My Adventures in Alaska, 2008

by Heather Daveno, solo adventuress at August Phoenix

September 5 – Prologue

It’s Friday night. I’ve been packed for a week and am now puttering around the house...

Two weeks ago I was having panic attacks and almost cancelled this trip twice, because I had planned a trip that was logistically challenging, and was afraid of missing a ferry. But I’ve been calm since Wednesday, the day I realized that I was over-planning the daily aspects of this trip. I decided to find ground transportation when I get there and just let the minor logistics take their own course. But I also packed a list of bush pilots, just in case I miss a ferry …

I’m still up at 1 AM, and decide to sleep in my clothes so I’m ready for the shuttle when it arrives between 4:20 and 5 AM. I try sleeping on the couch, with the front door open so I can hear the shuttle driver. I finally give up, close the front door, and go to bed, watching the clock tick by. I never really get to sleep.

September 6 – Seattle to Juneau to Haines

I check in and work on a hat until the flight boards. I had changed my seat at the last minute from row 19 (middle of the plane) to row 9, a nice window seat just in front of the wing. I will appreciate this unimpeded view in a few hours.
I watch the luggage handlers throw bags from the cart onto the conveyer belt that takes them into the belly of the plane, and make a mental note not to buy glass or fragile trinkets. Joe, a fisherman who is sitting in the aisle seat, after I mention that this was my first trip to Alaska, strikes up a conversation. I comment on the number of coolers and bundles of poles that are being loaded. Joe is on his way to Yakukut for halibut and King salmon, and says it was actually cheaper to ship his catch home commercially rather than ship an empty cooler. I tell him I had looked for a charter in Ketchikan, but didn’t find one that a single person could get onto. He replies that it might be harder to find one as a ferry rider, since the fishing charters cater to the cruise lines. He also said that because of the way Alaska Air calculates charges for freight, I run the risk of catching more fish than I could afford to ship home. That is very good to know…

Joe says I should come back to Anchorage, to see the tide come in. It takes all of 15 minutes to rush through the inlet, and it has killed people who have ignored the signs and walked out onto the flats at low tide. He also said Anchorage was the most beautiful city in the state.

About 30 minutes outside of Juneau, the cloudbank disappears and I am able to see very rugged mountain ranges. Joe points out that the fingers of clouds are directly above waterways that thread between the mountain ranges. Ten minutes later, silvery-green patches with interesting striations start to appear...

Glaciers! Through my binoculars I can see the face of what I later learn is the Taku Glacier, which Joe says is about 400 feet tall at its face. The body of water in front of the glacier is deep jade green, and full of ice floes, which I did not expect to see. Joe says he has never seen this area because it is always covered with clouds. I loan him my binoculars and lean back from the window so he can get a better look.

The local sitting behind me is also very excited, and starts tapping me on my shoulder, urging me to save a camera shot for the Mendenhall Glacier when it becomes visible closer to the airport. A few minutes from the airport however, we fly into a cloudbank so the glacier is obscured. Oh well … we land on time, and as I collect my things and don my hat, I thank Joe for the conversation. He flashes a big smile, and says “Have a good time,” and “You look just like a local in that hat.”

Mendenhall Glacier
The airport is closer to the Mendenhall Glacier than to town, so I walk around outside to look for the Glacier Shuttle. I can’t find it, and walk up to a “tour bus and taxi van” to ask about the shuttle, only to be told “there’s no such thing.” He’ll charge me $14.80 to take me to the glacier, so I hop in. There’s no food at the airport terminal other than a vending machine, so I grab a protein bar from my briefcase. This will become a recurring theme …

Bob, the taxi driver, is very informative about “The Ice” and the surrounding wildlife. He hands me his card and tells me to call when I’m ready to be picked up. I would learn that cabbies are among the most informative people to talk to on this trip.

Naturalist John Muir first named the glacier Auke Glacier in 1879 after the Aak'w Kwaan of the Tlingít Indians. (Auke Bay, where the ferry terminal is located, still retains its original name.) In 1892, this glacier was renamed to honor Thomas Corwin Mendenhall (1841-1924) who served as superintendent of the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey from 1889 to 1894. A noted scientist, Mendenhall also served on the Alaska Boundary Commission that was responsible for surveying the international boundary between Canada and Alaska.

The Mendenhall Glacier is located in the Juneau Icefield, North America's fifth largest icefield which blankets over 1,500 square miles of land, and stretches nearly 85 miles north to south and 45 miles east to west. It feeds 38 large glaciers, including the Mendenhall, and the Taku, the largest, visible only by boat or plane. (I was so lucky to have such good weather on the flight!) Scientists estimate the icefield's snow and ice depth to be from 800 to over 4,500 feet (245 to 1371 meters). Although the Juneau Icefield is at least 3,000 years old, the ice itself remains relatively young because it is perpetually renewed through snowfall at upper elevations as it flows downhill in its glaciers.

I arrive at about 10:15 and go straight to the observatory, hoping to find a place to eat, and a place to stow my luggage. No such luck on either count. I watch the short film on the history of glaciers, look out the windows to get my bearings, and then take off down one of the trails.

I had brought a bungie cord to secure my briefcase to the top of my rolling backpack. It works well enough but is really noisy on the gravel walkways, and some of the other visitors give me the evil eye for disrupting the pristine silence. About halfway through the trails, I decide to carry my luggage instead of wheeling it. I had originally planned on bringing a tent and portable camp chair, but I’m really glad I left those behind. I make it down to a viewpoint, where I view “The Ice”, several large ice floes, and Nugget Falls, an impressive waterfall about half the height of the Snoqualmie Falls, to the left of the glacier. One of the paths appears to go down to the waterfall, but I decide not to attempt it with my luggage and limited time.

On my way back up to the observatory, I pause to look down another path that leads to a tern nesting area. A park guide alerts me to watch out for a young male bear that had been spotted a few minutes ago. But it’s beyond my physical capacity to negotiate the path, and I don’t want to chance upon the bear, so I trek back up to the parking lot, and then down a wooden plank trail on the other side where Bob said to go to see beavers. I pass a pile of manure, which the park rangers had marked with a hand written paper sign that says “Bear”. I later learn that the Alaskans call bear droppings “scat”, a much more civilized word than ‘poo’, or its four-letter equivalents…

I see a beaver dam, and think I hear the builders but don’t see them. I see a black salmon with a white tail, which I later learned, was spawning. Another vantage point on the glacier side of the parking lot gives me an excellent view of a heron, which stands for a few minutes before taking off. After that, my pack becomes too heavy, so I go back up to the observatory. Peering through the telescopes allows me to see that the ice is truly a pale electric blue, and that the formations take a variety of shapes, from upward pointing fingers, to free standing spirals.

I sit down to turn my backpack back into a wheeling cart, and discover I have already lost my journal, apparently on the plane. I make brief notes on the backs of Lao Hat postcards.

If you visit the Mendenhall Glacier:

• See the movie. It explains that the ice is blue because of its molecular structure, and that the most vibrant blues are where a piece of the ice has just fallen away. The blue starts to pale as soon as it is exposed. The oxidation and melting changes its chemical structure.
• Take food and water.
• Do Not Feed the Animals!
• Pack light so you can navigate the trails. Photo Point Trail is the one that appears to take you closest to the glacier and the waterfall.
• If you kayak, know that the water temperatures in Mendenhall Lake average 37 degrees Fahrenheit year-round, and survival times in cold water can be as short as 15 to 30 minutes.
• Maintain a safe distance from the face of the glacier. Chunks of ice the size of buildings, fall off the face suddenly, which will crush you if you are under it, dislodge you if you are on top of it, and can also create waves that can sweep you into the lake.

If you encounter a bear:

• Stand your Ground! Do Not Run away from a bear!
• Maintain eye contact and speak to the bear in a calm voice.
• If waving your arms does not make the bear back off, back away slowly, maintaining eye and voice contact with the bear.
• If the bear approaches you and contact seems imminent, drop to the ground and cover your head and face. Play dead. Bears usually leave dead meat alone…

I find a pay phone, and it gives me over a dollar in quarters before I even make a call. An unexpected slot machine! I leave a message with a shuttle service to reserve a ride for tomorrow morning. (I later learn that the ground transportation listings in my guide book are ridiculously outdated.) I then call Bob, and get hold of his wife, and ask to be picked up at the Mendenhall, which confuses her, which I clarify by saying “I’m at The Ice”. Bob shows up 15 minutes later and takes me to the ferry terminal, where I begin my adventure on the Alaska Marine Highway System.

The Alaska Marine Highway System
The AMHS came into being in 1960, a year after Alaska Statehood, with one small ship named the Chilkat. The system now has nine ships servicing 33 ports and covering 3500 miles of coastline, carrying 400,000 passengers and 100,000 vehicles annually. Like the BC ferries, it is considered an essential part of the state highway system. It’s also referred to as the “poor man’s cruise” although the cost for the full run with a berth is pretty comparable to the cost of one of the smaller cruise ships. I chose the AMHS because I wanted more control over my schedule, and stay in cities for more than four hours. It’s also how the locals travel. And it allowed me to get closer to the coastlines and see wildlife that I didn’t think I’d see from a much larger cruise ship.

I arrive at the ferry dock and check in. The agent is wearing a Mariners Team sweatshirt, and while processing my tickets, asks me if I need anything else. I respond with, “Yes, the Mariner’s need to win a game”. He laughs, and tells me a story about a friend of his who was a major fan who filled his house with memorabilia and converted his garage into a sports bar where he invited everyone over on game day. When he died in 2002, his friends took his ashes to Safeco field and scattered them on the second base line. I look at him and say, “Wasn’t that the last year the Mariners had a winning season?” He laughs again and says yes. He had thought about going back to retrieve the ashes, to which I reply that those ashes are long washed into the ground at this point, and “Thanks for jinxing the field …”

He hands me my tickets, and I find that one of the legs has been rescheduled. I now have much less time in Sitka, and almost two full days in Ketchikan. I guess I will have to walk very fast to see the sights in Sitka…

There’s no place to eat at the ferry terminal,modern and I can’t see a restaurant or food store within walking distance, so I crack open another protein bar and work on hats for the next two hours. The check-in terminal is a separate building from where you board the ferry. About an hour into my wait, I get fidgety and start walking back and forth between the two buildings. I find a bench outside and watch the sound for awhile. It’s a brilliantly sunny day, the locals say it’s the best day Juneau has had all summer.

The Malaspina
The ferry arrives. The Malaspina is 408 feet long, carryies 50 crew, 500 passengers and 88 vehicles. She’s the biggest ship I’ve ever been on. We board at 3:30 for a 4:30 sailing to Haines. I find the cafeteria but mistake the dinner menu sign for a “not open until dinner” sign. I’m absolutely starving, and anxiously await a hot meal at 6 PM. I think I’ve lost a couple of pounds today.

I choose a seat at the front of one of the two upper decks, and have trouble staying awake. At first it’s boring because it just looks like a big screen TV. When I step out onto the deck, I get a better appreciation for the scenery and the speed of the boat. I sit in seats along the sides of the ferry for much of the rest of this trip.

I booked this leg because it was advertised as the most picturesque part of the Inner Passage. I was not disappointed. It turned out to be the only ferry that would take me past glaciers. This part of the Inside Passage is very fjord-like, and I see my first whales. I miss the full breach, sighted by a passenger at the aft of the ship. But I’m thrilled to see water spouts a couple of times, and a tail once. One sighting appears to be a pair of whales playing with each other. I see portions of another glacier, and what another passenger said was the Tracy, part of the Sawyer Glacier in the Stevens Passage near Haines. Through my binoculars, I see that the face of this glacier comes straight down into the water. Glaciers are simply spectacular …

If you travel on the State Ferry:

• Bring a water bottle. Water at the vending machines runs as much as $2.25 for a small bottle. There is a water spigot in the beverage and condiment section of the cafeteria.
• Put luggage you don’t need onto the baggage cart. Don’t pack more than you can physically lift. You handle all your own luggage when you travel by ferry.
• There are lockers on board, but it costs 50 cents every time you open the door.
• Disposable cameras are available in the gift shop for $4.95, much less than I paid for them in Seattle ($6-8). Always have one more with you than you think you need.
• Always have your camera and binoculars in your pocket. Always!

I check out the gift shop and find trinkets for Kate, Dublin and Gordon. It’s finally dinnertime. I choose a halibut burger, a cottage cheese salad and pumpkin pie for a cost of $16. The halibut is the only thing that’s not classic comfort food from the 1950’s. The sunset is spectacular, and I watch glaciers until dark. I fall asleep before we reach Haines.

The Halsingland Hotel shuttle is waiting for me at the ferry terminal. The hotel is a five minute drive and occupies the Commanders’ Quarters at Fort Seward. This Victorian-era building is where Eleanor Dusenbury wrote the music to Alaska’s Flag Song (the state anthem). Eleanor was the wife of the commander on duty there when Alaska transferred from Russian to U.S. possession.

Hotels here do not have porters, so I haul my luggage up the stairs to my room. I had reserved a European-style room with a shared bath, but ‘unfortunately’ they had to upgrade me to a room with a private bath. Darn : ) The room is more barracks like-than Victorian, but it is clean and quiet. At the rate of $69, I cannot complain. As tired as I am, I still take a shower and repack my bags, an activity which is to become a nightly ritual. Groundhog Day, one of my favorite movies, is on the TV, a nice ending to a very, very long day. To bed at 11:30.

September 7 – Haines back to Juneau

I wake up at 6 AM Sunday with a mild headache and a bloody nose, but elsewise feel better than I expect to. I grab a cup of coffee in the lobby, and step outside into an absolutely spectacular view … rows of restored officer’s quarters, set against a backdrop of rugged glaciated mountains, in a slight fog, over a very still saltwater fjord. It is surreal, and my first thought is that I want to wake up here every morning …

Alaskans are the friendliest and most helpful people I have ever met. Mike, one of the two owners, comes downstairs and tells me that I can wait at the ferry terminal, or wait here, and that it’s more comfortable here. He convinces me to have another cup of coffee and sit a spell …

History of Haines
Haines was founded in 1881 by the Presbyterian Church by permission of the local Tlingit Indians. The church deeded it to the U.S. government at the turn of the century, at which point it became Alaska’s first permanent military installation, established to control border disputes with Canada during the Klondike Gold Rush. It was named after William H. Seward, the U.S. Secretary of State who arranged for the purchase of Alaska from Russia (something I would learn more about when I reached Sitka).

Fort Seward reached its peak of 255 men in the 1920’s, and was renamed Chilkoot Barracks in order to avoid confusion with the town of Seward. Although it’s primitive location qualified it as a foreign duty post (and therefore double pay for those who served a tour of duty there), it did not see active combat, and the soldiers did not build bridges and roads as their counterparts did in other parts of the Alaska Territory.

Fort Seward became a training base during both World Wars, and was decommissioned at the end of WWII. War veterans returned with their families to form a cooperative community. It became a part of the City of Haines in 1970 and designated as a national historic site.

Haines is home to more than 120 species of birds, most notably the American Bald Eagle, which migrate to the Chilkat Valley every November. At 3,500 it is considered the largest gathering of eagles in the world.

It is also the ancestral home of the Tlingits, who settled here about 6,000 years ago. The Tlingits guarded commerce in the area, successfully preventing Russians and the Hudson Bay Company from establishing trading posts here until they were overrun by prospectors during the Klondike goldrush.

It’s time to go. Mike offers to pour me a mug for the road but I would just splash it out on the way.

Haines looks and feels like a combination of Longbeach and Wenatchee. On the way to the ferry terminal, Mike relates the local legend that when the fireweed turns white and starts to shed, the first snowfall is two weeks away. “From the looks of things, we’re about a week out”. He and his wife are from Texas, and are leaving the next day for Juneau and then home for the winter. There aren’t very many houses here, Mike tells me the population is about 1200, and even with more summer homes going up, it remains a very small town.

It’s grey and drizzly today but very comfortable. Although the sun at The Ice yesterday was very welcome, I’m just as happy with today’s Seattle-style weather. Haines is a little cooler and soggier than Seattle, but much warmer than I had expected.

The ferry work who checks my ID and boarding pass, is a young native with sparkly brown eyes. He looks at me, and back at my driver’s license, licks his lips, and says “mmmm, long red hair … It made made me giggle, and I later learned that there is a shortage of women in Alaska.

On board, breakfast is oatmeal, a yogurt, a banana and coffee for $6.50. This was to be one of the cheapest meals on the trip. A couple of hours later I succumb to blueberry pie and coffee for $5.50. After that, I revive myself by stepping out onto the deck rather than visiting the cafeteria.

The best observation deck is aft, behind the solarium, which acts as a windbreak. The solarium is a shelter that is lit and heated, open at the back, and filled with stacks of plastic chaise lounges the locals use as beds. You can sleep here, or duct tape your dome tent to the deck just outside the solarium if you are traveling overnight. Berths are also available for rent for under $80 for a single.

The rain starts to pick up. I see a black bird close to the water, shaped like a heron but only half as big. I see another water spout this morning, and now recognize the distinctive ring in the water where the whales are (more about that later). The best view in the rain is from the side windows of the cafeteria. I jot some postcards, and attract the attention of a woman who admires the fact that I’m so organized with cards, stamps and addresses. Later on, a man at an adjacent table asks me what time we dock. He starts up a conversation, and I invite him to sit at my table. The man’s name is Joe, he and his partner Kevin (who shows up later) are commercial window washers who just landed a contract to wash all the glass at the Capital and other government buildings in Juneau. He recognized me from yesterday, turns out we both stayed at the Halsingland last night. He and Kevin ate there and said the food was fabulous.

Joe speaks very highly of Anchorage and Kodiak, and relates the story about the incoming tide, and another about a couple who died after mishandling an adventure with a bear. This is the second recommendation for Anchorage, from a second Joe :) He also suggests that I add Seward to my list.

Juneau
I see eagles as we pull into Juneau at about 1:30. The city bus (Capitol Transit) stops a mile and a half short of the ferry terminal and seems to have a pretty patchy schedule on Sundays. I find a couple to split the $37 cab fare with. The woman asks about my hat, and I talk to her about my hats, and hand business cards to both she and Steve, the cabby, who talks about the thriving arts community here and about the art shows in the area. He also mentions that snow has started to fall at the foothills of the Mendenhall. It appears that my trip there yesterday was very well timed...

It’s 2 PM, pouring rain and downtown Juneau is hopping! Tourists in pastel, cruise ship issue hooded rain ponchos are trying to avoid the drippy eaves. I weave my way through the crowd and enter the Alaskan Hotel.

The Alaskan Hotel is on the National Registry of Historic Places and is the oldest operating hotel in Juneau. It was finished in 1913 as a hotel for the upper class, although it feels like it hails from the earlier goldrush days. It includes several pieces of stained glass, including a Tiffany piece in the lobby. As I would find throughout this trip, most historic hotels do not have elevators and do not offer assistance with your luggage.

This place is a hoot! I start smiling halfway up the stairs. I had reserved Room 221, a European-style room with the toilet and bathtub down the hall, and which is supposed to be haunted. I didn’t expect the room to have a sink (yay!), nor a TV, which was so jarring to the ambiance of the room, that I ignore it. The rest of the furnishings are period, including an armoire. A replica antique phone hangs on the wall, one of the ‘60s replicas that has push buttons in the rotary dial where the crank should be. The room faces out onto the main street, which sounds just like Capital Hill. It doesn’t feel odd like other haunted places I have visited, so I think nothing of it and after calling the front desk to set up a 6 AM wake up call, head back downstairs to see the sights.

I walk north and up hill to the St. Nicholas Russian Orthodox Church, an octagonal wooden structure built in 1893. Unfortunately it’s closed for a non-church function. I note a wooden door leading into the basement of what may be the rectory, with “St Innocent’s Wood Shop” carved into it with rough, penknife blade letters. (I would learn in Sitka that this is a reference to St. Innocent, the first Russian Orthodox Bishop of Alaska.) I saw my first totem pole, but didn’t find museums open. I’ve been here just over an hour and I’m already soaked to the skin. I discover my coat is not actually waterproof, and find the contents of my pockets–business cards, gum and my camera – are completely soaked. I’m really glad I brought disposable cameras instead of my digital…

Shopping in Juneau includes the Russian American Company, where I find an unpainted set of Matryoshka nesting dolls for my brother and a Russian cookbook for his wife (the start of my Christmas shopping list). I also find a felted Russian Army hat with earflaps that I plan to tear apart for a pattern when I get home.

For being the largest city in Alaska (population 31,000), it feels more like a frontier town, similar to Winthrop. The entire historical downtown district would probably fit inside of Southcenter Mall. The most amazing geographic feature of Juneau is the mountain, which is literally in your face. Standing on the street, you have to look almost straight up to see the peaks. There are houses built into the mountain face, though it must have been by some unimaginable feat of engineering.

Juneau was originally fishing grounds for local Tlingit Indians before prospectors staked a claim in 1880 at the beginning of the Gold Rush. Juneau was established as Alaska's capital in 1906 when the government was transferred from Sitka. In addition to government jobs which employ half the population, tourism, fishing and mining are the primary industries.

Mt. Roberts
I again manage to miss lunch, so I grab my hat samples, and hop the tram up Mt. Roberts to visit the gift shop and hopefully have dinner. The tram is $21.95 for the 6-minute ride, but is a must see attraction here. The ticket agent is quite taken with the cap I’m wearing and gives me the business card for the manager of the gift shop. Score! The tram ride is one of the coolest things I’ve done, more like an elevator than a swaying box on a cable as I was expecting. I see another eagle on my way up.

The complex at the top includes a restaurant, nature store, theater and a sizeable gift shop. I have trouble finding Alaskan-made wares, even the native art is made in Canada. I buy a raven mug for Chuck, and piece of art glass in the nature store for myself, only to find a “Made in Ecuador” sticker under the price tag when I get back home. I locate the gift shop manager, who will consider m hats for the next tourist season, which starts in May. I’m a happy clam!

In the lobby of the restaurant, a native artisan is working. He shows me some mammoth ivory pieces and describes how he carved and inset the pin-head sized pieces of abalone shell. His current project is a small soapstone polar bear, which, along with a small jade fish, will be mounted to a piece of driftwood. It’ll be a pretty cool piece, but I don’t ask him the price, so I won’t offend him when I can’t afford it.

Dinner is halibut and waffle chips, recommended by the tram operator. The fish is hot, the chips are limp and cold, the service is mediocre, and I’m one of only three or four customers. The waitress is more interested in buying a hat for her son than in tending table, and brings me my check before I can order dessert. It turned out that everyone was eager to go home because the cruise ship had left dock and there would be no additional customers tonight.

After dinner I visit Lady Baltimore, a captive eagle who is blinded in one eye from a hunting accident. With a wing span of over six feet, eagles are bigger than I thought. Even in the drizzle and overcast, the scenery is spectacular. There are trails leading back down the mountain, which I resist taking since being by myself on a wet trail in the dark, doesn’t impress me as an incredibly smart thing to do …

By the time I get back downtown, businesses are pretty much closed up, a problem I would encounter the entire trip. I go back to the hotel to drop off my briefcase, and get a head measurement for a cap for Mike. I stumble across some enchanting walkways and see the Governor’s Mansion, which was built in 1913 and is the 12th oldest continuously occupied gubernatorial residence in the country. There’s a trampoline in the yard for the kids. I head back down to the city center, and to the Red Dog Saloon for a whiskey.

Saloons
The Red Dog Saloon is said to date back to the mining era. It was moved to its current location in the 1970’s, where it’s attractions include red swinging doors, sawdust floor, rustic interior and barkeep that starts giving you lip the second you walk in. I throw banter right back at him, which is a lot of fun, and order a whiskey. The barkeep shuffles through several bottles before finding something other than what he was looking for. Banter continues, about the local politics, and the last customer, who tipped a beer over onto a pile of tip money, which is now being dryed out with an electric fan.

It’s 8:30 and last call at the Red Dog, so I head to the Alaskan Bar for another whiskey. The barkeep, a woman, is pretty deadpan and the bar isn’t as lively as the Red Dog. I finish my drink and walk around downtown for awhile. In just my hat and sweater, it feels like one of the safest places on earth after dark. The homeless people start staking out doorways, and there’s a young guy that I manage to walk by at least 3 times, who smiles and says hello every time I pass by, regardless of what street I am on. I turn back and flash a smile, but keep on walking …

I contemplate a third drink at the Imperial, an excuse to sit and stare at its 1891 tin ceiling, but decide I had probably had enough, and start a new walk in quest of food. Pizza Verona is still open, so I sit down with an order of mozzarella sticks that I can’t finish. Finally at a reasonable calorie count for the day, I return to my hotel. My packing ritual has now evolved to:

• Unpack everything and throw it all on the bed.
• Pack the briefcase with sewing projects and stuff I need on the ferry.
• Pack the rolling case with hat samples, clothes and stuff I bought today.
• Put overflow into bag #3 and strap it to the rolling case for the ferry baggage cart.

When I get to the hotel:

• Repack the briefcase with hat samples, cards and catalogs for gallery visits.
• At night, dump everything out on the bed and repack for the next ferry ride.

September 8 – Juneau to Sitka

I have been asleep for a couple of hours when I hear someone step up to my bed, and feel a hand on my shoulder. I had scheduled a wake up call for 6 AM, so my first thought is how it is that they would actually come in to the room. When I turn over, no one is there!

I look at the time and think the VCR says 7:07 AM (which means I have just missed my ferry) but when I sit up to get a better look, find it is actually 2:07. Needless to say, I wake up every hour for the rest of the night. The sensation of warmth where “the hand” had rested on my shoulder, lasts for several more hours. At about 4 AM a name pops into my head – Sarah. I don’t know if it’s the name of my ‘visitor’, or the person she was looking for. About half an hour later, a man on the floor above me starts coughing, a horrid, painful cough with bouts every 10-15 minutes. He’s obviously in distress, and I remember the recommendation from an Alaskan friend that I get vaccinated against whooping cough, as there had been a recent outbreak in Juneau. The one thing I forgot to do …

I forgo using the public shower that morning, and hop straight into my cab when it arrives at 6:30. This cabby is recently from Spokane, but originally from Northern Idaho, and looks and sounds like the Cable Guy. I ask him how he makes a living off-season, and he replies that cabs are in demand pretty much all year. He made $85,000 last year. He chats about his girlfriend, a drug rehab counselor, who made $48,000 last year. Another friend who’s a CNA makes $20/hr at the local nursing home. He says money is very good here. He talks about driving cab for racist tourists, which segues into the Clan, the Aryan Nation, and the Russian gangs that are moving out of Juneau and into his hometown of Spokane. I ask him about Palin. He’s not as venomous as the barkeep at the Red Dog, but isn’t happy with her nomination. Among his litany is his statement that “she wants to spend half a million on a bronze whale tail sculpture for downtown, but the locals wish she’d use the money instead to fix the roads.” He says state money and services are used for the tourist industry, and the needs of the locals go unnoticed the rest of the year, which seems to be a real sore spot for him. He was very conversant and I feel badly that I don’t have a larger tip to give him.

I walk into the ferry terminal, and am flustered because there are two boats at the dock and an agent who is not very friendly. I take off my coat, sit down, and realize I don’t have my briefcase, which includes my wallet and ferry ticket. AAARRGGHH! I’m unbelievably lucky that the cabby is still outside.

That crisis was to set the tone for the rest of my visit to Sitka…

At 7 AM I board the Fairweather, a 213-foot catamaran that feels like the Victoria Clipper. It’s a newer boat, very boxy, with airplane style seats but no deck outside. The torrential rains of yesterday have calmed to a drizzle, but my coat and hat are still damp, so I decide that staying inside today is probably the best thing.

The first thing I do on board is miss dropping my wallet in the toilet by about 2 inches. Breakfast is oatmeal and coffee. There’s no fresh fruit, and lunch choices are oatmeal and microwave meat sandwiches. So I forgo lunch yet again. I am now very spoiled by the Malaspina and its amenities.

This part of the passage is filled with small islands, covered with pines that grow right down to the edge of the water. The seas are choppy with 3-5 foot swells, and when the Captain tells you to stay seated, he’s not kidding. In a couple more hours, we have sun breaks and rugged mountains are coming back into view. By 10:30 AM, the surface of the water is like glass, and the scenery is too beautiful to get any sewing done. There’s lots of kelp beds here, and although I miss the first whale sighting of the day, I see a pair of six foot tall water spouts a few minutes later, and the briefest glimpse of a small tail.

Time passes very, very slowly here. After four and a half hours, we land at Sitka. I walk around the parking lot, trying to find the shuttle, and after about five minutes, ask the driver of a big white tour bus, which turns out to be the shuttle I’m looking for. Hmmm … The drive to the hotel is about 15 minutes, through a mix reminiscent of Vashon Island and industrial Longview.

The Sitka Hotel is another historic building, but only in the most lenient of terms. I arrive too early for check in but they have a locking closet for luggage. I transfer hat samples into my briefcase and hit the streets in search of galleries. About a third of the downtown shops are closed. One ‘gallery’ is actually a second hand curio store, another is a native shop with a pretty hostile native. I get a very mild nibble from the sixth gallery I walk into. I decide it’s a no go and head back to the hotel to check in.

On my way back, I happen across a stairway that leads up to Castle Hill, the most historical site of the city. Castle Hill was originally a Tlingit village, taken by the Russians during the War of 1804 and which became the site of Baranof’s Castle, the residence of Russian American Company officials. It is most well known as the spot where Russia transferred Alaska to the United States on October 18, 1867. October 18 is now celebrated as Alaska Day, with annual reenactments of the historical event. Castle Hill was also where the first 49-star flag was raised just after midnight on July 4, 1959, to mark Alaska’s statehood. Castle Hill is the best vantage point in the city, and it was interesting to note that centuries ago, it actually sat on the water…

The Sitka Hotel is centrally located, and has a laundry facility and an elevator. It is advertised as a vintage hotel (circa 1939) with Victorian charm. But there’s no charm here. The common areas are very poorly decorated in mismatched post-WWI motifs. My room has absolutely no ambience, is noisy, and there are no window screens, a pretty important feature here in Mosquito Land. Good Lord… I dump my bags and head out to a coffee shop a friend had recommended. When I get there, I watch the fire station next door light up. A transformer pole has caught fire and the entire city is blacked out.

Which means, once again, there’s no place to get food because the cash registers aren’t working, and no one here is willing to use a pen and paper, or accept cash. This is the third day in a row where it’s been difficult to impossible to get lunch. This place is starting to feel really inhospitable.

Russian Bishop’s House
While looking for food, I find the Bishop’s House, an unassuming log building built in 1843 by Finnish shipwrights for Saint Innocent Veniaminof, the first Russian Orthodox bishop of Alaska. It is one of only four examples of Russian colonial architecture in North America. Most of the original structure is still intact, and the basement has plexiglass plates over sections of the wall which allow you to see the original construction. I appreciate the signs in the empty corners with descriptions like “Here once stood the iron cookstove.” There is also a well laid out garden in front of the house, showing the types of flowers and vegetables that were grown during Bishop Innocent’s tenure here.

St. Innocent
Saint Innocent was born as John Popov on August 27, 1797, in Siberia. At age nine he entered the Irkutsk Theological Seminary, where he remained for eleven years, proving to be its most brilliant pupil during this time. He learned carpentry, furniture making, blacksmithing, and learned how to make musical instruments and clocks.

At the age of seventeen, in recognition of his outstanding achievements at the Seminary, his last name was changed to Veniaminov, in honor of a late bishop. He married and in 1824 arrived in Unalaska for missionary work. He learned the Aleut language, as well as the life style of the people. He developed an Aleut alphabet based on the Cyrillic, and translated services and Gospels into the native language.

Ten years later, Bishop Innocent and his family were transferred to Sitka, where the local Tlingits were intensely antagonistic toward their Russian overlords. He learned Tlingit language and culture, and when a smallpox epidemic hit the area, he convinced many of them to be vaccinated, which saved many lives and gradually earned their respect. In 1850, Bishop Innocent was elevated to Archbishop and his Archdiocese was enlarged to include more territory in Asiatic Russia, with its center at Yakutsk.

He designed St. Michael’s Cathedral and oversaw its construction. He built the original clock, and carved the bishop’s throne, which sits under the dome of the cathedral. He died in 1879 in Moscow as its Metropolitan, the senior-most position for a bishop of the Russian Church. He was canonized in 1977 and became one of the four Saints of Alaska. For additional information on Saint Innocence and the other Alaskan Saints, see outreachalaska.

My next stop is St. Peter’s by-the-Sea Episcopal Church, a beautiful stone church built in 1899, and very near the Bishop’s House. One of the two unusual features is the rose window with the Star of David at the center, apparently an error by the window maker when the piece was mail-ordered 100 years ago. Bishop Rowe, the first (non-Russian Orthodox) Bishop of Alaska, is buried in the front lawn with his wife and one of his sons.

The other unusual feature is a Victorian style cage in the side yard, containing a 5-foot tall tree. A nearby placard explains that this is the Glastonbury Thorn: “By legend, the walking staff of Joseph of Arimethea was planted in Briton during the first century. The shoot in the cage was planted here in 1999…it’s presence commemorates the work of Anglican missionaries carrying the gospel of Christ halfway around the globe.”

I continue on to the Sheldon Jackson Museum, a large octagonal building with specimen cabinets in the style of a Victorian anthropologists’ study. There are a several artifacts I had not seen elsewhere, including several dogsleds, birdskin pouches, a sinew spinner, a herring rake, a beautiful silver raven spoon, and two horn ladles with hollow 3-dimensional totems carved into the handles. The light here is so low that I had to ask if the power was still out. When you pay your admission, you are handed a mini mag light so you can better see inside the cases.

By the time I leave the museum, the power has been restored, but now most of the town is closed, a combination of the power outage and the cruise ship leaving town. I’m really starting to hate Sitka. At 4:30 I find a Chinese restaurant at the marina near a modern hotel, the only place I could find that was serving food, that wasn’t a bar. It’s one of those places that looks great but has a very ordinary menu, and they are out of the first two things I try to order, even though I’m the only customer here. I settle on a chicken salad, which arrives as a plate of deep-fried chicken bits laid on a thin bed of greens, drizzled with too much “special sauce”. The check comes with a very stale fortune cookie which I leave crumbled on top of my payment.

I return to my room and make a couple of phone calls. While I’m on the phone, a rowdy couple starts yelling in the hall, knocks on my door, and then walk right in! I tell them they have the wrong room, and they back out without apologizing. About 5 minutes later, there’s more pounding on the door. This time it’s an angry night manager who accuses me of not paying for my room. So I finish my call, dig out my receipts and go downstairs. Mr. Angry figures out that I have the wrong key, but makes that out to be my fault as well. GEEZZZZ! He smiles and gives me the key I am supposed to have, which turns out to be a much better room. Larger, newer, cleaner, better bathroom, screens on the window, and a bit of a view. No apologies though…

I decide to redeem the day by getting out to see the rest of the historical sites. I am now very happy that my ferry schedule has been adjusted. I can hardly wait to leave this awful place.

I find the grave of Princess Maksoutov, the first wife of the Russian governor at the time of the Alaska transfer, and lay a fern frond and a buttercup on her headstone. There are two other people buried near her but I can’t make out who they are. I can’t get into the Russian Cemetery because the fence is locked. The area is overgrown and not being treated with the respect such historical graves are due.

Across the street is the burial site of St. Yakov, the first Native priest ordained in Alaska. Beyond that is the Russian Blockhouse, a replica of the original which was part of the stockade that marked the boundary between the Russian and Tlingit territories. It sits atop a rock outcrop, which I nearly tumble from as I circumnavigate the base of the blockade. This day has been absolutely fraught with near disasters!

A walk across the O’Connell Bridge to Japonski Island brings me to a park on the edge of the marina, where I discover a monument commemorating the Kaisei Maru, a Japanese sealing vessel that sunk in the 1890’s after being seized by the U.S. for poaching. The sailors were imprisoned for about a year before being released, but the captain committed suicide. On my way back I spot a heron as it lands in a tree near the marina. I spend several minutes watching it, as it watches everything else.

I walk up to the Visitor Center to see the New Archangel Russian Dancers, but the center, which had been open earlier in the day, is now locked up and tonight’s performance cancelled. The Indian Dance Center is also closed. I look for a movie theater, but there isn’t one. The library is about to close. So I head back to my hotel. Geez, this place…

I don’t know why anyone would live here. It is a very stark contrast to Juneau, where I wish I was right now…

September 9 – More Sitka, then off to Ketchikan

Day two in Sitka is better, due to the arrival of the cruise ship and a full night’s sleep. It’s sunny today, almost t-shirt weather. Most businesses don’t open until 9:30 or 10 AM, and the only place that’s open for breakfast is the hotel restaurant, which doesn’t look very appealing, so I skip breakfast and take a walk instead. I visit the totem pole in Marina Park, and the bronze statue of a prospector outside of Pioneer Home, the retirement home for the city, with a history too boring to relate here.

St. Michael’s Cathedral
It’s a Miracle! St Michael’s Cathedral is open today!

Built in 1844-48 from spruce logs faced with clapboard on the outside and lined inside with sailcloth for insulation and acoustics, it burned to the ground in a fire that took much of Sitka’s downtown in 1966. Fortunately, nearly 100 Sitkans formed a bucket brigade to retrieve the relics inside before the church was completely lost. The large chandelier that hangs from the dome was rescued by a parishioner who stacked benches underneath the fixture until he could reach the chain to unhook it. He handed it to a pair of men standing below him, who carried it out of the church. It later took 6 men to carry the 300 pound piece to the Bishop’s House for storage. The ornate pair of gold doors in front of the altar are also originals. These hand carved doors were taken off their hinges with a crow bar and carried out of the church during the fire. Afterwards, the man who had single-handedly rescued these doors, was unable to pick them up by himself.

A replica of the church took ten years to build and was completed in 1976. It was built following the original plans and was constructed from concrete and steel, and lined with fireproof canvas.

Services are held at least 3 times a week for a parish of 50+ people. The Orthodox faithful believe the Church is the place where heaven and earth unite and intermingle, so there are no pews, although there are a few benches along the walls for those who cannot stand for a full service or wedding. This leaves a lot of open space to walk around. It’s one of the cheapest admissions ($2) and the docent was very friendly and informative.

The Cathedral is built in the shape of a cross, with the altar located behind a pair of hand-carved gilded doors. These doors symbolize the entry into the Kingdom of Heaven (I saw an excellent example of this style of door at the “Gates of Heaven” exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum earlier this year). This is the only Russian Orthodox church I have visited that has opened these doors and exposed the altar to public view. St. Michael’s has three altars: the principal in the center, one on the left for Mary, and one on the right for Saint Innocent. These smaller chapels are sometimes used for weekday services when there are fewer faithful in attendance. The church is full of artifacts, including icons painted in oil on wood, vestments, chalices, censures, and a pair of wedding crowns that are still used today.

The wedding crowns are the style worn by Queen Elizabeth, ornate silver with red maintenance caps. The docent said Orthodox weddings are 2.5 hours long, and during that entire time the crowns are held above the heads of the wedding couple by their attendants. Orthodox weddings have a large number of groomsmen and bridesmaids because they need to spell each other off during this ceremonial task.

Most of the icons date from the 19th century, with some dating to the 17th century. Many icons are covered with a detailed metal plate called a ‘riza’, which both protects and ornaments the painting. Open spaces in the riza expose the face and hands of the saint, which are considered the holiest parts of these icons. Rizas date back to about the 17th century, icons painted prior to the 17th century were typically left uncovered.

The icons to the sides of the royal doors were brought to Sitka on the Russian warship Neva in 1813. The Neva ran aground and sank about 20 miles off coast, and all but one of the icons were salvaged from the ship. The last one (at the far right of the doors), depicting St. Michael, was found undamaged in a crate which washed ashore 30 days after the Neva sank. The riza is worked in gold and duplicates his armor and wings, I think the most beautiful icon in this church.

One of the most impressive icons is “Our Lady of Sitka” also called “Our Lady of Kazan”, painted in about 1800 by Vladimir Borofikovsky. Miracles have been attributed to this icon, mostly the healing of eyesight. But the one that left me with the greatest impression (shown at left) is “Virgin Mary Not Painted by Hands.” The unidentified monk who painted it, was unhappy with the face and hands, so he blacked them out and went to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he found his original work had been restored. The docent pointed out that wherever you stand within the cathedral, the Lady’s eyes follow you. And it’s true…

The Russian Orthodox Faith
This church is called a cathedral, after the word ‘cathedra’, the Bishop’s Throne, literally the seat of the leader of the faith. It is called a Russian church because it was founded by Russian missionaries. However, parishioners are mostly Tlingit, with a smaller percentage of Russian band other nationalities. Music is sung acapella, and services are rendered in English, Slavonic, Tlingint, Aleut and Yupik.

In the Orthodox Church, there is no equivalent to the Pope. The authority of the Church rests with the bishops who act as a group according to the rules of Faith established by the seven universal councils. All bishops have equal authority, although the patriarch or metropolitan has a higher place of honor, a sort of “first among equals”.

Orthodoxy differs from Catholicism in that the Orthodox do not accept the Immaculate Conception of Mary, nor do they recognize the doctrine of Purgatory. Both churches accept the use of images, but the Orthodox Church does not accept the use of statues. Both churches have monastic communities, but the Orthodox Church does not have separate orders for nuns and monks. Both churches recognize the seven sacraments, but the Orthodox Church has a different understanding (and apparently a different practice) of them.

I had almost given up hope of finding a Christmas present for my mom here, but finally find a Russian nesting dall, a set of three painted in Native American motif. I look at Siberian made birchwood boxes, but settle on a hairbrush with a carved birchwood back for myself.

If you go to Sitka:

• See Castle Hill and St. Michael’s if you don’t see anything else.
  
• The city closes between 5 PM and 6:30 and doesn’t open again until 9:30 or 10 AM, but these times are relative…
  
• Time your visit to dovetail with the cruise ship schedule so you have a fighting chance of things being open when you are here.

On to Ketchikan
The ferry today is the Colombia, the biggest ship of this trip (7 decks!), and the longest leg, departing at noon for arrival in Ketchikan at 7:15 tomorrow morning. It is 418 feet long, 85 feet wide, and carries 931 passengers, though I think there are less than 100 on this run. The Bridge and Boat Decks are the best observation points, I am struck with how high off the water I am sitting today. Even though it’s a beautiful day, with breaks in the rain, I’m ready to climb back into a sweater.

I stocked up on protein bars before I left Sitka, but expect I’ll do better today with my close proximity to the cafeteria. There’s also a movie theater and a bar (just like on the Malaspina) but I end up not availing myself of either of these amenities. I would have used the laundry room had I planned that far ahead …

It continues to be hard to sew when there’s so much to look at outside. I find myself silently commiserating with a young father, whose kids had never been to Alaska before, and yet, were more interested in watching movies in the theater, than watching the scenery outside. I’m glad I have my glasses with me today. Wildlife this morning includes a deer on one of the islands, dolphins (which look to me like so many wet squirrels chasing each other just below the water’s surface) and more eagles and herons.

During lunch, the view out the window is of evergreen trees so close that I thought the ship was going to brush the branches. There’s no beach, the only thing separating the trees from the water’s edge is a layer of small boulders. This turns out to be Sturgis Passage, the narrowest passage the Coast Guard will let a ship this size pass through. Past Sturgis, there’s more whales but I miss them. And then the ship’s steward alerts us to a very rare sighting – pink flamingos!!! I run with my binoculars, but can’t see them on the beach. Someone points out that they are nesting in a tree, and what I see looks amazingly like the plastic yard variety. Which, of course, they are…an April Fools joke pulled off several years ago by a local, that the ship’s steward takes great delight in keeping alive on every sailing … even though I was taken in by it, it is pretty hysterical …

The terrain has become rugged again, resembling Juneau. There are supposed to be whales in Wrangell Strait. I’m getting really lethargic, even after the excitement of seeing the “rare tree-nesting flamingos from Madein China”…

And then, here we go … the captain announces over the loud speaker that whales have been sighted just ahead. I whip out my binoculars and start scanning. A dorsal fin, then two, then four. Not just a whale or two, but an entire pod of humpbacks! The steward says they are ‘bubble feeding’ and suggests that we enjoy the view through our eyes rather than our cameras, since they move so quickly. I walk as quickly as I can to the right side of the ship, and then duck outside. Through my binoculars I see an upright white pectoral fin, then the whale rolls over and the other pectoral fin comes out of the water, bending at the tip as though it’s waving. It then rights itself and dives, exposing a big tail, black on top, white below. Wow! Another whale breaks water, and I see its eye and pink striated throat. We watch for about half an hour as we pass by the pod at least 10 whales. I never see a fully breaching whale, but seeing the playful fins and tail of the one, was still pretty spectacular.

And now, I’m fully awake…

About Whales
Humpback whales are baleen, or toothless. They feed on zooplankton, krill and herring-size fish, and eat by straining seawater through the baleen plates that are on both sides of their mouth. (Baleen is what corset stays were made from during the Victorian era.) The mouth of an adult whale can expand to hold 15,000 gallons of seawater, or the equivalent of seven VW Bugs.

The distinctive patterns in the water that I call whale-sign, are areas of bubble-net feeding. A team of whales dive below a school of fish, swim in a circle and start blowing a ring of bubbles. As the bubbles rise, they form a curtain around a column of water. The fish stay within this bubble curtain as though it were a net. The whales then swim up through the bubble-net, with their mouths open, and scoop up all the fish. Single whales use smaller bubble-nets to capture swarms of krill at the surface.

The pectoral fin I saw was about 12 feet tall, a third the length of the whale. Tails are up to 15 feet across …

At 9 PM we pull into Petersburg, with all of its houses along the water, one completely over the water, on stilts. We dock just long enough to swap passengers and offload semi-trucks. It is interesting to watch the boat belly up sideways to the dock to offload (both the Malaspina and the Colombia are side loaders). I’m also surprised to see seabirds fly at night! I don’t know if it’s normal, or if they are startled by the searchlights the Colombia employs during docking. I make a mental note of the long walk from the ferry to the terminal, in case I want to visit here on my next trip.

The steward (whom by now I should have learned his name, but didn’t) comments that from this point south, cities are “three miles long and 3 blocks wide”, and that pretty much everything is on the water. After walking around in Ketchikan (my next stop) I would later surmise that this is due to the coastal culture whose historical transport was boat, and that the first 100 feet from the water’s edge, is the only flat land in most cases …

The overhead lights in the cabin are turned off at 8:30, but I manage to find a seat strategically placed under a can light, so I can continue to sew. The steward comes up to see what I’m working on. His wife is a corset maker for some historical shooting clubs and is also in the SCA. He said her last project was a corset with a built-in holster for a derringer. We chat briefly about choosing personas in earlier periods that don’t require corsets …

The next point of interest is Wrangell Passage, the second most narrow passage after Sturgis. We will hit it in the dark and will get to see why it’s called Christmas Tree Alley. This passage has to be traversed at high incoming tide. If the captain misses the tide, it’s a 12-hour wait for the next one. I bet this is why my ferry schedule changed. It’s the steward’s favorite part of the trip, and he sits in the front of this observation deck and keeps a running commentary going for at least an hour. The pass, when we finally get there, is lit with green and red towers of flashing buoy lights. It’s not as brightly lit as I expected, but lights any brighter would skew the crew and captain’s night vision, and land us on the rocks.

I leave the deck before we are through the pass, and look for a place to sleep. I try out one of the recliners in the theater, but find the floor in the front corner to be more comfortable and pretty secluded. I didn’t sleep any worse than I do anywhere else, waking up at 2 AM and every hour thereafter until getting up at 5:30. The shower facilities don’t open until 6:30, so I walk around the ship some more. I find several couches that would have provided a softer bed, but they’re in common areas with lights and foot traffic, so the more secluded corner I ended up in, was the better choice.

I am the only one up, it’s nice to have the shower room to myself. The only draw-back is the thin, half-towels that the ferry provides. I then step out onto the deck in just my jeans and t-shirt, my hair whipping in the gray windy drizzle. I grab a cup of coffee, and see a lighthouse about a half hour from the dock.

September 10 – Ketchikan

I have arrived at the final destination of my great Alaskan adventure. I breathe a sigh of relief as I take my watch off, no longer needing to keep track of time and ferry schedules. I notice a marina for the exclusive use of boat planes. The van from the Gilmore Hotel is waiting at the ferry dock. Again, I arrive too early for check in, but I stash my luggage in the lock closet, and hop the city transit which is quite simply called The Bus, to head back towards the ferry dock to start my walking tour.

The locals say that Ketchikan is "the place where it rains so much only a white man would build a city here". They get 13-16 FEET of rain a year. The shuttle driver says they are having the worst summer they’d had since the 1940’s, and that there had only been a dozen days of sun so far this year. I’m soaked to the skin within the first hour (not unlike Juneau) and the first leg of the walking tour appears to be a bust. I see the USDA Building, the shipyard, the marina, the cruise ship docks and the airport ferry. The only point of interest I find that I am actually looking for is a church that I should have gone into, but didn’t. I can’t find Dolly’s House or the totems I’m looking for, other than three standing in front of Indian Social Services. I soon realize that I got off the bus well beyond my destination, and I must have walked three miles to get back to town. I’m now very wet, a little angry, and, as usual for this time of day, absolutely starving.

I stop to chill out at Caryanne Creek, a salmon spawning area. This place is ridiculous with salmon ... watching the creek is like looking into a carp pond, except instead of carp, it’s full of 30-pound sockeye that you could probably pick up with your hands if you stood in the creek. I watch a fish beach itself, and find it difficult to take pictures because of the number of dead fish that are on the rocks and banks. The most interesting sight is the real estate office that sits right in the water, with flopping salmon navigating around the corner of the building’s foundation on their way upstream.

I’m not impressed with the Gilmore at first sight, but it grows on me pretty quickly and I recommend this hotel to anyone visiting Ketchikan. It’s another historic register site, but this one is everything it says it is. The most expensive room of the trip at $118 per night, I have a corner room with a bathroom and all the standard amenities (coffee maker, toiletries, water glasses that are actually glass), a flat screen that is a minimal distraction from the rest of the room. Also room service, laundry service, and freezer space in case you go fishing. Again, you have to sherpa your own luggage up and down the stairs, but the flights are broken at the halfway point with landings, and the larger landings have pleasant seating areas where I end up spending segments of time over the next two days.

They also have a computer and free internet access on one of these landings, with a printer. I take advantage of the computer later check email, send a note home, and print my boarding pass on Thursday. The adjoining seating area includes four chairs at a round table, in front of a stained glass window, with a nice view downstairs of the chandeliers and the street. It is also the most centrally located hotel downtown.

I head back out, and find that the walking tour is actually signed, but you have to start from downtown in order to see the signs. No wonder I can’t find things… I thread my way back and find Hopkins Alley, but am not impressed, I think Seattle has older and more interesting docks. The city feels very much like Ilwaco or Westport, but with a very steep mountain, like Juneau. Building houses up there must require quite a bit of engineering skill. One of them has what appears to be a seriously long staircase that looks like it goes straight up, which I later learn is actually the track for a tram that takes you up to Cape Fox Lodge.

The cruise ships have just arrived and are off-loading tons of slow-moving and confused passengers. Tour guides wander through the throng, holding signs listing their tour or attraction, and lead you off to buy tickets before packing you onto a vehicle or into a parade of other tourists if the attraction is nearby. What an absolute zoo!

The cruise ships are staggeringly tall, one is from Rotterdam and the other is a Princess. A Celebrity Cruise ship further down the street is only half as big, but still looks like the Smith Tower laying on its side. It would be hard to see anything from the observation decks, and obviously you can’t get into the inlets and whale areas that I just passed through on the ferry. I think that had I chosen a cruise, I wouldn’t have seen half of what I have seen, and would have ended up splitting my time between my berth and the dining room. No thanks!

By now, the “trading companies” and other main street galleries all look the same. I set out to find the real galleries, which are located blocks away from the dock. I find works by native artists well beyond my budget but at least now I am finally looking at native-made art. I weave my way to what looks like a promising fish bar for lunch. Me and 20 of my closest friends queue up…

Tourists are SO STUPID! No wonder the locals look forward to the season being over. A young woman behind me starts whining to her husband because she doesn’t eat fish. “Don’t they have anything else?” she says. After a minute or two of listening to this, I turn around, point to the Godfather’s across the street, and say, ‘You know, there’s a pizza place Right_Over_There...” They leave, but I’m still surrounded by decision-making men and argumentative women with kids and strollers. I resolve to get out of this crowd as soon as possible …

I order a bowl of Two Salmon Chowder and cornbread, and take a seat. I discover that the walking map works best if you tear it out of the guide, so I revise my plan for the afternoon. After 15 minutes, and with no customers in line, I go up and ask if my chowder is up yet. A short time later, I get cornbread that is piping hot, and chowder that isn’t. I resist the urge to complain after the hard day the unhappy staff have obviously been having.

I go shopping, and find that even the native art is mostly copy work. I had really wanted a totem pole, since Ketchikan has the largest collection of historical totems in the world, but I didn’t want a stock one, and the only one that looked like an original, and that I could afford, was unsigned. I find a hairpin for the friend who's looking after my cat, and a salmon carved from mammoth ivory for another friend. In the same shop I pick up a raven totem, which will go in the raven mug I picked up in Juneau. I treat myself to a berry picker - a stout wooden comb with a dimensional handle carved into Mother Bear (shown here). There were a couple of others just like it, but at least not a shelf full of them…

Later on, I stumble across a blacksmith, and buy a small ulu that he has forged. The Sitka Deer bone handle has a nice contour which fits comfortably between my thumb and forefinger. The artist is Jake Beimler, Bifrost Blacksmithing, ‘Blacksmithing goods done the traditional way’. He is originally from Montana, a short and stout blacksmith, and predictably, a Viking re-enactor who has organize a fighting troupe in Ketchikan called “Grott, the Lost Vikings”.

It’s pouring rain again, and I find a pair of guys selling stone carvings at the open air Artisan Marketplace at the city center. Theirs is the only tent that is open. I buy small Inuksuks carved from Glacier Jade and serpentine. I had seen an inuksuk in Juneau, and had been trying to find out more about them as potential pieces of garden art. The artist is Jon Fathom, born in a log cabin in Juneau and currently living in Ketchikan. I give him one of my cards, which he recognizes from Best of the Northwest when he was a participating artist a couple of years ago. What a very small world …

Inuksuks and Inunnguaqs
When I got back to Seattle, I found out that the pieces I purchased are actually inunnguaqs, and it is the inunnguaq form that I actually want to work on for my garden.

An "inuksuk" (pronounced "in-uk-shuk") is a monument used for communication and survival that is usually made of stacked, un-worked stones. They have been used by the Inuit people in the Arctic to mark trails, caches of food, nearby people, or the migration routes of caribou. These "signposts" were essential for survival and Inuit tradition forbids their destruction.

Historically the most common type of inuksuit are a single stone positioned in an upright manner. An inuksuk is often confused with an inunnguaq, a cairn representing a human figure. There is some debate as to whether the appearance of human or cross-shaped cairns developed in the Inuit culture before the arrival of European missionaries and explorers.

Interestingly the symbol chosen for the 2010 Olympic Games in Whistler BC is called an inuksuk, but is actually an inunnguaq. I’m sure all the Native Peoples are already laughing about that…

I made my way back to Creek Street, and see even more salmon than I did at Caryanne. This water doesn’t look like a carp pond as much as a living sardine can. Seriously! The water is absolutely black with fish!

Sites today include Creek Street, a dock on pilings, lined with Victorian shanties, which became the red light district in 1903 when the City Council consolidated its brothels away from the center of town. Tour Dolly’s house for $5, which buys you as much time as you want in this tiny two story house crammed full of 1920’s – 40’s furnishings, her wardrobe and her memorabilia. Highlights of the house include the flowers on her shower curtain that are made from very colorful silk condoms, and the elevator for alcohol that was delivered by rowboat beneath the house during Prohibition. I used to own the same china as Doly -- Wild Rose Franciscan. She even had the painted glass goblets. The wallpaper was original to the ‘20’s but in many places was in disrepair. The house badly needs restoration.

About Dolly Arthur
Excerpt from www.sitnews.org/JuneAllen/080502_oldest_profession.html
Every town along the Inside Passage was in a prime location for prostitution but Ketchikan had an edge starting in 1900 - the transfer from Mary Island to Ketchikan of the U.S. Customs House and its regulations that required all northbound vessels from steamships to small boats to stop in the "first city." The Girls welcomed traveling salesmen, fishermen from boats of all sizes that sailed to Alaska each spring. Ketchikan incorporated in 1900 but it was not until 1902 that its Common Council noticed that the Girls were becoming a problem along Front and Water Streets in Newtown. In an effort to control complaints, the Council sent notices to the town's six barroom owners that "Women are frequenting the bars and disturbing the peace and quiet and order of the community, and unless this is abated the license will be revoked."

Apparently the problem was not solved and the next spring, the Council responded to a petition from the residents of Newtown and ordered that "Bawdy houses in Newtown be removed to Indian Town on the other side of the small creek." This move made the resident tribe of Tlingits pretty unhappy, so they moved to Saxman. Creek Street became a busy red-light district and remained in business from 1903, with hyatus during the Depression and World Wars, up until prostitution was outlawed in 1953. More about Dolly Arthur

Thelma Dolly Copeland was born in Idaho in 1888. After an unhappy childhood she left home at age thirteen, moving to Montana and then to Vancouver, B.C., where she worked as a waitress. By the time she was 18 or 19, she realized she could “make more money from the attention of men than from waiting on tables”. She arrived in Ketchikan in 1919, changed her name to Dolly Arthur, and became Ketchikan’s most famous Madame. She was a stately blond woman at 5’9, who weighed upwards of 225 in her later years. She started business with two other working girls, but soon grew tired of the fights over clothes, money and men, so she rented the house to the girls and bought a house of her own on Creek Street (sown above). It took her two weeks to pay the mortgage.

Every night was a party on Creek Street. Miners, fishermen, loggers and townspeople gathered to carouse, drink and visit the clapboard bordellos along the boardwalk. Music floated out over the water and lights glowed from the windows, while the girls paraded behind lace curtains. Although drinking was against the law, prostitution was legal, and the "sporting women" of the red light area of Creek Street, registered their businesses with the city police.

Dolly did not consider herself a whore, but rather, a "sporting woman," a distinction that was important to her. While most of the girls worked and lived in pairs in the small creekside houses, Dolly always worked alone - except for her first year in Ketchikan when she worked at Black Mary's Star dance hall.

Photographs show her as a pretty woman, a big woman - a feminine shape and substance in vogue near the turn of the 20th century. As she aged, she was sometimes called Big Dolly. She was also known for her temper and a vocabulary that could put a sailor to shame. But she paid her bills, on time, and in cash - with a tip. She never lacked for gentlemen visitors - well into her retirement years! Bear in mind that sporting women were available just for conversation, with drinks, of course. And some of the girls are said to have made as much or more from selling drinks than from turning tricks. Whiskey at Dolly’s sold $1 for a teaspoon, $2 for a shot, and $3 for a shot at Dolly. She serviced 20 men a day to sustain her $100 a day income.

Creek Street patrons wore diesel- and fish-scented wool gear with boots flecked with fish scales. Dolly's house, like others on the Creek, reflected that concern. The floors were linoleum, the furniture sturdy. Her bedroom furniture was heavy and elegant - a gift from a gentlemen in Petersburg. Upstairs was the tiny restroom with a water tank with a side removed to serve as a urinal for her guests, a convenience she filled with ice before they arrived. The entry hall also held the thick, padlocked drawer in which she kept her money.

Dolly continued to live in her house at 24 Creek Street, even after prostitution became illegal in 1953. Although she tried to retire, she was convinced to work until she was 80. She became the last of the former ladies of the line to remain in residence on the creek until she grew too frail and moved to a nursing home in about 1973. When she died on July 1975 at the age of 87, all the major newspapers on the West Coast carried her obituary, paying tribute to a woman whose spirit exemplified the tough, roistering years of Ketchikan's early history.

Totem Heritage Center
I walk to the Totem Heritage Center (admission $5) for a look at some very old totems retrieved during the 1970’s from Tlingint villages at Tongass and Village Islands, and from the Haida village of Old Akasaan on Prince of Wales Island. These villages were abandoned at the beginning of the 20th century when the villagers moved to Ketchikan and other towns to be closer to schools, churches and jobs.

Traditionally, totems were carved to honor important people and to commemorate significant events, personal status and land claims. They were also used as house posts, heraldic markers and funerary pieces. They are not religious objects and are not worshipped. Although you may recognize figures on the poles, you can’t actually “read” them. You can only learn what the pole means by finding out why it was created. This information was traditionally shared when the pole was raised, and passed down orally to subsequent generations. In the case of the older totem poles, this information has been irretrievably lost.

The totems on display were carved from Western red cedar. Red and yellow cedar was the predominant material used by the native peoples because of its natural resilience to water and decay.

There are three in the center of the building as you walk in, and several laying on their backs in climate control cases in one of the side rooms. Most of these totems date back to the 19th century. It’s actually a little creepy, especially in the climate control room, which feels very much like a morgue.

There is also a display of more modern artworks done by local students, including an unadorned canoe. Tlingit canoes are carved from a log, and the interior is filled with water that is brought to boiling with hot rocks. This steams the wood and allows the boat builder to force the wood out to the desired width. It makes a canoe that is completely leak proof since there is no joinery.

I miss getting into the eagle center by a few minutes. I walk through a beautiful little city park, and back to town along Ketchikan Creek. I still can’t get over how much salmon there is here. You can’t look anywhere without seeing either piles of them swimming, or piles of them rotting on the shore. I later learn that the carcasses that don’t get eaten by seagulls and bears, get washed back out to sea, or decompose by spring. The spawning fish are already decomposing by the time they get to the spawning beds, and one local I spoke with surmised that salmon beach themselves because they loose their bearings as they start to die. This tells me that it’s not a good time of year to fish, because the quality of the salmon would be very poor.

I had planned on having dinner at the New York, but it closed at 4 PM. It has turned into yet another night of trying to find a decent place to eat. This time, my choices boil down to a Thai place (which in retrospect would have been my best choice), a Mexican place (which didn’t strike me as the greatest idea while on travel) and the third and last place, the Pioneer Café. It’s a 1950’s diner -- the real McCoy, not a replica. I order coffee and pie while I’m trying to figure out what I want. I end up ordering the Daily Special, spaghetti; the cheapest thing on the menu and my bill still came to $16. The waitress made a comment to the cook, who could see me from where he was standing, and who said, “She’ll never finish it, she’s spoiling her dinner with that pie” to which the waitress responded with a comment about people who eat dessert first. Had I not been so tired, I would have stood up and said, “Hello, I’m In The Room” … They lost my business the next morning when I would have parted with my vegetarian diet to try their Reindeer Steak and Eggs for breakfast.

I have been soaked to the skin the entire day. I eat way too fast, and now feel like throwing up. I get back to my hotel at 6:30, and promptly go to bed.

September 11 – Last Day

I wake up at 4 AM, and turn on the news to find 911 anniversary rememberances in progress. I did not want to start my day with that … I get up and pack bags for the return trip home. I remember to pack the ulu into the bag I’m checking so it doesn’t get confiscated at security, and repack all the fragile stuff in my sweaters. The rest of the really fragile and expensive stuff goes into my briefcase. I include a fresh shirt and a pair of summer shoes to change into at the airport for the flight home. I had found the post office yesterday and brought shipping boxes back. One Priority Mail box gets filled with dirty laundry, another with my hat samples, to mail home. At 5 AM I go back to bed for another couple of hours.

The Gilmore puts out a nice continental breakfast spread at the Annabelle Saloon. I choose a bowl of granola, fresh fruit, coffee and a couple of mini muffins. It is very nice eating from china, with real silver, and was a real experience to eat breakfast sitting at an old-timey bar. Today is much more temperate, so I change back into a t-shirt. It turns into a pretty sunny day.

I have nearly an entire day, so after missing The Bus by a few minutes, decide to walk to Saxman Village. I think its about 3 miles from the Gilmore, along a bike trail that borders the water. It’s a really nice walk, and I arrive at Saxman just before the city bus does. A couple of tour busses and a horse drawn tour trolley are already there and are off loaded. I watch Fred Trout, a local master carver, work on a totem for a few minutes, chipping away at it with an adze. I looked through a sketchbook, and saw several templates in the shop, which the carvers use in the same way I do with my embroidery templates. Another artist was conducting the ‘tour’ of the shop, and explained that tribal women used to collect salmon berries, and masticate them, and the mixture of the berries, saliva and whatever coloring agents (usually ores or ground stones) made for a primitive type of oil paint.

New poles are painted with commercial oil paints. New totems are also capped to prevent premature decay from the elements and birds nesting. New poles can be commissioned from an apprentice carver at the rate of $500 per foot. The going rate for a master carver starts at $3500 a foot.

Saxman Village has one of the largest collections of totems, or kooteeyaa, as the Tlingit call them. One has President Lincoln at the top, others have a single animal at the top, and another single figure at the bottom, with no carving in-between. One of the totems that is in the courtyard of the tribal house, has a “tail” of grass that had sprouted from the top. It was funny because the grass actually made the tail of the animal, but was sad because it also showed the totem was starting to decay.

When I get up to the tribal house (at left), I realize that the raven totem I had bought to accompany the raven mug in Juneau, is a version of “Raven chasing the Sun” and is also replica of one that is in front of the Saxman house! At the Totem Heritage Center I learned that many of the poles that are currently standing, are replicas of earlier poles, and that some of them are 3rd generation replicas as totem poles start to deteriorate after a 100 years. It then occurred to me that the totems at the gift shop, although mass-produced, are still handmade and are following the tradition of replicating original works. Shelves and shelves of replicas. So it’s not really any different from any other hand-made replicable art.

The Bus stops right at the gift shop at Saxman Village, so I hop it back to town and hop off again for lunch at the New York. The restaurant actually turns out to be the Ketchikan Coffee Company. I order a salmon sandwich, which turns out to be canned sockeye (the next to lowest grade of fish). It was tasty, but a sandwich I could have had anywhere. Just as I was leaving, a couple of older gentlemen enter, and are joking about Palin. I turned to listen to their conversation, and he introduced himself as J.S,, who knows Palin personally in a political working group capacity. He said she was smart, but taking more credit than she has earned for Alaskan projects. He is uneasy about her nomination. I should have stayed there longer to chat, but still had more sites to see.

I stopped back at Dolly’s House to by a book, and chatted with one of the guides about life as a Dolly’s Girl, and life off-season. She has a blast as a Dolly’s Girl because she can dress up and act in character, and compared it to other “living history houses” that she and friends had worked in in Nevada. Off-season, she becomes pretty reclusive and entertains herself with books and her sketch pad. It’s hard to find work during the off season, and many Ketchikanians live with at least one other person, on someone’ boat if you can, because the moorage fee ($400 for six months) and electric ($100 per month) is cheaper than a single month’s rent in a conventional apartment.

Although tourism is a major industry here, I overhear more than a handful of shopkeepers over the last two days, exclaim to each other “Thank God the season is almost over”. The residents don’t think much of the tourist traffic and at times seem to barely tolerate them. The white shopkeepers have greater tolerance than the native ones, who don’t even make eye contact with you (perhaps that’s a cultural thing.) But then, I’m not sure I’d tolerate these stupid and slow moving people either.

I find a gallery that stays open year round, which means it caters to locals. I chat with the owner, who is interested in trying me out on consignment. I’m thrilled, as I had pretty much given up on finding a gallery in this city. I visit the Discovery Center to look for books. I find a few interesting things but books just don’t seem to be a popular item here. Very few of the historical sites I have visited this week have had books as part of their gift shops. Weird!

My last stop is St. John’s Episcopal Church. The docent was very informative and allowed me to take photos of the chapel, which unfortunately, don’t turn out.

St. John’s Episcopal Church
Built in 1903-04 during the tenure of Bishop Rowe, St. John’s claims status as the first church in Ketckikan. It was originally built on pilings and parishioners could tie their boats up to the dock at the front door. It was built by native artisans from red cedar cut at the mill in Saxman, using a tongue and groove construction technique that required no nails. The ceiling looks like the inverted hull of a ship. All the walls are imbedded with stained glass windows, some dating back to the 1930’s, most of which were purchased as memorials. Land reclamation in Ketchikan began, and in the 1930’s the church building was raised and the undercroft built, which now houses the kitchen and bathrooms, leaving the chapel upstairs. The church remains in its original location. It has been refurbished several times, including being re-roofed and re-sided in 1995, using materials similar to those that were originally used, which enhanced its historic appearance.

A Haida drum is on a stand next to the organ, and is used as a call to prayer for native language services. I shoot the rest of my film here, drop a couple of dollars into the offering bowl, and thank the very attentive docent for her time.

I spend the next hour walking along the promenade, looking for ice cream. No books, no ice cream … I finally find an ice cream sandwich at a corner drug store. Having walked as much as I could stand, I return to the Gilmore and read. I call for a cab at 3:30.

The cabby arrives, and the first thing out of his mouth is, “too bad we don’t have a bridge”, a reference to the Bridge to Nowhere, which had it been built, would service the airport. Instead, he drops me off at an unmanned ferry dock, with a ticket machine. Remember to bring cash! The ferry arrives in a few minutes, a tiny thing with room for about 6 cars and 20 passengers in a central metal shack, open at both ends, which must be very unpleasant in the dead of winter. The ride is about five minutes and costs $5 per person. The airport itself is about the size of the one in Yakima or Modesto.

I change into a shirt and lightweight shoes, and wait a couple of hours for the plane. Overall, I am happy with how this adventure went, with the possible exceptions of Sitka, and finances in general (I lost my spending discipline in Ketchikan). Six days was a good length of time, and I am really glad the ferry schedule put me in Ketchikan for an extra half day, which allowed me time to see Saxman after all. As concerned as I was about the logistics, my plans worked like clockwork. Hotel concierges are very helpful and I need to use them more when I am planning my next trip. The ferry is the way to go, especially after hearing the stressed voices of the cruise ship passengers, who were trying to see things in a four hour time block, and who spent their time being herded around on boxed tours.

Things I need to remember the next time:

• Bring gloves and more t-shirts
  
• The yellow raincoat is not waterproof
• Plan $100 a day just for food, tips and ground transport and incidentals
  
• Plan on 2 protein bars a day
  
• Everything has an admission price
  
• Time passes very slowly, it’s ok to be a little more leisurely
  
• Mailing stuff home worked very well, especially dirty laundry that is lightweight and that I wouldn’t miss if it got lost in the mail. Which, coincidentally, arrived in two days, beaten and bruised but not broken.

My next trip, probably not next year, but the year after, will be in April, and will be to Anchorage, Juneau, and the Hummingbird Festival in Ketchikan if I can figure out when it is.

The flight home was mostly uneventful. Passengers weren’t talking much. Just outside of Ketchikan, I saw a break in the clouds from the top. How odd it was to peer through a hole in the clouds and see land instead of shafts of sunlight. As we flew over what I think was the northern tip of Vancouver Island, the last of the sunset turned the sky a shade of blood red that I had never seen in the sky before.

We land. A stressful landing, a hard hit onto the runway. Even more stressful when my bag, with all my purchases, fails to show up on the luggage carousel. After half an hour I ask an Alaska Air attendant, who ducks into a back room, and shows up about 5 minutes later with my bag, “which was so small it was taken off the carousel and held in the back for safe keeping”. What? I can only assume it needed an additional security screening, but perhaps they could have called me over the PA system so I could claim it, rather than making me look for it in a place where it was never going to show up…

September 12 - Epilogue

I'm not as tired as I expected to be, but I won't expect to have this much energy tomorrow. I'm now down to 145 pounds, attributable to a lack of food sources in Juneau and Sitka, and walking about 6 miles in Ketchikan over the last two days.

I hope you have enjoyed the tale of my first solo excursion. Truly, as a coworker suggested, once the travel bug bites, you are compelled. I plan to return to Alaska, probably a Juneau to Anchorage run, and then, off to Ireland. I’ll share that story as soon as I write it…