Those of you who’ve been following our friend Monica’s adventure already know she left everything behind to live and work with sled dogs in the wilds of Alaska. And when I say everything, I mean she turned her back on sunny California and a very high-profile job in biotech (Monica is a scientist) to reside in a one-room cabin with no running water. Yes, that means nighttime visits to a very frigid outhouse!
To keep warm in the -40 temperatures, she and her roommate and fellow rookie dog handler, Regan, must split wood for the fire barrel, their only source of heat. The two adventurers take turns sleeping in the top bunk (heat rises so it’s the warmest of the two bunks in the cabin), and they share the responsibilities that go along with caring for 60 sled dogs—placing clean straw in the dog houses, cleaning up after the dogs, feeding and watering, exercising, and scraping frozen urine from the sides of the dog shelters.
Monica has been in Alaska for a few weeks now, reporting back to civilization only when she is lucky enough to catch a ride to a place with internet capabilities. And, after all this time, she’s still loving every minute there. In fact, she plans to let us know how the team fares in the next race, a grueling 440 mile run in Kotzebue, a native community just above the arctic circle that’s only accessible by plane.
Regan and crew ready for another day
* All images are the property of Monica Palme and may not be reproduced or used in any way without her expressed written permission.
*All images are the property of Maryland photographer Sunday Kaminski, and may not be reproduced, copied, or used without her expressed written permission. Sunday’s works have been featured in many major venues, including The Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.
Our friend, Monica, decided to follow a lifelong dream and head to Alaska to live and work with sled dogs. She left behind a very comfortable life in sunny California to trek to a very remote area where, for three months, she now resides in a one room cabin with no running water, and the only heat is supplied by a wood-burning barrel fed with wood she splits by hand. Monica’s duties include feeding, watering, cleaning, and exercising 60 dogs, all in temperatures that sometimes dip to -40F. And she couldn’t be happier.
The dogs are owned by Zoya DeNure (a former International fashion runway model who also followed her dream of working with sled dogs) and John Schandelmeier, a legendary sled dog racer.
So here’s a taste of living the life with 60 champion dogs in the wilds of Alaska:
Camping along a river with the dogs
Loading straw for the dogs (it keeps them warm)
An October trip
Smiling for the camera!
In addition to the daily supplies of Eukanuba dog food, the dogs receive salmon for additional protein. The salmon is chopped and cut by hand.
Training
Time to get up, already?
Leaving the lodge for a bit of exercise
2005 Quest
A long way from California
Ready to race!
Zoya DeNure
*You can see additional photos and learn more about Zoya, John, and the dogs at http://dogsleddenali.com/index.html
* Read more about Monica’s adventure here.
A dream inspired by a book. A fantasy adventure that’s lived inside your mind for three decades. Would you have what it takes to leave your home, your friends, your family, and all your belongings to trek to a remote area in Alaska? Could you live in a one-room cabin with no electricity, no running water, and the only bathroom is an outhouse? Lets see if I can further entice you. Temperatures in this beautiful corner of the world dip to -40F and your source of meat for the winter is whatever you manage to shoot and kill, such as moose and caribou. Oh, and to top it off, for heat, you must split wood and haul it to the wood-burning barrel inside your cabin. And, in exchange for your accommodations you must care for 60 sled dogs—water, feeding (which includes chopping frozen salmon with a hatchet), making sure their houses are insulated with plenty of straw, play time and exercise (at least two teams must run each day), and giving the dogs lots of love. Of course, all this takes place outdoors!
Sound a little too rugged for you? Yeah, me too. But not so for our friend, Monica, who purchased a ton of winter gear, packed her bags, and left everything behind, including sunny California, to follow her lifelong dream of a Great Alaskan Adventure. So, as time and internet allow, she’s keeping us posted via photos and a written journal of her activities while working as a dog handler for a very well-known, champion Iditarod race team (we’ll feature the team next week). And believe me, it’s exciting. Cold, but very exciting.
*All images are the property of Monica Palme and may not be used or reproduced without her expressed written permission.
Guns, cops, firefighters, EMS, patrol cars, K-9’s, explosives, arson, serial killers, officer-involved shooting, bloodstain analysis, crime scene investigation, homicide, helicopters, motorcycles, fire trucks, ambulances, night vision, police, sheriffs, jails and prisons, women in police work, detectives, crash investigation, pepperspray, Tasers, computer crimes, law, bioterrorism, DNA….
Those are just some of the workshops and demonstrations you’ll attend at the 2011 Writers’ Police Academy. And the best thing is that’s only part of the fun. Want to know what it’s like to drive a patrol car, fire truck, or an ambulance? Well, here’s your chance! How about being in a shootout with armed suspects? Yep, we’ve got a simulator for that, too. And, we’re offering ride-a-longs with sheriff’s deputies and tours of a real jail.
The Writers’ Police Academy is held at an actual police academy with classes taught by active-duty police academy instructors. We also feature some of the top police and forensics experts from across the country.
There’s plenty of one-on-one Q&A time with the experts.
Real police equipment is available.
Learn how firefighters handle blazes in high-rise buildings. We have a complete fire sprinkler system. And, yes, instructors set a real fire!
Got questions about your manuscript? We have the answers.
We have on-site jail facilities.
FATS training
Bomb robot
To shoot, or not?
Paramedics treat the victim of a gunshot wound. The shooting occurred in the hallway during the academy!
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Registration for the 2011 Writers’ Police Academy is open. Reserve your spot now!
Meet your 2011 presenters.
Dave Pauly retired from The U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Command as a Special Agent-in-Charge/Commander and Forensic Science Officer. He performed law-enforcement duties in over a dozen states, frequently working with local, state, and other federal agencies. Outside the United States he performed duties in Panama, South Korea, Afghanistan, Haiti, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Turkey, Sinai, Egypt, Canada, Guam, and Nigeria.
A graduate of the FBI National Academy (Session 195), Dave also completed advanced studies, such as the Canadian Police College Major Crimes Course, Miami-Dade Police Department Bloodstain Interpretation Course, and National Fire Academy Arson Investigation Course. As an expert, Dave frequently lectures and consults on forensic science topics around the country and at Sirchie Fingerprint Labs. He is a member or affiliate of the American Academy of Forensic Science, IAI, North Carolina Chapters of the IAI and FBINAA, IABPA, ASIS, EPIC, and Vidocq Society.
Dave holds a Master of Forensic Science degree from The George Washington University and is currently the Director of Applied Forensic Science at Methodist University, Fayetteville, NC.
I write about emergencies all the time. In fact, I’ve responded to more emergencies than I care to remember. Yes, I’ve pretty much seen it all, from gruesome homicides to horrible crash scenes. And I’ve always remained calm and cool through the worst of the worst. But today I was faced with a personal emergency and I nearly lost my mind. In fact, I barely remembered the number to 911.
Actually, this started last night when our beloved blind and nearly deaf 19-year-old poodle wasn’t feeling well. So, I stayed up with her until after 3 am, holding and rocking her until she finally settled down enough to go to sleep. Then, this morning when the time came for her to head outside for her bathroom break my wife volunteered to take her, allowing me a few extra minutes of much-needed sleep.
But my rest quickly turned to panic. My wife, holding the 6 lb. poodle in her arms, slipped on the steps and fell. I quickly ran to her, thinking I’d help her to her feet and all would be well. Unfortunately, I noticed that her right foot jutted out to the right at a horribly grotesque and unnatural angle. And the bones of her ankle, the ones that normally protrude from the sides of her foot, were now poking out in the front.
This is where things begin to get a little hazy for me. I remember seeing my wife as she was heading toward the floor, cradling the dog in her arms (the dog, by the way, made it out of this just fine). And I remember rushing to her side (I was still as cool as the center seed in a cucumber). But when I saw “the foot” and the condition it was in, my mind went as blank as an author’s computer screen during an ugly spell of writer’s block.
I think I frantically walked in circles for a full minute before I finally heard my wife’s weak voice (she was in full-blown shock at this point) telling me to call 911, which I did after re-learning the functions on my cell phone. However, when the emergency operator came on the line I had difficulty remembering our address, my phone number, and my wife’s name and age.
That’s when it hit me. After all these years I finally realized why so many people sound so darn foolish when they call 911. There’s a feature in our heads, a DUMB BUTTON, that’s instantly activated when someone we love is hurt. And believe me, my DUMB BUTTON was pushed especially hard this morning. My wife was in intense pain. Excruciating pain. And her pain hurt me. And that hurt held its gnarled finger on my DUMB BUTTON for a couple of hours before it finally let go.
There were, however, some good things that happened today. The EMS crew that arrived to care for my wife was top of the line. They knew what they were doing and they did it in a hurry. The hospital ER staff was equally as good. So were the nurses, the morphine and dilaudid, and the folks in x-ray who revealed three quite nasty breaks in my wife’s leg (three bones, three breaks). But it was the surgeon who came in to realign the foot who impressed me the most. He administered the same goop that killed Michael Jackson, which turned out my wife’s lights for precisely 15 minutes. During that time, the doctor grabbed the foot, yanked once, pulled twice, and turned the foot back to where it was supposed to be. Then he held it in place while his assistant wrapped it with splinting material.
This brings me to where I am now, sitting in the OR waiting room at 9:30 pm, 13 long hours after the fall. Yep, my precious wife went into the OR at 6 pm for for an operation that was supposed to take no more than two hours—steel plates, screws, and pins.
Well, I just called the nurse in the recovery room to see if she had any news. She bluntly reported that my wife was still in surgery and that someone would let me know when she was out. Then she told me to relax, watch a little television, and maybe have some dinner.
I think she pushed a different button this time…
Hwy 80 East out of Savannah, Georgia, otherwise known as the Island Expressway, is a road flanked by gorgeous scenery. It leads you through Thunderbolt, Wilmington Island, and past Fort Pulaski. To the right is a vast marshland. To the left, just beyond a row of palm trees that stretch as far as the eye can see, is the South Channel and the Savannah River, where large container ships make their way from the Atlantic Ocean to the Port of Savannah. Signs on either side of the highway advertise shark fishing and dolphin sightseeing tours. A floating casino awaits its next group of gambling passengers.
Twenty minutes into the trip, the entire upper portion of your GPS screen suddenly turns bright blue. The ocean is near. But something on the left catches your eye. Something like nothing else you’ve ever seen before. Is that a ten-foot metal mermaid guarding the entrance to a…business?
You rub your eyes, shake your head, and have another look. Yep, it’s mermaid, all right. And that’s when you notice she’s not alone. So you park your car and get out to explore. And this is what you find…
Fish art. And lots of it.
Wooden sidewalks as winding and twisted as a plot in a Jeffery Deaver novel lead customers through an eclectic assortment of merchandise. If you can’t find it in this place, well, it simply never was…
The mermaid.
Pots, pedestals, and…drums?
I think the idea is to “steer” customers this way.
You tell me.
A local artist displays his pieces on an exterior wall.
This place has a bit of everything on display.
A fish with a stop sign dorsal fin.
The man behind the madness, Ralph Douglas Jones. Mr. Jones was kind enough to give us a guided tour of his establishment, and he told me of his desire to write a book. He also told me that he enjoys hosting combined book signings and wine tastings at his place. He admitted that more wine gets tasted than books sold, but his heart is in the right place.
When we were finally done with the tour and listening to several fascinating stories, I commented to Mr. Jones that his “store” was stocked with everything except the kitchen sink. That’s when he led me to the only corner I hadn’t seen…
Police Procedure and Investigation: A Guide for Writers
