Chasing Sunsets: Cabin Fever
Snow had fallen throughout the day. John, my downstairs neighbor, and I had cleared the sidewalks to and from the house a couple of times already. The grey-gloom characteristic of Southeast Alaska hung low on the town; all the way down to the shoulders of the people walking the streets. Another slushy jog through the park sounded abysmal but I needed to be outside. The clouds lifted briefly and the unrelenting snow calmed itself enough that going for a paddle in the Sound seemed worthwhile.
I wrestled my bin of smelly neoprene and kayaking gear from a deeper corner of my gear cubby. I tugged, pulled, and groaned my way into full paddling garb. While I was preoccupied, the snow came back with furry. The islands less than a mile away became abstract black blobs. I knew going out now was not entirely bright but I would stay in sight of shore and take my smaller kayak. I stomped down my flight of stairs, through the snow, shouldered my boat in a single tug at the cockpit. I crossed the street through with the brown-gooky slush that lives in the streets this time of year splashing underfoot. The low tide washed uniformly up the tiny beach just across from my house. As crazy as I felt, the research scientists from the science center that were also wading into the water for a nudibranch dive were actually out of their minds. Regardless, we all made our way over the beach and set our respective courses through the water.
It was serene on the water. The thick falling snow silenced everything except the rush of the ocean onto the pebble beaches. With a light longshore breeze and heavy wet snow I was quickly caked in in the stuff. It was starting to suck, not even type II suck, just really suck. Right about then, the west side of my ping-pong-ball-world started to glow yellow. With little thought, I swung my bow in its direction and paddled straight for the glow at the mouth of the protected bay. It got brighter the further I went until the snow stopped and everything in sight glowed with its own golden hue.
The sun continued to fall into the Pacific Ocean, in opposing direction of the still stormy clouds. The picture changed with every single second. Alaska is a big bag of magic tricks-- this was some of its best work I’ve seen yet. Where I sat at the mouth of the harbor the seas rolled in from the Pacific, lifting and lowering me and my plastic boat without effort. Before me was one of the most active scenes I had never imagined. A band of clouds sat one big finger width above the horizon shifting and twisting with the breeze. Ocean spray was ejected into the air by waves breaking over shoal, glittering in the waning golden light. Snow clung from sea level to the high ragged peaks of Baranof Island. Reluctantly, I turned back to shore. I looked over my shoulder many times just hoping the memory might be burned into my memory. Cabin fever lost this day.
