Skimming Alaska
Our intent was to skim the second layer of
the state following our wedding trip there 11 years ago. On that
cruise we saw the coastline and glaciers with stops at major
coastal towns -- what we consider the first layer. Altogether, we
expect there are about seven layers, the third being a week at a fish
camp, the seventh a year in a native village, with intensifying degrees
of involvement between.
This plan
originated when Ruth decided to walk a half marathon (that's 13.1
miles) to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Dail
y training and fundraising with the “Team in Training” began in January,
leading to the June event. Ruth’s challenge was to raise $4,400, about
a fourth of which would pay for her expenses. While most of the money
came in donations from family and friends, much effort went into selling
hot dogs at supermarkets on Saturdays, barely breaking even. Ruth and
her partners spent too much on wieners and soft drinks they couldn’t
sell. One enterprising runner bought Krispy Kremes at a low
nonprofit-organization rate that sold well by the dozen until the
supermarket called a halt because of competition with their own bakery.
Of the
three potential marathon cities – San Diego,
Honolulu and Anchorage – we much
preferred going north. As we had been thinking about a return trip to
Alaska, we decided to extend the weekend to a 10-day vacation. Our
plan, which worked out, was to sample different types to transportation
and lodging, with emphasis on low-cost. Yes, we’re into prudent
ventures.
We flew up
on a Thursday evening, leaving from the nearby Bellingham airport.
This was a four-fold treat: 1)
We saved the two hour drive to SeaTac; 2)
We saved money on parking -- Bellingham airport parking is much less
than Seattle; 3) We didn’t have
the hassle of going through Security at SeaTac, a much more onerous
process than Bellingham’s AND 4)
The small plane flew low so we could enjoy the scenery, mostly
water-front housing along Puget Sound.
On the
flight to Anchorage, we had sunset all the way, even when the plane
landed after midnight. LLS put us in
the Captain Cook Hotel, the prestige lodging in Anchorage. That weekend
there were two types of guests – those from cruise ships, mostly aging,
overdressed and overweight; and the TNT marathoners, vigorous, jean-clad
and trim. (In training, Ruth lost 14 pounds, with a little help from the
Lean for Life program.)
Friday we explored Anchorage. What we
found was a mid-sized city like many in the lower 48. Stores are
similar, with a three storey, covered mall downtown. At noon, we went
to a luncheon of Washington and Alaska chapter of the Society. The main
speaker, a health care educator from Seattle, explained that cancers –
even blood cancers -- are curable now. She drew analogies between
training for a marathon and enduring cancer treatment. That evening
there was a giant pasta party – marathoners need carbs! Saturday
morning Ruth went to the starting line by bus. Al walked about four
miles to the finish
line. On the way, he saw many attractive homes with
water views, very similar to other parts of the West Coast. Altogether,
there were over four thousand runners and walkers; about a thousand were TNTers, from most of the United States. Ruth finished with about as
many walkers behind her as in front.
That evening there was another party, this
time full buffet, music, dancing (yes, weary marathoners got up and
boogied) and State groups cheered. “Gimme an O….” for Oregon, was the
most energetic and memorable. Two speakers talked about the money
needed for treatment and cures. Star fundraisers were saluted. One
runner from New Jersey raised $173,000 with corporate donations. But
without any hard sell.
The entire TNT experience was extraordinary
because of the people involved --
participants, organizers, mentors and coaches. Terry Thalhofer, Ruth’s
coach, is a very special person, who created a “can-do” environment for
everyone on the team.
Sunday
afternoon we set out for the end of the Kenai Peninsula on the ‘Homer
Stage.’ The stage depot was in a strip-mall, a $20 cab ride from the
hotel and the vehicle was a 12-person van. For the first 15 minutes we
enjoyed the scenery – water, pine trees and mountains, with remaining
glaciers running down to the water. For the next six hours, it was
those first 15 minutes, over and over again. Small towns and glimpses
of fishing camps did help to break the monotony.
During the
six hours, we learned a little about the other passengers. One had run
the marathon and could hardly walk. Most interesting was a cook working
at a fishing camp near Homer. At the camp, she has a cottage on a cliff
overlooking the ocean. Come Labor Day she heads back to Southern
California where she caters fancy dinners for folks in
Newport Beach and Beverly Hills. She told us
she considers lingcod a better meal than halibut or salmon.
We sat
right behind the driver, a Tugboat Annie character. As the trip
progressed, she picked up friends who sat up front beside her. From
their conversation, we learned she is the weekend relief driver; Monday
to Friday, she drives cab in Homer.
Our lodging in Homer was a budget motel
with bathrooms down the hall. Although the sun stays up late in Alaska,
most of the people do not. By the time we had checked into the motel,
the restaurant recommended by the driver, Fat Olives, was turning out
their sign. But a bawdy young woman opened the door and waited on us,
and roared with laughter when we asked if she was Fat Olive’s daughter.
The name refers to the olive from a tree.
Kayaking
was the main reason we went to Homer. It was on that earlier cruise to
Alaska 11 years ago where we
first discovered kayaking. Paddling then became our major
outdoor recreation.
We were on
the Homer spit early to meet our paddling outfitter, and walked around for an hour. The spit is just
wide enough for a road with buildings on both sides. Most of the
businesses cater to tourists and fishermen.
Scott Burbank of Homer Kayaking is a
tall, handsome salt, a casting director’s choice for the role. He picked 10
of us up in his water taxi for the ride across
Kachemak
Bay. A professor and his wife
were going to visit an ecological camp in the morning and paddle in the
afternoon. Four guys with no kayaking experience were taking a day off
from fishing. Two young women completed the troupe. The trip to the
other side of the bay took a half hour. Along the way, our captain
pointed out seals and otters frolicking in the water. 
He pulled up to a
float with racks of kayaks but no john so we were limited to a porta-potty
in the boat. The two young women, we learned, were guides. The more
assertive was assigned to the four guys for an all-day paddle.
Our
paddling schedule was for three hours. We were delighted that we had Naomi as
our guide all to ourselves, as she turned out to be the most interesting
person we met on the trip. She led us out to a giant rock, or small
island, swarming with birds. Each time an eagle flew by, the entire
swarm rose squawking and whirling until the threat passed. Naomi
pointed out 12 different kinds of waterfowl, including colorful puffins
with orange beaks.
Sadness
intervened when we came upon a mother otter holding a dead pup. Then
we paddled along the shore looking at raven and eagle nests.
In the
course of the morning, we learned a lot about our guide. A native of
upstate New York, she is a student at an elite liberal arts college in
Colorado, spending her second summer in Alaska. Last year she worked
for another outfitter across the peninsula. She
liked this job because
she could live with her older brother who works year around at a
bakery. We learned that he had quit school at 16, which was OK with
their parents, a businessman and a physician. We also learned that she
and her brother, who talk about someday having a restaurant together,
share a small cabin with no running water or electricity. Such is not
un-common, she said, around Homer. ”Safeway gives out five-gallon
bottles of water that last a week.” A neighbor, she added, lacks
running water and electricity, but has wireless Internet.
Back on the
spit and hungry, we went to the first restaurant we saw with a view of
the harbor. Then we paid our respects to the Salty Dawg, perhaps the
best-
known bar in Alaska. Touristy it was, yet the bartenders were
genuine. One loaned us her phone to call a cab and, when another saw us
waiting a long while outside in the rain, she encouraged us to come back
in. She said, “The driver will surely come in to find you.” And sure
enough, she did. And turned out to be our friend, the stage driver.
On
reaching our motel, we needed a nap. By time we awoke, Fat Olives was
closed. We went across the road to a restaurant in an ancient building
with a better interior than would be expected. We ate at the bar that
provided a close-up view of the sexiest seduction scene, surpassing any
movie we’d seen. She was a tall handsome blond, inching past her prime,
a local resident. Her target was a tall English visitor, just reticent
enough to make the drama. As students of body language, we were
entranced, but had to leave before the finale.
The next
day our schedule called for flying back to the Anchorage airport and
then on to Juneau. The small airport terminal was crowded with
fishermen and their 50-pound boxes of catch. So many boxes that the
flight required two planes.
In Juneau,
we arranged to stay in an ATC home. The Affordable Travel Club, started
by a couple from Gig Harbor, Washington, has gained members
all over the world. For a $60 annual fee, you make your home available
to members who pay a gratuity of $20 per couple per night. In return, you provide
a bed, breakfast and information about your community. Our hosts, Judy and Jay Crondahl,
a former schoolteacher and retired government data manager and her
artist husband, went far beyond the requirements. Judy met us on
arrival at the
airport and on departure drove us a distance to the ferry. Jay took
each of us on separate hikes to the surrounding mountains.
At an ATC
picnic in 2005, we met a member from Florida who said, “When people ask
where I’ll be staying, I say, 'With friends I haven’t met yet.'” That’s
what we’ve found in a series of stays and certainly the case with this
couple.
Juneau, the capital of Alaska, is a small
city dominated by as many as six cruise ships during the season. It is
reminiscent of San Francisco’s Russian Hill and Fisherman’s Wharf. We
walked all over the central city, learning to get back up the hill to
our new friends’ home by taking the elevator to the top of a government
building and exiting on the higher block. Because of rain and Ruth’s
increasingly sore throat, we cancelled a kayak paddle. Instead, we
visited the state museum where we purchased an authentic-native carved
face and paddle, now on the wall of our living room. We emphasize
authentic because we were told that many of the souvenirs sold by shops catering to cruise visitors are made in Indonesia and Thailand.
We had considered taking the Alaska Ferry
that goes through the Inland Passage all the way back to Bellingham,
more than a thousand miles. Boats on this line are smaller than cruise
ships and carry cargo as well as passengers and their cars. Such a
blue-collar cruise appealed to us, but it would take the better part of
a week and cost more than airfare. So we decided on the leg from Juneau
to Ketchikan that ran from Wednesday afternoon to almost midnight
Thursday. There are several fare classes including staterooms and
upholstered chairs.
Cheapest is to camp on the stern deck. Our choice
was an inside cabin with no window, OK for a short trip. Bunk beds and
a head with small shower made it a comfortable infirmary, where we
nursed our burgeoning colds.
On the top deck we found a cafeteria
similar to the Army chow hall Al had experienced, a bar with few customers and, at the bow, a
large section with large picture windows and comfortable chairs. For
exercise, eight times around the outer deck made a mile. 
Views were
more dreary and monotonous than the Homer Stage – misty mountains, dark
clouds, gray water punctuated by melting glaciers touching down to the
sea. We saw few other ships. The best monotony breakers were fishing
towns. First signs were fishing boats, then a random house along the
shore and finally houses crowded together with warehouses and processing
plants near the boat docks. It looked grim. Our colds were getting
worse.
Coming from
hours of lively conversation with the Crondahls, we were not in the mood
to chat with other passengers. One exception was Cindy, who grew up in
Alaska and was visiting relatives in several parts of the state with her
two
young sons. With her husband, they now live in the Virgin Islands
where Cindy assists another woman making and marketing a line of
Christmas ornaments with island scenes. Cindy created her own line of
Alaska ornaments that she was selling to gift shops during her trip.
Rain was
coming down hard when we reached Ketchikan after midnight. Another couple and a Japanese man waited with us for a taxi. The
other couple claimed the first one. Happily, another taxi came quickly.
The Japanese fellow was going the same place as us, the Eagles Nest
The Eagle View Hostel. Getting out, we found we still had steep steps
to climb. The Japanese guy knew the men’s dorm was on the first floor
and motioned us up to the top floor where we found little light but some
signs. We decided an open door was our room with an inviting bed. We
slept until daylight. It was still raining. It rains, we soon learned,
360 days a year in Ketchikan. No
wonder the kayak outfitter wanted to be paid in advance with no
cancellations.
We had reserved the hostel for three
nights. The first day we would paddle. Then, knowing the owner of the
hostel operated a fishing boat, we hoped he would take us out the second
day, in spite of his parrying our requests in e-mail exchanges. We looked at
the black clouds out the bedroom window and at the phone by the bed.
“Let’s be realistic,” Al said, “Our colds aren’t going to get better in
this weather.” The airline had seats for us to fly home that afternoon.
From the
big living room of the hostel, the view of the town and the waterfront
was outstanding. A guest was still sleeping on the couch. The owner,
another old salt, was making pancakes for a talkative friend. He didn’t
mind that we were going home early. Two French girls from Montreal said
they would be delighted to kayak in our place. We called a cab and
asked the driver to take us to the best place for breakfast, which
turned out to be a motel by
the docks. We watched the locals go about their business oblivious to
the rain.
Another
taxi took us to the landing where we would catch the little ferry to the
airport. We realized we were where Senator Stevens wants to build the
"bridge to nowhere".
“It is not that much of a problem getting to the
airport,” explained
the taxi driver, “Real estate interests want to
build houses over there.” The Ketchikan airport was crowded with more
fish guys and their boxes. For a moment we wished we had some halibut,
too, but decided we could buy some at home that wouldn't cost nearly as
much.
Were we
disappointed to be going home two days early? Not really. Our colds
got better quickly. We have some great memories of Alaska. By
testing various types of lodging and transportation, we felt we had
skimmed the second layer pretty well.
Prudent Ventures Site Copyright © 2007 by Al Krause & Ruth Higgins
