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.
