Georges Seurat filled a canvas with many thousands of pointillistic dots to paint the Isle of La Grande Jatte; in the same way, many thousands of isles dot the Alaskan coastline to paint the landscape of the Alexander Archipelago. These islands – some thousands of square miles, others just barely breaking the surface at low tide – are in fact the many peaks of an underwater mountain range. Further south, they march out of the sea to form the Cascades. As glaciers retreated from here thousands of years ago, they carved the tangled fractal of fjords and channels that fill the valleys between those mountains. The soil on the hills above has had only a minute to form, in geologic time, and the cool weather further slows its formation. Little more than a few inches of gray-black muck support the conifers here, and it regularly slumps into liquefied landslides.

At first, it would seem that Prince of Wales Island would be a bit dull for a soil scientist. There are no farms here, as one might expect, so there is not much of a market for soil testing – in fact, much of the area remains unmapped in the NRCS’s soil surveys of America…in reality, the opposite is the case. Soil scientists (and their more charismatic cousins, geologists) have no shortage of curiosities awaiting them on the Tongass.

The northern half of Prince of Wales is built upon a honeycomb of karst – limestone that has been fluted by the slow drip-drip-drip of underground seeps and springs. More than 600 caves have been found on the island, with many more surely lurking deep in the forest. We toured El Capitan, the largest cave in Alaska, and even in an hour saw only the entrance. Far beyond the end of our adventure lay titanic, cave rooms hundreds of feet in every dimension – an underground cathedral in a perpetually echoic Midnight Mass, sine lux aeterna.

A few hundred feet from the cave’s mouth, we performed our most unusual (and my favorite) seed collection of the year thus far. Hordeum brachyantherum, meadow barley, grows like rice in tidal flats, flooding and drying twice a day. Emma and I scurried around a patch of it – as fast as one can scurry in rain boots, sinking into 15 inches of mud and water – collecting as much as possible before the rising tide swallowed the shore again. The rippling waves of grass and seawater under a rare cloudless sky easily made for one of my favorite sights this summer.

Elsewhere on our island, the ground sinks into bottomless pits of peat moss in muskegs. These bizarre bogs are a soil scientist’s dream and nightmare simultaneously: they consist of several spongy feet of waterlogged moss and nothing else. Muskegs are the closest thing to Indiana Jones-style quicksand pits one is likely to ever encounter in real life – one wrong step could mean disappearing into a ten-foot well of slime. (The “bog mummies” of Ireland and the Andes formed in exactly this manner; the anaerobic environment slows decay almost to a standstill.) As unearthly as these are, however, they support a fascinating diversity of plants found in few other places. Bog cranberries, cottongrass and water sedge are three muskeg-loving plants we have collected thus far. And how could I forget the day that I hiked 8 miles in driving rain to one such muskeg to pick cloudberries! These petite orange raspberries, Rubus chamaemorus, are tremendously frustrating to cultivate (I have tried) and equally laborious to pick, but absolutely worth the effort. They taste a bit like a mix between apple pie and peach yogurt. If you ever have the opportunity, I highly recommend going to the trouble of picking them.

I am always in awe of how the forces of nature are laid bare in Alaska to create a wild landscape like nowhere else. Much like the other features of the Tongass that I have written about already, Alaska’s geology has a colorful and vibrant story to tell. It dots the Pacific coast with a dizzying array of jungle islands, and produces an abundant scattering of minerals – salt, marble, uranium, and gold – that have been integral to the island’s history and environment. It is strange to think that I will only be in the Last Frontier for just over a month yet, and I have so much of this island to still explore. No doubt, it will be full of many more adventures and things to learn.

Today, we drove to work in chilly, 29 degree weather. Snow covers the mountain tops surrounding Anchorage. Most of the ducks have left the partially frozen ponds. Yes, it is time for me to migrate as well.

When my mentor first offered me the SOS position with the BLM in Alaska, I agonized over the decision for a full week and a half. I also had an offer to teach English in Indonesia, and I couldn’t decide which position to accept. But now I know I made the right choice. The past four months have really been a whirlwind of activity and excitement. I can’t think of another job that I could have gotten right out of undergrad that would have allowed me to travel so frequently, learn so much, and come into contact with so many fantastic people– all while utilizing my education and setting me on the track to a great career.

Perhaps the best thing about this internship was the sense of independence that I had throughout much of it. Here I was, traveling to Alaska. No study abroad program was waiting at the airport to pick me up. No friends were waiting in the city to take me out. I was alone in the Last Frontier.

On the first day of work, we figured out what needed to be done. On the second day of work, we started doing it. We acquired permits, planned trips, drove (and flew!) to far corners of the state, analyzed ecosystems, and collected lots and lots of seeds. For the vast majority of the time, I felt like I was in charge of something new and exciting. I felt empowered to use my knowledge to make scientific decisions. I felt like I was making a difference.

Although I had never been to Alaska before, I really grew to love the state. Anchorage is not the million-person metropolis that I am used to, but its natural beauty is unsurpassed. Minutes from my house lies one of the largest state parks in the country, where backpacking, mountain-biking, hiking, and bears abound. Sea kayaking, water skiing, and pack-rafting lie just a bit further away. Coupled with an extremely active populace that utilizes every second of sunshine to its fullest, I really wanted to stay. But alas, the job market had other plans for me.

A big thanks to Marian and Krissa, without whom this internship would not have been possible. Their tireless work and patience was much appreciated. I also want to thank my mentors, Mike Duffy and Paul Krabacher, who were excellent teachers and friendly bosses. Finally, to Jordan, Chrissy, and Vania, my fellow interns, we actually survived living, working, commuting, traveling, and playing together for four whole months. I don’t think I could have done it with anyone else! You guys are my newest lifelong friends. I look forward to our reunions.

Dan Brickley

BLM State Office

Anchorage, AK

This baby hauls five people and our plant presses--with room to spare

Working as a Seeds of Success intern out of Anchorage, Alaska has many perks. The beautiful Chugach Mountains rise up just at the edge of the city. Our travels take us to the gorgeous locales around Valdez, Glennallen, Fairbanks, and Nome. And we drive a kick-a$$ mini-van.

However, the real highlight comes during the actual seed collections. Perhaps it’s a hot and sunny day. Perhaps the collection is large and tedious. Perhaps we’re feeling a little tired.

The elusive, yet delectable, nagoon berry

Invariably, at this point, we stumble upon a batch of juicy and delicious wild berries. The lowbush blueberries are often tart, yet a handful can easily perk up my mood. Serviceberries (my favorite) are like blueberries, but bigger, mealier, and sweeter. Wild raspberries are great, but they can’t beat their smaller cousin: the nagoon berry.

Being in berry country means being in bear country, too. As winter slowly approaches, Alaska’s most dangerous mammals stock up on the ripe berries that remain. Although our single encounter with a bear while working was fleeting and safe, we always try to remain vigilant and make lots of noise while berry picking.

We do have to be careful to avoid some rather distasteful and aptly named berries, like soap berry (or worse, the deathly poisonous bane berry), but our berry discoveries usually end the same way. Five people, crouched over some bushes, devouring as many berries as possible– but, of course, never more than 20% of the total population.

Blueberries waiting to be eaten