AK 6 -- Cruising the Alaska Marine Highway

AK 6 -- Cruising the Alaska Marine Highway

I lay back in my chair, enjoying the rays of sun that have been plentiful this past few weeks. The rumble of the ships engine seems to lure me into a state of holiday relaxation. Watching others move about the deck of the boat. Passing by the forest, islands, peaks and glaciers of the Inside Passage seem innumerable. Like slicing through a mirrored pond the M/V Columbia makes it's way north. Every now and then I get up to wander the sides of the Ferry. Catching a pod of Humpbacks and Seals along the shore. Vistas of great rivers of ice moving towards the sea or lone fishing boats plying the waters along sunset reflections. No matter where you look, beauty rises from the tide line towards the sky, calling the imagination in an upward gaze.

As I move north towards Skagway, names float by with long telling tales. Baranoff, Kupreanoff, Churchicoff and Mitkoff. The Russian traders who made these waters, on search of firs and wealth leaving names upon the landscape so far from St Petersburg and Moscow… Kasaan, Dyea, Stikine, and Taku, marks of the Tlingit, Tsimshian and Haida who made this place home, exploring with the cedar canoes from island to island for good fishing, hunting and berries to harvest… Juneau, Sumdum, Skaguay and Dalton, words taking a man back to the days when a yellow stone made the men crazy with dreams of changing their lives with a few bits of stone and hard work. Built towns out of creeksides and brought the most determined to find a Alaska weaving a spell within them. Ship Island, Lincoln Rock, Eldred Rock and Wreck Reef, titles to warn those that navigate these sometimes treacherous waters. With wind, tide and weather capable of changing the mood of the long blue highways that take us along.

The ferry stops at the small towns along the way, giving a traveler time to explore the depths of this collection of islands. Formed by the collision of far off exotic islands, bent and folded the mountains tell the tales of millions of years past. The fiords leave little room for towns, yet each clings to the shores of the islands, for their essence depends on the sea. Wrangell a small fishing village at the edge of the large Stikine Tide Flats. Waters turned brown from the silt of the inner depths of Grand Canyon and high Plateau of it's Canadian depths. Petersburg Harbor, filled with the great SE Fishing fleet, bounded by Norwegian Tradition, enduring the long year round harvests of the sea. Juneau, the bustling city clinging to the side of glacier caped mountains, with the Mendenhall pouring down right to it's very edge. Haines, spread out along the flats of the Chilkat River and Mountains. And Skagway, a tourist town and Gateway to the Yukon.

With the Ferry comes the freedom that you don't find on the Cruise ships, to get out and explore deeper. There is the Alaska that we are all looking for yet get caught in the regular haunts of the tourist facades. Caught in the back-roads, and small towns. Never will a large ship visit Coffman Cove or Kloowack, Hoonah or Angoon,, these are where the true Alaska lives, and the stories are told over morning coffee before heading out to the fishing grounds. Watching from the sundeck along the glacier waters of Stevens Passage, the white cruise ships hurry their pilgrims to ports of call. Armed with 4 hours, it is curious to watch as they rarely leave the confines of the local dock, lined with diamond and trinket shops, toting wares from far off lands, China, India and the Islands of Indonesia. World Trade has touched even this corner of Alaska. But just a mile off of the docks, Alaska begins, trails leading towards mountains and rivers without end, in some ways a land that matches a dream.

The boat leaves the Stikine Flats and passes around Zarembo Island. Soon we are at the entrance of Wrangell Narrows near flood tide. More a river then a shipping lane, 84 buoys, lights and markers line it's tight channel. Having seen this passage at low tide, I am amazed by the work the Captain makes of it's frequent tight turns. The wake of the ship surfs the shore, blasting up the rocks on both sides into the trees at the edge. Yet in one spot, each side we are only at 20 ft to spare. Bear and Eagle perch on the sides, looking out to our passing by. Until at the end of Petersburg dock, if the rest were not enough, a small iceberg caught by the current, stands in with way of our likely route. From the distant LeConte Glacier, it has ridden the tide to here. As the ferry unloads and loads at the dock, seals take to lay on this floating rock. Translucent blue and as beautiful as they come, it is caught in Wrangell Narrows and will make and obstacle to some.

With a blast of the horn and lines cast off, we enter Fredrick's Sound at the last light of day. All the mountains and ice that surround, are caught in the cloak of alpenglow shades. Devils Thumb seems to lift to the sky. Towering over the range as the day heads to darkness. Making a sleeping bag bed on the top deck, I watch the moon dance from the back of the ship. Sounds of French, German, and Spanish surround, a surreal sense to this last light till dawn. Lighthouses and markers flash white, green and red. And the stars come out and play out overhead. I think of others tucked in their elegant cruise ships, but I would not give up my deck-chair with it's open air cabin on this blue ferry ship…

-- Ridgewalker