Lisa Bard Field

It was a trip like no other— wild, beautiful, adventurous, energetic—and in a place that put so much into perspective. We had gone looking for something unusual and had found it—quite literally in the far reaches of our own back yard.

This past summer a friend and I took a trip to Alaska. It was billed as an Adventure Safari Camp, and while we didn’t quite rough it the entire time (there was after all, Happy Hour every evening before the guides cooked and served us some spectacular food), we did sleep in tents, bathe in creek water (or glacier water if you were brave/tough enough) and even spent one night perched on a beach of rocks, waiting and hoping that the grizzly that crashed our camp did not return. What made it so amazing was the location, the things we did and saw and the manner in which this particular company used the incredible resources of the land and wildlife to both their advantage (to make money) and our delight. It was also wonderfully devoid of people and development.

Alaska in the summer is a truly spectacular place—full of eye-popping scenery, temperate weather and, in many places, comparably few people. We went to the Kenai Peninsula in the southern half of Alaska, just south of Anchorage. It is not wilderness by any stretch of the imagination, but it is nothing like the overdeveloped, overgrown area I live in. Of course, there are reasons for that—location, the environment and the economy. Most people don’t want to live where they cannot make a living, where they are somewhat isolated and where the environment is tougher than they are. But as a place to visit, it is a must-see.

Numerous companies make a go of it during the summer months, catering to vacationers who want to experience a slice of one of the last, great, wild frontiers. Agriculture is a non-issue in Alaska unless you count fishing and hunting. Even so, many in agriculture can easily appreciate Alaska and its offerings—the fickle relationship with Mother Nature, the peace that settles over a person when they spend long, quite days being part of the world around them, the physical joys and challenges that come from living with very little rather than every convenience created by man, and the wonderful realization that we are really just a very small piece of a huge puzzle.

The puzzle in Alaska is larger than any place I have ever experienced. From the very first glance out the airplane window I was in total awe. I know they say everything is bigger in Texas—but if that’s true, then “they” have never been to Alaska! The mountains explode out of the ocean to reach the sky right before your eyes. The rivers, fed by melting glaciers, run wild, cold and blue. The wildlife accepts people as part of the ecosystem because there is balance. The noble and grand bald eagle gazed at us with mild amusement but not a single hint of fear as we marveled at him. The grizzly refused to leave our camp until his curiosity had been satisfied and HE was ready to move on. I will cherish that feeling of insignificance for the rest of my days.

What sustains commerce in the part of Alaska we were in is recreation/tourism and hunting and fishing. Similar to their counterparts in the Rocky Mountain region that I live, Alaskan tourism companies go to great lengths to protect the environment that supports them. This is so very similar to agriculture—without the environment around us being healthy and strong, each of us will be out of business. And yet agriculture is under constant criticism and scrutiny for making productive use of the environment and its bounteous resources. These are renewable resources we are utilizing, just as the tourists are using in Alaska. Many people can float the Kenai River each year, and if the pressure is handled properly, the river will be there for generations to enjoy. Obviously, the key is how we, as users and as custodians of the environment, handle that pressure.

The allure of Alaska begs the question—will such a wonderful place be able to keep what makes it so wonderful? Will the advancement of time, the pressures of an increased world population and the complex environmental issues escape Alaska? Will it be able to maintain what makes it special—the relatively untouched landscape, the clean air and water, the lack of development and the wildlife that roams wild and free everywhere?

These same questions have plagued our country for many years, and while there are no easy answers, we must continue to ask the tough questions and search for the answers. What we found in the far reaches of our own back yard cannot be allowed to simply slip away.