Scene: A coffee shop called Resurrect Art and Coffee. I sit in a leather armchair, finally warm after a damp day. Wood shelves lined the walls, and they were filled with all sorts of local creative works: paintings, greeting cards (my downfall), jewelry, used books, and even a small line of used clothing. I drink my tea and begin to write.
“Feet damp. Headache. Rain. Warm citrus tea.”
I’d arrived there with less than an hour until closing. I chatted with the barista about their tea selection, and then, when I finally chose one, she surprised me by saying, “Sure, my friend.” I don’t think anyone has addressed me as “my friend” before. Then, when she handed me the steaming mug, she said, “Here you go, my friend.” So it wasn’t a fluke.
Something about calling me “friend” when she didn’t even know me wiggled its way into my soul. “I belong here,” I thought. I could greet myself every morning with that warm phrase, “Hello, friend.”
Calling me “friend” made my day. Thank you.
Before arriving at the coffee shop, I’d visited the Alaska Sealife Center. It seemed like a good place to go on a drizzly day, my first since I began my trip.
I watched the puffins play and dance in the water. What funny little birds they were!
Then, I said hello to these creatures, watching them in their tanks for quite a while.
I looked into the eyes of a fish shaped like scotch tape and told it, “You’re beautiful.”
Ultimately, it was the Giant Octopus clinging to the front glass wall of the tank that drew me in.
The octopus simply rested there, suctioned to the glass with its huge head dangling below its body. I envied its quiet, peaceful power. Just resting. Being its octopus self. It was mesmerizing.
I left the Sealife Center feeling warmer and somewhat drier than when I’d arrived. The cold dampness had seeped into my bones from a guided hike I’d done that morning.
We’d hiked from Lowell Point to Tonsina Point and back again. My guide lived in Los Angeles most of the year and came to Alaska in the summer to be a guide. Generally, I wouldn’t hike with a guide, but in Alaska, I didn’t feel safe on my own. So, I hired a guide from Kenai Backcountry Adventures. Lucky for me, I was the only one who’d signed up, and they agreed to run the trip anyway. So, I got a personalized hike with lots of exploring and conversation.
Neither Monkey nor I could believe the crystal clear, aqua-tinted running along the trail. Later, I wrote, “Water in rivers and streams: so blue, glacier blue, deep aquamarine. Clear to the bottom. Mesmerizing.”
The soft, squishy ground reminded me of some of the hikes I’ve done in the northwestern U.S. The undergrowth was foamier than carpet and so green it was almost neon. All around. No snakes. No bugs. No bear.
The resident bear, whom the guide knew well, frequented this part of the river. I really, really wanted to see the bear, and my guide told me that they’d seen him just the day before.
After we left the bear’s riverside gourmet restaurant (without seeing him), another hiker came down the trail and warned us that he’d seen a bear on the beach. I couldn’t wait to see it, especially because both my guide and I were carrying bear spray and my guide knew that this particular bear wasn’t known to be aggressive. Of course, I didn’t want to get up close to it, but still, I wanted to see it.
No bear here…
Or here…
Neat fungi! But, no bear.
We stopped for lunch near this waterfall before heading out onto the beach, where, I was sure, I’d finally see my bear.
This is where the bear should have been….but he wasn’t.
On the beach portion of the hike, I did see some amazing mollusks clinging to the rocks.
Eventually, we reentered the forest for the trek through the fantasy woods and back to the trailhead.
Then, damp, cold, and thrilled to have been out on the trail, I set off into town to the Sealife Center, the coffee shop, Seward Brewing Company for dinner, and then my cozy yurt where I cuddled up under the blankets in the new sweatshirt I’d bought and listened to the rain until I fell asleep.