We got to the Shrine of St. Terese at about eleven at night and promptly collapsed after a quick inspection of the cabin we'd call home for the next few days. It was fairly small, and looked like a log cabin that Abraham Lincoln would have been born in. There was a cozy propane fireplace, not very eco-friendly, that would soon become my best friend.
Come morning as I creaked down the staircase Denny threw open the window shades and I am absolutely floored by what I see. Not more than a hundred feet from the front steps is the ocean. The carpet of slick, unbroken snow stopped as if someone had dragged a razor across the shoreline, exposing the black rocks under the high-tide mark. There was a small walkway, more of a raised road, that led to a small, spruce-covered island about two to three-hundred feet off the shore.
After I bundled up in far too many layers, I set off on a quick exploration. Natually, I headed towards the surf first, in search of tide pools and anything salty. What astonished me most was not the pools themselves, but the rocks. Never have I seen rocks such a rich, deep shade of green!
It was like walking on the surface of the ocean.
The rocks had ripples of light green, small bubbles of a emerald so dark they were almost black. A red stain of rust ripped through the serenity and looked for all the world like a devlopment site in the middle of a lush forest- another beautiful creation of man-kind.
The next several days got colder and colder, causing us to stay in and play cards-seeking a shelter from the wind and snow. After visits to the wetlands, NOAA, and Juneau city, the group would all get as close to the fire as possible and play a never-ending game of musical chairs. On the third day of being cooped up, and the (hopefully) last game of go-fish several of us decided to brave the outdoors.
First it was three of us, then five, ten, and soon the entire group was running up and down stairs, suiting up and wrapping faces in scarves. We all fell out of the door, huddling around as the wind drove snow sideways into our faces. All it took was one snowball to let the cabin fever out. Once people were running around, the snow was hardly a bother at all. Snow angels came to life, snowballs flew in artillery fire on anyone in range, and several people were tackled into drifts.
We set out to the Island at leaned on the railing over the cliff, our lights off and nothing but the ocean and the moon in front of us. A spontaneous and horrendous rendition of "Swing low" broke out among the group as we swaggered back towards the cabin. Our crazy was channeled into a group effort to build a life size snowman of none-other than Dennis Taylor. We failed miserably, but he did have no hair and a smile, though the resemblance ends there. Finally chilled and tired, we filed into the cabin again and I smiled as the door closed because just one week in Alaska had done what three years in Maine could never have:
Made me love winter.
Glerbenargle, AK
-Andrew
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
First of all, you are writing from a place called Glerbenargle. HOW COOL.
ReplyDeleteSecondly, your adventures sound thoroughly awesome. I'm glad you're documenting this for the sad people like me who can't go a-wandering. :]