Why Plan Ahead,
When You Can Wait ‘Till Now?!
A Journal from Alaska
By: Tim Middleton
May 21, 2009 Thursday Sunset
A clear sunrise this morning marked the beginning of a new adventure, or rather the continuation of one in mind, body, and soul for my last 30 years. When I saw the shoreline of Port Townsend drifting further away, I knew this had actually begun. Now, I watch the sunset on the still and cloudless horizon from Marine Park near the ferry terminal in Fairhaven. Golden light shimmers on the blessed waters which will float the vessel tomorrow, north to Alaska. I am in the flow of Spirit, guided, supported, protected, and blessed…
May 22, Friday Sunset
The physical journey has now begun! My vessel afloat is the M/V Columbia, strong and sleek, she carries many who venture north along the Inside Passage. A very diverse bunch indeed, yet those of us walk on passengers not wanting the expense and seclusion of a bunk opt for the outside deck areas to commune. Some tents are set up on the uncovered portion, but under the “Solarium” many occupy lounge chairs for sleeping and protection from the elements. As I sit here now with calm waters, clear skies and luxurious comfort under the heaters, with fresh air and expansive views, I feel the sweet reward of divine blessing in this first leg to Ketchikan. The journey to Alaska has just begun!
May 23, Saturday Night
Had a few beers at the bar with my friend Toddy from New Zealand, talking with him and others on this voyage, all with different stories, life experiences and reasons for being on their journey. I have no job to go to, no family here, no agenda to fulfill and not running away from anything. My journey is simple really, to be consciously aware of my spirit journey within this physical body. Carrying supplies on my back, I will walk to where I go. The seeker on a path of infinite exploration from place to place, moment to moment, living in the eternal transitional now, freely flowing into the void of space…
May 24, Sunday Night
The Sun’s first light greeted my sleepy eyes as I looked through the starboard window. Calm water and weather again, with a few thin clouds to dramatize the orange and blue morning, we smoothly made port in Ketchikan at 7:30am. Alone, I walked into this dream of my first steps on Alaska land down the gritty sidewalk into town. Several Bald Eagles were in the marina, two of which were munching on a morning catch I presume, while standing on the exposed mud flat. With very little flat land for the humans, houses of colorful, ragtag varieties occupied the steep hillsides reached by zigzag stairways in some places. Walking further to the familiar sign of a Safeway market, I noticed my attention seeing all the cars’ license plates as Alaskan, which is often the case when in a new state or country. Walking into the cruise ship port area, through the pods of just arrived tourists, I chuckled to myself at the obvious contrast in our mode of travel. My backpack fully loaded to 50 pounds and above my head, was miniscule beneath the three towering ships docked to allow several thousand people to wander and shop. Though laden with this weight, I felt light and free, walking briskly past the lumbering tourists. Upon reaching my trailhead to Deer Mountain, I entered humbly into the forest. After two hours of steep, well maintained trail, some patches of snow crunched underfoot. Walking on higher, I now sit cozily in my tent on a snow covered mountainside overlooking the busy port town. I will sleep now for the first night, of many yet to come, in Alaska…
May 25, Monday Evening
Guided, supported, protected, and blessed. In all ways of my life I know this to be truth. Awakening this morning, snuggly warm within my shelter, the foggy drizzle enshrouding the mountain domain, I felt safe and comforted. Walking down the trail from whence I came, there was no disappointment in the change from earlier thoughts of an 11 mile, 3 night loop. First thing on the agenda… Dispense with the agenda! Returning to town, I went south for 2 ½ miles to Saxman Totem Park. Woody, the Native gatekeeper, gifted me with kindness and directions to a safe, free camp spot where I now lay. The little island of hill and trees gives me shelter, privacy and waterfront view where boats and ships pass, to and from town. The tide ebbs and flows at my feet…
May 26, Tuesday Evening
Walking many miles yesterday from mountain to sea, then today to Perseverance Lake, it totals around 15. Though the up hills are a bit tougher, I feel strong and light footed. Flowing in timelessness, the events roll on with synchronicity… From mornings’ awakening in bivy shelter to spread out breakfast luxury on picnic table under cover, then to shopping mall for warm and dry Taco Time brunch, while rain pours down outside. As if on queue, the rain stopped when I was ready to walk. Then, on finding internet access unexpectedly in the ferry terminal, and on waiting only minutes for the bus across the street. An earlier impulse to call Totem Bight State Park revealed no camping when the book had indicated so… So now I sit snuggly warm in tent again, atop a raised platform overlooking Perseverance Lake. Supreme beauty of all things in the flow, as is my blessed journey…
May 27, Wednesday Evening
Alone with myself and no other humans, accompanied only by trees, plants, mountains, lake, birdsong, spattering rain, distant waterfalls, wind, and all that is primal. My voice is not needed, no one to talk to and so much to hear. The echoing calls of a lone Raven, or haunting Hermit Trush, or others winged and wild. True “white noise” from cascading, tumbling, frothy streams descending as melted snow, the waves of sound flowing atop the depths of stilled water nestled in this ancient valley. I live here for a day or two, as a guest, humbled by majestic eons of timelessness, amidst rhythms of natural process, ongoing, cyclic, earthly and cosmic. Sheltered and warmed by nylon, fed by imported nutrition, my existence is artificial by design. Not a day would I live, or a night survive, as do the other animals who call this home. The Wolf, the Bear, the winged and the furred, each independent, each integral to the whole, sustained by instinct, carried by generations countless back in time, and my primitive soul is stirred…
May 28, Thursday Evening
The busy and cluttered waterfront of Ketchikan fades into the grey mist as the M/V Taku pulls away from the docks. With one last visit to town and the boarding of this vessel, I completed one chapter and begin yet another on this voyage to Wrangell. Waking this morning to blue skies, to pleasantly pack away a dry tent and walk out in warmth, then a quick visit to Totem Bight State Park, now all is again grey, drizzly southeast Alaskan weather. Still, I am comfortable under the solarium with a view to the stern and only one other on this deck with me, reclined in relative luxury. Absent is the communal spirit from the first voyage, and with only 6 hours ahead the time will pass with dinner, a shower and a brief rest. Then a midnights’ walk of a mile to City Park where I should find suitable space for my tent to slumber into the dawn…
May 29, Friday Mid-day
A gentle rain welcomed me to the empty streets of Wrangell, as I walked alone with Spirit to guide me towards my camp. In the darkness I found the park and unexpected shelter over two picnic tables, one of which I chose as my bed. Only minutes after arriving, I heard the ships horn signal its’ departure, and my slumber began with warmth, dryness, and recognition of support from Spirit. Grey morning with steady rain and a beautiful shoreline view across to misty islands, surrounded here by lush forest and swift little stream behind me, where I dip my pot for heated water, to hydrate my food, and warm my inner body. An added bonus of a fire pit and scraps of dry wood give me a comforting fire to warm my hands and soul. Bald Eagles, young and mature, play on the wing or sit still on perch of old pylon, branch or rocky shore. Their squeaky call now familiar, I recognize their prominent presence. Today I rest, no need to walk anywhere, content to just be, a silent observer of motion and stillness…
May 30, Saturday Evening
A touch of the human drama has for a short time entered the story from the befriending of Tom and Deborah, actually, more they to me, yet I have willingly accepted the time of conversation yesterday, and today I ride with them to a campsite at Lower Salamander Creek where we are sharing company. So quickly I see how certain socializing is easy to sway one from the calm, quiet simplicity of being alone. Though some intellectually thought stimulating dialog has surfaced, I find the weaknesses of human nature soon spoil the desire for continued interaction. People are people, and I the same with traits of my own, and though not of a judgmental position, but I would just as soon remain aloof to commune with the furred and feathered, the flowing and growing of stream and tree. A human I am indeed, answering my own call from the wild, from here on Earth, as well as from deep in the great cosmos…
May 31, Sunday Evening
A bright blue sky above and the Suns’ first light, low through the young uncurling ferns greeted my smiling face at mornings’ awakening. Later, the curt chatter and subtle bickering between Tom and Deborah brought opportunity for gratitude of the opposite to peacefulness, which is otherwise the norm. Soon enough, we parted and I walked through town with its’ quiet Sunday streets and closed shops, to my place of quietude at Petroglyph Beach. Where the Ancients sat, when no motor boats roared past to disturb natural sounds, I have been at rest recalling the peace within. Cover to cover, I read without interruption “The Call of the Wild” for a second time, bringing forth in me the primitive stirrings. On this little sandy beach, with a musical stream to my side and an exceptionally warm, clear day to strip me of all but pants, I absorb the primal peace. I will sleep with the stars as the Sun is hidden again, and lulled to sleep by gentle sounds of water flowing to sea…
June 1, Monday Night
Arising early at the break of day, 5:30 am at least, though the sky was light much earlier, a quick breakfast and walk through town to wait for grocery shopping at 8am. Passing time with a stroll to Chief Shakes Island, I was gifted with a nice Eagle feather that I accepted as a sweet surprise in my path. Now with Raven and Eagle medicine on my pack, there is a feeling of acceptance of my entering. Aboard the Taku once more, with many under the solarium, we pulled away from Wrangell on a particularly warm day. Sunning on deck, shirtless and sweating, it seemed incongruent with the snowy peaks and spilling glaciers in view. Now as the midnight twilight casts a hue of blue on sky reflected water, with but only a few twinkling heavenly bodies, we turn and sway towards dawn in Sitka, under the steady vibrating pulse of engine, and bright shining moon…
June 2, Tuesday Night
The Taku was at rest for a few hours while docked at Sitka as were all the slumbering passengers. Underway at 6am in remarkably calm, clear conditions. The day was spent lapsing in and out of delirious rest, then reading and lounging in the warmth, while endless scenes of snow capped peaks, forested mountains, intriguing islands, and an occasional whale passed by. Having made friends with two young travelers, Cass and Sandy, a Canadian and a Brit, the connection was made to share a taxi from the ferry in Juneau to our camp now at Mendenhall Glacier Lake. The snow covered and jagged peaks arise directly behind this massive moving river of ancient ice, with a huge face of bluish-white blocks looming just above the lake. I am in awe and happily amazed to be here now after 30 years of desire, and also grateful to have a good vibe to share with traveling friends.
June 3, Wednesday Night
What a glorious sight of morning light on lake, glacier, snow, mountain, and trees! A fine meditation while seated in front of such magnificence, fully warmed under beaming Sun and clear blue sky. Humbled again, yet a part of it all, like one speck of glacial silt flowing down stream from its’ recent release of icy purpose, I too join the journey of transformation, released to play in the flow of life… These travels in Alaska, 130 years since John Muir roamed the southeast’s treasures, I now absorb, and confirm an old souls desire to contemplate this glacier filled land. Cass, Sandy and I walked and bussed along the 14 mile route to downtown Juneau for a taste of the local urbanity, and with 5 cruise ships in port the streets were humming. Internet, lunch, and groceries for backpacking was my 21st century version of preparation to hit the trail. The jovial energy was fruitful to bring about abundance of experiential treats!
June 4, Thursday Night
Though my watch indicates after 10pm, the sky is illuminated colorfully and bright. Such as my perch for camp is, high above the massive Mendenhall glacier, surrounded by towering summits of rock and snow, my significance is but a speck amidst this Earthly Mother, birthing pure grandeur. The immensity and epic timelessness is cosmically divine, and truly staggering to behold! John Muir’s words ring out true, that this is God’s finest work of sculpting force, and no mans’ words could tell of a finer example of the Supreme Being. My home of nylon on this ledge is a vantage like no other and spectacular photographs come from a simple composition, and push of the button. Plays of light in shades of aqua blue, dance in the river of ice, while torrents fall freely, fiercely and thunderously over the precipice, accelerated with new found energy, while buildings of sculpted ice topple forward and down towards the sea…
June 5, Friday Evening
Ceremoniously sacred and high, above turquoise tarns nestled in sculpted ice pools, below the temples’ spires, I am blessed beyond comparison. This day bearing copious gifts of beauty and wonder, of youthful, vibrant, glowing femininity, soft, fair and strong. Of the little Hermit Thrush’s serenade, resonant music to my soul, with purposeful glances directed at my presence, and display of proximal trust. A full revolution, an axial spin and dance through space, our Fatherly Sun again brings warm tones of light to the smoothed fields of snow and the towering cathedrals of rock. I am divinely guided to this Earthly Heaven, universally supported with abundance, wholly protected in certain safety, and supremely blessed with eternal moments of spirited bliss. My journey of mind, body and soul expands a consciousness of love and peace, absorbing with humble gratitude this pure, majestic environment before me…
June 6, Saturday Evening
A luxury, in these very fast and modern days, is to pass several turns of our globe while remaining in one place with so grand a view, that the passage of light and shadow across the colossal stage of icy domain, sustains interest in each moment. I am actively spectating, with solemn, reverent attention to motion, and stillness, and patterns. Thundering waterfalls and gushing rivers are the fast motions of energy released, while the stoic stillness of billions of tons of serpentine ice slowly carves a canyon, grain by grain. Massive spires, sentinels and towering ridgeline buttresses, dark and set apart from the snowy whiteness, embody stillness, acceptance and grace. Patterns reveal timeless presence as morning dawn brings light chasing shadows, ‘till evening when they reclaim their night domain. Laughter springs forth from my gut, as does the songbirds song, luxuriously happy to be alive amidst such immense beauty…
June 7, Sunday Night
The low clear light of dawn sun, peering over a jagged ridge, illuminated the crystalline ice flow with shimmering diamonds and iridescent blues. As if entering sacred foreign land, I slowly descended the rocky stairway of glacial scarred slabs, and approached the frozen mass on this sublime and holy Sunday morning. Delicately, my first steps on crunchy and vocal ice, I followed a small fissure as traction amidst none, leading further from earth, and nearer to peril. Wishing for my mountain axe and crampons only made it more frightening, and inspiring, dreaming of returning to explore deeper into the mystery. Later, a thumb and a smile brought two native souls to transport me to town, Hawaiian man, and Tlingit woman, travelers of time and space, delivering to me guidance, support, protection and blessings…
June 8, Monday Evening
Slipping out of Thane Campground with the 5 dollar fee still in my pocket, I took to the asphalt ribbon of a mile or so into the comparatively urban jungle, which had a somewhat subdued air of preparation and anticipation for the human flood soon to come. Disproportionate to the towns’ size, behemoth ships line up to wait for docking, and then when tied to the wharfs, the torrent is released, filling the downtown area like a tidal surge. Showered, shaved, and clothes washed, I weaved through town to complete a few errands then bussed the 14 miles back to the valley of Mendenhall, to hunt and gather among the aisles of Safeway. No wonder the world of Man continues its’ chaotic trend, for in the little eating area with tables and chairs, a TV blasted out evening news of increased body counts, blossoming wars, political debauchery, inhumane humans, and a general stupefying feeling that there is little left to find redeeming about civilization. Yet now I sit by the edge of glacial silt laden water, within faint ear shot of humanity, serenely comforted by all that is natural and timeless…
June 9, Tuesday Evening
My cozy and simple campsite, bivouacked on the sand bar with Alder trees and gnats as neighbors provided sound, restful sleep. I walked towards the mountains following Montana Creek flowing towards me through dense and quiet Spruce forest, appreciating the absence of people and conversation. Listening instead to the primal messages communicated without words. Ambulating along trail then road for several miles, I arrived at the ferry terminal one full week since coming ashore to Juneau. Now the M/V Malaspina plies the water of Lynn Canal towards Skagway under a grey ceiling resting on the snow covered mountain peaks. Waterfalls, avalanche chutes, snow fields and more massive twisting glaciers mark the subdued scenery off port and starboard sides, while the steady rumbling engines churn water off the stern. End of the line for Inside Passage travel, I will soak in the southeast Alaska vibe while camped around Skagway, fondly holding these ferry ships and calm water traveling for memories and inspiration to return for continued exploration even more intimately…
June 10, Wednesday Evening
Disembarking from the Malaspina just before 10pm, I walked in bright twilight to Yakatunia Point just across the bay, and was delighted to find a sweet granite perch nestled amongst stunted pines, with a vertical drop of 40 feet to a little cove below. The relatively dry climate here, compared to other parts of the Inside Passage, and coupled with the white granite exposed in areas, is reminiscent of the High Sierra range, though towering summits over deep water fjords sets it distinctly apart. This little town of less than 1000 residents, clinging to its’ identity as a gold rush boomtown of 1898, overflows with many thousands of cruise ship tourists every day from May through September. With 4 ships in this morning, I swam amidst the hordes, lingering, gawking, shopping and generally clogging up every corner of the main street. With so much frenzy about, I quickly finished my town survey and headed for the hills. A trail to Lower Dewey Lake began with several groups of tourists until it split off to Sturgills’ Landing trail, which descends through timbered slopes much drier than expected, but quiet and open with little undergrowth. Every so often, a pair or more of touring helicopters flew overhead making their obnoxious and incongruent racket, clearly signaling mankind’s tendencies towards anything but a humble and minimal presence on this planet. The trail led down to waters edge on a rocky granite shore with piles of driftwood logs and milled beams indicating the old mill at this site from years past. The out flow of Dewey Lake tumbles over boulders to join the sea, making a delightful steady noise of happily flowing water to drown the occasional helicopters cruising above. Remnants of a little shelter made from wood slabs, stones, and branches of the Spruce tree, 10 feet or so away from a rib of granite jutting straight up, looked enticing to renovate for my camp. So now I have a very cozy shelter from the cooling breeze and spattering rain, with tent tucked under branches, a cooking area, sitting rock and table, plus a small fire pit. The beautiful noise of churning, tumbling torrent at camp side to lull me to sleep, soothing any feathers ruffled from mans’ intrusions. Serenely grateful for my body’s guidance from Spirit to this place to call home, while supported, protected, and always blessed…
June 11, Thursday Evening
A blissfully rare day of stillness, solitude, peace and rejuvenation from my willingly self-imposed day of reclusivity. No people on this rocky little cove to entice speech of any sort, my words uttered today were only brief acknowledgements to the stream, trees, rocks, and a Stellars Jay who came to visit me in camp. Time spent sitting in meditation, hardly bothered even by passing boats or helicopters, unconsciously drifting into the void. The sounds of wind through trees, or water aerating over rocks providing focus to return from a wandering mind, and the warmth of Sun to comfort my stillness. With eyes open, I silently observe shadows moving over the snow fields and ice cornice on the mountain before me, the ever changing light curtained from clouds adrift above. Intricate patterns of dark, bare rock as islands in the sea of snow, illuminated with slow passing, soft edged spots gracing the stage. The tide line rises, then recedes again, ten feet or so of elevation difference, moved by pull from Sun and Moon, timelessly undulating as this planets’ fluid breath, while this one, of countless arteries, excitedly rushes and reaches a little further, to greet its’ Mother source of oceanic vastness. This scale so immense, the movement of ages so slow, it appears the stone monoliths are unchanging to our eyes, yet ceaselessly, transformation is underway, and in a distant age glaciers will again fill these valleys, and cover mountain tops, and sculpt the Earth…
June 12, Friday Evening
Hidden away at Smugglers’ Cove, and gratefully appreciative for this shelter from the south wind, while cozyed up to a crackling fire in the pit, next to a picnic table, under a roof. Luxury I say, pure luxury… The journey unfolds divinely under direction of supreme Spirit, while I go along bodily under no protest, with no agenda or schedule. My purpose and direction revealed to me as each moment becomes manifest, the story written on the fly, orchestrated within the infinite. Guided as I am, there is no worry, there is no time, there is nothing for me to do other than just be. Flowing from now to now, always here where I am, and supported by others, materializing with mysterious precision. All characters in this grand play of dreamy consciousness. With so much time to be silent, speaking mostly only briefly to passers by on trail, or street, or store, I live these days from within the observer, viewing all as a magical performance, a dance of the divine. I see myself as a reflection in a window, or as an image of self-portrait in my little camera, and I see some people look at my pack and walking stick. It is all reflected light, the illusion of substance, the dreamer of dreams, the cosmic consciousness at play…
June 13, Saturday Evening
Sitting comfortably as I am on a bank of the Taiya Rivers’ lowest reach, before meeting the head of Lynn Canal and just downstream from the historic town site of Dyea, I could hardly muster an objection to a few more days in the area while some mail catches up with me. A short walk and first vehicle I poked my thumb at delivered me here, 9+ miles from Skagway, at the town which died after completion of the White Pass Railway to the Yukon in 1900. The 100 years since has allowed Nature to replace trees for buildings and people, a rather noble transition many other towns could emulate. Happily alone, amongst young Spruce and Cottonwoods on this flood plain delta, the long, wide valley which holds the Chilkoot trail offers a tranquility and spaciousness well suited for my own treasures to be mined from this ongoing adventure. Though accordingly far less arduous then the Klondike Stampeders’, as my gold shines freely from the Sun, and my wealth is measured in peacefulness of mind, body, and spirit. Riches of solitude amidst vast scenes of natural grandeur will be mined moment by moment, filling my soul with eternal wealth…
June 14, Sunday Evening
The unseen presence made known and detectable by leafed limbs undulating and whispering, lifeless dry grass and leaves made animate for a spell while Wind Spirit is alive. Young, firm and compact, the Spruce on this once flooded plain move their needled arms about, happily waving with sturdy flexibility, acknowledging the gift of a cool breeze. Suspended, accumulated moisture, attached to mountaintops, is pulled away and dissipated, revealing clear blue sky and the Suns’ warming grace. The high peaks and upper Taiya Valley, enshrouded by misty, grey and moody weather this morning, now are exposed, enlightened and inviting by the low evening light, beckoning my further travels north and away from the coastal domain. A group of spry and lively Cottonwoods shelters my camp from sea breeze coming from the south up the Lynn Canal, which here I am at the very place 100 years ago, would be inundated twice a day from incoming tide, now elevating still from the ancient retreat of glacial pressure and giving firm purchase for an advancing forest. Our human mark upon this Earth, while no doubt a worthy attempt at dominion, is but a fleeting superficial wound of the flesh on Mother Earth…
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