Is it Worthwhile?

This is the third in a series of posts that I’m writing in answer to the questions I get asked the most.

"Is it worthwhile?"

That’s an interesting question. Is it worth my while to live off-grid in the Alaskan wilderness? All of the trouble I have to go through, and extra work involved for daily living – is the peace and solitude worth it? Wouldn’t it be easier to live in town, or at least on a road?

Let me answer this by starting with a story about last Friday. It was a cool, drizzly day – perfect for making Jelly. By noon, I was on my third batch of deep pink Fireweed Jelly when Gregg walked through the cabin door with news that he had just come from town and my Walmart prescriptions were not in the mail today. I am on life-saving blood pressure medication – five different drugs, and had taken my last day’s worth the day before.

We have a small clinic and pharmacy in Unalakleet, but they don’t take insurance and they rarely have my meds on hand, so it’s easier and more economical to order a 90-day supply at a time from Walmart in Anchorage, and they ship them to me. However, insurance won’t cover it if I refill a prescription too early, so I am in the habit of placing the order a week ahead and I usually get it in plenty of time. Usually.

Seven days prior, I had given the list to Gregg to take to town and he had called in my refills to Walmart and let them know that I was aware that my insurance had expired and to just bill the full amount to my credit card, adding that I knew it would be expensive but I would get a medical reimbursement. Done.

We don’t have cell service, or any phone service, at the cabin, and often, I only go to town every couple of weeks. So, when Walmart left me a voicemail on my cell phone the next day, it stayed out in the great abyss.

While I was stirring and timing my third batch of jelly, Gregg explained that he had called Walmart to check up on the prescriptions and they told him they had left me a message asking for permission to fill them because the total cost to my credit card would be over $200. Now, it was seven days later and they were still holding the prescriptions. He gave them the go-ahead to mail them out, but that left me with no medication for another six days or so. By day five, I hit stroke status – been there, done that and have no intention of going there again.

I finished up the water bath on my jellies, only halfway done for the day, while the drizzle outside picked up to a good, old fashioned downpour. My eyes welled up with angry tears as I pulled on my raingear, tied my beaver hat under my chin, put my phone in my pocked and strode out the door, down 40 steps to the 4-wheeler, and put it in gear. My only choice was to drive to the top of the mountain where we live to a point where I can get cell service and call the local clinic to see what they could do.

The view from my 4-wheeler as I called the clinic.

 Ann, at the front desk, knows me and knows where I live and expediently got me on the phone with the right people to get a week’s worth of my prescriptions. This had happened once before and my PA, Deborah, had had the foresight to keep a standing prescription with the local clinic for my meds so they would have them on hand. Sitting in the rain on my 4-wheeler with fog covering the distant hills and Denali pacing around me, I smiled into the phone as I leaned over on the handlebars, holding my phone inside my rainhood-covered beaver hat to keep it dry. All I had to do was get to town to pick them up before five o’clock. The clinic isn’t open on Saturdays.

So, I drove the 4-wheeler back down the mountain, walked into the cabin dripping water everywhere and called Gregg on the short-wave radio. He was working over at the lodge and I wanted to let him know that I was taking our boat to town. Nathan, the head chef, took the message for me, letting me know that Gregg was currently down on the dock helping load the guests to go to town – their trip was ending and they were taking the afternoon flight out.

I waved bye to Nali as she paced the shore and told her I’d be back soon, hit the throttle, and headed downriver, waving at Gregg on the dock as I went past the Unalakleet River Lodge. Pouring rain for the past few days, the river had risen considerably and there were a lot of logs floating down the river, creating a sort of dodge ball obstacle course to maneuver through. I was tense. I was pissed off. I was not in the mood to be doing this. I wanted to be canning jelly.

Dead in the water.

About three miles north of town, the engine stopped and I drifted over toward the reeds as I tried to restart and restart it. I checked the gas and, sure enough, the tank hooked to the motor was empty, so I switched the line over to the full tank, but the engine still wouldn’t start. No worries, I thought. The lodge boat will be by any minute and I’ll just flag them down to let Gregg know I need help – there is a short wave radio on their boat.

Meanwhile, I pumped and pumped but the gas didn’t seem to be getting through the line to the motor. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get the engine to start.

An hour ticked by. No lodge boat. “That’s weird,” I thought.

Thankful to be in cell service range, I called Leona, the mayor, because she’s the only one I know in town with a short wave radio, and that’s the only way to get in touch with Gregg at the lodge. There is no phone service at the lodge, either. Her husband, Vance, answered the phone and I could hear him radio the lodge in the background. Nathan told Vance that the lodge boat had broken down and Gregg was working on that, but he’d pass the message along that I was also stranded.

A few minutes later, a boat rounded the corner toward me – Jeff and Steve, father and son duo who run the lodge. They pulled up alongside me and Jeff stepped over into my boat and did his very best, but the fuel line just wouldn’t pump fuel to the engine, so, after securing my boat good with the anchor, we both climbed back in the boat with Steve and headed to town. Meanwhile, a different lodge boat, driven by Gregg and filled with the guests, had passed us on their way to town.

Gregg met us at the dock, but I was in no mood to chat and headed straight to his shop to get the 4-wheeler. I went around back to where we have a spare key, opened the shop, grabbed the 4-wheeler key off of the cash register, locked the front door, and hopped on the wet machine. It wouldn’t start. Dead battery? Who knows?! I walked back down to the dock to find Gregg, but he had gone back out to work on the broken down, main, lodge boat. Back at the shop, I was able to borrow one of the lodge trucks to finally drive to the clinic.

A couple of hours later, with the lodge boat fixed and prescriptions in hand, Gregg and I finally took off back up the river to where our boat was anchored. I held the boats together while he worked on getting our fuel line running, having to blow into the gas tank with his face pressed against the whole to create enough pressure to move the gas through the line initially. When he raised his face off of the tank, gas spewed everywhere because of the pressure. His glasses were dripping with gasoline and he was spitting it out of his mouth. It worked. The boat started. I drove it home while he followed me in one of the lodge boats.

I walked back into the cabin at six o’clock, took my meds, and went right back to canning. I had three more batches to go.

That day I questioned everything. I couldn’t even operate a stupid boat. Is it realistic to live out here when I rely on medication? Can I really do this? I should have followed up with Walmart sooner. I hate that stupid boat. How could I take off without checking the gas tank? Major stupid.

While I was in town, I called Walmart and explained to them about my living situation, and I had them put a note on my account that I should be contacted by email, and they should never leave me a voicemail.

So, is it worthwhile? Last Friday, I didn’t think so. Thankfully, those moments are few and far between. The extra work involved in pursuing this lifestyle (hauling water, walking to the outhouse, outdoor showers, hand-washing laundry, driving a boat in the rain to town, canning our own vegetables, picking our own berries, and on and on) is what creates the peace and solitude. For me, it’s easier to grow and can my own vegetables than to fight traffic to stop in at the grocery store on my way home from a job that’s driving me crazy. It’s worthwhile for me to pick my own berries because I know they are completely pesticide and GMO free. Water is much more valuable to me when I have to haul it up 40-some steps. It’s much more meaningful to cook up a fish dinner when I caught and smoked the fish myself.

Worthwhile. Valuable. Meaningful. Absolutely.