My Beloved Alaska

My beloved Alaska flipped on me and landed sunny side up. The natives and most other visitors were ecstatic, but based on past trips I was prepared (and hoping) for extreme weather of another kind. The kind that justifies long johns, waterproof parkas, and thermal socks that cushion your hiking boots. Eventually the weather improved -- gray skies, some rain, a little wind -- all registering " wimpy" by Alaska standards. But hey, when you're in Alaska, you're in Alaska. It can't be bad.

I realize there are thousands of folks who swear by the cruise ship experience, but I'm not one of them. I've always taken the passenger ferry (state marine highway), where you're mixing with mostly Alaskans and very few tourists. It's casual, comfortable, and exposes the face of Alaska without its makeup. College kids (mostly) camp out on the top deck in a protected area equipped with overhead heaters, restrooms and showers. Others opt (as we did) for a cabin with private facilities. Everyone mixes in the dining room, cafeteria, bar, observation room, or deckside on one level or another to watch for wildlife. We spotted eagles, orcas, a pod of seven humpbacks, and even a bear was captured on camera by one passenger. The four-leggeds frequent the shoreline, we learned, to eat the salt grass that grows there.

My first trip to Alaska was close to thirty years ago, my most recent prior to this visit was twenty. Alaska has changed since then. I'm very grateful that I was able to explore, back then, the places where my grandfather was a commercial fisherman and also a gold miner (striking it rich in the Klondike then losing his fortune in the great depression). The trip from which I just returned would not have provided the same sense of personal satisfaction.

In the tiny towns scattered along the inside passage, we learned quickly to duck for cover when cruise ships unloaded literally hundreds of tourists at a time, storming the streets, sidewalks, and businesses. If swept up by the crowd we breathed more secondhand smoke than I like to think about, mostly produced by visitors from other countries who puffed away without apology as they spoke colorful languages such as German, Russian, French, Greek and others unrecognizable. Once the docks were home to just the passenger ferry again, the air cleared and the energy changed. Somewhat.

I had hoped to find again the quaint little cafe in Skagway where I once ate the most delectable liver and onions ever (probably moose), but no such luck. The wooden walkways are now rimmed with gift shop after gift shop after gift shop, many of them selling diamonds, furs and expensive art work. In Juneau we were told that twenty jewelry stores are located along the main street. They, along with most of businesses along the sea route, are owned by the cruise ship companies, putting all but a few local owners out of work or, at best, on someone else's payroll.

Rafting the Mendenhal again was fun... wet and cold but hey, that's what I signed up for. The rowers no longer stop along the bank halfway to serve reindeer sausage and moose juice (cider spiked with bourbon), but at the end of the ride there are crackers and cheese and un-spiked cider -- not to mention souvenirs for sale.

The narrow gauge train now stops short of Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, but goes as far as Carcross. The scenery is still breathtaking and now passengers are also privy to informative and nicely delivered narrative over a decent sound system, and an opportunity to buy -- souvenirs. I can't fault Alaska's inside passage for its trend toward commercialism, which I'm told erupted about eight years ago. Even on the edge of the wilderness, people have to do what they have to do to survive, and that isn't limited to fishing and hunting and braving the elements.

On the passenger ferry we met a family that, fifteen years ago, sold everything they owned to homestead land on Petersburg, where they cleared an area, cut down trees, built their home on the water's edge, and still live -- without electricity. Getting to know them, however briefly, warmed my heart more than the sunshine overhead delighted those around me typically held captive by winter year round.

This is the first time I've left Alaska for home without having to hold back tears. Of course this is the first time Frank was waiting for me when I got here. In thirty-five years we've never been separated for more than one night, and at that no more than three or four times. I had injured my knee on the steep terrain, and was hobbling through the Sacramento airport with a nagging limp. When I saw Frank I shrieked with glee and made a mad run for him. Behind me my daughter-in-law called out, "Oh, yeah! Now your leg's just fine!" :-)

The hurt came back, but I don't care. It's good to be home.