Winter migration: San Diego edition



Women paint their surroundings at Cabrillo National Monument

To gain perspective , often one must remove oneself from their normal routine.  The normal routine, Alaska, not being routine for this hillbilly from Ohio,thus gaining perspective has become even more imperative. 

Having watched Arctic terns inhabit the Potter Marsh during the summer, I've decided to mimic a small portion of their annual journey.  Anchorage to San Diego is not even 1/3 of the birds pole to pole journey.  But I don't have an aunt in Antarctica thus San Diego will suffice. 

A winter furlough presented options of: holing up in my Proenneke like cabin along Turnagain Arm, moving to Anchorage and scraping together part time jobs before a temporary relocation to Juneau and lastly travelling to and fro soaking up sun, experience, and reconnecting with friends and family.

As great as it would have been to be on constant lookout for northern lights sightings and learning the finer points of avoiding frostbite, the travel bug bit hard and won hands down.

Upon arrival to southern California two things immediately happened.  My bare feet came out of hiding and I rented a bike.  An entrepreneur had the idea of delivering bikes to his clients locations.  Car less as my aunt was at work, this was an important factor.  Within an hour of the call a hybrid was dropped off complete with helmet and lock.  Liberated I took to the streets and felt the marine air penetrate into the deepest recesses of my lungs.  That smell, that ocean air smell.  So familiar yet so far removed.  Even though my cabin was along Turnagain Arm, I hadn't experienced a coast with open ocean since the Redwoods last June.  The experts profess that our sense of smell is capable of recalling our most distant memories.  After retrieving my bags and stepping outside of San Diego's airport, I must agree.  There was an instantaneous sense of place due to the aroma that an ocean breeze can only deliver.

Having visited countless times before I was not seeking the first timer San Diego vacation.  Thus no zoo , no Balboa Park, no Gaslamp etc etc.  No pleasures were to be much simpler:  waking up when I wanted, feeling the 70 degrees temperature in December, and watching the locals partake in their normal routines.

Stop for a moment and consider what the locals do:  at 11 am on a Monday full grown adults are pulling off boneless and pop shove-it tricks at the local skate park.  In Ocean Beach woman are walking their dogs via skateboard in the middle of the road, and of course the surfers are chasing the waves from dusk till dawn. Sure the weather allows for the constant pursuit of one's given pursuit.  Yet it is still up to the individual to do what one loves and love what one does. 

This is the encapsulation of the California way of life that I have come to know and try to follow.  The fact that my mailing address isn't California doesn't present that large of a problem.  The attitude once experienced and adapted travels well but damn that 70 degrees sure does help.

It was on a hike in Cuyamaca State Park that I realized that I was on such a migration.  The vast open landscape and crisp air allowed the mind to wonder and take in all the stimuli.  A wondering mind can be a dangerous thing.  Wild adventurous thoughts sprout up out of nowhere.  With only six months remaining for my hard core 30's club card the draw is to continue the migration till June.  But eventually reality sets in.  This trip should allow for the reality to settle in and be more successful.

Natty dread like crown of an ancient Ponderosa Pine atop Cuyamaca Peak

The Dark and the Darkness

The Dark and The Darkness

Who's afraid of the dark?

Given the proper circumstances we all are

the monster lurking under your bed

a night light for nocturnal ventures

down a corridor you've traveled 1000's of times before

even as an adult a power outage can lead to freaking out

or an impromptu make out session

The Darkness

that lizard brain flight or fight response

not due to the dark

instead its a much more deep rooted thing

buried under false memories

in the far unnamed cortexes of the brain

pushed down- drowning in the well of our hearts

slinking around with a monkey wrench in our soul

inky skies leaving one with a sense of floating

there are no shades of gray

its love or hate

yes or no

in or out

so which is it?

Even at high noon on the Solstice its there

it is the reason you drink

the reason you take drugs

the reason you cheat on your partner

the reason you beat your wife

the reason you burn down the house

Dark skies above portend of evil

The bad guys wear always wear black

things that go bump in the night

the unknown

yet it is the known

The Darkness that is scariest of all

things people don't know about you

things that you don't talk about

things you try to avoid thinking about

The things that are the root of the problem

The monster- and everyone has one

is what sets it off

but the monster is just a spark

the gas can is the time your uncle raped you

your friends left you

your disease raised its ugly head

your country betrayed you

If asked again

whose afraid of the dark?

I'll reply its the Darkness that scares me.

The monster - well in this instance (more detailed account in next entry)

Deep and Wide

Recent events have led to in depth thinking, reexamining, reconsidering, and self questioning. Two words best summarize these mental exercises: Deep and Wide

Full of gusto, caffeine, and rare vitamin D from the disk in the sky, found me fifteen minutes ahead of my two hiking partners. With precious alone time, I allowed the surroundings guide me not necessarily to the obvious end.

The end being the terminus of Eagle Glacier. My first unhired guide was the surprising array of colors amongst the canyon walls: rusty orange, gun barrel gray, blinding snow reflecting glare and its near cousin and ominous shady overlay. Eleven shades of glacier blue was ahead, past the midnight black of the scoured out walls.

Thanks to Juan for taking this picture as I head across the second lake en route to Eagle Glacier

Without thinking or reason, I wound atop a house sized boulder sitting as if waiting for the next guide to continue the sensory tour. Unannounced guides made their grand entrance by dropping hundreds of feet off knife scraped edges towards the snow covered bottom of the U shaped valley floor. Movements did not match the arrival of sound as the valley played a game of hide and seek. My locating device was unable to locate these sound producers, thus I had no idea how large the pebble, rock, boulder, or slab was The lack of resounding booms put my mind at ease.

Standing alone with my thoughts, totally aware of my surroundings and nothing else. No distractions this was total freedom, freedom of the mind. Time became a second by second account of history in action. Listening to rocks fall, seeing finely crushed gravel beneath larger rocks and then the glacier itself. Understanding of a process was beginning to become a reality. Away from a lecture , theory, or story I was present amidst the daily operations of a glacier.

Suddenly I understood how it works and why it works. The glacier was showing me her secrets. They weren't hidden, it just took freedom of the mind and patience. Eagle Glacier was the literal Deep and Wide.

Other events led to more figurative interpretations of the Deep and Wide.

The scene: a large living room parts late 80's home entertainment center, part thrift store well worn furniture. My familiar comfy reading room was transformed. All the windows were covered up and scores of tea lights placed around the periphery of the room. Additionally, tiny aluminum foil islands were placed on the golden shag carpet and illuminated by even more tea lights. Imagine looking down from the sky and seeing a chain of islands manned with lighthouses and beacons to guide one safely home.

Once set, the guests were invited up to sit on the floor in a circle. Some of the guests had been here before, returning because their experience was worth repeating. Newcomers traveled from locations including: Vermont, Iowa, Michigan, Kansas, and California. This being the middle of March it resembled the opening round for NCAA basketball tourney and its country wide representation.

The guests, more specifically SAGA's new AmeriCorps Crew Leaders were given a back story and instructions for the impending ceremony. The talking device was a Tlingit style paddle and the holder of said item was the lone speaker. After three days of living together, the Crew Leaders had been getting to know one another through various activities and lessons. They were receiving an introduction to the upcoming season. But now something more personal, deeper, and thought provoking on both the listener and speaker side was about to take place. The task at hand was to answer the question: why are you here? But with one caveat. Not the stock answer because I want to see Alaska, no why are you really here?

After the instructions were orated the talking stick was placed in the middle of the candlelit room. Silence followed, a time to think and gather one's thoughts. Finally, someone stood up and deliberately walked to the middle and took possession of the talking device. She expounded on her reasons as everyone else listened and began to get a deeper understanding of the speaker and their motivations.

A clockwise rotation developed and participants shared or passed as this was a challenge by choice proceeding. How often have you been in a gathering of greater than 30 and been able to share heavy thoughts with people who three days ago prior were perfect strangers? The ceremony took on a magical feeling between the heartfelt two way communication of active listening and open speaking. The flickering of candles set the comforting tone. The task was difficult both for listening and formulation one's own answer.

Upon my opportunity words sputtered out, coherent during formulation but scattered in practice. Something about building community and following my passions. After finishing I intently listened to all remaining in the room. Closing was a mimicry exercise. Sounds were produced with our hands to simulate a passing rainstorm. The leader started snapping fingers and it went around the room until the next movement. I closed my eyes and could fell the rain wash away fears and apprehensions and was left with clean refreshed feeling.

After further examination of my explanation, I'm still not sure of the Deep and Wide reasons as to why I'm here out the road in Juneau, AK. Perhaps the next visit with a glacier will allow me the time and patience to seek the true answers.

Add another to the list

As a relative newcomer to Alaska, I'm experiencing many unique things for the first time. From the disappoint of learning about a state wide ban on happy hour to seeing a marbled murrelet. As the seasons progress and my travels expand my expectations will change accordingly. Among them are seeing the northern lights and playing midnight baseball.

This weekend an unexpected mammal sighting caught me off guard. Happened to glance out the window of the Eagle Valley Center (EVC), my current residence, as I'm so prone to do with its several inviting vistas . The new snow highlighted two dark objects upstream about 250 meters away. Nearly brushed them off as two dogs ahead of their owners on a President's Day stroll.

Something didn't jive though. The behavior seemed more purposeful than that of domesticated canines. I looked out the front window and the parking lot was devoid of any visiting cars. The animals displayed an unusual interest in the stream. It donned on me that these were not dogs but wolves.

Even from a distance their size didn't match my romanticized vision of terrors of the wild running down an elk, moose, caribou, annoying lap dog, or other. Nonetheless I was excited yet almost letdown, does it count to see such amazing creatures through my living room window? The scenario of a first sighting was to be over the course of a camping trip. First, my sleep would be interrupted by far off howling. Then, the next day I would witness tracks and then sign of a kill. Finally, in the distance the magnificent beast would make its presence be known.

This is not a hoax, the best I could do to recreate the seen.  Oh and to extoll the virtues of Juneau's awesome used bookstore- its called the Amazing Bookstore- this field guide was $1

As it was through my living room window my brain must have been playing tricks. My mental Rolodex of dog like creatures did a double take: too big for a coyote and the behavior wasn't right for even a husky or similar dog of the north. It left only one possibility, a wolf.

I had just heard about a recent local black wolf regularly seen at Mendenhall Glacier, so it was not unheard of in these parts. This wolf was later shot and a memorial was held. Alaskan Brewery will not confirm or deny if the image of a black wolf on the label of their soon to be departing seasonal black IPA was a coincidence or no. When I saw the EVC caretaker and ran the details past him, he concurred and added that wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be a little smaller than their counterparts of the interior.

My unconfirmed sighting was cemented furthermore by another sighting on Tuesday. While headed south between Methodist Camp and the EVC, two co workers and I spotted yet another wolf on the east side meadow. We knew to look because a vehicle was pulled off the side of the road with both passengers peering though binoculars. Adam instantly saw what they were studying, wolf number three in two days for me! Come spring I'm looking forward to my first Grizzly sighting and the summer seasonal from ABC.

Report from the Ketchikan office

Open ocean travel for me has been limited to angling in the Gulf Stream off the coast of South Carolina. The Boston Whaler was probably shorter than my van. My semi circular canal didn't stand a chance to the 10 feet swells. A hurt sense of pride and vomit lined mouth were overcome by a mackerel wrestled from the abyss by the legendary John Vaughn.

Fast forward nearly three decades and I find myself riding a ferry bound for Alaska. Our route hugs the Canadian coast like a shifty tailback tiptoeing down the sidelines on a breakaway touchdown run. Weaving thru the Strait of Georgia, land appears through the fog. Islands ,100's of them, varying in size. Some big enough to support houses, others look life tree topped muffins wedged between hostile unforgiving rocky coast line.

Prior to our entrance to Queen Charlotte Sound the intercom springs to life. The captain alerts us to the approaching short stretch of open water. “We can expect 45 knot winds and rough seas ahead,” for effect the deck hand in the cafeteria goes from table to table offering barf bags. I watch from afar, taking in who has the intestinal fortitude and who doesn't. Naturally when the time comes, I take the bag. Quickly a Dramamine is washed down with a swig of coffee. I don't regret my decision, it made an obvious bookmark.

The lead up to the journey was made up of equal parts excitement, fear, and frustration. Lets tackle these in reverse order. The biggest frustration other than expense was the parring down and of my possessions. Not to mention why in the hell do I need 300 pencils for students I no longer teach. If one had the ability to ask the great minds of Darwin, Nietzsche, and Lebowski what makes a man the answers would vary. Something in the way of evolution, genes, chromosomes, blood types, DNA strands, cultures, languages, twitter feeds, favorite burger joints, and stuff. Stuff being possessions, we own the stuff or does the stuff own us, George Carlin anyone?

Thus the giveaway to friends and thrift store began. Countless hiking guides and maps of numerous states throughout the west, most places I've never heard of and certainly have never been. Passed on to others who thus will probably never hear of or visit. Field guides of regions far removed from the Inside Passage. Might as well be honest, never learned the scientific name of the Buckeye, my home state tree. Upon establishing myself in Alaska, naturally I look forward to accumulating more stuff.

The fear kicked in one day prior to departure. What if my vehicle can't make the trip from Seattle to Bellingham, southern most Alaska ferry terminal. The beast, old blue, Big Betty, Lucky 13, G Money, and the Lorax, all proper nomenclature applied to my ride. That damn thing still has life, just how much is the question. To put my mind at ease a new coat of duct tape was applied to the side view mirror. Rest assured.

Lastly, excitement. This is a natural feeling whenever headed to a new destination. Alaska, the Last Frontier lies ahead. A place I've always have wanted to see and now will be living there.

one if by land, two if by sea

A recent co worker would often hide his frustrations with the quote, "I'm in it for the adventure."  Usually this allowed us to cope with a bad decision by our boss.  Over time this became a routine excuse for bad decisions of mine own.  Example: after driving my van into a pool of water over two feet deep and getting stuck , thus killing the engine, I let out a potty mouthed tirade.  Soon all was calmed by saying , " well I'm in it for the adventure."  This quote isn't just for smoothing out bad situations.  Its very helpful as a reminder to get out and try things.  Get lost, get dirty, get scared, get uncomfortable, and getting humbled.

Keeping in that tradition, of being in it for the adventure, I've recently accepted a new job.  This requires a relocation to this country's last frontier, Alaska.  For two months home will be Juneau and then Anchorage.  Funny thing about Juneau, its not accessible by automobile.  From the inside passage where countless islands are crammed with conifers, to the Coast Mountains with glaciers and crevasses, this land is primeval.  Not even the late Ted Stevens could procure funds  for a road building boondoggle to continue our addiction to easy access to everything. 

Instead one if left with two choices: fly or take a boat.  Flying of course is faster, cheaper, and easier.  But even a minimalist like myself has possessions and two checked bags isn't going to do it.  This is actually a full time job, not a seasonal position where one can live out of a duffel bag. 

The Alaska Marine Highway System has stops from Bellingham Wa to the middle of the Aleutian chain and several ports in between.  Upon review, the price from Bellingham was almost prohibitive.  Prince Rupert B.C. , just south of the lower tip of Alaska and east of the upper portion of the Charlotte Islands would cut my price in half.  One only needs to drive about 1000 miles from Seattle to accomplish this feat. 

I'm in it for the adventure but am aware of Murphy's law.  Vehicle issues could be the least of potential troubles.  The imagination runs wild with border crossing problems, blizzards, avalanches, hurricanes, attacking moose herds, marauding pirates, Bigfoot encounters, black ice, exchange rates, and a bad cup of Tim Horton's coffee.

The choice was easy, a two day ferry ride out of Bham it is.  Better load up on the Dramamine as my sea legs were lost in Ohio.