I didn’t set an alarm. The bed was comfortable. The curtains were closed against the four in the morning light that Alaska offers whether you want it or not. I woke up at 10:30 to a checkout time of 10:00 and had to scamper.
Crumb cake, coffee, pack, drive. That was the morning.
The Drive That Broke Me Open
This was going to be a long one — five and a half hours by the map, which meant closer to seven the way I actually drive. The Seward Highway goes south from Anchorage through the same stretch I’d come up on, back past Beluga Point and the glaciers and all of it, and I’d been on it three or four times now. I knew what was coming. I thought that meant I was prepared.
I had the sunroof open and the windows down. I’d put on YouTube music and Where the Streets Have No Name came on, which is the kind of song that does something to a certain kind of person when the conditions are right. I was talking into the recorder, deep into some train of thought about the trip and what it was doing to me, and then I came around the corner underneath an overpass and the mountains were right there — the full sweep of them, right at the precise moment the song was building to its crescendo.
I let go. Crying, laughing, screaming. All at once. The way it comes when something is too big to hold properly.
Then I rounded another bend and the Alaska Railroad scenic train was right there beside the road, full of people with their faces at the windows, and they started waving at me, and I waved back with tears behind my sunglasses. They couldn’t see that part. Just a guy in a rental car waving at the train.
I’ve had retinal detachment surgery. The possibility of losing the vision in one eye was real at a certain point in my life. I think about that sometimes when I’m somewhere I couldn’t have seen without the gift of being able to see it. Alaska has a way of making you aware of your own gratitude in a way most places don’t. It amplifies things.
The Lake Before Seward
Somewhere on the last stretch before Seward I found a pulloff with a small boardwalk extending into a lake. Nobody else there. The light on the hills was going warm and the water was doing that perfectly reflective thing that still water does when everything is calm. I walked out to the end of the boardwalk and shot some brackets and just stood there for a while.
All the driving days I’d wished for better pulloffs. This one arrived at the right moment.
Seward
I came down into Seward on Memorial Day weekend, which means I came down into Seward packed with people, RVs, camper vans, boats, the whole opening of the Alaska summer season happening all at once in one small harbor town.
It’s a cute little town is an understatement. The mountains come right down to the water. The harbor is full of commercial fishing boats and whale watching vessels and everything in between. The Airbnb was bigger than expected — full kitchen, proper bathroom, a fridge that was technically in the bedroom but I was not complaining.
I dropped the bags, grabbed the camera, and went back out into the light that still had no intention of stopping.
Tomorrow: boat, glaciers, whales. I’ve been looking forward to this since the itinerary was built.
In Episode #18 of my 50 at 60 journey, I start the day with coffee in hand, journaling about the day’s adventures, a cherished morning ritual during my year of travel. Today’s journey takes me from Denali to Seward, Alaska. As I drive along the breathtaking Seward Highway, the stunning beauty of the landscape evokes an emotional response, bringing me to tears. Along the way, I stop at a beautiful reflective lake just outside of Seward to capture some serene photographs. The day concludes with a peaceful late evening walk at the softly lit Seward Harbor. Join me for a day filled with reflection, emotional moments, and the awe-inspiring beauty of Alaska.
