North, to Alaska, but how?

My oldest daughter, Heather, just accepted a job as a television reporter and photographer in Anchorage, Alaska. It’s a great opportunity for her, but the logistics of moving from her humble apartment in Eugene, Ore. to The Last Frontier have sent me into a frenzy.

While my husband is thrilled at the prospect of a base camp for future fishing expeditions and is already salivating over the salmon he intends to catch, I have been consumed with more practical issues, such as: How does one actually move to Alaska?

Do you slap a U-Haul on the back of your vehicle and tackle the Alaskan Highway in early November? My daughter’s first inclination was to drive her aging Ford Taurus the 2,668 miles through the wilds of British Columbia and the Yukon.

“But Mom, I just got all brand-new tires,” she reminded me. “And I’d get chains.”

I know my knowledge of geography is lacking, but in my mind’s eye envisioned this as a leisurely fall drive to Anchorage, which hovers somewhere north of Seattle, right? It could work.

Then I looked at the map. It looked ominous.

When her editors-to-be said the road could be kind of “treacherous” that time of year, we ditched the idea of driving.

The next idea seemed to be shipping her car to Alaska, but apparently the ferry schedule shrinks considerably with the fall weather and we couldn’t find one to take her car. Now the plan is for her to sell her vehicle and fly to Anchorage and buy a new car there.

But that still leaves all of her belongings.

Heather is very attached to her “stuff,” in particular an unusual orange-and-gold couch she can’t bear to part with and a growing art collection. The girl also likes her shoes — all 60-plus pairs of them or whatever the count is up to now. It’s starting to rival Imelda Marcos’ vast collection.

Determined to get her worldly belongings up north, she found a company that will let her fill up a portion of a shipping container. They promise to get it to Anchorage in eight days, shoes and all. Problem solved.

All that’s left is the adventure itself. The first words out of Heather’s mouth when she called from Anchorage were: “I love it here.” I knew she was already there, heart and soul.

I’m a little apprehensive about having a child — OK, a grown child since she’ll be 27 next month — so far from home. We’ll no longer be able to jump on Amtrak to get to her or hop into the car for 12 hours. Trips will be much less spontaneous and much more expensive.

I had an aunt who got married and moved to Anchorage in the 1950s and we barely ever saw her because of the great distance. The Last Frontier got her heart and soul, too. Aunt Millie did send fabulous Christmas gifts, though, because Uncle Don was making $25 an hour as an electrician 50 years ago and we considered them rich.

By the time my parents had the time and money to take my youngest two brothers to visit my aunt and uncle in Anchorage in 1976, I was living in Austria. Aunt Millie died later that year, and I’ve never had the opportunity to travel to Alaska.

I have no doubt Heather will thrive in the vast richness of Alaska’s natural beauty and bountiful wildlife, and Anchorage will allow her to enjoy the amenities of a big city.

It won’t be long until we’ll be pulled northward for a visit. My husband is already checking plane fares.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.