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10. The Battle of Moon Lake

Tags: Alaska, Moon Lake, Mosquitos

Epilogue

Finishing this writing project twenty years after I first started has been an instructive experience. The journey came alive for me once again. Rereading what I had put down originally, and going back through the daily log that I kept at the time reinforced the common belief that your memory serves you best for the good parts and the bad parts fade. I am sometimes asked if I was lonely. The answer is yes. I knew, for me, loneliness, or “aloneness,” was conducive to creativity. I think this is especially true for writing. I have a good tolerance for interruption when working on an art project, but for writing, I need blocks of dedicated time. On the trip I was most productive when I was the loneliest. The solitude was deepened by the fact that the trip took place during a hiatus in my relationship with partner Evie Wilson, but I am happy to report this came to an end upon my return. Our partnership in life is still going strong as this project is completed. One other relationship that has endured is the one with my old friend and companion the van which is now closing in on 200,000 miles. And, of course there is our Sun, the home star. As for Georgia, she will live on in this book. It is apparent to me now that this journey was a time of introspection and self-examination on several levels, and I believe that I benefited from the process. It may not work for everyone, but the pilgrimage to Gobblers Knob to watch the Sun make a big circle in the sky helped me with a number of perspectives not all of which made it into this book. I shall always treasure them.

The essays that originally constituted Part II of this book may be found here.

Tags: Evie Wilson, Gobblers Knob

Prologue

The stretch of coast between Half Moon Bay and Point Año Nuevo, California is one of my favorite settings. In total, it is perhaps only twenty miles or so and includes the villages of San Gregorio and Pescadero.

While driving south from Half Moon Bay, on the left is rolling agricultural land and on the right a view of surf, cliffs, and rocks. Highway One becomes an ecotone between pastoral and marine. Looking out to the horizon you can often see ships, fishing boats, and occasionally the spout of a gray whale as it migrates north or south along the coast. About half way between Pescadero and Año Nuevo is Pigeon Point which is graced by a lighthouse straight from a picture book.

Lighthouse at Pigeon Point

Pigeon Point was my destination early in the spring of 1986, as it had been many times before. It is a truly magical spot and it’s my favorite place to watch the Sun set. As I drove south in the late afternoon light, I was once again struck by the beauty of the area. All the hills were green with spring, and fleecy clouds left over from a late season storm were blowing in from the horizon. Row upon row of artichokes flashed by to my left while cattle and sheep could be seen grazing on the hills in the distance.

Since Pigeon Point is only an hour’s drive from Palo Alto, I often went there when I needed a break in my daily routine. It has the advantage of being close while seeming far away. As the light fades, the sound of surf predominates along with the flash of the beacon at the lighthouse. One could, at that time, park right on the edge of the cliff and look down about 40 feet to the surf dashing against the rocks below. Low tide reveals a plethora of tide pools. At night the lights of the fishing boats are stippled along the horizon and, when the moon is not out, the milky way is plainly visible. You sleep to the primal rhythm of the surf. Eternal . . . eternal . . . eternal; the sound of the surf is one of only a few sounds I can think of that connect us so directly with the eternal.

Upon arriving that evening in 1986, I settled down with a glass of wine just north of the lighthouse. As I watched the Sun slip out of sight, I wondered if I would find a spot to match this during my trip north. Maybe, and what else would I find . . .

Alaska Travel Route

Tags: Bodega Bay, Bolinas, Pigeon Point, Sabatical

Introduction

Starting in May of 1986, I took a year off from my regular position as Artist-in-Residence for the Pacific Art League in Palo Alto, California. Having hired and trained an assistant to run my framing business, I intended to take a sabbatical and see some of the United States. Two fine books, Travels with Charlie by John Steinbeck and Blue Highways by William Least Heat Moon, helped inspire my decision to make such a trip. In addition, I wanted to sort out some philosophical thoughts I had been mulling over in my mind for a number of years. Such a trip would provide the opportunity. To begin my wanderings, I decided the first leg should go as far north as possible and that led me to Alaska. This book chronicles that journey.

Denali at Talkeetna by R L Mason

Somewhere I had heard of the Japanese custom of keeping a “legacy,” a large book in which the head of a family wrote down his thoughts on life and other matters. The book was passed down through the generations with each successor adding his own thoughts. This practice appealed to me since I was curious about my ancestors and yet knew so little about them. Also, I was fascinated with the enduring nature of books. I had read the Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini and the Travels of Marco Polo. I marveled at how a book could provide a direct communications link between people of different times. Both authors were able to speak directly to my mind from their minds over periods of five and seven hundred years. It amused me to envision my descendants smiling at my quaint expressions five hundred years from now.

Age fifty (almost) seemed like an appropriate time of life to start such a project. At that age you are still young enough to have all your wits about you, yet old enough to have had a fair amount of experience with the world. You should have lost a good deal of naiveté and gained objectivity. You should have a pretty good handle on which of those “lessons” you were taught as a youth were sound and which didn’t hold water. You may even have a fresh insight, or rarer still, an original thought.

You have to have something of an ego, of course, to even attempt such a project, but low self-esteem has never been a problem of mine. On the other hand, I have no illusions about changing the course of history with this book. If it is never
read by anyone other than my daughter and granddaughter, that will be enough. I did feel a nagging sense of obligation and I think this springs from a vague notion that a life should somehow “bear fruit;” that something in addition to progeny should be left behind at the end. Being an artist has helped fulfill this need, but a work of art lacks the specificity of the written word, and I wanted to be more specific.

I don’t pretend to be an expert on any of the subjects and disciplines that are touched on in this book. The only subject I claim expertise for is my own opinion, and the reader will soon discover that I have opinions. Prefacing every personal conclusion with “it seems to me” or “as I understand it” does get rather tiresome, so I ask that the reader plug these words in mentally whenever I begin to sound instructive. They are, after all, only opinions. Finally, I have decided even though this book is a personal project, I might as well do it in a finished manner. At least I should try for broad appeal, although I would consider broad readership a bonus. An account of my trip provides the structure for introducing a number of diverse thoughts and is also a story in its own right. Much of this book was drafted at that time. Upon returning, however, and reengaging in the process of making a living, the project languished. I was determined to complete the project upon retirement, and did so with the help of a daily log which I kept on the trip, as well as photographs, tape recordings, and sketches done on location.

The essays that originally constituted Part II of the book may be found here.

Tags: Alaska