The Dock

I inhale deeply allowing the crisp air to infiltrate my lungs. It is fall and a cloudy blanket is swallowing the sky. The ocean is rippling in a chilly breeze, waves collding clumsily against the wooden dock pillars. Vacant boats are scattered about the surrounding area. The summer rush of the anglers has come and gone, leaving an empty pier floating bare and lonely. The view of the adjacent uninhabited islands is picturesque. It is quiet and peaceful. This is the Gustavus Dock located in Gustavus, Alaska, a small community west of Juneau with a population of 400. This is my former home.
         The 40-year-old dock is slowly deteriorating. The bolts in the wooden planks threaten to burst loose every time a car speeds over them. Each trip to the end of the dock is a new adventure, challenging one’s capacity for risk. Gray lichen and emerald moss have partially enveloped the length of it. Occasionally, one can observe a bald eagle perched on the edge intensely scanning the intertidal zone for a meal, or a raven scavenging the sand for halibut carcasses and crab shells. A thick, violently coarse layer of indigo mussels swathes every one of the aged columns. Among other inhabitants are the pigeon guillemots, who have made the underside of the end of the dock their summer home. They are black with white stripes on their wings and have vibrant red-orange feet. They have meticulously constructed their nests to contour the crevices of the perpendicular supports. In random intervals, a small group of them will fly out from under the protection of the dock to begin the daily expedition for food. Pigeon guillemots carry themselves unusually, flapping their wings rapidly, frantic to keep above the water; their bright orange legs slightly graze the water as they increase their gradient toward the sky. Their life seems so elementary and I sometimes find myself envious of their straightforward values, wondering why humans have made life so obscure.
         A calm breeze whistles softly through the spruce trees on shore. The sudden roar of a small plane engine interrupts the stillness. As it gradually fades into the distance, the quiet flow of the water below seems more apparent. Systematically, the current collides into the pillars generating a small but soothing swish. The pigeon guillemots squawk quickly and repetitively. Some would say the Gustavus Dock encases no sounds; it is a silent place one can go to unwind. I cannot argue the latter, but it would be false to accuse the dock of failing to provoke the audio senses.
         I inhale deeply once again, this time catching a scent of sea salt. It is low tide and the aroma of the less fortunate crustaceans that have washed ashore fills the air as well. The water level is about halfway up the dock. The uneven elevation of the sand reveals small valleys on the beach, which fill with small pools of water as the water line glided over them. Low tide also exposes many starfish of varying shapes, sizes, and colors that have clung to the dock’s pilasters. Some are as small as my palm, some about a foot in width. The mosaic of the five-pointed creatures features deep red, algae green, and an assortment of shades of purple. It is a beautiful piece of art, this dock, but I doubt even the most talented artist could capture its authentic beauty that one experiences while standing on the Gustavus Dock in all its natural glory.