Nome, in so many ways, is the Alaskan archetype: a rough-hewn, fun-loving, undying Wild West ghost town, thriving at the uttermost edge of the planet. With America’s biggest concentration of Whites north of the tree line, the town is at once familiar and exotic: on one hand, with paved streets, grassy public squares, many saloons (more than in the rest of Bush Alaska combined) and palpable gold-rush history, it has the infrastructure like the rural West.
On the flipside, there’s the setting: hard against the ice-choked Bering Sea, cut off from the continental road system, closer to Siberia than to Anchorage, and patrolled by polar creatures like musk oxen and reindeer.
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