Reminiscing...

I was going through some of my old writing and found this. I was looking for the pictures that went with it, but I can only find the one I took, not the one Dad took. It is remarkable how Nature has taken over and filled in the spaces that man left behind. There are however thousands of dimples all over the tundra where tents and Quonset huts were at one time. You know just by looking that there were a lot of men living there. For the most part, the Navy has cleaned up a lot of the deserted buildings, and they have removed most of the deserted wharves except right in Adak City.

Yesterday Leslie wrote about needing a place to get in touch with herself. I used to (and still do) take a book of paper and a pen somewhere in the mountains or on the beach and just sit and write whatever popped into my head for 30 minutes. Sometimes it surprises even me. Sometimes I don’t want to keep it, and sometimes I do. This was one of those times.

Finger Bay, Adak, Alaska

Easter Sunday 1992

I’m sitting here in about the same spot as my Father stood 45 years ago, The day that he took a picture of the busy wharves and submarine docks that were once in abundance here. Now, I am looking out over a pristine finger of water; almost a fjord, and the wharves and docks are gone. Given way to age and a changing military environment. The concrete pads for the wharves are still here, and on the hill behind me are the few remaining Quonset huts that are protected by the historic register. There are a few piles of rotting timbers and rusting metal, but for the most part, this Bay has been reclaimed by nature. Signs of Man’s presence are still visible, but soon the tundra will cover them, and the winds and tides that shape these shores will eradicate any trace of the war machine that was once so present here. The quiet here is at times deafening! Broken only by the gurgling of the Raven on the high cliffs, and the splash of the sea otter as he flips to dive for his supper. Right now the remains of yesterdays’ snow is melting from the Tundra, and brown and black patches are poking through, leaving the low spots still covered with white. The water running down the cliff face has turned into giant icicles, hanging like frosting from the mountain. It isn’t really cold, only about 34 degrees, but the wind comes roaring down from the high peaks and freezes anything it touches. This land is so unforgiving. It’s harshness not readily apparent, but the tundra can be a killer in a heartbeat. It’s softness is very deceiving, for the soft covering of moss and grass can hide a deadly cavern beneath it, cut by eons of melting snow carrying abrasive volcanic ash. These islands were born of violence and are violent still. Evidenced by the almost daily earthquakes that shake us awake. Live volcanoes are a fact of life in the Aleutian chain, and within a 30-mile radius we have 3 active ones, and numerous geo-thermal vents that could erupt at any time. The term living on borrowed time really applies here, but not one of us is willing to admit that we could be vaporized in an instant...returned to the elements from whence we came.