Alaskan Winter and the Californians

This Alaskan winter three Californians in my family headed to the . . . cold.

Though cold, of course, wasn’t a real definition of what we expected.

We found lots of other adjectives: freezing, icebox, refrigerator, icy, frigid, hostile to life, and so forth.

Fortunately, it didn’t get that bad.

But, prior to departure, I felt uneasy. While I spent six winters in New England, I’m a native of Los Angeles, California. The Alaskan winter forecast felt terrifying.

I checked it every day, and my only conversation topic for weeks was cold weather gear.

Some days I joked about surviving the expedition, er vacation.

But a friend, who got tired of hearing about it, finally broke through my fears. “You’re going to a resort. They don’t take you there if it’s dangerous.”

An excellent point.

I started to relax.

And she was right.

We did survive four January days admiring the Northern Lights in Alaska.

But what to wear?

I had no clue, so I started on the research.

Fortunately, a friend lives in really cold places (Saskatchewan, anyone?), and she gave excellent advice.

Some adventurous relatives recently spent a Christmas above the Swedish Arctice Circle to view the aurora borealis.

“I hope you have a balaclava,” my relative chuckled. (He lived through -70 Farenheit/-56 Celsius in Sweden.)

Lots of options came up as the three women in our party googled, “what to wear in -50 degree winter.”

I knew boots and warm feet were most important. My daughter and I bought insulated boots and then I found 7xthermal woolen socks at a local hardware store.

Eveyone got a pair for Christmas!

I owned silk thermal long underwear and we all added merino wool long underwear to our collection.

As the temperature projections dropped and fell past my imagination, we needed warmer parkas.

Unfortunately, we live in Northern California–where the parkas sold in local stores were rated only to 20 degrees.

“We only sell to skiiers going to Tahoe,” one man explained. “I’d check online if I were you.”

Fortunately, REI came through–and on sale, since it was the end of the season.

We added balaclavas, wool hats, hooded parkas.

“I’m actually plenty warm,” my husband said that first morning in Fairbanks. (He has a beard).

How cold was “our” Alaskan winter?

-37 in Fairbanks when we woke the first morning.

-37 when we spent a night going in and out a relatively warm building our first night.

-25ish, with a windchilld the night we stood on top of a low mountain for five hours the second night.

(Fortunately, we had a heated yurt to share with a few dozen other hardy souls. Don’t ask about the outhouse heated with only a lightbulb . . . )

Yikes!

I’d never been in such cold conditions before–and neither had our skiing friend from Washington.

(She wore battery-heated socks).

One morning, we took a dip in the noted hot springs of our rustic resort.

The water, coming right out of the ground, was 106 degree Farenheit/41 Celsius.

It was -33 outside–or, we lived through a 136 degree swing in the temperature while wearing only our bathsuits.

Later that day, it rose to a relatively balmy -12. The Washingtonian tried going without her park in the two minute run from the room to the restaurant.

She only did that once.

The temperature returned to -35 with a windchill when we flew out at 1:30 the next glacial morning.

Hey, I’d never seen a plane de-iced before! Another absorbing experience!

Final Thoughts on cold weather gear?

Maddening.

To merely go outside at -37, I had to put on the following layers:

• Thermal silk long underwear (tops and bottoms)
• Merina wool thermal long underwear (tops and bottoms)
• Cotton turtleneck sweater
• Wander bag for my phone and glasses–across my chest. (Glasses would steam up and freeze if I didn’t take them off).
• Insulated ski pants
• Silk sock liners
• Thick woolen socks
• Insulated boots
• Silk balaclava
• Wool Navy “watch cap”
• Parka.
• Silk glove liners
• Insulated mittens.

Total? 15 items.

The good news?

We saw the Northern Lights.

We survived four days outside in the Alaskan winter.

And my husband feels relieved: I no longer want to visit Antarctica.

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