Spent three years in Alaska 87-89. One of the things that I absolutely loved about "the Yuke" was that it is one of the last places left in the US that doesn't give a fuck about you or your feelings. I don't mean the people. The people were awesome. It was the place itself.
There are still many critters there to whom the position of "top of the food chain" is still an open question. And if you are not prepared at all times to maintain your position with lethal force? Guess what, Porkchop? It ain't you.
And the land and climate alone will kill you just for standing around, being stupid. Several times I found remnants of camps and people that told their own story. Chewed, clawed, tattered scraps of nylon from a coat or tent. A chewed up can of "Bear Spray". A Ruger Redhawk in a rotting leather holster laid over a log. A .338WinMag rifle leaned up against a tree.
All of these stood mute testament to the enduring stupidity of man, and the triumph of wishful thinking over common sense.
And, you could hold a meeting of all the niggers in Fairbanks in a phone booth, with room left over.
I remember the LA Bloods and Crips each attempting forays into Alaska during that period, in futile attempts to expand their markets and increase their market share. That was a very brief problem that all but solved itself.
BulletStopper 3 points 8 months ago
Spent three years in Alaska 87-89. One of the things that I absolutely loved about "the Yuke" was that it is one of the last places left in the US that doesn't give a fuck about you or your feelings. I don't mean the people. The people were awesome. It was the place itself.
There are still many critters there to whom the position of "top of the food chain" is still an open question.
And if you are not prepared at all times to maintain your position with lethal force? Guess what, Porkchop? It ain't you.
And the land and climate alone will kill you just for standing around, being stupid. Several times I found remnants of camps and people that told their own story. Chewed, clawed, tattered scraps of nylon from a coat or tent. A chewed up can of "Bear Spray". A Ruger Redhawk in a rotting leather holster laid over a log. A .338WinMag rifle leaned up against a tree.
All of these stood mute testament to the enduring stupidity of man, and the triumph of wishful thinking over common sense.
And, you could hold a meeting of all the niggers in Fairbanks in a phone booth, with room left over.
I remember the LA Bloods and Crips each attempting forays into Alaska during that period, in futile attempts to expand their markets and increase their market share. That was a very brief problem that all but solved itself.
I loved it. Still do.
(Still got the Ruger and the rifle.)