CHAPTER II: Somewhere Under The Rainbow
“Where are we really though?”
Kachemak Bay is a name that almost certainly means nothing to you, but it’s where Homer is. At the mouth of the bay we have what’s called the Spit. It’s several miles long, but it’s only wide enough for a single road. The majority of it is so thin that if you stepped over the guard rail you’d be in the water. At the end of the Spit things stretch out enough to fit a few buildings on either side of the road. That’s where you’ll find the docks, the seafood restaurants, the places that process the fish for the seafood restaurants, and of course, The Salty Dawg, which is the only pure-bread Saloon on the Spit.
The way I’m describing it makes it sound like a lonely fisherman’s oasis. As if they come in from months at sea and meet the dear wife and Sonny at the crab shack for their one and only family dinner before setting off once again.
—I tell ye the tale of the mysterious thumb that washed aboard! It was Fat Lenny’s all along. Di’n even know he lost it he’s so high on the Mist o’ the Sea. That’s dawg talk for potato wine we make in empty chum buckets Sonny.
No, it’s nothing like that at all. The Spit is a pretty hoppin’ joint. I don’t know if it always was. Most days—even if it’s pouring rain—there’s cars parked all the way down on either side of the street. There’s kayak tours and day-cruises, snorkeling and scuba-diving, you name it. Plus, the restaurants and gift shops are super small, like tiny houses.
You could easily compare it to a parking lot with diagonal spaces. But rather than cars, each space holds a glorified shack that’s super colorful and weather worn. Instead of asphalt, you’re on a boardwalk over the beach. Got it?
One of my favorite spots is all the way down near the aptly named Land’s End Resort. I couldn’t care less about the actual resort, but right next to it is where they store fuel for the boats. Between the cold white silos and the lodges where people stay is a road—more like an alley—that leads you past all the bullshit and right onto the rocky grey beach that is the end of the Spit. But! When you pass through this alley, no matter when, with who, or why, something strange happens.
In the beginning it’s slow. The structures create a tunnel of seclusion. It’s just the crackle of your steps. Then comes the…
KHAW! KHAW!
Flapping wings, eerily individual.
A couple crows land on the chain link fences that flank either side of you.
You won’t think much of it.
—Oh some crows. That’s kinda creepy.
As you continue down the alley the temperature rises. The wind is elsewhere. It flows invisibly over your head, completely out of reach. Ironically, you get the chills. A few more steps and there comes a new sound. It’s the sharp textured static of a hundred more pitch black crows. You’ll have no idea where they’re coming from, or why they’ve decided to show up at that moment. It will be a mystery.
—Do crows even live by the ocean?
The cacophony will be too much to bear. Too much to think. It will permeate your skull, as if you’ve discovered a new way to hear things—through the bone. Nothing but…
WOOOSH WOOOSH KHAW WOOSH K-KHAW WOOOSH KA KA KA WOOOSHKHA WWOWOSK WAKAKA SHOOWSHS KAWOOSHKOWWKAKAOOHSWWWOSKKWKAOOWKWSSSOWKWKSKWKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKWOOOOKAKAKAKAK>>>
Hundreds to the left. Hundreds to the right. It turns into a coordinated effort on behalf of the birds. By the time you’re nearing the end of the alley the waves of sound are indeed waves; rhythmic and pulsing. Your heartbeat will match it. The sound of the sea will start to break through. Or at least you’ll think that it is. Your steps will quicken.
—Let’s get the…woooaaah fuck. out. of. heeeerrrreee!
With one final step you’ll cross the threshold from the sidewalk to the beach. No more fences, no more lodges, no more silos. The world opens. It’s the great wide ocean and the blue mountains are misty in the distance. Calm. Cool. Collected. Whispering Wind. Silence.
You’ll look back and the crows will be gone.
They won’t be flying away.
They’ll be gone.
You’ll have no idea where they went.
Or where they live when they aren’t there.
Or why they showed up in the first place.
I think there should be a sign that says:
THE ALLEYWAY TO LAND’S END
STARTS HERE.
P.S. DON’T LOOK’EM IN THE EYES.
What’s weird is, this phenomena only occurs when you enter from the one side. It’s not like it happens the first time, then doesn’t happen the second time. The happening is in the direction. Let’s say you’ve never been through the Alleyway to Land’s End, and you decide to approach it from the beach. Starting from that side, you can walk all the way through and not a damn thing will happen. Then you’ll think, Well, well, well, it’s just as I suspected. That fictional character in that story I read once was making it up.
But the fault will be your own for not doing it right. I’m not a fictional character, and I’m not making it up. This shit literally happens.
Don’t believe me? I don’t care. Living on the Spit is a bit like being a prop in a museum, so I’m used to it.
The Spit Rats—a.k.a. me and mine—made our home on the literal beach. We lived in tents, much like the pioneers circled the wagons. Almost every day we got the same questions.
—So…you guy’s live here all the time?
—In the summers, yeah.
—What about winter? You’d freeze.
—We do this exact same thing in Hawaii during the winters.
—Oh wow! That must be so amazing. Honey! These kids spent their summers in Alaska and winters in Hawaii. Doesn’t that sound soooooo aaammaaazzziiinnnggg.
Yes babe, really fantastic. I heard it the first time. Can we go please?—
—Man, you guys are livin’ the life, I’m telling’ ya.
—Isn’t everybody?
Our territory was above the seaweed signifying the extent of high tide. We had one giant fire pit outside our tent circle for bonfires, and a smaller one inside. Scattered about were several rock piles with plywood sheets laid across, which we used for a plethora of reasons.
Dinner, card games, meetings, drinking, cooking, or all five at once.
In the beginning I tried to create these little paths on the beach using rocks, but then Galaxy took a bunch of foxxxy one afternoon (DRUGS!) and thought the paths were giant snakes. Subsequently they were kicked to kingdom come.
My place among these bums was somewhat unique in that I’d lived in Homer the longest. Tyler the Curator was a distant second. He’d moved down from Anchorage in a cargo van that was covered in a single giant space mural, which is how Galaxy the Girl got her name. She was the first in a slew of dirty rotten dippies to roll out of the liquid thick wall of marijuana smoke when the van rolled up. I fell down with pure joy right on the spot. It was Fast Times at Ridgemont High being played out in real life.
Turns out they did it on purpose.
—Still funny though.
When I say I’d been in Homer the longest, I’m referring only to the Spit Rats. Some of my friends from growing up were still around, but they were either long-term fisherman, construction workers, or they worked at one of the mainland businesses like the Mexican place or the burlesque. Uh-huh, you bet we had a Burlesque. I remember it well…
An underground theatre with a bar and a band
The show was Bunnies in Wonderland.
Fluffy-Little-White-Tails & Tights
All of the girls wore bowties.
IT SOUNDS PRETTY
F-ING AWESOME
AM I RIGHT?
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T
e
e
n
y
pink
flowers
were
painted
over
hours
You want ‘em to look nice.
The Queen will eat your sweet heart out………………………………………
…………………………………………………………… if you give her the chance.
I mean what an actress………………………………………………………………….
………………………………….even better on the mattress………so..i’m..told.
Like the director says:
IT’S SIMPLE REALLY
Play it sexy.
Dress in red.
Flash the right bits,
then drop dead.
That’s the business baby! Now cut off her head!
OKAY, I’LL STOP.
Let’s see if we can portal jump....
*ckckt*
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A
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HHAA
AAHH
A
A
A
Allllllrighty then. Everyone still here? Great! That is fantastic news.
In this scene we find me sitting on the front porch of a Kayak shop that also conducts tours of Cohen Island, which is the smaller of the two islands at the mouth of the bay. The weather is overcast AF, and the seagulls are doing seagully things. I’m wearing a purple beanie and a jean jacket. I’m reading a book in my favorite wooden chair by the railing. For some reason I have licorice in my front pocket. Let’s see what happens!
Around noon I was sitting in my favorite driftwood chair by the railing on the front porch of FLIP-ME-OVER Kayaks & Tours + Misc. Sporting Goods. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the air was bright. I was reading the second installment of The Sandy Series. The one where the two dragons have to escape from the huntress, but the only way out is through a pitch black maze under the mountain. Karth doesn’t show up for a while, but when he does, it’s epic. If you don’t know what I’m referring to, I’m not sorry.
The wind picked up, and I took a second away from the book to pull my beanie over my ears. Normally I wear it super far back. During that second I glanced into the street. There was a sign set up out front that said, Tours of Cohen Island FREE WITH PURCHASE! I rolled my eyes and yelled through the open door.
—Hey, you idiots! Who let Bismo do the sign again?
Jeremy came out scratching his bandana clad forehead like a surfer that had just woken up in the wrong town.
—No one let him. He did it all by himself.
—Did you watch him do it?
—Well yeah, but not until it was already happening. So I...
—You let him write Free Tours with Purchase?!
—Er, yes.
—Don’t you realize people will come in and buy a pair of sunglasses expecting a free tour? You have to specify that purchasing an entire Kayak is necessary to get the deal.
—What do you care? You don’t work here.
—It bothers me that you guys don’t know that.
—Ah, I see. Well my advice to YOU--little lady with licorice in her pocket--is to.....da da dada, Not be bothered by it.
—You don’t care.
—Right.
—I care too much.
—Correct.
—Carry on.
I waved my arm outrageously in defeat, and Jeremy went back inside. I thought to myself, licorice? I patted my pockets as if I’d lost my keys. Thump! thump! thump! thump! Nothing so far. Oh wait!
Thump. Thump.
In the right breast pocket of my jacket was a piece of licorice. As I made this discovery, two guys about my age walked up the steps. I must’ve been a silly spectacle with my hands on my chest, shocked and mystified by the candy red snake that had magically appeared, because one of them laughed at me. It was short lived, but I heard it.
I paid it no mind. I’d found candy, and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. I picked up Sandy & The Fountain of Change and resumed my journey to the eastern edge of the words. Erstwhile, my imagination headed west.
A few minutes later the two guys were back out on the front porch, each in a Tommy Bahama T-shirt and--you guessd it--new sunglasses. I heard them talking to one another.
—What a top notch deal. I mean really, top shelf.
—Couldn’t’ve said it better my-shelf.
It was my turn to chuckle, but I hid it better. They sat down at a table on the far side of the porch and lit cigarettes. They lost my attention for another few minutes. Then...
—AHA-AHEM, Chapter One. Ravenhawk didn’t mind his new nickname, because of course, it was super dope. It also had many more syllables in it that his regular name, which made him feel smarter when he told it to people. Magic came naturally to him, which is why he’s one of the main characters.
I turned to see one of the guys holding a book with his hands way out. The cover was facing my direction. He read with his sunglasses tilted down, but his eyes were closed. The guy next to him was staring off in a philosophical pose fit for an album cover.
—Of course Ravenhawk could turn into more than just two different birds. Try three! Four even!
—Are you making fun of me?
The guy put the book down.
—Not in the slightest. But it’s not every day you see someone else reading one of these books. I had it in my backpack. It was too good of a bit to resist.
—Are you guys comedians? My name’s Ashley and….Hold on....I don’t feel like talking this loud.
I hopped over the chair next to me and sat across from them.
—I’m Julian.
The one with the book.
—I’m Riley
The one without a book.
—And you two are?
—We’re in a band. Well, we are the band.
—I’m the best drummer in the biosphere.
—What’s the name of your band?
Both of them jumped up suddenly and started rocking out, air-guitar style.
WE’RRE RE-LA-TIVLY HOT Moms!
WE’RRE RE-LA-TIVLY HOT.....MOMS!
—Relatively Hot Moms?
They sat back down.
—Yeah, did you, did you not get that from the song we just sung?
—Oh I got it. That’s the best band name I’ve ever heard.
—You’re damn right it is.
END SCENE.
Tune in next time for the conclusion of this interaction! Will we discover what happens when two fans of the same fantasy book series walk through the Alley of Land’s End? Probably! But we can’t be sure until we get there.
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