So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

As I sit here in the San Francisco airport, at a quiet gate with no flights, looking out at all the runway lights through my reflection on the glass, I can't believe it's over. I left in such a whirlwind that I didn't comprehend what was really happening. As I was leaving the office, it felt like I was just going into the field again. As I was driving to Anchorage, it seemed like just another conference trip. Even as I was sitting on the plane, playing blackjack with the couple next to me, nothing had changed.

Now I'm here in the lower 48 again, making plans for the next few days - where I'm going to stay, how I'm going to get around, what I need to do to prepare for my upcoming (as in, Friday) New Zealand trip, who I'm going to see - and it's started to sink in that my plane did, in fact, leave Alaska. In some ways, it felt like I was just settling in.

My last post here was at the beginning of June. After that, life took off. There was rain, followed by landslides, followed by a constant loop of fieldwork and revisions in the office. I got in the occasional hike on the weekends, and some good ones for work, but so much was happening that it became impossible to think about life outside the park. It was amazing - never have I enjoyed my work so much.

My coworkers and friends made it feel like I wasn't leaving. A few of them told me matter-of-factly, only half joking, that they would see me in December after I finish my degree. I laughed then. I'm getting emotional now.

I made some fantastic friends - a group of people with an immeasurable devotion to the natural world and a mission to help people everywhere understand why it's a world worth exploring. I will miss them and their unending enthusiasm and excitement in the face of some of the most aggressive terrain in North America, if not the world. I will miss working through pouring rain and escaping from bears; I'll miss taking a walk down to the other end of the office to chat about big-picture geology over breaks and when my brain was too tired to focus on details; I'll miss hiking the most difficult route just because it's fun; I'll miss watching movies so late into the night that we see the sun rise; I'll miss bonfires and playing music and pausing to watch moose walk through camp; I'll miss the freshly caught salmon they'd bring me; I'll miss spending time with, and learning from, these people.

Coworkers Russell (left) and Alina (right) work on summarizing a wet day of field work at a backcountry ranger cabin

But this is a circumstance precipitated by choice - a choice to continue learning and exploring. Traveling and living in new places has been my mode for over six years now, and I'm slowly getting better at maintaining meaningful connections and keeping in touch. So I hope that these relationships will not end (maybe if I write it here, I'll hold myself to a higher standard of communication).

In the meantime, it's off to new adventures. I get three days in Columbus before I fly to New Zealand again, only for two weeks this time, and then I'm back in Ohio to finish my degree, geology gods willing. I have multiple and various pending opportunities after graduation in December, and despite my whining in this post, I can't wait to see what's next.

So long, Alaska. Keep in touch. Maybe send one of those rainbows along every once in a while, or a good snow. I'll be thinking about you this winter, wishing I could follow the wolf tracks on my skis in the midday twilight and watch the lights sway in the dead of the cold, cold night.

I'll miss you, but I'll see you again. Soon.