The dark blue water stretched on endlessly in front of us. A baby blue sky kissed the top of our heads. Emerald green hills dusted with snow bookended us. Our little boat, commandeered by our Airbnb hosts drifted slowly out of the marina, then picked up speed, leaving behind soft foam that coatedthe dark blue surface.
We were in Seward, Alaska, a little cul de sac of the Pacific Ocean, heading into what looked like the edge of the earth. From here, it wasn’t that crazy to think that humans once thought the earth was flat and perhaps there was a point at this you just fell out into nothingness. Nevertheless, there we were, heading to our Airbnb
, a cozy yurt for two, nestled in a remote cove.
As the boat pulled into the cove, we found ourselves surrounded by imposing walls of rocks softened by a waterfall gurgling into the bay. A metal staircase took us up to our temporary roof. Even though we were quite remote by all known standards, we weren’t without first world amenities. A kitchen equipped with a small gas stove and other essentials, an electric heater, a comfy bed with side tables stocked with board games and books; we had everything we might need to survive the next 24 hours of seclusion.
Our only way out of our self-imposed seclusion were bright yellow kayaks that we could use to meander the waters to various other coves and islands dotting Resurrection Bay. After devouring a breakfast of fresh avocados, sunny side up eggs, and refreshing glasses of orange juice, and packing sandwiches full of hummus and other fresh vegetables, we headed out on our marine adventure.
We were the only human souls as far as the eye could see. Save for the bright salamanders that squirmed their way through the clear waters, we weren’t sure if there was much animal life around us. It was equally terrifying and magical in its isolation. I could feel the weight of space around me, consuming me. There is probably some evolutionary extinct that makes humans feel safer in the presence of other humans. Here, so far from others, we found ourselves closer to each other, comforted by the waters beneath our kayaks and the familiar skies above.
We stopped for lunch on Fox Island, a place so mystical, I couldn’t make sense of it. The island seemed so untouched that it could have only existed before humans did. I genuinely wouldn’t have been shocked to see some extinct, prehistoric animal laying on the rocky beach or sunbathing amongst the tall grass. After working up an appetite from all the kayaking, we laid out on the sun and enjoyed the vegetable sandwiches and crunchy chips like it might be the last meal we ever have.
That night, the sky was cloudy and the rain found us, in our lonely yurt, in our secluded cove. The world was still near, I knew it. After all, the rain pouring down on us was probably falling on the houses back in the town of Seward. But right there, out among whatever prehistoric animals might still have survived, we enjoyed all that space we had for ourselves.