For about three years (187 weeks, in fact) WC featured a Bird of the Week post on Saturdays that was cross-posted here at The Mudflats. The idea was to share bird photos with readers, maybe provide a little mostly accurate information about birds, and perhaps sell some bird photos and help pay for WC’s expensive avian photography habit. The series stopped when WC ran out of Alaska bird photos that were decent enough to share. That was about a year ago. After a massive, sometimes tedious review of a chunk of WC’s library of bird photos, WC is feeling inspired. Bird…

It’s been almost 10 years since I opened a package mailed to me care of a long-ago radio station. “Thank you for your voice. We found this in my father’s house after he died. He’d removed it from a restaurant many years ago. Don’t forget about us.” Inside was a sign. “No Dogs. No Natives.” There were plenty of signs hung around Alaska to remind everyone who was at the top of the genetic food chain. It’s shameful. “No Indians.” “We cater to white trade only.” and “Meals at all hours — All white help.” There are still many wounds…

I know what you’ve been wondering for the last 10 years. What ever happened to Ed O’Callaghan? On the off chance you haven’t been wondering this for the last 10 years, let me refresh your memory. Way back in 2008, another very stable Republican with a new executive branch seat was under investigation for abuse of power. Yes, I speak of the once half-governor of Alaska who was then running to become the Vice President of the United States. At the time, we thought that would be the worst possible ever thing to happen – why, she’d be a heartbeat…

There is a magic about Christmas. We get to peel off our layers of broken promises and broken hearts to watch it through the eyes of the children close to us. There was a time I had to explain to my daughter that Santa wasn’t Jesus’s dad and this wasn’t a big birthday party. The Santa at Nordstrom also had to explain to her that he did not know me well enough to get her a baby brother or sister for Christmas. Christmas is about seeing things with new eyes and finding joy and understanding. Oh, just so you know,…

.@repdonyoung: “Thank God I’m wearing my cowboy boots today. You know why cowboys wear cowboy’s boots? To keep their damn pants clean from the horse manure that comes from people that don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.” pic.twitter.com/fcXH2H4vdg — CSPAN (@cspan) December 13, 2017 “Thank God I’m wearing my cowboy boots today. You know why cowboys wear cowboy’s boots? To keep their damn pants clean from the horse manure that comes from people that don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.” The (now) Dean of the House of Representatives and perpetual embarrassment to the State of Alaska…

Special Guest Post from Assemblyman Fred Dyson (Eagle River) WHEN THE ROADS GET SLICK AND THE FOOLS ARE OUT DRIVING (ADVICE FROM AN OLD RACE CAR DRIVER) The first snowfall of the year brings a rash of ditch divers and car crashes.  My kids and I used to have a game of rating the wrecks when we drove between Eagle River and Anchorage.  The ditch divers, whom we scored as a 10, managed to cross four lanes of traffic, clear the guardrail, do a complete roll or summersault, and land on their wheels without hitting another car.  You can come up…

I have to say, it’s often a wonderful thing to have folks quote lines back to me that I’ve written in this paper. It seems most often they are quips or parables from Pop Moore, but sometime they are little turns of phrase that come back to me. It’s a nice confirmation that you, dear reader, take some of this beyond your Sunday morning coffee time. A particular line from a columnist that ran last week has been stuck in my head, but not in a good way. “Liberalism is, after all, a genetic defect,” he wrote. I don’t remember…

A dozen years ago I had an opportunity I never sought out or wanted. Not in my wildest dreams did I think I’d sit across from an admitted sex offender and discuss his crime. It wasn’t on my radio or television show. It wasn’t for an essay, until now. First, a little background. I was assaulted at an early age by a teacher at my Christian school. He hurt the older girls much worse, but it was enough to make me keep a secret, and stew on it, and harm myself in ways I wasn’t conscious of. It happened again…

“Me too.” This week it became a revived movement. Ten years ago, Tarana Burke started it to support young women of color who had been abused. A week ago a post went up on social media from actress Alyssa Milano. “If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote ‘Me too.’ as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.” The goal was not to fix sexual harassment or assault, but to just define how prevalent it is. It didn’t take long to start to wonder #WhoHasn’t. Millions of women told their…

I’m suffering from outrage fatigue. Between gun-toting mass murderers, hurricanes, wildfires, health care sabotage, shameless racism, and the serial rape and harassment of young women, I feel sick at heart. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I guess there’s no choice but to muster up a little more outrage. If you love this country, and I do, what other choice is there? You may remember our former half-governor, once she mounted the national soapbox, screeching about the “lamestream media.” Why? She didn’t know much, but she knew she didn’t like many of the stories about her and…