The Lost Story of Alaska: Double On
Sometimes, your stars align. And, sometimes you never knew they did. That's why, until today, I never knew this story existed. I'm pretty sure where it began, but not sure when it ends, if ever. And, that's why this darts-travel blogger is stepping into the proverbial time machine to tell it.
Alaska. With a motto like "North to the Future", a nickname like "The Last Frontier", and a flag flying Polaris and the Big Dipper, it already sounds like science fiction. And with its dramatic landscape and climate, it appears to be another world. "Alaska", "youth darts", and "the wrinkles of time" are the nexus of this "darticle", this "pair-a-bull". And Alaska's flower, the "Forget-me-Not", reminds me that this story was almost lost in my memories, somewhere between Oregon and Uruguay, having never been blogged. The threads that tie the time loops together are intricate, interwoven, and beautiful. And, I never knew. I never knew today was the day the stars of this story would align.
Unfortunately, it's hard to tell a time travel story. I suppose the most logical place to start is with me.and my darts universe.
The autumn of 2005 was when I discovered darts. By 2006, I was in league and loving it. One day, looking at the PortlandAreaDartsAssociation website, I realized that I could post on it. That's how it began. There was no "Thorn", no world travels, just an unknown but eager newbie named Adam Smith with some need to write about the love of darts. Very few saw the photos, and even fewer read it, but I didn't care. I simply enjoyed it, and I was helping spread the game as best I could. I was equally enthusiastic in the bars, encouraging and teaching people to play.
That's how I met Gavin. He's from Portland, but spent his summers working the tourist boats in Alaska. One day, over a game of darts, he said, "You know Adam, if you can come to Seward, I can take you whale watching for free." He said it was an offer he made to many friends, but they never took the opportunity. I, on the other hand, wouldn't miss my second chance to see Alaska.
My first visit was as a child on a cruise in 1981, snaking through the Inner Passage of Alaska's panhandle to places like Ketchikan, Juneau, and Glacier Bay. A record heat wave went with us, sending temperatures into the upper 80's. My memories include a breathtaking whitewater float under bald eagles spotting for bears, or the silent awe as giant blue blocks of ice calved off glaciers into the sea like slow motion explosions, or the whales, dolphins, endless green forests, and crisp stars. But, being before the dawn of digital, any pictures I have are tucked away in family albums somewhere. It was my first cruise, and my last for the next fifteen years.
On my second trip to Alaska, my meteorological luck, like my shadow, followed me again-my visit would be the sunniest week of Summer 2006 in Seward. And this time, I packed my first digital camera and my first set of darts.
My plan was simple: fly to Anchorage, get a lift from Gavin, and travel 125 miles down the Kenai Peninsula to Seward. Landing late at night, I only had one morning and midday to explore Anchorage on foot. I managed to find some dart bars, but my timing, and apparently my camera, was off. It was too early and too summery to find more than a bartender preparing to open, and ask a few questions. But, I did learn about Alaska's prolific dart leagues, which, as you might guess, are at peak season during their long dark winters. I found something else that day too: my love of travel and darts combined.
So, this is where my story begins, years ago, when I couldn't see that stars were aligning. The forgotten memories have added new meaning, and the hidden connections keep unraveling. So, here are my photos in order, with my reflections on "Alaska", "youth darts", and "the wrinkles of time".
Early afternoon, Gavin arrived in a pickup, and whisked me southward to Seward. Like a welcome committee on cue, a moose appeared and trotted down the highway with us for a quarter mile...
We arrived in Seward and soon found ourselves in the Sea Breeze Inn, under two dartboards and a pair of frosty Alaskan microbrews.
It wasn't long before more of the whale-watcher crew returned from another day delighting the tourists, and joined the impromptu dart party.
With an iceless harbor, Seward is one of Alaska's oldest and most active ports--it's the lifeline for getting goods to the interior. Cruise boats are regular visitors throughout the summer, and fishing and outdoors enthusiasts are in heaven.
Seward is also known for the disastrous tsunami that ripped the shores in 1964. For that reason, campsites and RV parks line the waterfront property--and gave my tent an epic view that would make oceanologists and geologists jealous.
There's no place like, or as far away as, Nome, the final checkpoint of the modern Iditarod. But, the historic start of the Iditarod, Alaska's infamous dogsled endurance race, begins in Seward. By the way, it's also an anagram for "I Dartoid".
Peaceful esplanades hide the past. Imagine standing on this shore after the Great Alaskan Quake of 1964--at 9.2, it was the second largest earthquake ever recorded. Earth liquefaction and landslides triggered tsunamis that reached 100 feet, obliterating sitting-duck port towns.
Receding glaciers still cling to life in mountaintop cirques above trickling moraines. In 1964, the quakes and tsunamis combined forces with fire and Seward's petroleum and rail industry. The bay fumed and flamed, as wave after wave ripped burning oil and debris from the shore back into the sea, sloshing in toxicity for days.
I spent my first full day preparing camp, and scouting town. Seward is small and walkable. The 'touristy' part of town is sandwiched between the obligatory bars and grocery store. Seward also boasts a nice aquarium, and numerous hikes down forest paths to beautiful views. Tomorrow, I'd go whale watching...
...but tonight was the midsummer party for all the crews that drive the boats. I arrived early, with Gavin, to supervise preparations. Two pigs had already spent hours on the spit, and cold beers and sunshine were already hitting the spot.
The party arrived long before dark, and everyone reveled in having the best weather of the summer. Food, drinks, and youthful hijinks ensued.
Not missing out on Gavin's original invitation, I embarked on his boat like every other tourist, and got a day full of whale-watching and all you can eat steak and salmon buffet. Not to mention beers. We passed several sea otters and stellar sea lions as we motored out to Resurrection Bay. And, it wasn't long before the captain spotted a pod of orcas.
Perfectly positioned, a dozen healthy killer whales came right at us, and dove beneath our feet.
Mothers lead the young, and each orca told a story in its telltale fin.
After our fill of blue skies and blowholes, we zipped around the peninsula, up the inlet arms to the ancestors of the Ice Age. It's been fifteen years since I've seen them, and it's easy to see signs that they are wilting. Nonetheless, the allure of their sapphire blue glow is beyond description. It's a color everyone should see--the frozen neon electric hum of eons of time and energy.
The towering frigid fortress walls of a glacier make you feel meaningless, hardly worthy to witness it. And a much larger ice castle and ancient kingdom hides behind the small fragment we can see.
On our return trip, a rookery of sea lions yawned and barked and flapped at us and the birds.
A lone fluke of a whale appeared and disappeared for a long dive. I'm guessing it was a humpback, but I really don't recall, or care. Alaska is amazing.
After a long day riding the waves, with plenty of steak, salmon and beer, it was good to feel my sea legs on land as I slowly walked toward the dart bar for a few legs, before bed. And more tomorrow.
To be continued in part two: "The Lost Story Of Alaska: Double Out"
Over and double out.