Alaska by Road

Ice on the edge of the Grewingk Glacier Lake

Driving down the scenic Seward Highway in an RV

The icy waters of the Prince William Sound

A bear at a parking lot in Cooper Landing on the Kenai Peninsula

Todd, our boatman drops us off at the Kachemak Bay State Park

The Glacier Lake Trail inside the Kachemak Bay State Park


A Russian Orthodox Church in the village of Ninilchik

It sounded like the tinkling of ice cubes in a glass; except there was no glass, only a large lake. The water on the edge of the Grewingk Glacier Lake had turned into cubes of ice and gentle waves knocked them against the gravel on the shore creating a jingling sound I had never heard before in the outdoors.

From the calving of a glacier through the cries of a kittiwake to the crunching of your own footsteps on a lonely gravel beach - in Alaska, you have to listen as much as you have to look. In bear country, your safety could depend on it.

With the goal of covering as much of south-central Alaska as possible, we rented a 29-foot RV (recreational vehicle or motor home) instead of getting on a cruise ship: No need to book hotel rooms or plan our sorties into the great outdoors and we could stop anytime to enjoy the Alaskan wildlife, landscape and history. RVing in the crisp early summer on Alaska's empty highways was freedom unlimited.

We picked up our RV after landing in Anchorage and headed south for the Kenai Peninsula where our first stop was the port town of Whittier. To get there we started down the eye-candy road called the Seward Highway which is flanked by the Cook Inlet and snow-capped mountains, with views to challenge the sharpest drivers' concentration.

Whittier is a small, dull town but it is one of the gateways to the Prince William Sound. We got on a boat to make the day-trip through the Sound to look at glaciers. Everytime a glacier came into view the captain of the boat inched as close as possible to it and cut off the engines as everyone on deck waited and watched for calving - the process by which chunks of ice break off resulting in the birth of an iceberg. It was hard to train our sights on the exact location where the ice was calving because of the wall of white before us but everytime a piece fell it went down with such a clap of thunder that you will eventually see one.

From the Seward Highway we headed further south down the Kenai Peninsula on the Sterling Highway. Back in 1867, the Russians sold Alaska to the Americans for the grand sum of $7.2 million. On our drive down the Peninsula we kept a keen eye out for this Russian influence. Wanting to see atleast one Russian Orthodox Church we got off the Sterling Highway entering the village of Ninilchik and found one at the end of the appropriately named 'Orthodox Avenue'. Just before the land dropped sharply into the sea, stood a beautiful white church with a green roof and ochre onion domes. As we marvelled at the Matryoshka dolls inside, a bishop emerged to start a service with all of two individuals. We stood near the entrance in awkward silence for a few minutes before shuffling out, only to find a notice about a funeral service! We had stupidly stumbled into someones 'leave taking' ceremony!

From leave taking ceremonies we finally reached lands end at Homer for the stuff of life. We hired a water taxi to take us across the Kachemak Bay to the wilderness of the 400,000 acres of the Kachemak Bay State Park full of forests and wildlife. Bulked up in layers of warm clothing, we raced along the water, landing on a lonely shore 20 minutes later. Todd, our boatman from upstate New York (the tourism industry seems run entirely by non-natives from the lower 48!) promised to return in five hours. We embarked upon the Glacier Lake trail, keeping up a loud chatter to alert any bears in the neighbourhood of our presence - a good thing too, because we came across dollops of fresh bear dung. Thankfully, the trails in Alaska's state parks are well-marked and watched over: Hikers sign a register before setting off, ensuring their absence will be noted should they get lost.

The trail took us uphill through a wooded area of spruce and cottonwood trees, plateaued and then opened up suddenly into a beautiful lake with the Grewingk Glacier flowing frozen into it. And it was here that we heard nature's little jingle of ice cubes clinking against the shore. The only disruption came from a cawing raven, probably irritated by us intruders.

From Homer, it was time to turn around the RV and head back to Anchorage to proceed east to Valdez. But we still had a gaping bear-sized hole in our Kenai experience. This longing to see a bear was fulfilled in the most unexpected of places - a parking lot. Halfway to Anchorage we pulled into a parking lot by a stream near Cooper Landing and found that about 20 feet away from us a brown bear was scrounging for food. He stayed completely oblivious to the five faces plastered against the window of the RV. We had five exclusive minutes photographing him up close till alert drivers along the highway started pulling in, sending him right back into the woods.

After four days on the Kenai it was hard to imagine that a few US Congressmen had opposed the purchase of Alaska from Russia. The place was derisively labeled "Icebergia" and "Walrussia" and the newspaper New York World declared, "Russia has sold us a sucked orange." Clearly, in the mid-19th century, it was hard to imagine you could do anything in Alaska but bundle up in layers of wool and stay indoors. But an Alaska summer is incredible fun, offering plenty of options and 20 hours of daylight.

And of the many sounds we loved, perhaps the one we grew most attached to was the gentle roar of our RV - a great big beast of a vehicle that took us to all the incredible nooks and became home even while allowing us to roam free.

Published in the Mint on 11th July 2009

WHAT'S WRONG WITH INDIAN TV NEWS

Keep in mind an old Indian road safety sign while watching the latest Indian television news.

“Speed thrills but kills.”

Yes, speed is killing some of the most basic tenets of journalism on television, such as accuracy and challenging power. Being wrong is pardonable, but being late, absolutely not. Viewers have many choices today, so keeping it fresh draws more immediate benefits than keeping it honest. That’s why Indian television news has competed in one rapid race, but to the bottom. And viewers are insulted.

The double murders in Noida have become a lightning rod for viewer criticism of this trend. The media’s split personality is under scrutiny. It is a crusader, but also a moral leper. It is a watchdog, but also a vulture. It is high-minded, but also hypocritical. And competition, which is normally a good thing for the consumer, is driving such extreme behaviour. Competition has killed critical thinking, so, dear editors, do something about it.

For instance, 24-hour news places immense pressure on reporters and editors. So, if the police make a new statement theorizing about extra-marital affairs or honour killings, it is dutifully reported “as it happens”, since wall-to-wall coverage requires that things move forward. Newsrooms do not debate the merits of a police statement. That responsibility has been abdicated. Besides, there is no time to grapple with such professional and ethical niceties because the competition has already put it on air. It’s up to the viewer to think and evaluate.

But anyone who justifies this blind reporting is making a very self-serving argument. An editor of a Hindi channel recently defended his channel’s actions in the Noida murder coverage as merely “reporting what the police was saying”. Yet, the same channel has also started a parallel investigation by hiring private detectives. Clearly, it doesn’t believe the police, so why report it?

Also, take a closer look at the cast of characters who appear on the screen when there are such stories of investigations into murders, frauds, scams or controversies. Usually, the most vulnerable are on air as in this case — a grieving family and friends. Rarely will you see the policeman or politician involved turn up in a studio for the evening news, open to being grilled.

Jayalalithaa had nearly 44 corruption cases against her. But be sure you’ll never see her in a studio.

The bureaucratic and political establishment has learnt how to game the system by feeding the news machinery with a meaningless and quick sound byte while entering or exiting a building. Yet, you would imagine that if 25 reporters decided they weren’t going to budge till they got an interview, corrupt government servants would eventually have to answer some tough questions. They are duty-bound to. But that seemingly simple option doesn’t happen because of the pressure to produce. The 24-hour hungry beast waits for no one and people such as Jayalalithaa have figured it out. Dodge the media a couple of times and they give up. Grieving families and poor folks don’t know that and are made to believe they are obliged to talk to the press.

There is a sub-culture even among reporters. Better to sink together than stand alone. For instance, to avoid getting into trouble with each others’ editors, reporters may decide to collectively abandon a painful wait for a politician. Dodge-them-and-they-go-home works exceptionally well. Thus, competition has given us some variety but also more of the same.

Who will break this vicious cycle? Who will show the courage to construct a fiercely independent style? Who will endeavour to cultivate an intelligent audience? The decision has to be made at the top and the foot soldiers on the field will follow. Whoever decides that things need to change will show leadership, courage and critical thinking — qualities television news can profit from.

Published in Mint on June 5th 2008.