Ketchikan—Eagles in Flight, Crabs for Lunch and the Bridge to Nowhere

(July 2) – Mike and I were walking very early this morning when our ship came up the Tongass Narrows to approach and dock at Ketchikan. The name of the town came from the Tlingit for “thundering wings of an eagle” and it’s a perfect name. As soon as we came back from breakfast after our walk, I spotted a huge eagle’s nest in a tree on Pinnock Island directly across the water from our balcony. One and then another bald eagle flew onto the nest as I watched.

The nest is in tall fir trees just behind a house on the shore. In front of the house is a float plane resting on a rocky beach above a dock. What a picture of life in Alaska. We learned later that the islands across the water from Revilla Island on which Ketchikan was built have no bridges or roads across to the town, so folks over there get here by boat or not at all.

The town itself, once the Cape Fox community, is picturesque with its buildings painted many different colors and its sign proclaiming Ketchikan the “Salmon Capital of America.” The streets are lined with shops selling a range of goods from trinkets to high-priced native art, including some amazing sculptures made from whale vertebrae and ivory. There are totem poles here and there and garden spots galore against a backdrop of snow-topped mountains. The highest, Deer Mountain, is about 3000 feet and is what locals use to forecast the weather. If you can see the mountain, rain will come soon. If you can’t see it, it’s already raining.

We had about a half-hour in town before leaving for today’s excursion, so Mike and I wandered in and out of a few shops on our way to Creek Street, site of the town’s red light district until the 1950’s. It has been turned into shops where tourists can find their souvenirs of Alaska. The creek for which it was named tumbles through a gully next to the boardwalk, providing a great spot for pictures.

A bus took us a few miles away to George Inlet for a boat ride and crab feast. Along the way we saw more eagles, this pair sitting on a mud flat along a river, waiting, our driver said, for fish to come upstream. We saw other eagles sitting in the trees along the highway which was paved part of the way and graveled the rest.

When we arrived at the lodge, we took 79 steps down to their dock, then down a steep ramp to a floating dock where the enclosed pontoon awaited. A driver and tour guide took our boat down the inlet for a few miles to a cove where we pulled up crab pots and learned about Dungeness crabs. Females are illegal to harvest, so must be returned to the water and the males taken must be at least 6 ½ inches in breadth.

Along the way we passed the cannery where Libby, McNeil and Libby once canned salmon. (Remember the commercial—“If it’s Libby, Libby, Libby on the label, label, label…”?) The cannery was sold by Libby in 1978, the year before Alaska became a state. Apparently Libby knew that the state legislature would severely limit salmon fishing and even ban the sort of trap fishing that Libby had used, so they got out of that business. Now the old cannery is a museum.

On the way back from the crab pots, we saw killer whales, or at least their tall dorsal fins. They are beautiful creatures and we, of course, hope to see more of them during our time here.

The crab feast was both messy and delicious, served up by a cadre of young, enthusiastic women in bright yellow outfits that looked like fishing waders. They kept us entertained while plying us with yummy crab. Once again, we heard a favorite Alaskan comment about the ratio of men to women here. They say frequently that “the odds are good, but the goods are odd.” These women, claiming to have caught and cooked the crabs themselves, said that “Alaska is where the men are men and the women are men, too.”

Coming back on the bus our driver pointed out eagles in trees all along the way, commenting that “around here they are like pigeons.” I suppose that is the way locals see them, but for us each sighting of these magnificent creatures is a thrill.

We also saw salmon jumping in a small bay near the highway. All along the highway wild flowers bloom in yellows, purples and whites. This is beautiful country, much of it in the Tongass National Forest, the country’s largest. Because of Ketchikan’s rainfall average of 162 inches a year, the landscape is lush. The forest when logged by the native people regenerates itself quickly.

As I write this part of today’s chronicle, we are leaving the dock and moving northward toward tomorrow’s port of Juneau. Bald eagles are soaring over the ship as we leave and our anthropologist says there are more to be seen as up ahead.

As we pass Gravina Island, we’re hearing about Ketchikan’s international airport there. There is, as I mentioned above, no bridge. Access to the small airport is by car ferry. This is the island to which the infamous “Bridge to Nowhere” was proposed. While there is little population there now, it is the place for the town’s future growth, if there is to be any. Thus, the “nowhere” we heard so much about becomes visible to us and the story we’re hearing makes more sense than it has done before. What was always hard to swallow about this bridge and remains a choker was the price--$230 million! The bridge would have to be quite high to allow passage underneath by the cruise ships that come this way and provide income for the town. The airport, by the way, is in the Guinness Book of Records. That’s because it’s the only airport in the world where the control tower is lower than the runway.

Another story about the airport is about how a black bear cub closed the airport for a time. The cub wandered into the terminal and was riding the luggage carousel. When someone tried to scare it off, it screamed, drawing its mother. As the story is told, she did $5000 damage to the terminal in her zeal to rescue her baby.

Every place has its stories to tell. In Alaska the stories reflect its relative isolation, the wildness of the landscape and the individuality of its people. There are people here who live 200 miles from the nearest neighbor and get visits from bush pilots only once a year to deliver supplies. One of our guides told us of friends who live at the end of George Inlet and travel by boat several miles to get to where their truck is parked so that they can drive even further to town for needed goods.

The beauty of this place is truly captivating. I find myself falling more in love with Alaska each hour we’re here. This southeast part of the state is in a temperate rainforest climate where the average temperature in winter is 33 degrees, not as cold as one might expect. There is, however, snow still on the mountains, so there’s no question that winter brings enough cold for snow in this wet, maritime climate.  Now, though, we've had a beautiful, dry day to enjoy the majesty of the setting.

In the early evening, the ship hosted "block parties" on each hallway, providing us with wine and snacks, of course.  Ending the day with a beautiful dinner, we enjoyed sharing tales and laughter with our friends.  The movement of the ship will once again lull us to sleep and we look forward to Juneau tomorrow.
[Photos by Mike Lumpkin]