It was full blown Summer back home, and I suppose the calendar would say the same about where I was in Alaska. However, summer looks and feels different depending on where we are on the globe. And while it was a gorgeous day on the Kenai Peninsula, I bundled up, knowing I’d be on a boat on the open water the majority of the day. There was plenty of room inside the boat, but I didn’t want to miss anything. We’d be meandering around Kenai Fjords National Park. Plus, there was something about the open water air.

I was cold at first, but before long, I got used to it. I also found the best places to stand to break some of the wind. I was usually the only one on the back deck—or the stern, or whatever the proper term is. Every now and then, when wildlife was sighted, or the boat slowed for especially beautiful landscape, more people streamed outside. I was able to get photos of otters, puffins, Dall porpoises, orcas, seals, sea lions, kittiwakes, Dall sheep, and humpbacks. I photographed glaciers, rugged shorelines, a rare vibrant blue iceberg, and the well-recognized sea stacks and arches. 

I soaked in everything I saw. What I appreciated the most was being there. I let my eyes scan the horizon. If I looked at a group of large rocks or islands jutting out of the water in the distance, I could watch them change as we got closer then passed them. The entire area was so alive. The colors looked…more. Even when the clouds blocked the sun, there was a depth and vastness to where I was. I was so small in it all. As the boat neared a glacier, I took a glimpse of my smallness. The large chunks of ice floating around me. The Doll sheep mama guiding her babies along the ledges of what looked to be the sheer face of a cliff next to the glacier. Then we floated relatively close to sea lions on the shore. The ginormous male clumsily flopped out of the water. He was not patient when others got in his way. And when two others started to argue close to him? It didn’t take much of a scolding from him to make them quickly run in two directions. None of them cared that we were close by. 

Of course, we were cautious not to be invasive. That’s something I appreciated about this tour and all the ones we took in Alaska. I’m sure there are some to the contrary, but there is a general commitment to minimal invasion on the animals’ space, not only for safety but so animals never become familiar enough to be dependent on humans. There is a commitment to co-existence, a respect for those who belong in the land and can keep it in the balance as it’s intended. I hope it’s never destroyed as we’ve done with so many of our other areas. We’re good at that—selfishly transforming something to serve us instead of thinking more long term. 

I enjoyed my time alone on the back of the boat, but it wasn’t my boat. It wasn’t a place and time I could stake my claim. Anyone else was invited. I would simply enjoy the time that I had. When a lot of people would come outside for photo opportunities, I would step away from the guardrail. It was their turn. I’d have my turn again shortly, as the captain revved the engines and others began to feel the sting of cold on their cheeks again.

There were several times I stood with my back to the people inside, facing the back of the boat, marvelling at the beauty around me and watching the horizon, and I sang worship songs. Because what else is there to do when filled with such awe? It didn’t matter that no one but God heard. It didn’t matter if anyone else did hear. So much of that day was deeply personal. There were others on the boat with me, but it was a blessing that filled me to the depth of my soul. It was a reminder of his care for the smallest. Every drop of water. Every feather on every bird. Every particle of ice. Every grain of sand. Every molecule of oxygen. Everything about every person and animal. Everything where the sun was shining and where the moon was illuminating. 

All of it.

I felt so small but not insignificant. And I was grateful.

I still am.

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