Fairbanks in Winter: “But It’s a Dry Cold”

It’s 35 below zero, and the snow is as crisp and crinkly as cellophane. Outside the aptly named Museum of the North in Fairbanks, Alaska, Sean Topkok is performing an ancient chant with which Alaska Natives greet the sunrise at winter solstice.

“That’s the Yupik version of the old Hank Williams song ‘I Saw the Light,’ ” Topkok jests, stamping his feet to keep warm even though everyone at this 11 am solstice gathering if blanketed in multiple layers of fleece and down. The tiny seal-oil flame in a 1,200-year-old stone lamp adds no detectable warmth.

Sardonic humor at 35 below?

Welcome to winter in the Alaska Interior. Bring warm clothes, a sense of adventure, a cheerful disposition. The cold months in the far North are surprisingly delightful if visitors approach life like Alaskans by staying active, going outdoors, sleeping well, and maintaining a sense of humor.

Frozen Phonetics

“You know why northern Iñupiats talk so fast?” Topkok ribs fellow celebrants at the solstice ceremony. “You have to get the words out before they freeze.”

Natives with 10,000 years of Arctic heritage are not the only ones who see comedy in the cold—far from it.

“The best part about 30 below is you can drive as fast as you want,” deadpans local radio personality and comedian Glen Anderson. “The cops won’t pull you over. Would you want to get out of your car at 30 below? They’ll just wait and nab you in the spring.”

Anderson, DJ at XROCK (farthest north rock station online) and his compatriot Jerry Evans convene would-be comedians, along with star guests from Outside, for a weeklong “Funny Fest” in early January at which subzero cold is among many, many jokes about life in Alaska. Yes, the festival is indoors. Guests are most welcome.

But there’s much more to Alaska Interior winters than hanging around and making jokes. More important is the array of outdoor pursuits, which take an astounding variety of forms: Nordic and downhill skiing, snowshoeing, dog sledding, ice skating, fat-tire biking, ice fishing, ice carving, walking through snowy woods and soaking in hot springs. Virtually all Fairbanks residents enjoy one or more of these, and visitors can easily join in.

For instance, local adventure operators offer after-dark snowshoe tours through snowy woods. “On a full moon you’d be surprised how well you can see without any artificial light,” enthuses guide Shannon Busby, who in mid-tour provides guests a cup of sub-Arctic herbal tea she’s foraged herself.

Where Mush is a Verb

Several dog-sledding kennels provide some simple instruction to guests who want to go out solo—”If you need to slow down, just stomp on the brake really hard.” No wilderness skill is needed; the 8-dog team knows exactly which trails to follow. All you need do is breathe in the spicy pine scent and admire the ivory sheen of birch bark… and marvel at the dogs themselves, who are awesome athletes having the time of their lives.

At Moose Mountain, a small local ski area (weekends only) uphill lift service is provided by school buses—which seems weird until you climb aboard and savor the cozy warmth on the 8-minute ride up to the top. No throwing spitballs, now.

You wonder how you can steer the massive tires on fat-tire bikes through the snow, but it turns out to be simpler than you expect and, frankly, easier than regular off-road bikes on dirt. Much softer landing if you do keel over. Chugging along the woodsy trails next to the Chena River, you eventually reach Creamers Field, a 1,980-acre wildlife refuge at the site of a former dairy where the birch woods by snowy fields evoke 19th-century woodblock prints.

Meet Dry Cold

How can all these pastimes be accomplished when daylight is so scarce? And what about that fearsome, far-below-zero cold?

“Oh, it’s a dry cold,” Interior residents invariably say, with a wry grin to acknowledge the cliché. Cliché it may be but, like all such, it rests on a foundation of truth. Low humidity does mean cold isn’t as penetrating—I’ve felt colder in Anchorage and Seattle in the winter than in Fairbanks. Even more important, Fairbanks has very little wind (it’s the reason there are no wind turbines on the high ridges north of town, where you’d ordinarily expect them to mark the skyline).

As for daylight, it’s not as brief as some think. This is, after all, a couple hundred miles below the Arctic Circle, and even in mid-December there are 5 hours of adequate light for outdoor pursuits—light whose luminescence is magnified by reflecting off all that snow. Skiing, snowshoeing, bike riding, skating—believe me, 5 hours is plenty of time for any of those.

No Refrigerator Needed

And at night, the games go on. One local outfitter, Alaska Fishing and Rafting Adventures, offers ice fishing on local lakes in cozy wood cabins complete with a wood stove on which your dinner, the salmon you catch, is cooked. And when the aurora borealis appears, everyone dashes outside to gawk at the memorable spectacle of the Northern Lights.

While these tour offerings are aimed at winter visitors, they reflect just what Interior residents are up to. For instance, Fairbanks cycle enthusiasts claim to have invented fat-tire snow bikes, and Alaskans take the sport so seriously that there are several fat-bike races into the wilderness north of town for 100 kilometers. Yes, really; but I don’t recommend that for visitors. Nor do you want to join the die-hards who are out there pedaling away at 50 below.

Dog sledding is not just a popular pastime; it’s a way of life. Alaska’s thousand or more sled dog kennels are essentially the hobby farms of the North Woods, and their owners go out just for fun a lot—like, daily. Maybe not at 50 below.

Remember Chamber Pots

If you want to truly grasp the reality of Interior life in the winter, ponder the fact that hundreds, if not thousands, of area residents live in what are called “dry cabins“—no running water. This means, of course, that they head out to their outhouses when the need strikes, 50 below or 50 above. In some ways winter is nicer—no mosquitos the size of small helicopters. Outhouses are therefore such icons of local life that one of the most popular works of art at the Museum of the North is “The Great Alaska Outhouse Experience,” a lavish piece by local sculptor Craig Buchanan affectionately depicting an opulent version of this iconic outdoor throne.

And most vehicles in Fairbanks have engine-block plugs to keep motor oil from freezing. Restaurants, hotels, stores and office buildings all offer these. More important, virtually all cars today also have remote start capability so their owners can stay inside Lavelle’s finishing their hot toddy while their GMC warms up.

And when it gets dangerously cold, down past 50 below? Doesn’t happen all that often, but Glen Anderson treasures his personal record, as all residents do: For him, 63 below. “That was right around my birthday, so hardly anyone showed up,” he recalls.

When it’s that cold, residents stay mostly indoors. A five-minute mistake under those conditions could be catastrophic. You might not go to work that day, and if you do, remember the remote vehicle auto-start: You can sit at your desk, push the button and warm up your car’s engine block for 20 minutes, even at 50 below, never setting foot outside.

But when the weather’s reasonable, say, only 20 below, people go outdoors.

Maybe Bring a Snorkel

One favorite winter retreat near Fairbanks is Chena Hot Springs, a resort about an hour northeast of the city. Here, in a vast pool of 105-degree mineral water, guests can enjoy the unique experience of steaming their bodies while the top of their heads are in sub-zero cold. Chena is wildly popular with tour groups from Asia who hope to see the Northern Lights but is also favored by Interior residents who come here to relax on their days off.

I guess I look like one of the latter because a guest who declares she’s from Texas decides I might know the answer to a perennially popular question about this experience, one the reception staff hears often in winter.

“So, if your wet hair freezes solid, can it snap off in the cold?” she inquires. I shrug.

“Beats me. But I know how we can find out,” I tell her, as together we submerge into the steaming water.

Lifelong journalist and editor Eric Lucas is the author of the Michelin Guide to Alaska. He lives on a small farm north of Seattle where he grows organic produce. This is his first article for the East-West News Service.