Sights, smells and sounds of a new season. The warm morning breeze with fruitful notes of the budding forest. The crisp evening air with a setting sun. My last night on the Agulowak beckons a farewell to the simple life and what a beautiful evening it is. This very picture was taken moments ago, and the sight will remain throughout the writing of this post.
Spring is nearly summer and over the past month, the massive transformation from that snowy, blinding white to the bare ground was nearly overnight. The river rose hourly, ice breaking and forcing itself down the narrow chute of waters just outside my cabin. Crashing and breaking, though nothing nearly as impressive as times past. There can be shelves of ice, feet thick bull dozing gravel up five feet or more on shore as the power of the river is relentless. I only saw a handful of small pieces this year get pushed up, mere inches in thickness and quite disappointing.
Long days and short nights, a wildly dramatic change from just months ago and even at midnight, I still don't feel like its bed time with how light it stays.
Every day, the budding leaves rise from bare branches which have choked them in so long. Fighting for that sunlight, reaching further outward filling in the voids throughout a stick ridden tree and bare treed forest. It now is alive and healthy, green and glowing. The hills erupted in shades of green and the whole of Bristol Bay is vibrant and young looking. A fresh start.
The wildlife has dispersed into the forest once more, having their offspring and continuing the cycle of survival in this northern land. Much to my surprise, a pair of Tundra Swans made themselves at home on the open waters for about three days in their migration pattern or perhaps taking a little vacation from other parts unknown. Arctic Terns have been increasing in numbers daily and are devouring the smolt as they head down towards the ocean. The char have also increased in numbers, also devouring the little fish striving for that big blue salted water they'll call home for the next 4 years or so.
So as I prepare for another departure, a little reflection on the past months is filled with mixed emotions. Seeing photos of hard times, for one reason or another remind me of all the thoughts I had in that period of time. Same goes for the photos of great times and the other daily grind in between is fading away. There were days that I hated the cold, and days I loved it. Days I loved the sunshine and days I loved the snow. Fishing was spectacular as always and the overall warm winter was spectacular. There seems to be less and less of the bad times as the seasons pass but they will always remain. This is my third winter season, and I feel like things are starting to settle in nicely. Perhaps there is room for a little fine tuning of a few more creature comforts but I think I've got a good grip on this life of remote isolation.
The bon appétit comes in tomorrow evening and henceforth until next fall. Day dreaming for months has my stomach yearning for that first bite of a new meal. The first flavors of that savory or sweetness that I can hardly recall, and some I couldn't even describe its been so long. I have dreams of sushi and donuts, burgers and salads and fresh berries. A pizza! Truly anything will be welcomed and sorely overdue. The very idea of getting out to stretch my legs and actually move around is so refreshing and these next few hours until that happens are full of anxiety.
It is also an overload to the senses when I first depart. Every one of my five senses are firing off so quickly that I feel like I have a sixth sense or a super power to be so sensitive to everything. I smell everything, for good and bad. I hear pins drop and cars crash and all the other decibels from a thousands sources in between. I see as though for the first time. Lights are flashing, glaring and reflecting. Colors that run the spectrum and it all goes by so incredibly fast. My eyes are caught by every bright or shiny thing (or person) and there has to be a stronger word for distracted and how I am. I've seen it before, but its as if I've never seen it. Everything that I ingest will be a new flavor, that will either trigger a fond memory or be a new treat. And touch. I dread this one from my dislike of germs. I try not to touch hardly anything and have to remember to wash my hands! You get in the habit of not washing hands that often out here, mainly because there isn't much need for germ sake and the other would be its inconvenient to heat a little water, mix it up, wash, rinse and twenty minutes have passed. So I try not to touch much and wash every chance I get. Along that note, I also try to take at least two showers a day and take full advantage of a washing machine. When I get out, I think the best way to describe my overall outlook is a very healthy and vigorous zest for the things in life.
Alaska has been quite good to me this past year, and I have a deep affection for this wonderful place I often call home. Being a caretaker is easy for the work involved but extremely trying and difficult on the mind to withstand it. There is a good deal of physical labor, though I don't count that part as work, more as exercise but I find the work is located in the mind. Whether it is from isolation and solitude or monotony of the same exact day, every day, I can't say with certainty. I feel more inclined to say the latter in my scenario. The mind is a very powerful tool, and I hadn't really noticed just how so until time spent here allowed me a glimpse. It works with and against you and can be your worst enemy and your best friend. Sometimes just moments apart. Most jobs will have some sort of resistance and difficulty but it usually isn't ones own mind. I hear from many people that this job isn't really work for me and I would like to say that its not your typical go to a job style work, but it certainly is hard work to remain of sound mind and semi sober in thought through what has been known as a form of torture throughout history. Isolation.
Now I can't sit here with the view I've got and the comfort of tea and a cookie and tell anyone that I'm being tortured. I will say, not every day is like the one I am having today and some of them do feel quite a bit more torturous than anyone would like.
I still choose this and happily so. My anticipation for next year has not begun, though a small part of me does wish it were only March.
For this season, for this wonderful day and until the onset of winter in October….
