transit ak

"The best moment of the day was to slip into bed with bedlamp over book, and read facing the open patio windows, the stars and the sea. I could also hear it sighing out there." -Kerouac, Desolation Angels.

The newest chapter of my life is in the great north. Alaska is an interesting place--fishermen, hitchhikers, and vagabonds; everyone has a story to tell. I've got a couple mountain summits under my belt including one solo. My legs still shaky from my latest, two short days ago. 22 miles total after work, got back home as it turned pitch black. I sit on my porch and look out to sea and watch the harbor seals playing while they wait for a meal to swim by. The eagles stare down from high up in the hemlock growing tall near the cove.

I've witnessed majestic humpback whales breaching a mere 20 yards off shore. Pods of beautiful orcas passing through the George Inlet, right in my backyard. During a trip back from town on a small skiff owned by a coworker, the motor blew, dead in the water. We managed to paddle back to shore in the fast current and the darkness. We couldn't leave the boat on the rocky beach overnight because of the tide coming and going. Luckily one of us had a single bar of cell reception, enough to call the coast guard. After about and hour or so of shivering on the wet rocks of the beach, they arrived and towed us to the nearest safe haven. And luckily we hitched a ride in about 10 minutes of walking at 1am.

By day, I am a zip line guide, responsible for my self and 9 clients at a time. 2,000 carabeener clips a day, 130 feet off the ground. One miss... well you know the outcome. The pressure keeps me going, oh and the fun part... zipping between trees in the rain forest.

Just down the road is a tiny bar/marina called the hole in the wall. It is the place to be on any given night in Ketchikan. There is one pool table, a piano, and a wood burning stove that always has the place warm and cozy. There are only three bartenders that work there and you have the choice of pbr or rainier for 3.50$ or alaskan for 4.50$. The walls are littered with aging photographs of old friends, huge catches, and good times. They have about 150 dollars in dollar bills with names and things written all over them. From people passing through, "On my way to Nome" one reads, to lovers, and friends. Transit is sitting in between the end of the bar and the wood burning stove, a small but common gathering place. Things are good up in Alaska.

great delay

SO, we have all had our share of delays while traveling. For me, July 4th, 2010 takes the cake. It was... AWEsome. It went like this: Board plane in Atlanta at 3:30 pm EST (1:30 pm MST). Fly two and half hours to Denver. Instead of landing in Denver we hold somewhere over Oklahoma and begin circling. Bad weather in Denver. DIA had 'temporarily' shut down all air traffic. More circling. The captain updates us that we will continue in a 'holding' pattern until bad weather clears up. Really it's just more circling. There is a very unsettling feeling when you are on an airplane going nowhere. The light from the sun through the windows slowly spinning around the cabin, over and over. Update from the Capt: we are running very low on fuel. ( I wonder if all this circling has anything to do with it ) We divert to Colorado Springs, for fuel, after a bit more circling. Land around 6:00 pm MST.

On the ground I see about 25 other airplanes, sitting and waiting. Update from Capt: All those planes need fuel. Sitting. Waiting. Drank a soda. Drank a beer... or two. A few hours pass with the occasional update. Peanuts and soda. Text some family. Text some friends. DIA opens back up to incoming flights, but we do not have the fuel to get there, so we sit and wait. Look out the window at some distant backyard fireworks. Stretch my legs, then sit back down. Tension in the plane. Get pulled into a gate and let off people who lived in CO Springs, without their baggage. We can all get off the plane, but if we do, we cannot get back on to fly to Denver. NO food. Peanuts running low. drinks low. Finally get fueled up. Pull out of the gate and back onto the runway, only to stop and wait. DIA, again, halts all incoming flights. More sitting. The man in front of me has a giant cello case. Through conversation with a nice older woman on the plane, we convince the man in front of me to play for everyone. He is hesitant at first, but after a few minutes, agrees to play. He proceeds to serenade everyone in the back of the plane with a piece by one Johan Sebastian Bach. It was sublime. I get goose bumps just recalling it. Morale had done a complete 180. Passengers were applauding. It was just great. Quickly followed by an announcement that they are canceling our flight and we all have to get off. We go back to a gate after some more time and get off.

Now what. After watching the airline representative get completely overwhelmed and freak out a few times, I lay down and enjoy a new found peace and enjoy the endurance it is requiring. At this point, midnight, it is only adding to the story and victory once we finish this journey. Some time later a few buses arrive and we depart to Denver in the middle of the night. Try to sleep. Arrive DIA. Burger King is still open, THANK GOD. First thing to eat in awhile. Grab the shuttle to the Parking lot. Find my car. Find a hotel. Sleep. Final duration was roughly 1:30 pm MST to 3:00 am MST. 13 1/2 hours. For that amount of time I could have flown almost anywhere in the world.

Honestly though, I would do it again to listen to that cello. I can still here Bach echoing with that deep thunderous sound that could be played so delicately. Turns out, that man has won a grammy for his play. Normally it would take a very expensive ticket to listen to him play. But for a broke 26 year old, I just payed in time. We all did. The thing is, how many other hundreds or thousands of people were affected by the weather with their flights? I don't know, alot. But how many of them view it as a good day. Or even, ok. I do. Great even. Who am I to say that I should not have been there. How do I know I didn't want to be there that day. Forget day to day. It's moment to moment. We can plan a day. But we cannot plan moment to moment. Great 4th of July. ( and early 5th)

Craziness.

W.I.P. @ Mad Creek

There are few better ways to shake out the mud season emo-phase than honest work. Building a solid FOUNDATION is the modus operandi. Without a solid foundation, the integrity of all future endeavors is compromised. A big thank you to Mikey for the endorsement. BLS

Eye candy:

no photoshop. no color. no crop. Just sharing my eye candy.

season of emotions

though i had an exceptional time during my visit to wisconsin with family and old friends playing cornhole and bocci ball, drinking beers and other sorts of tasty beverages, it seems as though i am drug into a state of sorrow and bliss, as well as those around me. i enjoy seeing my folks overjoyed upon my return and i hate to see them cry everytime i leave. it kills me to see. now i fly 10,000 feet above their heads, and the heads of good friends that i will not see for some time. i have a tear in my eye and happiness in my heart as i head off toward the next adventure.

At first light

The sun peeked over the mountain and pierced through my shabby yet very adequate hut. The walls, laking any real structure, hardly prevent light from the east entering at its leisure. I rise and stretch before I exit my mansion to make my morning coffee in a moss covered lawn. The coals still smouldering from the nights fire are perfect for my morning boil. As the water heats over the coals, I prep a days worth of wood in the climbing sun. No need to stockpile more than that. The routine of it is satisfying enough. As each piece splits from the cool steel of the ax, the water gets warmer and the fire begs for fuel. The warmth of the sun begins to bead sweat on my brow and the stack of lumber seems to be suitable now. I stoke the coals once more as I strain my coffee from the over used pot. The pot that has persevered along this trail the same as I have. The ol' woman tinker in Phippsburg told me it was the sturdiest pot she had owned and didn't want to part with it, but I seemed trustworthy enough. Dollar fifty she announced. I'll give you two, I fired back. The mountain knows no currency and change in my pocket will only get lost without a compass. She seemed even more satisfied. Finally enjoying that first morning sip, I look over my shoulder back through the valley towards her and toast my crude nectar in her honor.