Ancient Reflections

Unless you ice fish, it’s not quite time to drag out the tackle.  According to the calendar Spring won’t begin for a month.

It’s not quite time to plant spuds either.  There is still frost in the mornings and snow on the plains.

Yet, I can feel the outdoor’s pull.  Two months ago a giant weak heat tab barely skimmed the peaks of southern islands.  Today it’s power has grown and its arc has ascended.  This week I can feel it on my face and the back of my jacket.

Sunday’s sun pulled me from the house.  A reflective mood pushed me along for a walk to the Petroglyphs.

In the broad sense, petroglyphs are rock carvings.  In Wrangell, Alaska, petroglyphs refers to Petroglyph Beach State Historic Park.

Fifteen minutes along the salt water brings you to a drive way, that leads both to the Observation Deck at Petroglyphs Beach and a private residence complete with a large black lab.

The Observation Deck, which appears to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act,  has a collection of informative kiosks and replica samples of carvings found on the beach.  The kiosks suggest that tracings of petroglyphs should be done on the replicas and not the actual ones.  The deck also has great views of Stikine River delta and Zimovia Straits.

This Sunday, I wasn’t interested in what modern man had extrapolated from ancient designs.  I took the stairs to the beach.  Sunday morning was high tide, so viewing the petroglyphs was out.

It didn’t matter.  The warm sun, an expanse of island dotted salt water, and the knowledge that 7,000 years ago someone was making grooves in rock at this particular spot brought all the elements for a period of relaxed reflection.

There were two other people at Petroglyphs.  A woman lying on her side picking through the broken sea shells and rocks.  I didn’t interrupt to see what she had gained.  Another man sat on a rock and petted his dog.  Soon I found my own rock.

Give me, kind heaven, a private station,

A mind serene for contemplation.

                              Fables, John Gay, 1738

I didn’t catch any fish.  I didn’t plant any spuds, but I found what I needed on Sunday.