news; he knew by the tone of her voice that Shawn’s chance at a new life had arrived.
Two hours later George was on a plane from Alaska to California, while Trista spent what could have been her final hours with her son.
“When I had to say goodbye to him, I remember feeling almost separated from myself because I hurt so bad,” Trista said.
When the time came, Trista left Shawn to begin a nerve-racking wait.
Shawn’s heart arrived via Learjet, and then helicopter.
“When they told us Shawn’s heart was actually being wheeled down the hallway it was unbelievable because - we had stopped planning Shawn’s future - it was like Shawn being able to drive, Shawn being able to date just walked in the hallway,” Trista said.
In the following hours and days Trista lived on adrenaline; she didn’t eat or sleep for 62 hours. She anxiously waited for a glimpse of Shawn as he was wheeled into an intensive care unit and begged nurses to go in and check to see how things were going.
Initially, the news was great: when surgeons put the new heart in Shawn it immediately started to pump. But then Shawn’s body began to reject the heart.
“There were a number of complications because his poor sick little body wasn’t ready for this Corvette engine that was just installed in this Miata,” Trista said.
After the transplant Trista remembers sitting by Shawn, starring at his lips in awe because they were no longer blue.
Shawn woke up, looked at his mom and asked through hand motions if he had a new heart.
“You’re new heart, in you,” Trista said, as she drew a heart through the air with her index fingers and then pointed at Shawn.

One day at a time
As normalcy inches back into the Stockwells’ home, memories of their ordeal sometimes crop up in unexpected ways. When a kid at school has a headache or feels nauseated, Haley asks them if they have a brain tumor or cancer because that’s the world she grew up in, Trista said.
Shawn and Trista spend their time going to doctor appointments and rooting for their favorite football and hockey players. Shawn is also preparing to return to school next fall, and dreams of the day he can play sports - for the first time in his life.
Trista said making plans is still difficult. Their schedule is completely dependant on when doctors can see Shawn for follow-up appointments, and she’s also out of practice “because we didn’t plan on anything for so long, ever,” she said.
The Stockwells hope people will start to drop by for a visit. Trista said she feels a bit isolated because her friendships were put on the backburner while she was in California.
This is not to say the family doesn’t feel the community’s support, Trista added.
“I was there for so long and I never heard of anybody’s hometown doing what our hometown did,” she said. “We didn’t get to express our gratitude enough because we were so absorbed in Shawn everyday.”
A welcome home party for Shawn and the rest of the Stockwells will be at 5:30 p.m. May 20 at the Lion’s Club. It will include a silent and live auction to benefit the family. Contact Diane Mucha at 696-3065 to volunteer or make a donation.

Man-made meltdown

Photo by Amy Schenck
Jeff Evans and Preston Hughes (right) with the state Department of Transportation clear ice overflow off Eagle River Road March 18. During freeze-thaw cycles snow melt and ground water cause about a dozen problem spots on Eagle River Road, Hughes said. DOT highway maintenance crews oversee about 1,500 lane miles from Eklutna to Indian. Hughes asks residents to patient as crews work to remove ice hazards. “We can understand the public has their frustration, but they don’t know what we’re up against,” he said. “We can do what we can do with the funding we have.”

Will it be liberty or education?

By Amy Schenck

The Anchorage School District announced last week that the state of Alaska is requiring all kindergarten and elementary students to get not one, but two doses, of the varicella vaccination, commonly referred to as the chickenpox vaccination.

Such a requirement is fundamentally flawed.

Liberty in its very definition includes the right to make our own choices about healthcare - for ourselves and our children.

The government’s job is to protect this right, not violate it.

The chickenpox vaccination, like other vaccinations, can be quite beneficial, and many are already choosing on their own - without the strong arm of the state - to get this preventive treatment.

But deciding to forgo a chickenpox vaccination is far from negligent. Chickenpox generally has little repercussions other than to cause a period of irritation and discomfort. True, for some chickenpox can be severe and life threatening, but so are many things in life.

According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration’s Fatality Analysis Reporting System, 41,059 people in the United States died in 2007 from a motor vehicle-related incident.

Compare that to the few dozen people who die each year from chickenpox in the United States, and we should expect the state to ban school buses instead of requiring vaccines.

In December Providence Alaska Medical Center tried a similar antic, requiring all employees to choose either a flu shot or termination.

After some employees loudly protested and the nurse’s union filed a grievance, Alaska’s largest hospital rescinded the requirement.

Those who opposed the requirement made several valid points, but the most basic one was this: it’s each individuals right to decide if they want something foreign put into their body.

So what happens if students show up to school without a vaccine? Are they denied an education?

Yes, is the short answer. Exemptions are given to those who have medical or religious reasons for not getting the vaccination, as well as to students who can medically prove they’ve already had chickenpox.

In so many ways the state is basically saying we have to choose between two of our rights as Americans: the right to liberty or the right to education.

If society has already arrived to this point, what’s next?

And more importantly, how long will we stand aside and let the government be the puppeteer rather than the puppet?

Mammoth Mission

An injured veteran sets his sights 20,320 feet high
By Amy Schenck






It wasn’t a typical promotion ceremony: dogs barked, the thermometer read well below zero and attendees had to climb a mountain to get to the event.

In whipping wind and brilliant sun, Eagle River’s Maj. Marc Hoffmeister became Lt. Col. Marc Hoffmeister. And, as an unexpected bonus, the new lieutenant colonel received a medal for his service as the operations officer of the 425th Brigade Special Troops Battalion in Iraq.

Before promoting Hoffmeister, Lt. Col. Thomas Roth shared a few words with those gathered on the peak of Mount Baldy.

“Marc is not about climbing mountains, he’s about getting all of us to the top of the mountain,” he said.

Roth was at the scene April 22, 2007, when a roadside bomb, known as an IED, exploded, severely injuring Hoffmeister and the others in his truck.

“He’d been bandaged, waiting for a medevac, and he said to me, ‘Hey sir, I’m sorry, I’m not going to be able to finish this mission with you,’” Roth said.

The roadside bomb tore apart Hoffmeister’s left hand and caused a concussion without loss of consciousness, which led to moderate traumatic brain injury.

In an account Hoffmeister later wrote about the attack for his niece who did a school project on veterans and their experiences, he said:

“I wasn’t ready to leave my mission or my men. As I listened to the groans of the wounded and felt the throbbing pain and stickiness of my cradled arm, I knew I had a new mission…a long and painful mission of recovery. We all did.”

At the time, Hoffmeister didn’t imagine that mission would lead him, and a hand-selected team, to North America’s tallest peak.

A new mission

Hoffmeister underwent eight surgeries and spent two months in the hospital, before returning home to Eagle River to continue the slow recovery process.

All the while his wife of 13 years, Gayle Hoffmeister, was by his side, burning up her leave and sick time from her job with the Social Security Administration to care for her husband.

Hoffmeister lost feeling in his fingers and about half the muscle mass in his arm; titanium replaces what was once bone.

The couple shares a chronic condition: summit fever.

Together they’ve competed in several 24-hour and multiday adventure races and climbed nearly half of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks.

Gayle, who has long dark hair, a vibrant New York accent and an attitude of pure determination, refused to let Hoffmeister believe his wartime injuries could keep him away from the mountains.

Operation Denali

Last year Gayle told Hoffmeister she was going to climb Denali - a longtime dream for the couple. Hoffmeister hesitated, unsure of whether he’d be ready, or even able, to climb.

“She said, ‘I’m climbing with or without you,’ and I said, ‘not without me,’” Hoffmeister said with a grin.

And with that the parents of two grown children had a new mission, which they called Operation Denali.

When Hoffmeister talks he does it in the same way he climbs a mountain - at a fast pace. Military terms pepper his speech and he has a strong, commanding presence.

Hoffmeister graduated from West Point in 1992 and has been a commissioned officer ever since. He’s currently the engineering division chief in the Alaskan command on Elmendorf Air Force Base.

Hoffmeister quickly realized he wasn’t the only one who could benefit from a high-altitude endeavor.

While at the gym last March he began chatting with Dave Shebib, who was wounded in Iraq when he stepped on an IED.

Hoffmeister asked Shebib if he’d be interested in climbing Denali. When Shebib said sure, Hoffmeister told him to really think about it because he was putting together a team. Shebib, who Hoffmeister describes as a bit of a dare devil, took Hoffmeister up on the offer.

“He’s got a lot to gain from this type of experience. It’ll put him on a whole new path, with a whole new skill set and a whole new interpretation and outlook,” Hoffmeister said.

Shebib’s involvement motivated Hoffmeister to extend the climbing invitation to other wounded soldiers. Hoffmeister put the word out to organizations that help injured veterans, such as the Wounded Warrior Project.

“I got pummeled with people who wanted to climb. There were some amazing stories,” Hoffmeister said.

A self-described Type A personality, Hoffmeister first determined who was medically ready to climb. He then used a spreadsheet with factors like attitude and experience, each assigned a certain weight, to select the team.

Hoffmeister didn’t necessarily want people with voluminous tales of mountaineering feats; instead he wanted those who would benefit both internally and externally from the experience.

The climbing crew

Eventually Hoffmeister settled on a crew of six for this June’s climb on Alaska’s mammoth mountain. Aside from his wife and Shebib, the climbers live throughout the Lower 48.

* Jon Kuniholm is a graduate student at Duke University where he’s doing a thesis on advances in prosthetics.

While serving in Iraq as a Marine captain, his patrol unit was ambushed.

“The initial detonation of the IED severed his arm, and he basically picked it up and jumped back in the truck. A character,” Hoffmeister said.

* Matt Nyman is a soft-spoken individual who was wounded during a raid in Iraq. His helicopter went down and he was thrown through the rotor blades. The blades severed one leg and badly damaged the other; the accident also caused a collapsed lung.

Nyman was part of a climbing team with the U.S. Army Rangers in special operations command - one trained to climb buildings instead mountains.

“The training he’s been through in the military is a testament to his mental fortitude and his ability just to endure discomfort,” Hoffmeister said.

* Early on Hoffmeister also got close friend and fellow adventurer racer, Bob Haines, to join the crew. Haines retired from the Army as a noncommissioned officer and currently works as a firefighter in Colorado.

“I know he feels funny because I’ve pulled him on this team and he’s not wounded,” Hoffmeister said. “But at the same time I’ve got four wounded guys, and every one of us has various issues that need to be compensated for within the team, having a strong back is a pretty significant value to me, and having a clear mind is even more valuable.”

Mentally tough

The climbing team met for the first time last July to take a mountaineering course on the Pika Glacier in Denali National Park. Not only was it a chance for them to get to know one another, it was also an opportunity to work out the logistics.

Nyman found out he needs to carry a pole with a pick on it, rather than an ice axe, because of the difficulty he has bending over for long periods of time. He’ll also take a massive pullover boot to compensate for the weak blood flow in his left leg.

Hoffmeister hopes to use a boot that doesn’t require him to tie the laces.

And Kuniholm is modifying a prosthetic arm for himself that will withstand his body weight, hold up in the cold and allow him to use an ascender device.

For the injured men, frostbite is a concern because of its potentially serious repercussions. But of even more concern is the group’s slow pace, and therefore increased exposure time. When you’re using one hand or climbing without full use of both feet, everything just takes longer, Hoffmeister said.

While physical limitations and the weather may hamper a Denali ascent, Hoffmeister has no concerns about the team’s mental toughness.

“Training for war, going to war, being injured, mentally they’re all fine,” he said.

Obstacles ahead

For the latter, the Military Order of the Purple Heart, a veterans organization, donated $25,000, and steady stream of smaller contributions are coming in, but the team is still short about $20,000. The estimated cost of the climb is slightly more than $70,000, or about $12,000 per climber. This number includes the mountaineering course, airfare and special equipment.

To train the climbers spend every spare moment outside hiking, biking, skiing or practicing crevasse rescue.

On a recent Sunday, the Hoffmeisters, along with Shebib and family friend Bernadette Martel headed up Mount Eklutna. The day prior they biked in the Frosty Bottom race in Anchorage - Gayle won the women’s division of the 25-mile race.

Although tired, they moved over the wind, sun and rain-battered snow pack with confidence - sometimes wearing crampons, sometimes walking in snowshoes and sometimes just hiking in their boots.

Hoffmeister’s limited ability to use his left hand showed in ever-so-subtle ways. He casually asked Gayle to undo the zipper below his right armpit and he used his teeth to get the map carrier open.

Similarly, Hoffmeister’s matter-of-fact attitude toward wartime realities subtly came out.

Standing on a rocky ridge, Hoffmeister yelled down a question to Shebib who was a couple hundred feet below. When he didn’t receive a response, Hoffmeister nonchalantly commented:

“It’s hard when we’re all half-deaf from bombs.”

Hoffmeister hopes that Operation Denali will inspire other wounded soldiers - and potential funders - to do similar expeditions.

“You don’t have to let your injuries define you, you define them,” he said.

Recent articles

Here are links to a couple of my recent stories. The first one is about a 10-year-old Eagle River boy who spent almost three years in California, waiting for and then finally receiving a heart transplant. The second one is about an inmate orchestra at Hiland Mountain Correctional Center.

The day they never thought would come: the Stockwells come home with their Shawn

Changing their tune

Backyard playground: Ice climbing in Eklutna Canyon

Below is the next installment in the Outside the Ordinary series that I write for the Alaska Star (scroll past the photos for the article).

Ben looking at his next move

Me on Ripple

Ice screws

Ben repelling

Ben free climbing

Me doing my first-ever lead ice climb

Some people call it plastic. I call it frozen butter. It's the light-blue, pliable ice that makes for great climbing.

On a recent outing to Eklutna Canyon my friend, Ben Corwin, and I found ideal conditions on Ripple — a well-known, full-pitch ice climb.

But our adventure began long before we arrived to the frozen wall.

We pulled up to the Thunderbird Falls parking lot early. The sun barely illumined the sky as we crawled out of the truck and loaded up our packs.

I mentally went through the checklist:

“Crampons, check. Ice tools, got it. Helmet, rope, ice screws, harness, belay device, lunch, water, warm clothes.”

I snapped my gators over my boots and we were off.

Instead of dropping immediately into the canyon, we followed a trail along its southern rim. Ben got beta (a tip) that the first part of the canyon still had open water, so it would be best to descend on a small trail a half-mile or so up.

To make a long story short: Ben and I dropped into the canyon too early, bringing us face to face with open water flowing along a sheer vertical rock face.

This left us with two options: turn around and climb out of the canyon or make a mad dash through the water to the other side of the creek.

We chose the latter, and it went surprisingly smooth. We not only stayed on our feet, but we also maintained dry feet.

We followed a snow-packed trail for a mile farther, occasionally crossing ice bridges and weaving through alders.

Ben let out a happy chuckle as Ripple came into view. The climb glistened baby blue. And even better, nobody else had laid claim to the route, opting instead for climbs farther up canyon.

We walked to its base and ran our fingers along wet ice. A soft “drip, drip, drip” reverberated through the narrow canyon, mingling with the muted sound from the creek as it rushed and rolled below a layer of ice.

Ben is an avid ice climber, who spends the better part of his winter tackling the various routes that cling to Alaska's peaks and canyon walls.

I, on the other hand, hadn't ice climbed for five years, and wasn't certain I even remembered how.

As Ben and I prepared to get on the ice, the Saturday crowds rolled in.

Most of these climbers greeted us with a friendly smile or hello as they passed us by to find ice farther up canyon, except for one. This one disruptive climber hopped onto Ripple without asking us, crossed our rope and sent ice chunks crashing down — not only rude, but also unsafe.

Fortunately, the climber soon left, and with him — our disgust.

It didn't take Ben long to ascend and set up an anchor. He worked with ease and precision.

Then I was up — literally and figuratively.

Maybe it was the pliable, plastic ice or perhaps it was the technique I learned in the ice climbing class I took years ago; whatever the case, ice climbing felt easy.

I looked for the little depressions in the ice, sunk the ice tool in those spots, kicked in the picks on my crampons, kept my heels down, sang a little song and found myself at the top of the climb. Ben lowered me with the rope and I gave a broad smile.

We spent the morning on Ripple, taking turns climbing and belaying.

It was a balmy day, and there didn't seem to be much of a hurry to anything.

Ben made an off-handed comment that I should lead a climb. Somewhat to my own surprise, I didn't hesitate. I felt so solid on the ice that leading a climb was the natural next step.

We reviewed how to use ice screws, which a lead climber places incrementally to secure themselves. Then we loaded my harness with enough ice screws and quick draws to ascend the short pitch. I tied myself into the rope with a figure-eight knot, listened for Ben's assurance that he had me one belay and swung my tools into the ice.

I made each move with confidence and focus. I even stopped for a few minutes mid-climb so that Ben could tie off the rope and get out the camera.

I arrived at the top with a huge sense of accomplishment, having completed my first-ever lead climb on ice.

I dug out fruit snacks and Nutter Butters for us to chomp on while cleaning up and taking down the climb.

We packed up and headed home, winding along the river all the way back to the car. We even avoided the open-water crossing from the morning.

“Another great day in Alaska,” I thought.

The Web site www.alaskaiceclimbing.com is a great source of ice climbing information. It includes detailed descriptions of dozens of climbs in Alaska.

To buy all the gear needed to ice climb brand new would cost several hundred, if not thousands of dollars.

For beginners interested in learning how to ice climb, I would recommend finding a competent friend, going out with a guide or taking a class. Various local organizations and companies offer classes and guiding services, and they generally provide gear.

Editor's note: Eklutna Canyon is owned by Eklutna Inc. and therefore requires permission to access the land. I learned this after my trip when doing Internet research to add some finishing touches to my article. Routes in Chugach State Park, accessible from the Eagle River Nature Center, provide good local-ice climbing alternatives.

Aiming for a good time

Here's the next installment in my Outside the Ordinary series for the Alaska Star. Joshua took the photos.

It wasn't a typical turkey shoot. People were dressed in camouflage, the targets were foam animals and it took place in a forest in Chugiak.

But it was what I expected: a fun-filled day out with bowhunters who wanted to practice their aim.

Dan Branvold, the club's president, and his fianc?e, Barb Frost, emerged from the crowd to greet me.

Friendly and welcoming, Barb chatted while rummaging through her truck to get me the equipment I would need to participate.

Barb handed me a 25-pound bow, pulled an arm guard over the sleeve of my coat and laced a finger guard around my hand.

Grabbing arrows, we headed toward a practice range, where Vikki Gross, who has been part of the Cook Inlet Archers during its almost 20-year existence, and MJ Larson, who's been shooting with the club for eight years, joined us.

The three women bow hunters proceeded to give me my first archery lesson.

Talking through each step, and laughing a lot, we started with how to plant my feet and ended with how to release the arrow.

OK, now give it a go, they said.

I notched the back of a arrow in the bow's string, lined my feet up — turning my legs and shoulders perpendicular to the target, while squaring my hips — tightened the muscles between my shoulder blades, turned my gaze to the target's center, pulled the string back until my index finger brushed my lip and opened my hand.

The arrow whizzed away — moving in the general direction of the target, but veering substantially to the right of the burlap bag.

Close, I thought.

I gave it another try and once again the arrow buried into the shallow snow to the right of the target.

My third arrow also flew smack-dab to the right, and that's when I realized I have something to be proud of: I'm a consistent shooter.

With a deep breath and a good dose of giggles, I took a few steps closer, all the while trying to digest the many tips flying my direction.

And then (drum roll, please), I drew an arrow back, released it and bam — I heard the satisfying thud of the arrow burying into the target.

With a little success on my side, the four of us set out on the 25-target course that wove through the 13-acre Carol Moench Archery Range in Chugiak.

The targets were realistic-looking foam animals, placed throughout dense woods. The course was purposefully set up to reflect hunting conditions, so not all shots were clear or easy.

The first animal we aimed for was a red fox perched on top of a hill.

Two of the ladies hit foam; the third split a small birch tree that obstructed the target — an impressive feat in and of itself, even if it was unintentional.

I took my turn last. Positioning myself close to the foam fox, I took aim and wha-la. I tallied 5 points! A target hit is worth between 5 and 12 points, depending on where the arrow pierces the foam.

We moved from one target to the next, ducking under trees, slipping on snow and, all in all, having a very good time.

It was obvious that most club members aim to enjoy each other's company just as much as they aim for the target.

The archers told hunting stories, talked about the strange rift between compound and traditional bow hunters (both are invited to participate with the Cook Inlet Archers) and explained the nuances of various bows.

Club competitions always happen, no matter the weather, they said. Only once has a competition been canceled, and that was because there was so much snow, the city couldn't get out to plow.

This means they've shot in negative 30 degrees, howling wind and every other kind of weather Alaska serves up. Along the way they've learned some tricks for staying warm, including carrying hand warmers in their pockets or muffs.

Normally, the competitions are mixed, with both the guys and the gals forming groups of three to five to go through the circuit. On that particular Sunday, the ladies formed their own group to be able to give me instruction.

My shots continued to be hit and miss. It didn't help that I closed my eyes just as I was releasing the arrow — an unconscious reflex caught on camera.

My habit of shooting to the right of the target persisted, so I started compensating by aiming a little bit to the left. That helped.

After a couple of hours, I found my arms starting to feel limp; my aim corresponded.

I decided to head out, but not without hearty thanks. Hanging out with the Cook Inlet Archers was a great way to spend a Sunday morning.

For information on the Cook Inlet Archers contact Dan Branvold at 677-1306. Shoots cost $20 for members, $25 for non-members and $15 for youth. The fee includes a hot lunch. An annual membership cost $25 for a single and $35 for a family. The Cook Inlet Archers have about 100 members.

The ultimate blunder

The Alaska Star made its worst blunder yet since it's been under my guidance ...

We killed the wrong person ... or more specifically we reported the wrong name of the victim in a fatal fire.

Needless to say, I fielded some pretty unhappy phone calls today. Major ooops! I'm still investigating how it happened.

A little stressed out from the day, I went to a yoga class this evening. The teacher was great, and the class has the feel and pace I'm looking for. That calmed my nerves a lot. I plan to continue.

Later, back at the cabin, I was drinking tea and recalling a tip a neighbor gave me last night: the Eagle River Nature Center planned to groom a portion of the trails this evening.

I grabbed my skate skis, boots and pools, which I recently picked up at a ski swap, and headed out the door.

To my delight I found fresh corduroy with not even one track sliced through it. The full moon peaked in and out of the clouds, illuminating the area.

I clicked into my skis and before long I was cruising around on the trails, figuring out what I was doing as I went. I had so much fun ... even with the few face plants I took!

I'm going to try to find someone to give me some pointers on how to actually skate ski ... and then I can get on the frozen-over Eagle River and just go.

I live in an incredible place!

With love, from Alaska,

Amy

Good customer service seals the deals

Dealing with local, customer-service oriented companies can be downright refreshing.

I recently signed up for phone and Internet service from the Matanuska Telephone Association. When I called, I got an answer right away. The people who helped me were not only cheerful, but also helpful.

The representatives looked for ways to give me discounts — even though I had already made it clear I planned to sign up for the services regardless. They patiently answered my questions and made the process efficient.

It was a different story with Clearwire Inernet. When I called to cancel, I was sent through a seemingly endless automated voice network before finally reaching someone with a southern drawl.

Mr. southern drawl started by grilling me on why I was ending the service — not that it was any of his business because I had more than fulfilled my one-year contract — but I complied, and explained that I had moved out of the company's service area.

Is there anybody I want to pass my account on to? Mr. southern drawl asked. He pointed out the “benefit” the next person would receive by not having to pay a setup fee.

Nope, I said, I'd just like to cancel.

At this point Mr. southern drawl informed me I would be charged for an additional month of service from the day I called to cancel — even if I sent my modem (the device necessary to use Clearwire's service) into its Las Vegas headquarters ASAP.

When I pressed the issue — asking why they would not prorate my service according to when they received my modem — I was told that “they” might “review” my bill once they received my modem.

Who's “they” I asked?

Account services, Mr. southern drawl replied.

Can I get a direct number to account services? I asked.

We are account services and there is no direct number, the voice on the other end said.

So, if you're account services, why can't you help me resolve this matter now?

Mr. southern drawl began to mumble — obviously, no script had been written to answer that question.

I then turned the conversation to the question of this term “review.” Does that mean that once the modem is received, I'll only be charged for the service I used?

More runaround mumbling, so I rephrased the question.

Is there any sort of company policy that allows “them” to prorate my bill?

I at least got an honest answer to that one — no.

Slightly frustrated and annoyed — but still polite — I suggested that Mr. southern drawl pass onto his managers that a policy that charges people for unused service doesn't create for good customer relations. Word of mouth is still the best form of marketing, I pointed out, and I, for one, will recommend people seek out Internet providers other than Clearwire — maybe by signing up with MTA.


Editor's note: this commentary ran in last week's edition of the Alaska Star. To view the text on the Web site, click here.

Amy's articles

Here's the links to a few of the stories I wrote up for last week's edition of the Alaska Star. The first link takes you to my next installment of Outside the Ordinary. It's about my day of packrafting on Crow Pass. The second is a commentary I wrote that laments - to a degree - that I'm missing out on this year's windfall permanent fund dividend ($3,269 for each Alaska resident). The third is a little blurb about how Sarah Palin hysteria crossed paths with the Star.

Lightweight rafts open up backcountry possibilities

Singing the dividend blues

Alaska Star newspaper sold on eBay
aadfljkhadfljhads

Packrafting Crow Pass

Last weekend Brad, one of Alaska's packrafting gurus, took me out to show me how to packraft. We climbed up over Crow Pass from Girdwood and packrafted out the Eagle River to the Eagle River Nature Center -- a 26 mile trip total. It was a great day!

I wrote up a first-person account about the trip; it'll come out Thurs. as my next Outside the Ordinary column.

Packrafts were developed several years ago by an Alaskan. It's been a well-know, well-explored niche activity in Alaska for a while, but it's just starting to catch on Outside (our term for any place not in Alaska). Basically packrafts weigh 4 to 10 pounds and can be carried in a backpack, along with a lightweight, breakdown paddle.

Packrafts open up the backcountry in a whole new way -- all of the sudden you can combine walking trips with river trips, mountain traverses with white water adventures. Try it once, and you'll never look at a map in quite the same way.

Check back next week for the play-by-play of our adventure, aka my article.

The hut on top of Crow Pass

Bear tracks

Raven Glacier on top of Crow Pass

Fall colors and water falls

A very cool bridge crossing

Brad, stopping to take in the view, as we descend toward Eagle River

Getting the raft ready to launch

Me on the river

Check out those class I rapids ; ) It was a really peaceful float out. The views of the huge cliff faces descending off of craggy Chugach Peaks, splashed in fall colors were... well, spectacular!

Sarah Palin pandemonium

OK, I realize I've been pretty mum about our governor, turned VP candidate, Sarah Palin. Some of it has to do with not having the time to post much of anything on this blog -- a lot of it has to do with being so inundated by Palin-everything, that it's the last thing I want to write about at the end of the day. But, since I have followed her career from the time she was a gubernatorial candidate, running against Republican incumbent Frank Murkowski -- talked to her on the phone for an article I wrote about that race -- I have a pretty good sense of who she is and how she handles leadership. Rather than laying my opinions on the line -- that's not my style -- I invite any questions people have. Just post a comment, and I'll reply as quickly as possible. A good starting point for discussion is the editorial we ran in the Alaska Star the week after the big news (probably the biggest news to hit Alaska in a decade). The link is below. I look forward to hearing from you.

http://alaskastar.com/stories/090408/edi_20080904023.shtml

Mount Marathon

For the Fourh of July Joshua and I headed down to Seward to cover Mount Marathon -- an annual race up and down a mountain famed for it's mud, scree and steep chutes. (The top finishers always end up bloody.) Joshua filmed for Channel 2 and I shot photos for the Alaska Star. This meant hauling a hell of a lot of gear over slick mud and up melting snow. In addition to the clothes and food needed to spend the day on the side of a mountain, between us we had a huge broadcast camera, a Nikon D200 and a few lenses. Here's some of the better photos from the day.

Joshua

Women's race (one of Joshua's photos, he took a few stills when not filming with the broadcast camera)

This was my best photo

View of Seward from the side of the mountain

Eagle Riverite decked out in Fourth of July running clothes

One of Joshua's photos

More of Joshua

Joshua filming Cedar, the hometown gal who has won the race for the last several years

If you click on the photo and look close, you can see each individual water droplet

Slippery Salmon Olympics

A couple of weeks ago Eagle River -- the town where I'm editor of the community newspaper -- had its big summer festival, called Bear Paw. Everything about the festival is a little bit tongue and cheek, including a Running with the Bears event (instead of the running with the bulls in Spain) and the Slippery Salmon Olympics. I decided to inaugurate my first year at the event by participating in the Slippery Salmon Olympics, which requires contestants to run through an obstacle course while clutching a partially frozen salmon while balancing a tray and a cup filled with Coke. I competed with a co-worker at the Alaska Star, and as representatives of the paper, we were team Alaska Starfish. From that came the inspiration for hairdos. Good times!






Photos courtesy of Dan Shepard

Star articles

Here's the links to some of the articles I've written recently. All were published in the Alaska Star -- the paper that, as the editor, I pour my energy and inspiration into every week.

High-tech treasure hunting in the Chugach mountains
This is my latest Outside the Ordinary column. It's about geocaching.

http://alaskastar.com/stories/061208/new_20080612008.shtml


Blaze destroys home
This story ran on the cover of the paper. It's about a family whose home burned to the ground. The family has seven children -- four biological children and three foster children -- and the dad is in the military.

http://alaskastar.com/stories/061908/saf_20080619009.shtml


Recalling history: Alaska veterans share their war stories
This is about a local lady who is interviewing veterans and putting together an oral history project. Eventually she wants to see her work lead to a veterans museum.

http://alaskastar.com/stories/061208/mil_20080612017.shtml


Back with family after tour in Iraq
An interview with two local Alaska guardsmen who recently returned from deployments to Iraq.

http://alaskastar.com/stories/052908/new_20080529001.shtml