Alaska’s Climate Shift: A Personal Farewell

For three decades, deadlines have been a constant companion, shaping the rhythm of my work. The pressure once felt like an ache, but repeated exposure turned it into a familiar habit. I have spent many years navigating the complex world of scientific communication, sharing findings with local newspapers and a dedicated email audience. My journey began in the mid‑1970s, when the Geophysical Institute started a public outreach program. Since then I have written regularly about climate changes affecting Alaska, even before the headlines caught up with the science. Early observations by Norwegian researchers highlighted a 4. 3 % reduction in Arctic sea ice between 1987 and 1994—a warning that has since proven accurate. Today, places like Utqiaġvik (formerly Barrow) mirror the temperatures of coastal Norwegian towns, underscoring how quickly the region is warming. The story of Alaska’s shifting land, air, and sea has become a central theme in my work. Recent reports of widespread permafrost thaw—turning rivers orange—and declining salmon runs illustrate the tangible impacts of climate change.A former miner in Fairbanks once advised, “If you want a stable place, don’t live in Alaska. ” His words resonated as the state’s ecosystems continued to transform. The loss of traditional fishing spots and the rising influence of greenhouse gases create both emotional pain and practical uncertainty. Yet, change is a natural part of Earth’s history. Life has repeatedly adapted to new conditions, and many organisms thrive in altered environments—though not necessarily humans. This realization offers a mix of gratitude, relief, and hope for the future. I am grateful to long‑time director Bob McCoy for supporting my annual contracts, and to readers who have sent encouraging messages during the darkest winter nights. Your support has been a steady lift, much like wind beneath a crop duster’s wings. Before stepping away, I recall walking along Malaspina Glacier with National Geographic writer Paul Salopek. He noted that truly intact ecosystems are scarce, a sobering reminder of what we stand to lose. As I transition to a quieter life, I imagine a small junco—a bird that has migrated from Mexico—nesting in an Alaskan spruce. Its first song of summer will mark the season’s arrival, and I hope to hear it as a quiet tribute to the resilience of nature.