The Weather in Skagway
At one point today, it was snowing one street over—that’s as many streets as there are, before you hit mountain—but not here. About once an hour, huge, wet, blizzard flakes fell, so I couldn’t even see across the street. This would last for ten minutes or so, then let up. When I went out for my daily look at the ocean, it was 38 degrees, and it felt absolutely balmy.
Somehow, my daily ocean time coincided with the incoming tide, so over in the Skagway River, it looked like the water was flowing backwards, at least as far as the bridge over to Yakutania Point. In summer, that’s a wonderful place to sit and watch the cruise ships pull out for the evening, all light and hopeless noise.
Twice I’ve gotten to go out on the tugboat that escorts the cruise ships out. We’d idle alongside, while passengers waved, ignored, or flashed us, depending on their moods.
Tonight, the sky is almost perfectly clear, only a few clouds to the north. I read a while ago that there are only about 2,000 stars visible to the naked eye, but nights like this make that seem a pathetic lie. I can only remember a few times seeing this many stars: last year in British Columbia, walking across the field of a farm where they raised water buffalo; the year before, in Hawaii, driving up from the volcanoes, and in New Zealand, overnight in Doubtful Sound, where I did not recognize a single star outside the southern cross, which was much smaller than it seems like it should have been.
Tonight, the Big Dipper is huge and pointing straight down on the north horizon. Orion’s belt stretches across the mountains to the west. At that point, we run out of constellations I can name, but one must figure Capricorn is out there, and my own constellation, Aquarius, which, of course, has nothing at all to do with my life, nor the lives of anybody I know born under that sign.
Remember when it was the age of Aquarius? Lost hope is a sad, sad thing.
In a minute here, I shall go back out and look at the stars again. It doesn’t bother me that I can’t name any of the arrangements; I tend to think names are given by people who are in places where they don’t really belong, trying to classify the world into “like home, not like home.” People who are where they should be, on the other hand, simply know what home looks like and don’t need all that differentiation.
Supposed to snow more tomorrow.
Somehow, my daily ocean time coincided with the incoming tide, so over in the Skagway River, it looked like the water was flowing backwards, at least as far as the bridge over to Yakutania Point. In summer, that’s a wonderful place to sit and watch the cruise ships pull out for the evening, all light and hopeless noise.
Twice I’ve gotten to go out on the tugboat that escorts the cruise ships out. We’d idle alongside, while passengers waved, ignored, or flashed us, depending on their moods.
Tonight, the sky is almost perfectly clear, only a few clouds to the north. I read a while ago that there are only about 2,000 stars visible to the naked eye, but nights like this make that seem a pathetic lie. I can only remember a few times seeing this many stars: last year in British Columbia, walking across the field of a farm where they raised water buffalo; the year before, in Hawaii, driving up from the volcanoes, and in New Zealand, overnight in Doubtful Sound, where I did not recognize a single star outside the southern cross, which was much smaller than it seems like it should have been.
Tonight, the Big Dipper is huge and pointing straight down on the north horizon. Orion’s belt stretches across the mountains to the west. At that point, we run out of constellations I can name, but one must figure Capricorn is out there, and my own constellation, Aquarius, which, of course, has nothing at all to do with my life, nor the lives of anybody I know born under that sign.
Remember when it was the age of Aquarius? Lost hope is a sad, sad thing.
In a minute here, I shall go back out and look at the stars again. It doesn’t bother me that I can’t name any of the arrangements; I tend to think names are given by people who are in places where they don’t really belong, trying to classify the world into “like home, not like home.” People who are where they should be, on the other hand, simply know what home looks like and don’t need all that differentiation.
Supposed to snow more tomorrow.
posted by e. Readicker-Henderson at 9:44 PM
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