When you travel to Cordova, Alaska, in the summertime you’re bound to see some beautiful sights. You’ll see braided rivers, tinted turquoise by glacial waters, winding through the seemingly endless greenery. You’ll spot a bear, or seven, along with otters, seals, and the red backs of spawning salmon. And you’ll watch soggy grey mornings turn into breathtaking sunsets that disappear behind mountainous vistas.
There are picturesque scenes everywhere you go, but if you let yourself become distracted by the place’s beauty, you will miss out on what truly makes it special.
If you slow down and pay attention, you’ll feel it. Alaska’s heart still beats wild.
You can hear it in the thrashing water of the salmon runs, or in the stentorian groans of the glaciers. Everything around you is a testament to the fact that the place is ALIVE.
For newcomers it conjures a sense of awe, to step inside a world where the synergy amongst organisms is so strong, that the bond is palpable. The nutrient-rich waters from the Copper River Delta provide salmon with the food and habitat they need to thrive. Their existence supports the birds, the bears, and the people. It’s a complex network that allows for a simple way of life through its perfectly efficient design.
Alaskans understand this balance and observe their place in it. From descendants of the native Eyak peoples, to the descendants of Russian and American settlers, to the researchers who come to feed their curiosity, and to the fishers who come to feed their families, here the divisions amongst men fade and give way to a sense of comradery within the human species.
This is why we keep coming back to Cordova. It isn’t simply a field trip we take to study how a changing climate affects a historically stable ecosystem, or a pretty town we visit to bolster our portfolios with gorgeous footage and story material. We come to this unique place because it has the power to ignite a feeling of belonging in those who have grown accustomed to living in a world that has lost its sense of interconnectivity.
There’s a reason why the locals refer to the rest of America as the “lower forty-eight.” Priorities shift as you go north, and life operates differently.
Alaska is one of the last places in the country where the degrees of separation between the natural and the human world do not feel so vast. Following researchers into the field forced us to contemplate the potentially dire effects Elodea (an invasive water weed) has had on the salmon population. Flying our drones into the backwoods and seeing a mother bear catching salmon for herself and her two cubs allowed us to witness the direct effect a declining species population would have on other animals. When you get to see these connections first hand, the gravity of environmental reporting sets in. The place teaches you to think more specifically, more scientifically, in order to comprehend the bigger picture.
This is why we do what we do — to remind ourselves, and others, that we are all in this together, to learn, to shed light on scientific findings that can help us be better stewards of the earth, and to remember our fragile and fortunate place in the cosmos.
Jessica Smith
8.22.18