The Ferry Days

Alaska

April 15^th.

The other men camping on the Solarium deck are either concerned with finding work or are on their way to new jobs. The logger cannot say more than two words without peppering in the f-word in amazingly diverse ways, “Motherfuckin’” being the obvious favorite. An Old man with a long beard courteously helped me with my tent. He spoke of a simple cabin in the wild where he lives alone. “This fella’ comes to my door one day and I says to him ‘Didn’t you read the goddamn sign? No Trespassin’. He just stares at me sayin’ ‘I gotta fill out this form…’ and I says ‘You know my name, dontchya? He says ‘yes.’ And I says ‘you know I live here, dontchya?’ and he says ‘Yes.’ ‘So why don’t you get the hell off my porch. And take your shit somewhere else.’ and I slammed the door on ‘im. Dumb bastard just sat down in the chair by the door. So I go back out, ‘Go fill out your fuckin’ census somewhere else!’ God Almighty! I hate authority.”

He swears more around the loggers but is a very docile man otherwise--full of stories.

A family from South Dakota sequestered a fleet of lounge chairs, the children eyeing me silently as I fussed over my tent. The pairs of unblinking eyes reminded me of dogs at the pound, waiting to be taken by someone to a new home.

I should have put more thought into packing. My ground pad is checked in, as well as my glasses. If it weren’t for Jeff’s last minute suggestion of bringing my tent, I’d be sleeping on a lawn chair with the mongrel children of South Dakota.

The boat rides gently in the ocean, spreading an even swath of blue green swirling water in a wide wake which trails us into the unseen horizon. It rocks very little, felt most keenly while lying prone in my sleeping bag. I’ve not yet been able to glimpse the beauty that surely surrounds us, the mist being thick as we coast further out to sea.

According to the GPS, we’ve only begun our journey, passing now along the south eastern third of Vancouver Island.

In the footsteps of adventure, to one of the world’s last great wildernesses yet I have no nerves, butterflies or fears. Strange calm now, as usual during times of major transition – the same that I felt before boarding the plane to Taiwan lasting far into the first stage of my trip there. What would John Muir feel at a time like this?

Alaska

April 16^th.

Woke up many times in the night and rethought my sleeping arrangements. If it’s possible, I’ll be grabbing my sleeping pad as soon as we make our first landing in Ketchikan.

I awoke to fat snowflakes and sunshine, remarking to my neighbor on the deck that “I thought I left the snow behind in Utah.” Winter knows no bounds for me this year.

I decided I needed a practice at my new study of Yoga this morning, to the embarrassment of a few passengers who had the misfortune of catching me in my long johns on the aft viewing deck. The stretching exercise was just what I needed after a long night sleeping on unpadded cold steel.

The weather shaped up nicely in the afternoon with great gaps of sunshine between the clouds, revealing the wild dense timber of the landscape on either side of our channel. The snow line is clearly visible and not at all as high as it could be.

A few whales were spotted on the starboard side around 1pm, heading south at a whale’s pace.

The scenery glides by but changes little. Mile after mile of untouched forests of young, old, broken and sentry evergreens carpet the rocks which climb out of the water with a mind to make it to the clouds without delay. All across the shore are studded inlets and coves and bays. Sometimes a narrow channel would betray a large hidden body of water just beyond the eye’s reach, visible for only a moment as we cruise by.

Standing on the bow, the stars all but hidden by low clouds, the chill wind tells of a great cold land up north. You can feel the ice, the dark ocean and the ancient trees lying hundreds of miles ahead. The boat moves with such humming ease it feels as though the North Pole is winching us in herself, pulling us into her bosom. Cordially she invites us, whether we are prepared or not, to share in her vast landscape.

The early explorers and native inhabitants of this land were made of a material that our flesh and bone can only shadow today. Theirs was a true adventure, a true test of skill and bravery for we are now so laden with creature comforts that it is regarded commonplace to enjoy “Eat. Pray. Love.” while travelling one of nature’s greatest cathedrals.

Hot showers, warm soup, central heating and satellite navigation. They would gasp at our reality.

Alaska

April 17^th.

The boat has been overrun by high school bands. We picked up the load at Ketchikan at seven in the morning and they infiltrated every nook and cranny with sleeping bags, squealing, and the odd burst of song. The latter being the most welcome portion of their infestation.

The most notably portion of this day of the trip was the sunset. The sun tucked itself behind a high ridge of snow capped peaks on the left side of the ferry, darkening as it dropped to burn the sky orange and red which painted a flush on the glittering snow. At the same time that the sky was putting on its show, a couple girls were sitting on the bow harmonizing a sweet song that I didn’t recognize but welcomed readily.

I ended the night at the port of Juneau, sleeping on the floor of the ferry terminal between midnight and six in the morning when my next ferry would arrive to bring me the rest of the way to Haines and eventually Skagway—my new home.