ANCHORAGE — Ron Feldhouse draws the line at 45 degrees below zero. Then it's time to sleep indoors. Otherwise, he camps in the woods outside Fairbanks, where winter temperatures can hover around minus-20 or colder for weeks at a stretch.
Dealing with extreme elements is the norm for Feldhouse, 47, and other hard-core homeless Alaskans who live outdoors in weather so cold it can be easily fatal for the unprepared.
"It's a learned art," Feldhouse said. "After a while, you just start getting used to it."
Many of Alaska's indigent -- a population that's difficult to measure -- cope by drifting from couch to couch or sleeping in motels, cars, boats and homeless shelters in the larger cities.
But a small number say they prefer dealing with the bitter cold to following rules at shelters, which offer limited stays, forbid the use of alcohol and drugs, and impose strict curfews.
Ed Heeckt arrived a year ago from Arlington, Wash., settling in Juneau, where he got a short-lived job processing fish for $8.50 an hour. He stayed at the Glory Hole, a local shelter, for a week, but hated the cramped quarters.
Unable to afford even the cheapest rent, he set up a hand-me-down tent among spruce and alder trees at an abandoned mining site outside downtown Juneau. In the summer, he has a perfect view of the cruise ships that frequent the town.
"I can't handle the snoring and the smelly feet of a shelter," said Heeckt, 36. "But I'm very independent and I can survive anywhere."
Practiced campers say it's not that hard to stay warm in a state on the far northern latitudes -- it just takes a little ingenuity. They dig caves out of snow mounds, pack snow high around outer tent walls for insulation, and line inner edges with clothing. Some burrow in trash bins or curl up in doorways.
On cold nights, Heeckt burns a can of gel fuel inside his tent for 10 minutes to get it "nice and warm." He puts on layers of shirts and pants, a couple pairs of socks and a hat before diving into his mummy-style sleeping bag, which is sandwiched between a plastic foam pad and a pile of blankets.
Feldhouse, who has been without a permanent home in Alaska and North Dakota for 25 years, is a regular at several Fairbanks coffee shops. When temperatures plummet, he can be found inside long past midnight, nursing a cup of coffee before heading to camp on his bicycle.
