This post is based on publicly-available news articles about COVID-19 in Alaska and my own subjective experience and is in compliance with NOAA Administrative Order 216-100 (NAO 216-100)
It is 9:41 PM and I am completing a mandatory quarantine in a hotel room in Anchorage, Alaska. I have not left this room. Meals are brought to me and left outside the door, and aside from a few minutes of innocuous chit-chat during my twice-daily temperature checks, slivers of eye contact behind masks and plexiglass, I have not seen another human being. I am alone.
I am alone, but I’m not lonely. Thankfully the internet has given me a way to stay connected to the outside world, and I have a window overlooking the dirty snow of the hotel parking lot. This feeling is, and isn’t, new. I am preparing to deploy (that’s the word we use) for 60-90 days. Every time I deploy my world becomes a little bigger, but also a little smaller, in equally dramatic ways.
In case anyone among the processors, engineers, deckhands, cooks, or biologists in this hotel forgets how important this quarantine is, dedicated staff patrol the hallways on the lookout for breaches. I don’t need them to remind me; During the daily morning doomscroll I came across a recent dispatch from a local news outlet in Dutch Harbor, the largest commercial fishing port in the U.S. There has been another case. The port has elevated its threat level, the town is hunkered down, and the plants are locking down.
These are extreme measures, but Alaska is an extreme place. I am amazed at the human ability to deny vulnerability, to keep looking forward. The crowded conditions aboard fishing vessels and at shore-side processing plants nearly guarantee that if a single COVID-19 carrier slips through, like water through a cracked hull, the vessel will succumb. The risk to nearby communities is also acute. Small local clinics (you can count the medical staff on one hand) can quickly become overwhelmed. Charter planes, helicopters, and boats are needed to carry the sick to the nearest hospital. This part of the world was once called “the Kingdom of the Winds”. Trees don’t grow here. They are blown over, knocked down, covered by snow, boughs and branches frozen and shattered by ice that builds in layers with every gust. At the end of the day, we haven’t out-engineered low pressure systems.
I am amazed at the human ability to deny vulnerability, to keep looking forward. I hear good news. There is a vaccine. The vaccine is coming by plane, by boat, by helicopter, by sled. Until then, I’ve got candy crush and the dirty snow of a hotel parking lot.
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I hope you enjoyed this blog post. If you would like to learn more about the impact of COVID-19 on Alaska’s fishing industry and the COVID-19 vaccine rollout, please check out the following articles:
https://www.adn.com/business-economy/2020/09/01/alaska-fishing-industry-likely-incurred-tens-of-millions-of-dollars-in-coronavirus-related-expenses/
https://www.alaskapublic.org/2020/07/22/alaska-fishing-communities-feared-covid-19-contagion-from-industry-it-hasnt-shown-up/






