SEWARD, Alaska

I'm tempted to move into the Burl Cabin on Old Exit Glacier Road in Seward. I'm writing this at my little desk with corner picture windows watching salmon arrive for spawning in the shallow creek before they take their last few skips up river and then float in place until they disintegrate or are eaten by a bear. We had planned to take a 6-hour boat trip through the Kenai Fjords today but swells were reaching 15 feet near the Chiswell Islands so the trip was cancelled. A blessing in disguise as I am content watching raindrops splash and salmon take their last breaths, completing their incredible circular life. (The salmon in our stream have the courtesy of floating below the surface, rather than jumping on the shore like the salmon in the photo taken in downtown Seward.)

Before arriving in this coastal, commercial-fishing, rainforested town with a welcome patch of sunshine, we made a side-trip to the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center situated where the town of Portage was prior to the 1964 earthquake and subsequent tsunamis that caused complete destruction and abandonment of Portage. Remnants on the site include a few dilapidated cottages and trees deadened by the saltwater flooding. The center serves as a retreat for injured and orphaned animals including bears, eagles, muskox, moose, elk and other native wildlife.

Once we reached Seward, finding a restaurant proved a bit challenging as much of the town has just boarded up for the season. We were fortunate to end up at Ray's on the harborfront for excellent, and oh so fresh halibut and shrimp. Fortified, we headed out to Exit Glacier, the exit for the first crossing of the Harding Icefield in 1968, thus its name. A 0.9 mile trail leads visitors to the edge of the glacier, then winds around for a circular route. As I pointed down the trail, I saw movement at the base - a black bear that looked to me like a baby, and to Benedicta full-grown. Either way, it was definitely a bear, causing Benedicta to nix that route. So we retraced our steps, glad to have a path full of leaves to crunch and rustle.

Safely back at our cabin, we unloaded our gear and practiced the ancient art of lighting the campfire. Fortunately our supper wasn't dependent upon it as our damp wood required several attempts. With persistence, and the requisite second-guessing of each other's methods, Benedicta got a flame going and I blew on the beginning sparks to set it roaring. And there we sat until past our bedtimes, staring into the flames until the embers went from red to black. A little sunshine is peaking over the treetops now, so perhaps we'll get another chance to perfect our skills. Until then, I'll watch a few more salmon take their final bow.