No Rain, No Gain

Since the day my plane touched down on Kodiak, locals have been warning me "just wait for the rain, this weather is rare. Soon you'll see." Indeed, my packing list emphasized rain jackets and rain boots and warm, weatherproof clothing, and even gear I had never heard of like "rain pants." The weather greeting me, however, was a little cool but mostly sunny and pleasant. For three weeks, I ran around in the sun's glow, or at worst contentedly hiked around in the overcast mountain cloud cover, nature's equivalent of a grudging smile. The midnight sun kept me active and outdoors until 11 PM some nights. My rain pants became painting pants, and my rain jacket just an extra layer in the mornings. Rain boots were for tide-pooling. I became accustomed to the mild weather, and wrote off warnings of rain as a well-meant warning to bring enough clothing.

I was very wrong.

To my original dismay, this week the sky decided to expose me to the very real Kodiak rain. My plans to lay on the beach and read on Memorial Day were crushed by incoming showers and heavy cloud cover. The forecast showed rain through approximately forever. As a coworker said to me one warm and beautiful Saturday morning, now was "my time to pay." As rain streaked down the windows and flew up from the ground and sideways from the trees, I grudgingly accepted the angry precipitation as a necessary sentence to endure, and drudged through my Monday and Tuesday mornings preparing camp materials with plenty of coffee and slightly angry music.

Mourning the loss of the views of the mountain tops and ocean, I was privy to the gloominess that sometimes comes with dreary weather. Evenings seemed less exciting with little promise of hiking or birding. However, some perks come with the rain and fog. Night board games and movies became more fun, and brief breaks of the constant drizzle made those precious moments of sun more appreciable. There is a certain challenge that comes with doing outdoor tasks during unpleasant weather that I am slowly learning to enjoy. Picking up trash on the beach in the cold and wet is not necessarily enjoyable, because picking up trash rarely is, but the chance to listen to and watch the angry ocean and feel the rain mix with ocean mist can be an experience worth remembering.

Yesterday was my favorite battle with the weather, because it didn't feel like a battle. Without the fog and light rain, the afternoon would not have been as distinctive. The rain may have prevented us from hiking Monashka, but it did not stop us from heading to Termination Point for some less treacherous exercise. After a certain point, driving on the empty, green, foggy stretch of read felt surreal. Fog prevented us from seeing far in front of us, and made the twists and turns in the road more abrupt. And finally, the road simply ended at the mouth of a dense spruce forest. Exploring felt like stepping back in time. Moss laden trees stretched to the sky and mushrooms and dewy plants rose from the earth, which seemed to drop off into the sea at points. Ethereal views of the ocean and forest were plentiful, and the mist did nothing to prevent sea otters from frolicking and birds from singing. The three hours spent hiking alongside ponds and the ocean felt like 30 minutes in this little piece of earth impervious to the outside world.

Here, in this temperate rain forest, plants and animals thrive off the moisture from the sky and sea. And though I don't enjoy the rain that likes to ruin my plans, this week was an exercise in learning how to appreciate that which gives the things I love life.