My adventures in Adak and St Paul Alaska, and how I almost lost my best friend

This past week, I've been reminiscing through photographs I took while on St Paul Island, Alaska, in 2006 and 2011. Back then, armed with my trusty Samsung 815 Pro camera, I was a newcomer to digital photography. I spent about ten months on the island, most of which was during the harsh and unforgiving winter. Though I heard the summer was absolutely beautiful, I had to leave in May and never experienced it firsthand. Despite the winter's severity, I still managed to witness the island's stunning fall transformation.

St Paul is a small island in the Bering Sea, approximately 300 miles west of the Alaskan mainland. It's 13 miles wide at its widest point and 7 miles long, with only a few roads, leaving much of the island remote and difficult to explore. This was my first time living near a beach, but not the kind of beach you might imagine. Instead of swimsuits, margaritas, and summer fun, you'd need a heavy coat, hat, gloves, and most importantly, a bag for the treasures you hope to find. During my stay, I became an avid beachcomber, loving the thrill of not knowing what I might discover. Every morning and evening, I would don my winter gear, grab my treasure bag and camera, and head out to explore the beach.

On St Paul, I found many old Russian and Japanese bottles pitted by sand, which I always thought was unique. There were also endless seashells scattered across the frozen beach, but the prize I hunted was the elusive sand dollar. Over time, I developed a process for cleaning shells and sand dollars, with several buckets of bleach water and drying racks. To this day, I still have boxes of sand dollars stashed away, never quite sure what to do with all of them.

One of the many unique aspects of St Paul is that it's home to northern fur seals that migrate and breed on the Pribilof Islands (St Paul and St George). The seals would cover the beach and surrounding rocks; I could spend hours watching them. The young pups were playful and very curious, often peeking over rocks to see who I was and what I was doing. Looking through these photos now, I wish I could return with the knowledge I have today and take even more photographs. So many times, I thought my settings were perfect, only to find a slight blur caused by myself or uncooperative wildlife. I often think, "Why didn’t I take more shots?"

Reflecting on my time on St Paul, I can't help but mention Adak Island, another adventure-filled chapter of my life. My time on Adak was fantastic, though like any place you live or visit, you always wish you had experienced and done more. My faithful German Shepherd, Kulik, was my constant companion, exploring from one end of the island to the other. He was fearless, which got him into trouble more than a few times. I recall one particular incident when Lynn, my wife at the time, was visiting. We were exploring an abandoned complex in the middle of Adak. Kulik was with Lynn, and I had just crossed a rickety bridge with a raging stream beneath it. When I glanced back, I saw Kulik dart across the bridge, slip, and fall into the stream. Debris had blocked the passage under the bridge, pinning Kulik against it and forcing him underwater. I ran to the bridge, dove into the stream, and grabbed the bridge to avoid being swept away. Reaching in as far as I could, I grabbed a handful of fur and collar and yanked Kulik out, flinging him onto the bank. Kulik, dripping wet with his tongue hanging out, shook off the water and shot off toward Lynn, who had the sense to run safely around the stream. Not all our adventures were as nerve-wracking; most were relaxing walks on the beaches or hikes across the countryside.

Kulik often joined me on my beachcombing excursions to Kuluk Beach, close to my house. We found an abundance of beach glass and sand dollars there. On the other side of the island, near the abandoned Loran Station, I often found sea urchins and tiny red starfish. This was the only place on Adak where you could find these creatures, and it was such a remote and peaceful spot to visit. I had to keep a keen eye on Kulik here; he absolutely loved to eat sea urchins. It was the craziest thing I ever saw the first time he went after those stinky, sticky things. A rope on the hillside assisted in the descent to the cove below, which was shaped like a horseshoe with tall rock cliffs surrounding it. Alone, with only Kulik for company, I often felt a sense of solitude, with just the breeze and the waves crashing against the rocks. The vista always reminded me of the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland.

This brings me to Suka, my 1-year-old female German Shepherd at the time, now 3. While home during a tour off, I was going through boxes I hadn't unpacked from the previous move. Yes, I was procrastinating. During the unpacking, I came across treasures from Adak and St Paul: a decorative glass bowl with volcanic sand, starfish, sea urchins, and sand dollars. I loved this collection and considered it a treasured memory from my travels. Without thinking, I displayed it on my coffee table. After admiring my display, I went on with my day, never giving it a second thought. Hours later, I noticed black sand lining Suka's water bowl. No, she wouldn’t have; yes, she did! I found that Suka had found my displayed treasures delicious, treating them as an appetizer tray. Was I frustrated? Yes, but I realized it was my fault. I never thought she would devour old, dried starfish and sea urchins. Who knew? If you were wondering, Suka was fine, and my treasures passed right through her digestive tract.

As I look back on my time on St Paul and Adak, I am filled with a deep sense of nostalgia and gratitude. These islands, with their harsh winters, remote beauty, and unexpected treasures, taught me the value of exploration and the joy of discovery. Whether it was finding a perfectly weathered bottle on the beach, witnessing the playful curiosity of fur seal pups, or rescuing my fearless companion Kulik from a rushing stream, each moment is etched in my memory.

The lessons I learned and the memories I made continue to influence my life today. They remind me to cherish the simple pleasures and to always be open to the wonders that lie just beyond the horizon. Even now, as I sit in my home far from those rugged shores, I can’t help but smile at the thought of Suka treating my precious beach finds as her personal snack.

In the end, it's not just the physical treasures we bring back from our adventures, but the stories and experiences that enrich our lives. I hope that by sharing my journey, I’ve inspired you to look for the hidden gems in your own life, to embrace the unknown, and to create memories that you will treasure for years to come.