AK 12 -- Echos of Tongass Island Village

AK 12 -- Echos of Tongass Island Village

The rhythms of waves rolling into the breakwater and reefs just off shore seem to leave a fair roar among the trees of the island. No matter where you go, you are always connected to the ebb and flow of the North Pacific coming into Dixon Entrance. Old growth groves of Sitka Spruce and Alaskan Yellow Cedar stand just at the shores edge, a carpet of False Solomons Seal extending out from their base, and the blue skies of the beaches filtering through the stand of shore pine making up the backdrop. Silver Poles of housepost and fallen Totem lay just beyond this Silvan temple, echoing a past when the T'Simpshain made this their home before moving to Ketchikan. Yet now nature has reclaimed it, swallowing up the clearings in thickets of alder and devils club, and only Raven remains watching with his curious eyes, cawing out his distant questions.

With fishing slowing down in the south-end, time has allowed me to journey to shore and up the channels in my Kayak. Tracking treelines and ridges, collecting along the shore, and just taking in the tideline of the Misty Fiords. This landscape feels haunted with spirits still living. Welcoming them in to the curious at heart. A vitality so rich you could reach out and tough it, not muffled by the works and pursuits of man. I follow tracks of otters moving from the tideline through the forest floor. Crossing a small divide in the island to forage for Dungeness amount the crabgrass bay on the otherwise. No matter where you go, layer upon layer show themselves to those who would care to watch awhile, letting the cloak unfold.

I think of the people who traveled between these islands. Fishing by cedar bark nets and woven fish traps. Harvesting from the land and the sea to live rich lives from the bounty, and to return to ornate clan homes. Paddling all the channels and passages we work our way through. Stories attached to each rock, bight and bay. A familiarity with the landscape that surrounds me today. Lost to story and echos of a life once lived, walking the groves and shores I still feel connected. Here a sense of home among familure places seems to call me in. And Raven always watch, following me around my walk and back to the boat. The sequential of the Tongass peering down from the ancient boughs heights. The old spirit of long forgotten clans that called this island, home.

From the Waters of the Inside Passage,
Jorj Aldair
山道人