Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

If the ravens of Alaska were the spirits of Sitkan ancestors then the loons of Bemidji must represent the same. I have never heard loons so hauntingly when there is no other sound to accompany them. A vivid symphony of lilting tones and conversation-esque flutings between the numerous loons in the area; I have never come across such a poignant and natural sound in the dead of night than these. Many of my fellow workers find the sounds to be disorienting, and many find the noises creepy in nature, but I find solace in the comfort of a duplicity in emotions.

The nights are darker than I’ve seen in a very long time. I’ve stumbled from my bunkhouse in the middle of the night expecting to find my path illuminated by streetlights or even a distant glow of civilization, but here you find your way in the dark or you must bring your own light.

I think I wandered in search of my own Thoreau or Kerouac existence, but no matter how many places I’ve seen or how many people I’ve met, the solitude had never been less enticing. Here, I find the solitude to be appealing in its woodsy embrace. The cabins are rustic and my bed frame squeaks unbearably with the slightest of movements but committing myself to a summer of being closer to roots, in more ways than one, is enthralling.

The one thing I’m not too fond of is the overbearing populus of winged hellions, name mosquitoes. Apparently this year is one for the books because they’ve never seen them this voracious or annoying. I was wearing mesh shoes and I looked down to see about thirty sucking away right through the mesh. It was disturbing to say the least. Seeing the welts that appeared on some of my coworkers from the UK is extremely impressive. Apparently as well as chipmunks, the UK does not breed any form of mosquitoes.

Also, the picture of the windmill was taken in Iowa, not Bemidji. My time has been extremely limited since I’ve been here to scout cool shots. Yeah, I can totally understand that expression on your face. Something akin to Mr. Bigglesworth there?