To Journey #1 — 3:15 p.m. November 1, 2003
Go North north to the last frontier I say mousing over the expansive state of Alaska,
highlighting each of its five regions: north, interior, west, south central, south. North I say,
journey north to Point Hope.
Whale-like creature
killed by a harpooner
winter is inching
over the Bering Sea to the Tikigaq (Inupiat word for index finger) peninsula,
the oldest continuous settlement on the continent. I arrive with my virtual kin returning to sea
ice strong enough to hold a man in the dark of the year. They sleep lights on beside oil stoves,
while I snuggle into my computer chair
bare feet curled beneath a flickering screen.
Spoonfuls of seal oil
fifty to thirty below
the arctic circle
Forward forward across freshly blown snow with my pointed shaft testing the ice
two paces ahead, I look for the telltale gray of young ice. I'm marooned in slush ice
formed between my skinboat and the shore. It is there I wait until I attach myself
to the shoreline to age inshore. Frozen to change rather than stability. Shards of rain slash
my face. My life now defined by the moment ice chunks flow freely
through the Nenana River.
Spot a whale
silent in the waters
first taste of muk tuk
Click, click, click, surfing the world wide web in my big blue ox wagon,
site seeing my way to new adventures but where to there are so many "New's" to choose?
Onward I trek to Point Pleasant Beach, "New" Jersey,
where the sun's gloam creeps along
the sand, stealing my day break away
to Journey # 2 — 3:15 p. m. November 2, 2003 . . .