It’s the first night being on the Alaska Marine Highway ferry heading south to the Lower 48 with my dog, Alice. As the loud hum of the ferry’s engine combines with the hull of the vessel cutting through the ocean, I reminisce this morning’s happenings.
Alice and I drove on the MV Kennicott around 9 o’clock this morning so I could start my news director job in a little over a week at Utah Public Radio. We almost didn’t make it on the ferry though.
I was very emotional leaving Wrangell, this little Southeast Alaska island that held space for us during the past two and a half years. When it was my time to get on the ferry, I realized I didn’t have my keys.
It took about ten minutes of searching my fully packed car. My friend found them — in one of my slippers.
On the ferry deck, the sky matches the ocean with that dark twilight blue as we continue sailing the approximate 700 miles south. The engine’s low rumble is louder outside.
The ferry can carry 499 passengers and up to 78 20-foot vehicles. We have our own state room, which is the maritime term for a bunk room. People can sleep in public areas on the ferry if they don’t have a room. We’re in Canadian waters, sailing through British Columbia’s densely forested archipelagos. Like Wrangell, it’s a temperate rainforest, but the weather has been dry.
After two days, we make it to Bellingham, Washington. I’ve been nervous about driving on busy roads again. Wrangell doesn’t even have a traffic light. But here we are, driving along the coast toward Seattle to visit a friend.
After seeing her, we stop in Olympia, where I used to live, and spend hours walking around. Alice and I go down to the rocks near a bridge in the Puget Sound. The water gently splashes on the lower boulders. I used to sit here 20 years ago and sang to the seals. So I began singing again with a somewhat melodic voice and no lyrics. Alice whines for us to get moving.
It works. A seal pops its dog-like head up above the surface, looking in our direction. Now we can leave since I got what I wished for.
We drive east through the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon. Holy moly, this place is stunning. I’m not so sad anymore leaving Alaska’s beautiful wilderness. Being here reminds me that beauty exists in so many places.
That night, we end up in The Dalles, Oregon — a town of old buildings and historic houses. The next morning, which is our third day back on the main land, I talk to 26-year old Allyson Ambriz. She works at the coffee house in our motel and has lived here her whole life.
“It’s like the perfect location. There’s a lot to do 10 minutes outside of town. We’re not far from Portland,” she says. “I feel like everyone here is really genuine and nice when it comes to people.”
She’s quick to point out the history too.
“The end of the Oregon Trail is at the City Park here in The Dalles, so that’s pretty cool,” Ambriz says.
Alice and I try to make it to Hell’s Canyon because my friend’s husband suggested it to me, but the road going up a mountain turns into snowmobile-only territory.
We turn around and have to retrace our drive. It took a couple hours to get up on this mountain, but here we go. I do remember passing a campsite along the way, so we set up the camp there. I wake up and unzip the tent to look at the sky. The zipping sound pierces through the quiet night air, along with the river rushing by below.
There’s so many stars. I haven’t seen this in a few years since heavy rain clouds usually cover the Wrangell sky.
The next day, after driving a significant way, we’re on another road to Hell’s Canyon. But again, the snowmobile only sign. So Alice and I take a short hike nearby just to stretch our legs. The dirt trail crumbles below our feet. After about an hour, we get back in the car and head southeast.
It’s getting dark when we reach Mountain Home, Idaho. We end up in the Hilander Motel — retro from the outside, built in the ’60s. Indian spices like cumin and coriander fill the room and it feels comforting.
The next morning we’re back on the road and I’m determined to get to Logan.
We’re a day late and I want to get out of the heat. I’m ready to feel more settled, even if we don’t have any furniture — except the dog bed that unfolds into a human-sized bed.
A week after Alice and I left our old home, we finally arrive, slamming the car door to settle down in the Beehive State.
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