A Day at the Beach

     I think Sunday was the first time I've been to the beach wearing anything other than shorts or a wetsuit.  The beach here in Nome stretches from the harbor to beyond the last houses on the east side (yes, it is a south-facing beach, like Santa Cruz).  Walking on the frozen sand was an interesting experience.  The waves were pretty low, maybe six inches high.  They were a bit bigger when I first got here; you could probably take a bodyboard out, with some effort.  It's probably one of the best places I've seen for sea-glass, though I froze my fingers getting it out of the ice.  A lot of flat clamshells and dead starfish were spread among the pebbles, along with a sea urchin skeleton, too (that put me in the mood for some good uni).  Not many birds, other than ravens and (western?) gulls.  My guess is that most of the migratory ones are far south right now, or at islands off the coast.  I saw four people sitting around a driftwood fire; it seems that the city encourages the use of driftwood as fuel.

     The day before, I went to a film festival put on by UAF that is traveling around Alaska called "Alaska Ocean Film Festival."  It seems obvious, but I was surprised to find that none of the films were actually about Alaska.  Four were set in California, the remainder in Hawaii and Washington.  While I enjoyed myself, I wondered if the directors of the festival might have chosen something more relatable for people here.  I know I would have liked to learn more about the Arctic Ocean or the Bering Sea.  The films ranged from the scientific ("White Shark Cafe," about the migratory habits of California's great white population) to the artistic ("Bicycle Ride," a dialog-less film showing a surfer riding to his surf spot in Santa Cruz).  There was a moment in during "Bicycle Ride" that was the first time I have ever felt homesick during this entire trip.  As a film, I didn't think "Bicycle Ride" was anything special, but the footage showed places like Pleasure Point, Cowell's, Steamer's Lane, and I realized, sitting in St. Joe's Church, that I was probably the only person in the small crowd who had actually surfed those places (okay, I'm not good enough for Steamer's, but I like to watch those who are from the cliffs).  In fact, I was there the week before I came here.  Seeing the tan dirt on the roadside, and the ridiculous palm trees, and the long piers, was probably the first time I realized how truly far I am from home.
     This has me thinking about taking a trip to Yakutat for my last couple of days here.  Yakutat is a little-know surf mecca just south of Anchorage.  However, it's hard to get to, and my preliminary searches for flights all turned up the same result: "Can't get there from here."  I'll probably call Icy Waves, the local surf shop, and see if they have some advice on the logistics.  Surfing in Alaska.  Who'd athunk it?