Where would I even begin? I tell everyone at home about the landscape, but that’s secondary to the people I’ve met. There’s Fredric. The massive bear hunting guide, who works out in a cowboy hat, and defines intensity. There’s Jerry, the most animated and hilarious 70 year old Colombian that’s headed to Kodiak for cannery work. There’s Susan, who today sat at a table sobbing because her brother died yesterday. He burned to death in a van.
I don’t know what brought me here, that’s probably a good thing, but I’ve never been more at Peace with everything.
See those guys there? They sort of saved my ass today. Explanation.
So the hike up was snowy and parts of the trail were icy, but it wasn’t that bad. Coming down was a different story. I get to this sheet of ice, and it’s like I just can’t feel anything with my boots on. Aside, I’m thinking barefoot might be best on ice. Anyway, I’m negotiating it, but I can’t slow down. My feet come out from under me, and my ass hits the ice. I’m heading towards a pretty steep drop that terminates into an icy stream. I put out my left towards a small bush, but go through it. I rolled onto my stomach, and grabbed a small tree with hand. The whole thing is ice, and well, fuck trying to figure this out now. Let’s just breathe. I slid maybe 6 feet, but I might as well have fallen down fucking McKinley. As I’m laying there, trying to figure this out, as there isn’t much to grab onto, a pitbull gingerly runs up to me. Those guys notice, and get me out. I ask if I can tag along with them. “Well yeah” they said.
A little further down, where there is no snow, and it’s just mud and rock, the guy in front of me is talking about being in Alaska working at a fishery. While he was talking, I had to stop for a moment the deja vu was so strong. Every detail, from subject to colors to the wind in the trail added up.
I am doing exactly what I need to be doing. I am exactly where I need to be. I am headed exactly where I need to be headed.
This place is overwhelming in a lot of ways. Pay close attention, and one is forced to quickly drop their bullshit. Here, nothing really has an advantage, or it’s temporary. Those timeless hulking peaks are worn by the persistant waters, or burst by the gritty determination of a tree to grow through solid stone.
It is such a thing, that writing about it seems to cheapen it.
Wyoming. There’s just nothing quite like it.
When Elliot’s not-girlfriend-but-living-and-sleeping-partner told me it was a bit awkward to have me hanging out in the living room when she was home, I realized that Elliot is a better man than I. Honestly. I would have strangled her three days ago, if it wasn’t for a very well honed moral persuasion.
So, here’s to making our own lives, and daring to be happy. If it means sleeping alone on cold-nights, and exploring cities by ourselves. Here’s to betting on ourselves.
It’s a cool city, if it does feel a bit like a Chicago suburb pasted onto a Hallmark postcard. People here are out and about. Pickups are covered in dirt, and Subarus seem to come standard with bike-racks.
Over a few beers last night, my buddy Elliot asked me if I had considered coming back to Denver after my Alaskan-adventure. It’s sort of been on my mind, but right now I just need the rugged.
The past two weeks, or so, have been such a whirlwind of activity, I’m not even sure where to begin. There was Detroit, going away party, meet-ups, good-byes-that-didn’t-quite-seem-as-such, and reunions.
It’s been exciting, sad, thrilling, exhausting, but above all, it’s been obnoxiously beautiful.
This is 100% for you.
I have a plan. I’m going to Anchorage. Denver, Bozeman, Seattle, Anchorage. Yup, that just sunk in.
