ketchikan
~ the salmon capital
At last, my first ferry stop in Alaska, that is, if I could make
it out in the heavy downpour. Ketchikan is alternatively billed as
Alaska's First
City (for obvious reasons), Rain Capital of
Alaska (again self-explanatory), and Salmon Capital of the
World (this I gotta see, and taste). All I had to do
was to emulate the locals and master their uncanny ability to treat
the showers from heaven as ‘liquid sunshine’…
The town is longitudinal, with the main road Tongass Ave running
along the shores of scenic Tongass Narrows where there are often
sightings of bald eagles cruising by as well as cool landings of the
floatplanes on the waters. The houses are nestled along the hillside
and as I was to discover, they have a thing for wooden boardwalks
and narrow winding staircases here.
A tad touristy, the city centre is nevertheless worth exploring.
Free Historic Ketchikan Walking Tour maps are available from the
visitor bureau. In particular, the Southeast Alaska Discovery Center
offers a good introduction to the Southeast with many interactive
and informative exhibits on the various ecosystems existing in the
Tongass National Park. Nearby, at Thomas Basin boat harbour, I had
my first acrobatic sighting of salmons flipping into the
air.
Then, it was on to colourful Creek Street, a boardwalk area
built over Ketchikan Creek on pilings. This used to be a
red-light district and its most famous madam resided at Dolly’s
House, the green one with bright red doors and
windows. Today, Ketchikan’s Historic District
continues to generate revenue through its multitude of tourist
shops. One can visit Dolly’s House “honourably” at a “respectable”
museum fee of US$4. However, the most amazing exhibit here is
free – that of salmons swimming up Ketchikan Creek to
spawn.
The pleasant walk along the salmon-laden creek leads to Deer Mountain Tribal
Hatchery and Eagle Center where I was given a most
fascinating account of the salmon’s life cycle. As with the creek,
where it took me a long while to grasp that the many “stationary”
black patches were actually salmons swimming against the onrushing
water currents, I gaped when I realized that the seemingly-empty
tanks at the Center were actually swarmed with tiny fingerlings
(young salmons) swimming in circles. That certainly explains the
statistics of some over 350,000 King and Coho salmon being raised
and released annually by the Center into the nearby stream here, out
of which only a small percentage successfully negotiates the
difficult journey back, only to spawn and die.
Across the bridge from the hatchery is the Totem Heritage
Center where original 19th century totem poles were
salvaged from nearby abandoned Tlingit and Haida
villages for preservation. The Indian art first flourished in the
late 18th century when the Native Alaskans obtained knives and
cutting tools from the Europeans through the fur trade. The pole
carvings served to record stories, family histories and genealogies;
they were never worshipped. In fact, once raised, the totems were
traditionally not changed or repaired but allowed to rot naturally
and fall, thus “returned” to the forest. Between 1880 and the 1950s,
the practice almost died out because of the white man’s law
forbidding potlatches and banning the Native ceremony. Only when the
law was repealed in 1951 did the art revive. Other restored totems
can be viewed at the Saxman Totem Park, south of
Ketchikan.
Having seen the salmons and visited the totems, I was craving for
a hike. So off I went on the Deer Mountain Trail, accessible
from the city centre, albeit up a very steep road. I didn’t get very
far though in the “dramatic” weather. With “mini-waterfalls”
adorning the wall side of the well-marked boulder path, sometimes
flowing across, and the temperate forest of Sitka spruce, western
hemlock and red cedar offering no reprieve from the “heavenly
waters”, I decided to turn back at the one-mile viewpoint where
there was a most foggy view of the city. The fickle weather actually
switched for the better when I got back to the trailhead, with the
sun emerging for a brief spell! So much for resolving to be like a
local – I had forgotten to be oblivious to the ‘liquid sunshine’
of the Rain Capital of Alaska.
sitka
~ paris of the pacific
If Ketchikan was wet and windy during my visit, my next
destination Sitka had the most wonderful weather in comparison. Oh
it still rained but not incessantly, and there were much longer
spells of dryness and even sun and blue skies! It was also warmer,
perhaps because Sitka is the only town in the Southeast facing the
Pacific
Ocean.
In fact, I simply love Sitka.
The ferry approach to this outer island – as we glide dreamily on
the silky waters of the sound, twisting and turning through an
endless myriad of mysterious forested islets, big and small, against
a backdrop of superbly hued mountain ranges – was hauntingly
beautiful and unforgettable. I was on a “high”, tearing back and
forth from the various observatory exits, trying to capture the
surreal running imagery. Now this is Alaska!
By the time we “climaxed” at our destination, it was almost no
surprise to find a stunning setting for this gem of a city, flanked
by dramatic peaks, snow-capped mountains and even an extinct
volcano, Mt
Edgecumbe. I was however astonished to learn that
only an elderly couple and I were staying over; everybody else was
visiting only for a couple of hours!
As I was to learn later, Sitka had chosen not to build a port for
the humongous cruise ships to dock that would have allowed tourists
to be offloaded with no hassle. Unlike the other major towns, Sitka
is uniquely “anti-touristy” in this regard because the residents
didn’t want the town to be overrun by stampedes of tourists all
descending at once – a brilliant decision, I say. The
“inconvenienced” passengers have to come ashore on small boats while
their ships hover on the offshore waters, presenting many a prettied
postcard backdrop opportunity for shutterbugs like me.
The Paris of the
Pacific did not disappoint. The rebuilt Russian
Saint Michael’s
Cathedral dominates the skyline of the town which
manages to retain its charm without being touristy, no doubt due
in large part to its resolve to keep the mega cruise ships at
bay.
With well-mapped landmarks and historic sites, like Castle
Hill, the Russian Bishop’s House and the
famed Sitka National Historical Park, Sitka exudes a strong sense of
its culture and history, yet at the same time blending in the
attractions remarkably well with the place’s feel as a “lived-in”
working harbour town. In particular, Katlian Street is a
photographer’s dream with its colourful fishing boats, weathered
houses, bright docks and canneries, typifying the sights and sounds
of a busy Southeast fishing industry.
Most of all, I love the lush surroundings and unusual vegetation,
signs of the rich abundance of valuable resources that the Southeast
is known for. Long ago, the native Tlingit people have already
discovered this and they established Shee Atika – meaning the People on the Outside of
Shee – on the western edge of Baranof Island, thereby
giving rise to Sitka’s name today. The Pacific Ocean teemed with
fish, their staple food, and the cedar and hemlock forests provided
materials for their abode, clothing, canoes and weapons. In summer,
the salmon runs provided the prize catch, with the surplus being
dried and stored for the long winter.
The rich Alaskan coast was discovered by the Russians in 1741
under Vitus Bering. By 1779, word has got to the rest of Europe.
The Russians returned in 1799 and Aleksandr Baranov built a Russian
fort to undertake the rich sea-otter fur trade. The Tlingit tribes
were not about to give up their claim on the land and they burnt up
the fort. Then in 1804, Baranov returned with an imperial Russian
warship and in turn destroyed the Tlingit fort with the help of the
Aleuts. Thereafter, he established the New Archangel settlement and made
it the headquarters of the Russian-American Company that
controlled the lucrative fur trade. Thus began Sitka’s golden era as
the Paris of the Pacific, the capital of Russian
America.
As fate would have it, with the fur trade declining, lucky
America purchased the ‘frozen wasteland’ that was Alaska from the
Tsar at the bargain price of US$7.2 million or less than 2¢ an acre.
The date of the momentous transfer was 18th October 1867 and it took
place right at Castle Hill or the old Baranov Castle site. Hence,
the “historic” label for Sitka.
Sitka’s most famous attraction is the Sitka National Historical
Park situated at the mouth of Indian River where the
water flows into Sitka Sound. The serene beauty of the forest, the
totem poles and the scenic setting, belie the reason that the Park
was established in 1910 – to commemorate the spot of the bloody
Battle of
Sitka when Baranov overcame the fierce resistance of
the Tlingit Kiksadi clan in a revenge raid.
After a fascinating account of totem history from a Park ranger
and a visit to the Southeast Alaska Indian Cultural
Center to watch the native artists at work, I had a
lovely walk in Alaska’s smallest and oldest Park, admiring the fine
trees and totem poles as well as exploring the beautiful beach
adorned with pretty rocks and shells. There was also wildlife
a-plenty, especially at the river estuary where the gulls were
having a salmon feast. Couldn’t help but feel sad for the salmon
which were already so near to their destination, even though this
was part of the natural cycle in the ecosystem.
With such a wonderful setting amidst the forest, it is inevitable
that Sitka be also blessed with superb hiking trails. And I was
blessed to be able to go on two hikes here.
The first was the Indian River Trail which, as the
name suggests, traces the Indian River for 5½ miles, across a series
of bridges made up of tree trunks, up to a cascading waterfall at
the base of Three
Sisters Mountains. I was to discover that not only
does the trail offer intimacy with the “promised” temperate rain
forest of centuries-old western hemlock and Sitka spruce trees as
well as the poignant penultimate journey of the salmons in the clear
and sometimes reddish stream, I was to be most pre-occupied with the
art of “puddle-dodging” on the water-logged path.
As usual, the rains had come, perhaps to make up for the dry
skies we enjoyed that morning. So I got wet from the constant
pelting as well as the occasional misstep. There was a long anxious
stretch towards the end away from the river, so much so that I
wondered if I had strayed. Then the familiar sound of rushing waters
returned and I almost cheered out loud when the lovely waterfall
finally came into view. Here, the redness and fishy smell had
disappeared from the river and in its place, was a pristine clear
stream running over pretty pebbles – a nice reward for my long trek.
Er, now for the equally long walk back…
Another trail near to town is the Gavin Hill Trail, which though
only 3 miles long, is an ascent of almost 2500 feet to the peak.
I dubbed this the “boardwalk-stairs” hike. The path alternates
between forest ground and boardwalks, which help to keep from the
mud and marsh, especially through the initial stretch of wet muskeg.
This was the relaxing strolling part until I heard a disturbing low
growl somewhere to my right and immediately hastened my steps! Once
upon a time, I had yearned to see a bear. Ignorance was
bliss. Since then, I had read too much literature on the dangers and
no longer relished the prospect of encountering one up
close…
Then the endless forest part came, that is, the stairs. I had
never seen or climbed so many flights of wooden stairs, so much so
that the first view point of Sitka Sound came as a much needed
relief. Numerous flights later, I finally got above the tree line to
the alpine part. And it was heavenly! Crayon mountains on the left
and snow peaks on the right. The meadows turned from green to
yellow, then red. Even the boardwalk colour became frosty white from
the cold. I had an exhilarating time exploring the ridge, although I
was too bushed from all the walking in the last couple of days to go
all the way up to the peak, which sat like a daunting mini-hill
ahead. A fleet-footed hiker came flying down the trail with news
that the summit was full of berries. Another time
perhaps.
In any case, it was one tired but satisfied gal who eventually
trudged back to town into my favourite Back Door
Café for delicious snacks and reputedly, the best
expresso in town.
do visit yen's art shop for works inspired by north america:
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