Shipcreek

It feels like a Sunday, but I’m not quite sure what day of the week it is. I do know that I have a few hours left before I fly home, as my time back in Alaska has come to an end. I head down to Shipcreek, the river that runs through downtown Anchorage and eventually into the sea for some final thoughts and contemplation.

I have driven 2,121 miles this time around, and I feel every mile. Epic distances seem to be my nomenclature here. In 2007 I drove from Seattle to Alaska solo, with the ghost of my recently lost sister by my side.

I’ve navigated the channels and open oceans of Alaska’s shoreline with my two younger brothers, the most time I’ve ever spent alone with them, although it never did bring us any closer.

In 2008 I fished for mighty halibut here with a man who was not my blood relation yet was the greatest Grandpa I’ve ever had. He died six months later.

Life changing memories have happened to me here in Alaska.

Scores of dead salmon can be seen in the waters of Shipcreek. Amazing creatures the salmon are, such selfless givers of their livelihood for others to survive.

I come to the Sea and look out at the calm and open expansiveness before me. I have the world that is full of possibilities, and how lucky is that? The stress of Covid can’t be felt, nor can the political upheaval that seems to bear down on everyday life.

I stand next to an Inuit statue commemorating the original inhabitants of this land. I find great power in this place, and quietly let the energy flow through my body one last time before leaving.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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