7/4/14
At sea, Baranof Wind,
Glacier Bay
“When I set out to see the world.”
It is a phrase that permeates this document, having now appeared 22
times, but it is a phrase that I never fully explained. It started two years ago today (or maybe
tomorrow). When I set out to see that
world on that fateful night in Kentucky, it started with a simple vow: that I
would visit every US WHS and state. I
might have added every Canadian WHS and province as that night, as well. Those were the first 4 of my 17 goals, the
other 13 were slowly added over the course of the past 2 years. The first 4 goals, which I have deemed the
“Absolute Goals” are easily within my reach.
I will say “Mainland US Complete” next summer, and that will just leave
Hawaii in the US, and all of my Canada trips have been fully financed. It is the other goals that are harder. How the fuck will I see ancient Babylon? Everest?
Cuba? Those are the hard
ones. What crazy trips to Mexico will I
have to take? Haiti? When I set out to see the world, I never
thought it would be easy, but I always just assumed money would be the limiting
reactant, not sectarian violence and drug cartels. I will more properly reflect on the past two
years as we make our way through the WHS for the next 4+ days. My computer is getting wet, so I will have to
wrap up. After I closed last night, it
was still light out past 11 PM. I woke
up before 4 PM, but I called off the hike due to the rain. It being light at 2:45 AM is special, but
3:45 AM you can get in Maine. I woke up
in earnest at 5:30 AM, put on my suit, relit the cigar, and went for a brief
hike. Sokol was still sleeping, so I went
for the breakfast buffet, bringing a plate outside while I finished my
cigar. I had told Sokol we needed to be
at the dock at 7 AM. I got back to the
room at 6:55 AM, and he was not ready. I
could have killed him. We made our way
to the dock, but where were all the people?
I was ready to throw him into the bay.
We saw the boat, and they were waiting for the last stragglers. When we got on, we saw Brad, my personal hero
of the trip so far, and the guy who just told me I couldn’t smoke my cigar under
the canopy, so I will close for now and finish the cigar.
I have mentioned before that I do not care what strangers think about
me, but what are strangers? Is someone
with whom I will share a philosophy class 25 times and then never see again
after the four months are over a stranger?
Is a park ranger who turned what would have been abject failure until
something I could call success a stranger?
Is a tour guide whom I am paying a stranger? These are questions that can have no clear
answer, and they must be evaluated for each individual. Today, here on this boat in Glacier Bay, Brad
was most certainly not a stranger. As
soon as I got on board, he personally greeted me. Knowing how important the stamps were to me,
he had gone over to Park HQ and picked up the stamps so that I would have
access to them on the boat. When I got
on the boat, he took me aside to show me the stamps he had brought. He was not a stranger today. He was my hero. That was why, when he said my cigar was
bothering people, I apologized to him and immediately took my final 11 puffs as
I threw it out.
After we boarded, we
went straight to the bench on the outside lower deck, and I lit up a
Davidoff. After a while, the smoke and
cold was starting to bother Sokol, so he went inside, and I wrote the first
part of this entry. People always ask me
if I meet people and make new friends to travel. My answer is always, “not if I can help it.” When I set out to see the world, I set out to
see the world’s most significant cultural and historical heritage sites. I did not set out to make new friends. I observe culture by looking at it in
macrocosm, not by getting anecdotal data from every individual’s microcosm of
experience. Mark Twain wrote that travel
is poison to prejudice, and I have only started to understand. Without a doubt, my favorite place to travel
is The North, so, when people ask if I saw any Eskimos, it bothers me, a
lot. The most overreaching group would
be Inuits, but there are 100 of tribes each as different as French are from
Spaniards, and not one of them is called “Eskimo,” or at least that I know
of. Maybe there is a small group, but
that is not people mean. They are trying
to group every single native from Alaska to Greenland into that single
term. It bothers me, a lot. Why do I care how people refer to these
strangers? Because, all of those
strangers, as a whole, comprise a major aspect of the culture of The North.
After I finished the first part of my entry,
I went back inside and discovered the reason the smoke was so bothering
people. There was a fan in the wall next
to me that was basically serving as a transfer grill between the outside deck
and the inside seating area. If I had
sat on the other bench, it probably would have been fine, but I only wanted to
have one more cigar, the Cuban with Sokol to officially break in the WHS and
celebrate July 4th. It was
cold, and I was wet and miserable from trying to finish my cigar on the top
deck. Oh, that’s right, I just stopped
smoking when Brad told me to stop and then relit it on the top deck after I
finished the first part of the entry.
Sokol could not sit still, and I got irked every time we stopped for
wildlife viewing. This is a WHS because
it is the largest non-polar ice field in the world, not because it has
bears. It’s called Glacier Bay, not Bear
Mountain.
Meanwhile, we spotted a bald
guy wearing a sweatshirt that said “Not all who wander are lost.” I had been trying to incorporate Lord of the
Rings quotes all day without Sokol realizing it, so I got a kick out of
that. I told Sokol to go up to him and
say, “The crownless again shall be king,” which was the end of the poem that
contained the quote from the sweatshirt, but Sokol thought that I was making fun
of him being bald (“crownless”). And
refused. When the guy walked past,
seeing as he was a total stranger, and I didn’t care, I said the line. He smiled, clearly not getting it, and walked
away. Sokol then told me that is not the
right way to start a conversation with someone, giving me an example of some
guy who started shouting “Go Knicks, ‘Melo rules!” or something in re: a
Carmelo Anthony jersey Sokol had been wearing.
He later walked up to the bald guy and demonstrated how to start a
proper conversation. They also had some
more of the smoked salmon chowder, so we each had two cups of that as we
started to approach the ice field.
Once
we saw the ice, we lit up our Cubans, the last two of my Hoyo de Monterrey box
and went to the top deck. Due to the
wind and the rain, I knew it would be a quick smoke, quick enough that we would
finish before we got to the glacier or had time to get miserable. Then we saw it in the distance, so I got my
WHS package and water bottle to take a picture.
With the wind and rain, I knew just how risky it was. A little later, just as we were finishing our
cigars, we saw the glacier in earnest. I
knew that, in order to properly say I had visited this site, I would need a
picture with my Cuban, my water bottle, my WHS folder, and my brochure. I also knew that the people would soon be
coming out to see the glacier. I grabbed
my stuff, and I knew that I would have one chance at this. It would have to perfect, and it would have
to be quick.
I did it. I snapped the picture, and then I saw
Brad. He told me to ditch the cigar,
which I gladly did, and he thanked me a couple of times for doing what I would
have done even if he hadn’t asked. As we
approached the glacier, my phone continued to get wet and less usable, but I
kept snapping pictures. I had been travelling
48 hours to see this glacier, and I just wanted to take pictures, opting for
fulfillment value over enjoyment value.
Fortunately, we would spending 30 minutes at the glacier, so I had
plenty of time to take every type of picture, every angle, every style I
needed, and still have 15 minutes to ogle the glacier.
Once I was done with the pictures, I put away
my camera, and then I had my “Grand Canyon” moment. I do not think my reader needs an explanation
of that term. I was in total awe. With my camera away, I could spend as much
time as I wanted staring at the glacier.
This was a sight worthy of the term WHS.
I knew that one of these pictures would be my new lock screen, and I had
gotten the perfect picture. As we were
flying SEA-JNU, the guy sitting next to us told us that a ranger had told him
that the average time someone spends looking at the Grand Canyon was 11
seconds. I would have guessed more like
11 minutes, and I don’t think I even needed 11 minutes to stare at this
beautiful glacier. I was wet and
freezing, but I didn’t care. I had been
travelling 48 hours by limo and plane and smaller plane and tinier plane and
bus and foot and boat to these 11 minutes (and the stamps and the 100+
pictures). I don’t even think I used the
full 11 minutes before I went inside.
Once we got moving again, I went to get some coffee to warm up my
hands. I then went outside and proceeded
to finish this entry, which I will now close since there is apparently a whale
out here.
Juneau, Alaska
Last night, I wrote about the best piece of salmon I ever ate. The salmon I had tonight was better. After I closed from the boat, I had had
enough for the day. The Park held no
more allure for me, and I just wanted to get back on the grid, hop across to
Juneau, get the car, crash, and make my way to Whitehorse tomorrow. After the WHS, Whitehorse is my most
anticipated stop of the trip. It will
allow me to say “Northern Canada Complete,” though I probably hold off an
actually saying it until I am at the Kluane plaque. When I sat out to see the world, I did not
expect to fall in love with The North, as I so have. I certainly did not expect to fall in love
with anything other than stamps and plaques, as so much of my travel has been
aimed towards collecting, yet I did. I
fell in love with The North. I fell in
love with mountains. I fell in love with
a fortified city. I fell in love with
park rangers and souvenir saleswomen from Fort Smith to Quebec. If I were to say that I was in love with a
woman in New York, it would mean something very different than what I said a
year ago tomorrow in Fort Smith about that Parks Canada worker. In New York, it means that I have developed a
relationship, that I have found high values of attraction for all three aspects
of attraction. In Canada, it means that
she represent a whole new life. When I
said that I was in love in Fort Smith, I was more in love WITH Fort Smith, that
I could imagine myself living there. I
would never want to spend more than a few days at a time in the Caribbean, so
it is quite telling that I have never said anything similar about a woman I saw
anywhere in the Caribbean, or Florida, or for that matter, anywhere outside of The
North.
When I set out to see the world,
I was absolutely not looking for a new home, and I’m still not, but I know,
without a doubt, that, if I were to leave New York, it would be for the
North. As I said, I have thoroughly
explored Canada from Fort Smith to Nunavut, from Toronto to Quebec. That leaves three areas: Atlantic Canada, the
Prairie Provinces, and the Pacific Northwest (BC and the Yukon). I will be taking three trips over the next
few years to Atlantic Canada, culminating with saying “Canada Complete” three
years from today. Next year, on my July
4th trip, I will be completing the Prairie Provinces. Tomorrow, I drive through the Yukon. The name alone holds a mysterious allure. It is the last of the three Northern
territories I will visit. As much as
Nunavut shared with NWT, they each have their own unique aspects, and I fully
aspect to find new things to love in the Yukon, just as it will share the
similar aspects. Technically, however,
our site for tomorrow is in BC, and we will only overnighting in
Whitehorse. Sunday will be the proper
day for the Yukon, and we will even be doubling back 20 or so miles to the
plaque so that I can treat each of the units of the WHS with their own
day.
During my Eurotrip last summer,
where I thoroughly covered an area the size of Alaska, I left Kennedy on a
Friday afternoon and hit the ground running after a red-eye flight, starting
immediately with my ABC day. I still
remember the first three sites: Aachen, Bruhl, Cologne. The original plan had us landing in Juneau Thursday
night and not doing any real driving until Saturday morning, more than 36 hours
later. We wound up arriving in Juneau
even earlier than that, making it more like 50 hours before we hit the ground
running. It is such a different trip,
and they are incomparable trips.
Eurotrip was about culture.
Alaska will be about nature.
Eurotrip was about not knowing anyone other than a couple of
artists. Alaska is with my best friend,
and Sokol is a socializer, so we are making friends as we go. Eurotrip entailed a round trip flight, a
rental car, and a ferry. Alaska will
entail 10 legs of commercial flight, 3 charter flights, 3 rental cars, a ferry,
a day tour boat, and a series of shuttle buses.
Every day of Eurotrip was a Munich Run.
We will have no Munich Runs in Alaska.
I had no time to get bored on Eurotrip.
I have already been bored multiple times in Alaska.
When I set out to see the world, I thought
every trip would be a variation on the same theme. I could not have been more wrong. After we arrived back at the dock, we got
off, and I thanked Brad. There was no
way to express my gratitude towards him, so I simply put as much of it as I
could into those two words. We were back
in range of the Wi-Fi! I was back on the
grid! I couldn’t connect. The network was too overloaded with everyone
that would be flying back to Juneau trying to access the Wi-Fi. As we drove, I kept checking my phone,
waiting for the bars to come back so that I could see who had been trying to
reach me. It was only two people, including
the two people from whom I most wanted to hear.
Unfortunately, the message from my brother was just stupid one of his jokes,
and not his address in Portland. My GPS
will not recognize 12 Dikenbag Way. I
responded to my messages, and then I saw it.
A TSA security checkpoint, and I had my lighters with no bags I could
check. Losing all three of those
lighters would be a disaster. I was
going to ask Sokol to check his backpack, but I had a better idea. I just asked the officer if I could take my
lighter on board. He said that I could,
so that was a problem solved.
The checks
were in the opposite order. Usually, it’s
show TSA your boarding pass and ID, go through the machines, show your boarding
card to the airline. They did it exactly
backwards. As we got on the plane, we
greeted by a friendly face who clearly recognized us. I couldn’t place it at first, but then I
realized it was the stewardess from our SEA-JNU flight yesterday morning. I suppose that she expects to never see her
passengers again, certainly not on a different route, so she got a kick out of
seeing us again. Knowing that the flight
time was only 25 minutes and that our hotel was right next to the airport, I
thought that I could order some Chinese to get delivered before we left the
ground and still make it to the hotel before the food. I would have been wrong, but the data
connection was slow, and I couldn’t find a menu I liked. The airtime was only 13 minutes, and we spent
far more than that on the ground. It was
the only plane leaving Gustavus all day, and it was delayed by 15 minutes. How was that possible? It didn’t matter. We didn’t have anything else to do
today. I think I wound up ordering as we
were taxiing. Due to a big hassle
getting the car, the Chinese actually beat us to the hotel. The delivery woman was walking out of her car
just as we pulled in, so we did the exchange right in the parking lot. I had ordered seafood soup for both of us,
General Tso’s chicken for Sokol, and a salmon/halibut combo plate for
myself.
We struggled to get everything,
including the suitcases we had left there yesterday morning, to our room in one
trip, and we did. I stripped off my suit
and shirt, having my pajamas on underneath.
The meal was delicious, and we wound up splitting both dishes. As I mentioned in the opening, the salmon was
even better than last night, which, combined with the spiciness of the chicken
could mean only one thing: I needed a cigar.
It is rare that I NEED a cigar. I
needed a cigar, and not just any cigar. Fortunately,
I had an Opus X in my cigar baggie for today, and it was just what I
needed. Not wanting to risk the smoking
fine in the room, and the weather still being nice enough, we went outside to
have our cigars. I had brought my
laptop, and Sokol thought that there was an outlet connected to the lamp, so he
fumbled around to try and feel the holes.
I produced my forward-facing camera and used it as a mirror to show him
the outlet. After he figured out how to
open it, he went to get his phone. We
walked down the block to the hardware store, hoping they might a) be open, and
b) have butane. They were closed because
a) it was after 5 PM, and b) it was the holiday. We came back to our bench, and I proceeded to
write this entry, which I will now close so that we can finish our cigars and I
can publish my entry, upload my photos, and crash before we have to wake up at
4 AM to catch our ferry. The sun will
have fully risen by then.
No comments:
Post a Comment