07/28/2026
Incredibly proud to have made it, yet at the same time sad that it’s over.
The slowness, the vastness, the freedom, the solitude, the quiet, and the unbelievably striking experiences in the wild nature with its unique wildlife. Not just the whales—those peaceful, ton-heavy ocean giants that sometimes swam by close enough to touch, making themselves known in the middle of the night with their loud blows. No, also the smelly sea lions, impossible to miss from afar, often puffing themselves up grandly only to dive away after all, or the ever-curious harbor seals that watched me on every beach and even out in the middle of the ocean.
Orcas swimming past majestically in perfect formation, porcupines outside the tent at midnight, deer that started feeding right beside me completely without fear and even stood still for selfies, cute sea otters floating on their backs out in the sea cracking sea urchins, and the many bald eagles perched majestically every few hundred meters watching my path from above—who are actually total cowards and flee early. Not at all like the oystercatchers, always traveling in pairs, who waddle along completely fearless even when you get really close. Or the small ducks that usually dived to safety only to pop back up right next to the kayak, then touch the water with their belly again after a 5-meter takeoff attempt and flip over. And not to forget the hummingbirds, whose long, pointed beaks suddenly ended up alarmingly close to my face, checking with a buzzing motor if I in my yellow drysuit might be the jackpot among flowers.
Camps on dreamlike sandy beaches, white shell beaches, pitching the tent on grass, on shells, in the forest, in the sand—with gorgeous views and warming campfires. Many nights on my cozy sleeping pad in my little tent, incredibly quiet, with only the sound of the surf, the wind, and the occasional animal making itself heard. High and low tides that clearly dictated my daily routine, making me get up at 2 AM so the current
