Alaska has its own version of the Loch Ness monster, and there was an alleged sighting during my stay. Similar to previous sightings, Alaska’s Nessie is grey and grainy, and is only able to emerge from the murky deep during extended periods of black-and-whitedness.
According to scientist Paul Leblond, “It must be a mammal or a reptile, since it oscillates up and down in a vertical plain, which eliminates sideways-oscillating fish.”
Coincidentally, this is exactly what we saw as we stood on the beach in front of the Shrine of St. Therese. Some people may say, “Hey, girls, that’s kelp” or “Gee, that looks like a dead log to me.” All I know is that as we watched silently on that black and white day, the image of Ole Ally Nessy, its very soul, refused to be captured by our cameras (which leads me to believe it may have also be a vampire).
Post-photo shoot, we continued our hike around the Mendenhall, stopping to pay our respects to the spawning (and, judging by the sign below, occasionally toothsome) salmon.
Salmon aficionados claim that you can taste the difference between spawning and non-spawning salmon. Alas, I did not achieve my Alaska goal of catching and consuming a salmon in a bear-like fashion (those suckers are fast!), so I really have no basis for judgement.
The topic of salmon teeth thrust itself into the spotlight once again when we stopped for lunch at The Hot Bite. While we did not have the good fortune to meet any dentally gifted, sandwich servin’ salmon, we did have some amazing milkshakes. That in itself was pretty ironic considering that milk shakes are one of the few things a person without teeth can enjoy. Also, our sandwiches were not served by salmon, which may explain why the service was so very slow.
The more I travel, the more I think about becoming blasé about new sights and experiences. I know, I know – this is a prime example of a first world problem (Haitian woman: “How do I feed my illiterate children while not dying of cholera?” Tourist: “I hope I don’t choke on the fragile bones of this tiny, nearly-extinct bird for which I have paid a great deal of money and traveled many days to eat and about which I will tell others so that they, too, may contribute to its extinction and also to a tourist economy of which the country’s people shall never benefit.”) I think that anyone who has had the good fortune to travel extensively has experienced this, but most of us keep our feelings to ourselves for fear of coming off as an obnoxious asshole. (Unfortunately, we all know people who express no such reservations.) But Alaska quickly reconfirmed the world’s infinite exploration possibilities, especially as I was experiencing only a small corner of this, the 49th U.S. state. If anything, it pulled me to the present, and reaffirmed all the reasons that on the road (or in the air or on a boat) is where I want to be.
And how can you be anything but humbled by this:
(On a related note, I very much prefer experiencing my humility via nature’s frozen majesty rather than, say, at the hands of a bear. Thank you, glaciers, for your creeping advancement rates and your lack of crazy sharp teeth and claws.)
