July 29, 2018

ROCKWELL KENT WILDERNESS CENTENNIAL JOURNAL
100 YEARS LATER
by Doug Capra © 2018

“Why do men love the wilderness? For its mountains? – there may be none. For its forests, lakes, and rivers? It might be a desert; men would love it still. Desert, the monotonous ocean, the unbroken snowfields of the North, all solitudes, no matter how forlorn, are the only abiding-place on earth of liberty.”
Salamina by Rockwell Kent, p.22

Kent arrives in Vancouver today.

One of the qualities I admire most about Rockwell Kent is his appreciation of solitude. No – “appreciation” is not the right word. A better word would be “need.” Solitude was essential for Kent. Not that he was a recluse or loner. He thrived in cities like New York as well. He needed that kind of intellectual stimulation. But there are other intellectual stimulants. Notice that his Alaska book – Wilderness – includes in its subtitle the phrase “quiet adventure.” One of the themes of Wilderness is that adventure doesn’t have to be noisy with excitement that’s physical and external. Adventure can and should sometimes be quiet and internal. For that, Kent insists, you need solitude.

Solutide – that’s one of the elemental components of real wilderness for Kent. Wilderness could be anywhere a person was willing to take that internal dive into the spirit. Some might have their favorite places, spots that most enhance the plunge. But that connection to the wild was really a spiritual quest and could be found anywhere with solitude.

In his book, "Mindfulness in Plain English," Bhante Henepola Gunaratana, reminded me of a Zen connection to solitude. He writes:

“After sitting motionless, close your eyes. Our mind is analogous to a cup of muddy water. The longer you keep a cup of muddy water still, the more the mud settles down and the water will be seen clearly. Similarly, if you keep quiet without moving your body, focusing your entire undivided attention on the subject of your meditation, your mind begins to settle down and begins to experience the bliss of meditation.”

Flash forward -- On August 2nd I journeyed to Fox Island. It was overcast in Seward when we left on the Kenai Fjords Tours vessel Nunatak at noon -- but not raining. Seas were relatively calm. As we headed south toward the entrance to Resurrection Bay the fog thickened and it rained. By the time we traveled the 12 miles to Fox Island the rain was blowing sideways spitting from the southeast. 

I’ve been to Fox Island in all kinds of weather. In the winter, too. And I’ve lived along this coast most of my life. I know the rain. It’s not that I needed more rain yesterday, but for me there’s virtue in experiencing a wet, miserable, soaking Fox Island. It reminds me of fox farmer Lars Matt Olson – 71 years old. Kent published entries from the old Swede’s journal in Wilderness. Excuse his spelling. It reflects how he spoke:

Sept. 3, 1918 “Drisley rain all Day” -- Sept. 7 – “S.E. rainstorm” – Sept. 14 “raining Wary Hard” – Sept. 17 “raining all Day. North Est storm With Caps and Wully’s all over” – Sept. 22 “raining like Hell.”

That September and November 1918, it did rain like Hell on Fox Island, as Olson observed. Kent writes of the rain in his journal as well. But that’s life along a temperate rain forest, especially in August and September. It’s still that way today, although with climate change we’re seeing more erratic weather patterns in Alaska. 

Once having eaten the tasty salmon and prime rib buffet on the island with other passengers, I put on my rain gear. The passengers got back on the boat for their bay tour, and I headed north along the beach to the ruins of the Kent cabin. I stood there, soaking in both the rain and the solitude. Then I bushwhacked the now overgrown trail which joins what I call Olson’s Trail to the lake – passing the blueberry bushes, scraping by the Devil’s Club, brushing along the Sitka alder, maneuvering around huge hewn trunks of old-growth Sitka Spruce. Getting drenched. 

That spot by the lake at the end of Olson’s Trail is magic, as Kent learns when he first discovers Fox Island. Even in the rain, the water already saturating and soaking my supposedly water-proof rain gear – I could experience the wild solitude Kent describes in Wilderness. 

It’s July 29, 1918, and Kent and Rocky are approaching Vancouver on the Canadian Pacific Railway. They'll arrive today. 

PHOTOS – I took these shots on Aug. 2nd on Fox Island.
1. Kent's view of the north headland taken with a telephone lens from the Kenai Fjords Tours day lodge.
2. Kent's view of the south headland taken with a telephone lens from the Kenai Fjords Tours day lodge.
3. "It rained like Hell." The railing along the Kenai Fjords Tours northwest walkway.
4. Taken at the site of the Kent cabin ruins, with the famous Sitka Spruce stump in front.