The Sisyphus Syndrome

For the past week, staff have been swarming around, getting the two facilities ready for the first guests due to arrive this evening. Down at North Face Lodge we've dusted, "Murphied," washed windows, swept, vacuumed, made beds, fluffed comforters in each of the sixteen rooms. Then we did the same up on the ridge in the seventeen cabins. The operations crews re-graded the road in the wake of moderate to heavy rains the last three days. Naturalist guides studied trails, local bird populations, animals; chefs tested out new meal ideas on willing staff diners. So now the crisply made beds await the guests, bathrooms glisten, floors gleam. Even the outhouses have been detailed. Circulating among the staff cabins last night was a collective "Ahhh." There was a party up the hill; a nice fire snapped in my stove.

But this evening, the guests arrive. All the training and preparation now aim at the comfort of those guests, at giving them an experience of wilderness Alaska that will knock their socks off! Of course, that means those beds will be slept in, the bathrooms will dull down, bits of twigs and gravel will tarnish the floors.

That's where us housekeepers come in. Our job is to clean up after the guests. After serving their meals, we wash their dishes. Lodge mornings find us making beds and cleaning bathrooms, making sure the Kleenex has a pointy tissue poking out of the box. Up the hill at Camp, we vacuum the main building (Potlatch), wipe the tables and chairs, wash windows, clean outhouses, do kitchen laundry, wash sheets and towels...all the things we did this past week. All summer long.

"Oh, fun," you say. "A summer of cleaning other people's showers." Yet there is a staff of close to 60 people here excited to do just that (there were 180 applicants last winter for the 15 open staff positions). We'll push that same rock up that same hill over and over, again and again, throughout the 100-day season. Most will be sad to see the season end because playing Sisyphus comes with the opportunity to live in Denali National Park from the end of May to the middle of September. Yes, we'll work here for three-and-a-half months, work hard and for long hours. But we will live here, showing others just what it is about this corner of Alaska that delights us and makes our souls sing. High-end housework, day after day, is a small price to pay for being able to stand on your porch and brush your teeth in full view of the top of the continent.