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Winter 2000
Mr. Stevens Goes to Washington
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9
ALASKA
IS NOT like any other state. Lay it over the Lower 48
and its 591,004 square miles would cover most of the western half
of the country -- a fact Stevens delights in reminding his Senate
colleagues of.
For
the most part, the state is all mountains, glaciers, tundra, forests
and seashores so fabulously beautiful and unspoiled that people
who see it for the first time are often struck dumb with awe. But
after the last tourist has left in September and the last eider
duck has taken flight for a warmer climate, there are some 610,000
people or so left behind who are trying to make a living.
For
many of them, just getting from one place to another often is an
enormous difficulty, and when it comes to prying loose benefits
from the federal government, Stevens is their top gun. A budget
fight from 1998 is an instructive example of his clout. In October
of that year, when Congress was rushing to adjourn for the election
season, Alaska's all-Republican congressional delegation was at
loggerheads with the Clinton administration over a road to connect
the tiny village of King Cove with the even smaller settlement of
Cold Bay, hundreds of miles down the Alaska Peninsula. It was a
matter of survival, as they saw it. During the long, harsh winter,
King Cove residents needed a way to drive to Cold Bay, where there
was an all-weather airport. Without a road, residents had to rely
on small boats or single-engine planes to cross bay waters to Cold
Bay, and many risked death or injury each year trying to do so in
emergencies.
The
problem was that the road would cross through a wilderness portion
of the world-famous Izembek National Wildlife Refuge, perilously
close to where waterfowl by the millions feed on eelgrass to fatten
up for their annual migration. The King Cove road suddenly was one
of the hottest environmental controversies in Congress as the White
House was poised to veto the legislation.
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