When Frank Murkowski clambered into a dog sled for a trip from Coldfoot to Chandalar Lake, did he, at least for moment, imagine he was an old sourdough forging into the wilds? Did he consider himself modern Jack London (never mind that Jack was a socialist), or a
Yukon Charlie?

     For his promotional event, Frank likely raised a heavy finger and pointed North when he said he didn't want to tie up land with permits. Stomping a few yards onto the tundra, he issued a proclamation:  "As far back as 1906 this trail was used to access gold in the Chandalar area," said Murkowski. "As such, the trail is one of many rights-of-way under federal law located within Alaska.

     But for whom is Frank advocating? The doddering, gap-toothed sourdough with his rucksack and gold pan? The granola-crunching hikers who want to head out into
the Brooks Range? Fairbanksans with snowmachines and four-wheelers who want to rip up the tundra for a wolf, caribou, or for the drunken hell of it?
Of course not. Frank wants access for BIG OIL, OF COURSE.

     Knowing that the oil companies have winter access to OUR oil fields only half as long as they used to (due to that pesky global warming) he's going to use state money to go to court. Frank thinks the Department of Interior should reinstate what he calls RS 2477
rights-of-ways.

     The RS 2477 act, dissolved except for grandfathered rights-of-way, was a really dumb law that was enacted in the days of those gapped-tooth miners that allowed the drunken fools to run around everywhere destroying indigenous communities, tearing up wild streams, and going insane with greed. That's Frank's version of Alaska. Except this time, the miners are oil men and women.

     Maybe we should let Frank live out his fantasy. We can provide him with a dog team, a bag of granola and a gold pan and send him along his way. If the locals don't care, Coldfoot can have him.