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The First Gasp

I remember the first time I encountered -60F weather.  Despite a childhood of reading Jack London and Robert Service stories and poems, nothing quite prepares you for that first gasp of hyper-frigid Alaska.

My first winter Interior Alaska was in 1976, which was a rather mild winter, never reaching much below -25 below.  Someone had told me that once you get below zero, it all feels the same.

 They lied.  In early 1978, the bottom fell out, and stayed for most of January and February, dipping to -65 in my back yard.  I remember my relatives in California telling me it was 85 degrees in L.A., exactly 150 degrees warmer than here.  I'll not even try to describe the sensation, because there's really no point of reference.

Fortunately, I've never succumbed to cabin fever.  I live in North Pole, Alaska by choice.  The long months of darkness and extreme cold just make it seem that much warmer and cozier inside.

  I do occasionally take a trip to California to remind me why I left in the first place.    I guess it works, because I'm still here after 33 years.