Last week I told about the day-to-day doings out at the Hobbit Hole, so now I thought I’d tell a bit more about the place itself. There’s something about this homestead that seems to draw people here, body and spirit, through the years. I doubt I have the wisdom to say exactly what that something might be – it probably verges on the ineffable. But maybe writing this post will bring me closer to understanding the nature of the something. In turn, maybe that will help me to understand myself, and why I’ve taken on the vast project of Inian Islands Institute with such abandon. Thankfully, in seeking the nature of the something, there is no shortage of material to explore! The Hobbit Hole is such a treasure-trove, I swear this post is going to write itself. Read more
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been winter caretaking out here at the Hobbit Hole. The “inhobbitants,” Jane, Greg, and Fred, have migrated south, leaving me alone in the middle of the Wilderness, tasked with ensuring that this remote property keeps running the way it ought to. And I exuberantly welcomed the chance to spend a month out here on my own — because for all the time I’ve spent thinking about this place, I’ve never spent more than a few days out here at a time. I’ve never truly lived this life. And if I’m going to lead the charge to turn this remote property into an institute for education and research, I’d better get to know the ins and outs of the place, its rhythms and cycles, as a sailor learns every inch of her boat before a long voyage. Read more
Holding my breath, floating upside-down just a few boat lengths from the gathered friends on the Gustavus shore, I thought to myself: darn, my long paddle is in danger of ending as ignominiously as it began.
The 20-mile crossing from the Hobbit Hole to my hometown had been fogged in for most of the day. With my buddy Nate, I’d taken a compass bearing to point us across the 5-mile wide mouth of Glacier Bay, the far side being totally awash in low grey clouds. But by the time we reached Point Gustavus, things were lifting and brightening up, revealing the long shore of the Gustavus forelands — I was now just a few miles from home. My first reaction wasn’t nostalgia or bliss or relief, but surprise: after 2000 piedmont miles walking and kayaking along the steep coastal mountain ranges of Western North America, I was struck by the thought that Gustavus is flat as a damn pancake! My hometown is built on the outwash plain of the great glacier that 200 years ago filled what would become Glacier Bay. Although mountains surround us, here the shifting braids of the silt-laden glacial river laid down one of the only flat stretches along the entire coast. After all the miles of impossibly steep rocky coastline I’d passed, desperate to find a little beach were I could take shelter, how easy it would be to land my kayak here and lay out my tent on a nice, flat, welcoming campsite! Read more
We call it “The Gut”, the Hobbit Hole’s narrow entrance through which the protected cove ebbs and floods, and trollers and skiffs of all sorts have passed for decades, and Tlingit canoes before that. Watch for rocks — big boats can’t make it through at low tide, but a kayak can paddle into the Hobbit Hole most anytime. And after 2000 miles, The Gut swept me in like the opening lines of a favorite book. The Inians loomed 1000 feet above me in the fog, the cove opened up wide, and the Hobbit Hole revealed itself one structure at a time: dock, guest cabin, workshop, Greg and Jane’s house, Fred’s house. What character is invested in this little spot in the Wilderness! I felt all the long miles in my body as I pulled up to the dock, knowing this was a rare sort of gratification.
The boat sat mired in wet mud, slouched over on her starboard side. Through patches of morning fog, I looked at her curiously as I paddled by. Had somebody anchored her way out here, leaving her to go dry on purpose? Then, thinking I heard a voice, I set down my paddle and coasted through the muddy water, listening. Between the squawks of gulls, I heard it distinctly this time: “Can you row over here, just for a minute?”
Uh-oh — she definitely was not left here on purpose. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m on my way.” As I approached, he called out, “I was motoring in the fog this morning. My GPS is out, so… here I sit.”