Alaska Wild

Adventure is an innate part of Kim Brannock’s life. Based in Bend, OR, Kim is no stranger to the outdoors—when she’s not working as the founder of her design firm, she’s skiing, backcountry skiing, XC skiing, mountain biking, fly fishing, SUP, trail running, backpacking, hiking, and climbing. She recently spent two months in the very remote Alaskan bush with her daughter and boyfriend, and discovered many lessons about living a life of less materially, but of so much abundance.

I had just slid the freshly gutted salmon into a black plastic bag when I looked up and glimpsed at the grizzly bear looking into my eyes just 40 feet away. In my hands, the black bag held his greatest desire and my heart raced as I yelled out firmly, “go bear, get out of here.” The scent of the Sockeye salmon was as strong as his innate urge, he moved slowly forward dropping into the thigh deep water between us. I continued to call out at him while simultaneously thinking about my best strategy and also looking over in the opposite direction to where my boyfriend had slipped out of sight just seconds before I saw this bear. The river rapids filled the air with roar. It wasn’t easy to hear as I alternated between yelling at the bear and calling out for my guy.

Closing in on 25 feet, the bear stopped, and I watched his nose rise and crinkle as he sniffed for more information. He slowly sunk down beneath the surface like a submarine, leaving only the crest of his head and ears above, as I watched him scuba scan toward where I had just let the innards of the salmon go. I thought that might satiate him so I could get off of the rock island, but then he rose up again. As I watched the water dripping from his rising body my adrenaline surged and then he sniffed again and turned away from me. From his slow methodical path, it was obvious that he was headed to the net on the shore that I had used on the salmon he was seeking. I knew that as soon as he got to the net the only thing left was myself and the salmon concealed inside the bag, that I still held in my trembling hand.

Suddenly my boyfriend appeared. We made quick communication with each other and both started yelling at this bear. We also knew that if the bear advanced any further, we would leave the salmon for him as we slowly backed away, hopefully allowing for our safe departure. Then almost magically, the bear slipped out of sight into the dense labyrinth of alders and fireweed that were stretching more than head-high in front of us. We still had to hike back to the truck on a narrow path that also went through the alder and fireweed. My boyfriend took the salmon in his hands. I followed behind and we made our way up the scariest quarter mile I have ever hiked while yelling out and making our presence known. When we made it to the truck unscathed, we didn’t bother taking off waders. We jumped in and shut the doors, thankful for our safety replaying what had just happened. As we drove back to our cabin he said, “that was intense, I felt so alive, let’s do it again!” I looked at him, smiled, and said, “lets!”

In that same spirit, amidst a worldwide pandemic and a huge drop in my business, I challenged myself to think outside the norms about how to thrive, when many were allowing fear to overtake them. This summer, we flew fully masked with negative COVID tests in hand, into a native village in the backcountry of Alaska to live in a small cabin perched on the edge of Iliamna Lake for two months. We arranged to work in exchange for our keep. It was the beginning of a wildly beautiful adventure, a time of dropping into deep connection and presence.

At a time when our country, and our planet are at a pivotal crossroads, we wanted to live as simply as possible and better understand what living in greater harmony with the land around us might feel like. We packed pretty light— one small duffle of clothes for each of us, and two collective larger bags of the gear we would need for our adventures. I’m a huge fan of merino wool as well as brands who care about creating products that are sustainably responsible. I was excited to bring along the Rowena Swing and Sierra Tank dresses in our mix to share with my 13-year-old daughter, in our efforts to stretch our limited wardrobe and test new boundaries during our two months away.

Each day we would wake up according to our own circadian rhythm, after a slow coffee with daily views of majestic bald eagles. We’d glance outside to check the weather and dress mostly for function, but sometimes for social time with our new-found Alaska friends. I liked tying the Sierra Tank dress down low around my thighs because of my small frame., and because of the bugs, pants were always worn underneath. Wearing merino is like a warm hug— I love it against my skin and wore these dresses as my base layer for everything from cleaning cabins, to shore walks, to foraging. They were a nice bit of extra warmth tucked inside my waders while fishing for salmon. My daughter and I used every bit of accessories and layers we had brought with us to vary the look of these dresses over our two-month stay.

Dropping into a place as wild as Alaska for two months felt like fully uprooting ourselves into a new home. The first couple weeks were such sensory overload with 17 hours of light each day that we often found ourselves not eating dinner until after midnight in order to soak it all in. Everything about it was different than home and life in the Lower 48. Summers in this part of Alaska can be cool, rainy, windy, but also warm, sunny, and buggy. When I say buggy I mean MILLIONS of the kind of bugs that will drive you to insanity. Mosquitos so powerful that I swore they flew around carrying suitcases of venom. Biting White Soxs’ that endlessly dive bomb your eyeballs, ears, and nostrils, until you find yourself happily donning a bug net over your head to escape their maniacal attacks. After our first week, all of us were poster-children of Alaskan newbies covered in painful masses of swollen scabbed over bug bites.

Our first steps out onto the tundra was like walking on the moon. Imagine strapping a 10” thick sponge onto the bottom of one shoe, and a 20” thick sponge onto the bottom of the other and walking around on lumpy ground, and you’ll begin to get an idea of what the tundra feels like. A tiny dense network of lichens, alpine blueberries, crowberries, and low bush cranberries were literally right beneath our feet, interspersed with mushrooms, alder and spruce trees, as well as a host of other plants depending on the moisture and altitude. On closer inspection, crouching down to the ground we could see them, there were blueberries everywhere! It was like nothing I have ever seen, for as far as I could see there were millions of berries. The tundra is a forest of much needed food. We spent hours laying on our backs and on our bellies, laughing, taking in the scenery, picking blueberries— so many blueberries. I made them into muffins, cocktails, sauces to put over salmon, jams, and drool worthy alpine blueberry pies with river beauty blossoms. We didn’t have internet or TV and our phones barely worked, so we were in heaven.

We were in the Bristol Bay watershed, home to the largest run of Sockeye Salmon in the world, 52.6 million of them returning to give birth to their next generation this year. Salmon are a keystone species. Having the chance to bear witness to their return, spawn, and subsequent death all while feeding an ecosystem is a rare gift that such a small number of humans ever get to experience in their lifetime. The ways in which the salmon are inextricably supporting so many species, including humans, is remarkable. We witnessed all of the native rituals— bringing in the salmon, working around tables together each morning to process them, and all of the different ways they preserve this treasured food source that will nourish them throughout the year until next summer, when they return again and the process starts over. Through our curiosity we forged friendships with the natives and they shared stories of their homeland, salmon heads and eggs for us to enjoy, as well as canned and pickled salmon for us to taste. Conversely, I shared plant medicine knowledge with them, and techniques for making tinctures, and details on which mushrooms were edible. It was a beautiful exchange.

There are many reasons to stay in places of comfort and to contract, but there’s a risk– those places can swallow our souls, take away our curiosity, and breed numbness. We took some risks and leapt straight into fear, getting a chance to experience one of the few places left on this planet that is truly wild is a priceless gift that we will never forget.