Farewell to Alaska

As the sun came up we arrived in Ketchikan, the rainiest city in the continental United States. Ironically the rain had stopped as we enjoyed our first dry day since Juneau. Like Juneau, Ketchikan is a port for the large and very large cruise ships. We were dwarfed by thirteen floor behemoths that disembarked several thousand passengers.

The central tourist area of Ketchikan is Creek Street. In the early days it was the location of all of the brothels. The path leading to it is Married Man Way, explained to us as the historic furtive route to find "sportive ladies". Hmmmm? The area has been restored and now houses all of the cruise line tourist shops. We found two galleries that are actually locally owned and showing the work of local artists. The rest of the "downtown" caters to the cruise ships. None of this appeals to us so we hiked off to the Heritage Totem Museum.

The museum is small but well done. It houses many totems that were saved from rotting in the villages. Most are lying on their sides behind glass because they are too fragile to stand. The information placards provide information in a concise paragraph. In addition there were baskets and masks, old and new.

Ketchikan is on an island and so is the airport, just not the same island. If you recall Sarah Palin's 'bridge to nowhere' was a bridge to connect the two. Since it was never built we boarded a van provided by Uncruise that took us onto the ferry and deposited us at the tiny one room airport. Sitting and waiting there was the whale sighting call and all non Alaskans rushed to the window. Cruising between Ketchikan and the airport were four Orcas, with an eagle perched on a pole beside the water watching them. It was the perfect last memory of Alaska before we flew back to Seattle and then Portland.

 

 

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Last Day on Board

When we arrived at breakfast everyone had been assigned to a guide, a skiff, and a time for departure for our last rainy cruise along the shore. Today we are in Misty Fiord, no need to explain the name. It was not a surprise to be in the land of waterfalls. The cliffs are sheer and as much as 2,000 to 3,000 feet high. Looking in each direction there is not one or two but a half dozen crashing into the surface of the sea, many of them appearing from the very tops of the cliffs and cascading section by section to the sea. Where that much water comes from twenty four hours a day, seven days a week baffles my mind. Every time we are talking to a guide our brains are crammed with the history, geology, flora, and fauna of the region. Although it is impossible to retain it all, we are leaving with a much better understanding of the "real Alaska".

 

With everyone back on board the anchor was pulled and we were to head through the fiords to a small cove called God's Pocket. Just as we got underway there was a bear sighting. The captain moved as close as possible, cut the engine and let us all watch the bear feed surrounded by pesky ravens. After an hour the bear rambled off and we resumed our journey.

 

Mike and I spent a couple of hours on the bridge watching the beautiful scenery pass by. The bridge has been open all week and we were encouraged to visit and stay as long as we desired. Both the captain and the first mate were happy to explain the equipment, the maps, and the secrets of navigation. Both of us were surprised to discover the main purpose of the large three foot diameter ship's wheel was to serve as a footrest for either Captain or First Mate; the ship was actually steered by rotating a small click wheel the size of a radio volume control. This was the only time that we traveled midday but it was carefully planned as all the crew agreed that these were the most awe inspiring miles of the week. The fiord was narrow and winding, rimmed by tall cliffs and wispy strips of fog created by the water spouting down the rocks. God's Pocket was a cove at the end of the fiord. There was a wide green meadow sans bear. We all lined the deck silently and reverently entranced by the view and the sounds of nature. Reversing back down the fiord we took in the sights from a new angle. The sky was beginning to darken as we drifted inside for our last communal dinner.

 

 

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May is the Driest Month?

Seven in the morning and time for yoga on the top deck. The visual weather forecast looked hopeful. By 7:30 the sprinkling began and the day was a constant downpour. Everything we read claimed that May was the driest month. After thirteen inches of rain today I am glad we aren't here for the rainy season. The clothes drier became our best friend on this trip.

Today's morning activity was a guided kayak trip around Shrimp and Klu Bays. The water still as a millpond with almost perfect reflections of the landscape, but wet wet wet. This was our first outing where we had no viewings of wildlife. Even the birds seemed to be smart enough to find a drier place. The beauty of the landscape kept us paddling and ignoring the rain. Along one steep bank were two large waterfalls with thousands of gallons of water crashing over rocks and falling into the sea. Stopping, juggling our kayaks and cameras, our guide took pictures to document our courageous but soggy spirit. Keeping eyes peled for wildlife, we hugged the shoreline around one bay and into another as the rain continued.

 

Dried off and post-lunch, the afternoon presented no letup in the downpour, so we elected to set off for an uphill hike to Orchard Lake. This lake feeds the waterfalls we paddled by earlier in the day. The skiff deposited us on a soggy bank, one of the only flat spots in view. The described "uphill climb to a lake" was actually a short, steep one mile climb followed by a similar but slightly shorter downhill slither to the lake, with constant rain from above and a foot of water or deep mud with the consistency of yoghurt underneath. Everything that you would expect in a temperate rain forest was there in abundance. Tiny little wildflowers in pinks, yellows, and white dotted the trail. My favorite flowers were the miniature dogwoods low to the ground with half inch flowers. Lichens, fungi, and mosses grew on fallen trees and hung from branches. Orchard Lake was large, gray, and fast moving toward the falls. When we scrambled down the side of the lake only five of us could fit on a sloping ledge hanging on the side of the lake. After a short ecological talk from our guide we retraced our slimy and extremely muddy steps back up and then down to our pickup point.

 

Back at the ship we changed into dry clothes and at my insistence Mike shuffled off for a massage. Ten minutes later the bear alert was sounded and I jumped into a skiff and headed for the shore. For twenty minutes we sat in torrential rain fascinated by the relaxed strolling and feeding of momma bear and her cub. We stayed another fifteen minutes until everyone was sure that their disappearance into the woods was permanent. Back on the ship I felt that I owed Mike an apology for causing him to miss the excitement.

 

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A Wrangell Wander

This morning was a five thirty all call for everyone interested in watching our journey through the narrow passageway, past the town of Petersburg, and into Wrangell. Cold but dry on the deck we spotted a few whales and many birds along the way. Petersburg was a much larger and more prosperous looking town than we expected. Stretching along the waterfront was an array of well kept homes, large and small, dozens of fishing boats, and an extensive dockside mooring for large ships to facilitate goods being imported into an area only accessible by air or sea.

 

Docked in Wrangell we strolled through the few blocks of a town described to us as a "typical Alaska town". Most of the storefronts were permanently closed or only open a few days each week. There appeared to be no buildings located more than a few blocks from the sea. The local Tlinglit and Haida tribes invited us to their newly renovated Chief Shake's House. Tribal members dressed in their traditional blanket robes performed songs and dances and answered our questions. They are working hard to revive their native culture and language and are anxious for those outside the tribes to understand and acknowledge their stake in Alaska.

 

In a steady downpour we walked a mile to a beach where ancient petroglyphs have been found. Amongst hundreds of stones we searched for the carved rocks. It resembled a life size game of find the items hidden in the picture. The rocks were wet from being below tide level, the petroglyphs small and faint, and the search uninspiring as the search became wetter and wetter. The most interesting beach view was the large heron standing at the water's edge. His focus was lunch, which allowed me to sneak closer to capture his photo with prey hanging from his mouth.

 

A short stop at a very nice public library did not produce the promised wifi, so posting our writings will have to wait for Ketchikan or Portland.

 

 

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This is a RAIN FOREST!

The sea is calm. It is time for kayaking. My usual four shirt, two trouser combo covered with PFD and kayaking skirt and we are being pushed off the back of the ship into the chilly damp landscape of Scenery Cove in Thomas Bay. Like children playing, we are given two points in the bay that we may not go beyond. Within minutes we saw a large bald eagle sitting at the top of a tree. Moving on we quickly spotted a second eagle. The shoreline is densely covered with trees and huge boulders that extend into the water leaving no room for a beach. For two hours we paddled around the bay hugging the shore, with a seal bobbing to the surface several times nearby as we returned to the ship. The last fifteen minutes resembled a trip under a good shower head.

 

Afternoon had another skiff load of us hunkered down in icy rain as we zoomed at high speed to get across some fast flowing ice-melt rapids towards Baird Glacier; a completely different glacial formation compared with Sawyer earlier in the week, since Baird neither reached the waterline nor extended below ground level, and the leading edge had broken and receded significantly in the last few years. Nevertheless, it was still a vast expanse which extended some 25 miles beyond where we would hike. Our landing stage for this adventure had been pre-described as toaster-sized or microwave-sized or any larger kitchen appliance-sized boulders, all of them slippery to clamber across before we could reach the flatter surfaces of the moraine to hike towards the glacier. Dozens and dozens of arctic terns squawked and swooped aggressively over our heads, defending their nesting grounds. As we approached, the leading edge of the glacier had the appearance of moonscape, the predominant colour mid-grey rather than white or blue, with large areas having the texture of a grey sandy beach even though we were informed that much of it was actually frozen. Closer still and a number of melt pools contained bus-sized chunks of what looked like demolished concrete which were actually a frozen mix of glacial ice and the huge rocks and boulders the glacier had transported hundreds or thousands of miles over the eons. Even the flatter areas like small islands that we could walk on had the appearance of concrete slabs because of all the embedded rocks and stones.

 

Our conga line of multi-coloured Goretex-clad hikers snaked across the ice beside the ice pools and back over the huge moraines with numerous plants growing from them as the first stage of new forests. Clambering over the boulders cold and wet we made our way back to our skiff for another damp and chilly sprint back to the mothership.

 

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Change of Plans

Choppy waters and stronger currents meant that venturing out on kayaks as we had intended would not be too sensible. So we got layered up for rain and chill, climbed into a skiff with a group of ten or so others, and zoomed off to shore for a short distance two hour guided hike led by an amazing lady called Bethany. Tramping up, over and through the lush greens of Patterson Creek with odd dashes of colour, our tour was focused on learning about the wilderness environment. We disembarked into sea of boot sucking mud. It is imperative to keep moving so that you don't become permanently stuck leaving your boot behind. After twenty five yards the ground changed and we were walked on lichens and mosses headed toward a forest of red alder, Sitka spruce, and hemlock. A short distance into the forest we encountered a hunter's camp. Carefully closed up and covered with plastic it hid all the supplies needed for survival. Everyone is welcome to use the supplies but is expected to restock camp before leaving. That is the Alaskan way. The density of the forest matches Oregon but the array of greens is a different palette. We arrived at a small pond with the first bright yellow blooms of skunk cabbage, a photo op for those see the beauty and have never endured the sense of dozens of blooms. Reversing direction we headed back to meet our skiff ride back to the ship.

 

After lunch we joined another skiff group to investigate whatever an island and the cove had to offer. Almost immediately we became aware of an eagle sitting majestically and surveying its surroundings from its huge nest at the top of a tree on the island. Setting off again a sea otter swam across our bows to a spit of land, scurried over the spit to show us it's pointy tail, then slid back into the water to continue on its way. Near shore away from the island we were aware of several more eagles in the trees or soaring overhead, including one at ground level which together with two crows was chomping away on quite a large animal carcass. Time to return to a warm, dry ship and another excellent meal.

 

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The Cruise Ships Left ...

...and the city of Juneau closed. That is a exaggeration but the tourist section went dead. Many of the shops closed and locked their doors, finished until the next huge ship arrives. It was interesting to learn that the shops along the wharf are boarded up at the end of the season and the merchandise is shipped to Mexico and the Caribbean to be hawked to perhaps the same tourists who were cruising in Alaska six months before. I am sure this is only my deeply jagged opinion.

Up early, we bought bus tickets for round trip transportation to the Mendenhall Glacier. After purchase we were informed that we would have to return to Juneau by 1:00 because with no cruise ships in port the bus would discontinue service. Dropped in the parking lot under warm, sunny skies we walked the easy 1.5 mile trail to the waterfall and view of the glacier. As we walked I was taken by the pristine beauty of the area. The sun was reflecting off the water and ice, emitting a low rainbow from the edges of the waterfall. The glacier was worn into nooks, crevices, and peaks by wind, rain, and snow with the newly revealed surfaces being bluer than the rest. Along the path were plants beginning to take over the surface as the glacier recedes further into the ice.

Based on a ranger's recommendation we walked the Trail of Time. Along the path were posted photos of the glacier in years past. A hundred years ago everywhere on the trail was covered by the glacier. Today it is a young forest. Quite a sobering example of global warming.

 

Back to town on the one o'clock bus and the place was deserted and so quiet by comparison with our arrival. We sat in the sunshine beside the harbour, reading for a couple of hours until it was time to join our group in a hotel across the street for the introductory welcome meeting at a local hotel. After brief instructions we were provided with buses to drive us across the street and one block down. Some of us chose to walk.

 

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Only in Juneau

Descending from the skies in brilliant sunshine with the Mendenhall Glacier to our left, into the tiny airport and out again in no time to a much higher temperature than we had expected for Alaska. Much to Mike's amusement, our driver offering us half a dozen Palinesque "You betchas" as we loaded cases and backpacks before we even got into his cab. He was then extremely eager to talk up his native city as the best place on earth, whilst warning us of the severe dangers of death by jaywalking, criticism of fellow motorists who passed us as "Californians who regard speed limits as mere suggestions", and at the same time answering the radio and his cellphone and juggling a strange assortment of different coloured numbered discs on a magnetic board mounted on his sun visor. Some sort of pre-digital video game? No he explained, he was the coordinator for his cab company and was keeping track of where the various cars were in relation to calls coming in.

 

From his running commentary / sales pitch, we got used to sentences starting with Juneau, as in ...... D'youknow that this is the largest city by area in the US? D'youknow that bears can often be seen strolling in the centre of downtown?

 

Despite his comments on the vast square mileage of the city area, we subsequently discovered that by ambling sedately in any direction we ran out of any sort of cityscape within minutes. D'youknow, this place is tiny? And regardless of his account of how dangerous it could be to cross streets at other than crosswalks with lights, we ambled leisurely at will with hardly a vehicle in sight.

 

Our first impressions of the town as we emerged from our hotel and walked towards the Mount Roberts Tramway was the collection of three absolutely humongous cruise ships moored on the dock front which almost equalled the width of the city from one side to the other.

 

Up the mountain by cable car we soared for lunch at the top, followed by a short hike above the tree line as far as the snow would let us go. Two eagles were cruising around on the air currents overhead. Many other people were dressed as we were in boots and hiking gear, but many others obviously 'cruise people' were walking the trail weighed down by huge plastic bags of whatever they had looted from downtown shops before waddling to the tram.

 

Back at the hotel I read the Guest Directory in search of restaurant possibilities for dinner. As they have their own dining room they must have deemed it in their favor to leave out a restaurant list. However they had enclosed a four page guide of instructions in case of fire. It started with, "It probably won't happen." Followed by, "your chances of being involved in a fire here may be a thousand to one." And I cannot leave out the concluding paragraph. "If you never have a bad experience with fire, there could be several reasons why. Maybe it's because the building is extremely well constructed to guard against the outbreak of fire. Or maybe you and all of it's other occupants have been careful not to smoke in bed or to empty ashtrays into the wastebaskets. Or maybe it's because you have understood this information. We sincerely hope you have."

 

On our own we found a lovely little local bistro with a table by the window. Beet salad with potato and smoked salmon and delicious fish entrees. Across the street was a ever changing group of about a dozen young men evenly spaced leaning against the building. Everyone was in possession of a phone or computer, most wearing a headset. They were all cruise ship employees piggybacking off the restaurant's free wifi without purchasing even a cup of coffee. Their curfew must have arrived when they all disappeared en masse.

 

It seems that we forgot to mention the stunning views of mountains, snow, and crystal clear blue skies. Aside from the cruise ships the downtown still has the feel of a frontier town. The afternoon was shirt sleeve and shorts weather prompting all of the locals to complain that it is too hot!

 

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