I like being alone when there's no one around. It's a nice freedom to be the only one there, humming and coping, following my impulse. Being by myself in a public place is different, though, and requires a certain sturdiness. It brings in the element of self-consciousness.

The land exerts itself and has its effect. I'm roughed up or soothed, exhilarated or depressed, wholly prevailed upon from outside myself. I expected serenity, but I am labile and mood-struck. I change as the scene changes, as the sky clouds or clears. I conclude that nature is alive - if I hadn't known it before - and she calls the shots.

That's the rub. People want to see wildlife in their secret nests and dens raising their young, migrating sparring for territory. People want an orca to leap over the bow of their kayak for their camera, but the more we press wild animals, the more we drive them off. Tension grows between the expectations of clients who've paid so much to get into these places and the needs of wild creatures.

In testy moments, I think, this is what consumerism does. It turns everything into product, habituates us to look for a certain kind of value, dims our recognition of the real watering holes.Dropped into wilderness, we act the same as we do rating a pricey hotel. How thick are the towels? How many grizzly sightings?

It occurs to me tonight that we paddled in the open Pacific today, onto the savage west side, ten inexperienced people who've known each other one day, out on the wild ocean in small boats.