A few days ago, I caught this sunrise over the cove. I took this picture from the kitchen window of the new HomeBase here in Ketchikan. I'm excited for summer. It'll be great to have so much daylight to mess around with. I'm looking forward to working and home improvement and exploration and stuff.
It's quarter to 8 in the morning, Alaska time. I've been up for almost for hours. I took advantage of the time to finish reading Robert Heinlein's "Stranger In A Strange Land". What an amazing commentary that book was on narrow-minded people, faithful followers of this faith or that one, with hearts full of hatred and awkward taboos. After reading the ending this morning, I feel compelled to consider myself and everyone, everything around me God. Thou art God. It's a very Universalist concept if you grok it rightly, that we are all God, all part of an interconnected web of life, part of the Force, and the list of religious references goes on.
I watched the sunrise this morning, wondering what was in store for this day. The sun climbed out from nerving the mountains on my Revillagigedo Island, slowly painting the narrows and the hills on Gravina Island with orange and red hues of alpenglow. The cool contast of the haze and snow-caped 3000 foot peaks offered a larger-than-life-sized analogy of the yin and yang that God and Mother Nature must have created together.
Sigh... I love Alaska.
Winter in Ketchikan is an adventure. When the rest of the country is freezing, we have a low of 44°... and rain. Last week we had four sunny days in a row. But now, rain. I love this place.
I found myself standing on the deck of the cabin again, the place of the relaxation of the previous summer. This time, I saw it through the unforgiving eyes of a Ketchikan winter, a beautifully powerful chill and slate gray clouds garnishing the view.
The cabin thus ceases to be a simple place of rest and relaxation and becomes a solitary refuge against the elements. The wood stove is now the heart of the cabin.
I look forward to warm food on a warm cabin.
Tonight, I sit on the forward lounge of the M/V Malispina, one og the larger ships in the Alaska Marine Highway System. It's one hell of a storm we're chugging into, although the waters aren't nearly as choppy as they were earlier today.
It's 7:30, and it's been dark for a few hours already. Last night, I sleep on the solarium at my new friend Matt's insistance. Had I been ten years younger and making a summer voyage, that would have been amazing. I'll hope to talk my brother into making that trip later.
I'm waiting to connect top a network as my phone will incur international roaming charges since I'm technically in Canada right now. That's okay. I'll land in Ketchikan in roughly twelve hours, in plenty of time to meet the family there. They're flying in on Monday.
As the end of my time at the HomeBase in Denver draws to a close, I look at my scantily decorated living room, highlighted by a sleeping baby. Life is beautiful. I'm not downed by the things that I'm leaving, but I'm recharged by the things I'm hoping to create for myself. A move of this kind, to Alaska, to a new and unique future, is as fortuitous as we allow it to be.
The blog will stay in good hands, continuing to be authored by me and also by Bart Schleicher, a promising young photographer who is poised to continue sharing adventures and enriching this blog and my life.
The sun and my son are both rising, and the day must begin. The adventure rests in the near future. The world holds endless wonder for those who are willing to seek it out. We shall not fear.
