A pair of bald eagles works the shallow waters along my
beach. One flies off with a silver salmon in his talons,
lands on the antenna tower a hundred yards behind me and
tucks into his supper. Black bears snatch fish from a stream
that empties at the other end of the beach, near where the
plane crashed. A stone's throw from the shore a harbor seal
pokes his head up near a group of sea birds, then dives
again. Father out on the bay a humpback whale blows and
sounds, flashing his tail like a lazy peace sign as the sun
slips behind the mountains on the far shore. Another day in
the life. Things are pretty much as I imagine they have
always been here, except that my RV is parked in the midst
of it.
Click
on any photo to enlarge it.
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I'm
living in the Alaskan fjord called Resurrection
Bay, surrounded by forested mountains and
retreating glaciers. My six-wheeled
"cabin" rests on a broad, rocky beach
facing south towards the mouth of the bay.
Continuing on from there it's 2,500 miles across
the Pacific to Hawaii. Part
of me longs to set sail in that direction. The
rest of me is supremely content right where I am.
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This
beach, known locally as Fourth of July Beach, has been my
home for a couple of weeks now. I generally stay a few days
at a time, a hermit in paradise, then drive 8 miles into
Seward to pick up supplies, empty and top off my RV's tanks,
log onto the Internet to send and receive emails, and cruise
back out to my beach. Think of it as alternative lifestyle
commuting.
At
home I work at various projects - writing, fiddling with
digital photographs, preparing the RV for its
fast-approaching winter storage, batting stones with a fat
stick and yelling "home run!" whenever I lob one
into the surf 50' away. Sometimes I just stop and look
around me and I am in awe. My heart fills and my eyes water
and I think, "My God, this is so beautiful."
In
fact, that's something I've been doing a lot these past
months. It would be impossible to overstate the beauty, the
grandeur and the soul-stirring impact of the lands through
which I've been traveling. From the Outer Banks to Denali,
wherever people are least in evidence, nature's creation is
showcased and I am continually blown away by it. As I wrap
up this summer's road trip, this drive about, bear
with me while I review (all right, show off) some of the
better photographs I've taken along the way:
This last shot is the winner of my recent photo contest.
Last
week I spent another 36 hours in Anchorage, where I finished
applying to the Coast Guard for my captain's license renewal
and ran some errands. As before, I was glad to finish and
get out of there, back to more natural surroundings.
Camped
on Fourth of July Beach once again, I compounded and waxed
my entire RV. That was a workout and a half. Just washing it
clean for the first time in 6 months and 13,000 miles was an
ordeal. I spread out the work over a few days, breaking it
up with some writing projects. For example, I got invited to
write a short chapter for a book about using computers in
cars & RV's. (Click here
if you'd like to read what I wrote, then use your
browser's Back button to return to this page.)
Oh,
I stopped by the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) office when
I was in Anchorage and asked them if they'd like to hire me
to write and photograph back-country stuff for them next
summer. My friend, John Nelson, gave me the idea. He did
some work for them a long time ago and got to fly all over
the Alaskan bush country in a small plane. I can think of
worse ways to spend a summer. What the hell, you never know
if you don't ask.
My
mother wrote me saying she is worried about me out here
among all these bears and moose. I wrote back saying,
"I haven't seen any bears or moose at all in Alaska
outside of the Denali National Park. I hear about them a
lot, but they seem to do a good job of avoiding people most
of the time. Whenever I approach blind curves and dense
thickets in the woods, I call out and clap my hands a couple
of times. Most bears and moose will move away if they hear a
human approaching. The key is not to surprise them.
Unfortunately, making noise also frightens away all the
other wildlife. Good thing the scenery is so
spectacular."
In any
case, all I have to do is survive the next 30 days up here
and then I won't have to deal with that particular threat
again until next year. Of course, I'll still have to contend
with terrorists on the commercial airlines flights, muggers
in New York, and all those inbred sheep in New Zealand. If I
make it back to Thailand this winter, as I hope to for a
month or two, I should at last be safe there for a while
among the kindly, smiling Buddhists - except for AIDS and
the opium smugglers in the northern hills.
Now
that I think about it, life is a pretty dangerous place,
isn't it? I mean, a guy would be lucky to get out of here
alive.
Next Entry: 09/20/04
