I knew this would happen on my first Sunday, up here in Wrangell Alaska. Religiously, a new story appears on my blog and Facebook page every week. Don’t want to waste too many words, but I got to tell you I have been writing each morning, since I got here a handful of days ago. So, this is part of a work in progress that I will share in its entirety when I get home.
Today’s slice of the pie is about yesterday, because I’ve gotten accustomed to the rhythm of sleeping on my experiences before sharing them. Forgive the absence of back story, but there is simply way too much for one sitting.
I got up yesterday with nothing, but time on my hands. A completely different living space requires all sorts of improvising, because nothing is where it is supposed to be. Some semblance of order is necessary for this old, neurotic Jew. Whenever I get out of bed, wherever it happens to be, the Zen sit is number one. All it takes is a pillow, where I park my ass, with legs folded like always. In this case, my view is not the wall, with the Buddha parked on a wooden box, plus some other paraphernalia.
What I see each morning is something I had to write about and I have, but I just can’t do it here, or I’ll never get to today’s story. Right after the sit, it’s coffee time and that routine had to be locked in the first morning here. The details are silly to recount. It is simply how an idiot makes do with what he’s got to work with.
Yoga is its own kind of challenge, in a space with none of the landmarks I use to balance myself in the different poses. In my mind, it’s important to do this practice and there is no such thing as a good one or a bad one. That said, it would be a comical scene to observe and I am thrilled there are no witnesses.
We are now at the end of what I’d call my ablutions, sparing you the bathroom part, which I religiously do, but some things are just nobody’s business, and why would anyone care?
Finally, we get to the goddamn story I have been dying to share, not knowing where I will find the words, because I am not sure they exist. Yesterday morning was pretty much like the one I just described. Writing wise, the main part is always about how the day turned out, versus my expectations from that morning.
Yesterday, I casually referenced I was likely taking a boat ride, knowing absolutely nothing else about it. When I really got into my writing groove, I decided I didn’t want to write about other people, or if I did, only in passing. I respect the privacy of others. While I can pull down my pants in my stories and just don’t feel I have that right.
My hosts have been so generous and thoughtful, I have been truly overwhelmed and I mean it. They figure dramatically into my experiences here, making my storytelling richer than I could ever have hoped for. Richer doesn’t mean better, because I don’t measure my tales, I share them.
I feel completely disappeared here. The only time my phone rings is when Brett calls to ask what I am doing and if I’m ready, which could mean most anything, except this was about that boat ride.
I jumped into my clothes, which takes way more time than home. I always leave the place with around five layers of clothing. So far, the highs have been the upper fifties, with a promise of sun any day now. I think Kauai has thinned my blood more than most, because my thermostat is like a hair trigger, when it comes feeling the slightest hint of cold.
I jumped into my Ford F150 and headed to his home. Wrangell is an island, amongst a brotherhood of islands. Your second car is a boat. Along with tons of equipment Brett needs for his construction business, boats are crucial and he’s got em. I figured we were going on sixteen footer with a big outboard, prepared to freeze my ass off. We walked down the “plank” to where his boats are docked.
Our transport was this aluminum looking, work horse, a 20+footer, with an enclosed cabin and plenty of power. I was perched in a comfortable chair, directly behind the windshield. When I met Brett years ago on Kauai, he was a guy with robotic intuition, making him a perfect, human extension of whatever machine he was operating. The second we began maneuvering to leave the dock area to head out, he was doing it again. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to seamlessly do it.
I got to be upfront with you here. I could have gotten back after the trip, which I am going to try and describe, and looked up the facts, like any good writer. However, as I have repeatedly confessed, I am merely a storyteller. We don’t have that kind of pressure, we just tell a story, mostly about ourselves and fuck accuracy. It’s not the point.
This part of southeastern Alaska has its own water story, in between the mouth of the ocean and the inhumanly muscular arm of the Stikine River. Here is my problem, whenever I think about this ride, I cry. I cry, because I don’t have the vocabulary to capture seeing God, for the first time in my life.
Once we actually left that in-between waterway and entered the Stikine, my jaw dropped and it stayed that way, because what I saw defied any experience I’ve ever had. I was riding through a National Geographic show that you see on a screen and never imagine being in your very own. I couldn’t take a picture, because it would feel like being blindfolded, trying to describe what an elephant felt like. Living it is the only way to do it justice.
There were sheer, granite faces of rock, rising straight up hundreds of feet. Islands of spruce and hemlock curved in between. The river carved its path wherever the hell it felt like traveling, unstoppable and determined to reach the ocean. There are islands of land in the middle, along with shallows and sandbars and huge rocks, tumbling down from the glacier and hiding just below the surface. Brett was a fucken surgeon, navigating like the Maestro of The Stikine. We were bobbing and weaving, with the grace of Mohammed Ali, or like a little kid in a bathtub, zooming his little boat around.
Sitting there, my jaw resting on my chest, I was looking straight into the face of heaven. Sandwiched in between my other worldly awe, I knew this is why I came here. I was thrilled I got to see all this just once in my life before I die, an experience very few of us will ever have. I have never felt such power in any landscape before this banquet of nature’s perfection.
You know me, I am saving the best for latest. I saw a fairly large piece of ice floating up ahead, with one or two more to follow. In my best Cousteau, I asked Brett, “Is that what I fucken think it is?” I was afraid to even say the word, glacier. “You wanna go see the glacier?” “Are you fucken kidding me?”
We took one of the many magnificent meanderings of the river and headed toward Shakes Glacier. Not only did I get to see it, I got as close as you could without walking on it, or whatever you do on one of these frozen, timeless behemoths. Brett set the boat to go in tiny circles, while he stepped outside, leaning over to grab a frozen teardrop from Shakes. We took it home and I had a Patron and soda with glacier ice!
The day ended with dinner at The Stik and I had real fish and chips. This is only a fraction of my journey in Wrangell, with much more to experience and write about.
Tomorrow is a boat ride to the Anan Creek Bear Observatory. Now, there is another one of the stories that will write itself, just like this one. I think later on today is another on the water adventure. I know I made a big deal about coming here without a plan of any kind, which sounded cool and romantic. The truth, through the magic of hindsight, there is no way I could have been prepared for any of this anyway.
I am so blessed and flooded with gratitude.