Although we had a wonderful feeling to have done what we set out to do, to my surprise I found myself ready to go back. It had been a marvelous life, a wonderful experience: effort, peace and happiness, sunshine and rainbows, but now I knew it was over and time to go home.
Byron had the luck to sell his canoe almost immediately on our return to Emonak. Doug put an advertisement at the store while I made arrangements with the store manager to have him sell my canoe for me and send the money later. A public shower and sauna were our next stop and for two dollars I took a wonderfully hot shower. The steaming water flooded over my skin and soaked into my pores. Dirt seemed to be a permanentpart of me, and I scrubbed and scrubbed to get completely clean.
Then we set up camp on an island in the river to get away from the hordes of little kids who surrounded us when we reached a town. As I scrubbed my canoe inside and out, I felt a bond that linked me with the sleek boat that had carried me all the way and felt tempted to put it into the river and let it drift out to sea. However, the canoe was the only way I had to get off the island. Our campfire grew as we went through our packs throwing out garbage of all descriptions, sort of a solemn ceremony prior to reentering civilization. After cleaning every piece of gear, we stowed it in our packs.
Doug had not sold his canoe and decided to wait until he did. He and Byron planned to stay in Alaska, and we had already decided that I would not wait for them. So next morning I delivered my boat to the store, bought a ticket on the daily plane, and soon was on my way to Anchorage.
Before arriving in Anchorage I began suffering culture shock. From the slow, peaceful pace of a canoe and the wilderness, I had been flung into the speed of a jet and the hustle and bustle of an airport. I walked into the Anchorage airport feeling very out of place in my worn-out boots and clothing toting a battered and faded pack. After buying a ticket, I wandered around wanting to talk to someone, but nobody seemed to give me more than a second glance, or if they did, it seemed to say, “Just another dirty hippy.” Then I saw her. She had a faded packpack at her side, and as I walked over to her, instead of looking the other way, she smiled and said, “Hello.” I sat down and we spent the next hour and a half talking and laughing like old friends. I’m sorry I didn’t get her address as she was on her way to California, and when I boarded my plane I knew I would probably never see her again.
Soon I was at my grandparents’ place in Surrey, B.C. settled in front of the roaring fireplace, telling about my travels.