Plans change and housing conditions get rearranged — such is often the nature of life in my Alaskan bush village. I had planned to be in a cabin, commuting (i.e. walking) back and forth from cabin and work, but things shifted, one of which was a knee injury that had me looking at my options for staying in town, where I work.

A hundred years ago, McCarthy was quite the happenin’ spot in Alaska. This was before Anchorage was even on the map, merely a place to slap a tent down. McCarthy, at the time, was a regular sin city, just four miles down the road from the site of the most profitable copper mine in modern history. And like anywhere else in Alaska, if you had a spot of land, you could always put up a wall tent. It was a quick and cheap way to put a roof over your head.

So, in that same spirit, I decided to put up a tent in town, down by the river, where I can listen to the soothing sound of the rushing water. Aahhh

Truth is, Alaska is still a place where a person can put a tent down and live, without any stigma, without receiving any static from the squares of society. Well, except in Anchorage, big city that it is, now.

In fact, a person’s interest is more likely to be aroused, if s/he hears that I’m in a tent. A tent? Very cool. How big is it? Does it have a stove? Yes, says I, it does have a stove, tiney though it is. And so on. We talk shop. I talk about how Joey (our infrastructure/maintenance manager) put it on a solid platform made of pallets with plywood on top, etc.

And as an added bonus, I’ve got a great view of Fireweed Mountain.