Alaska: Part Four

We woke up bright and early on Monday morning, and packed our stuff in a shuttle van for the short drive back the Haines, Alaska airport. Our driver was running late, and we held on tight, as he exceeded every posted speed limit in order to get us to our plane on time. He screeched into the airport gate, and pulled the van directly onto the tarmac. We were actually there early, and we joked around with the driver about speeding tickets while we waited for our planes to land. A few minutes passed, and then we heard a familiar buzz from overhead. Soon, two Piper Cubs taxied right up to us, stopping a few feet from the van. We were excited about our second wild ride of the morning, and quickly piled out of the van to load all our crap into the tiny planes. This time, there was no mail delivery, so we all got to ride in the same aircraft. We buckled our seat belts, and soon were off, flying down the runway. I was thrilled to be sitting in the rear left seat, where I hoped to study more glaciers. The skies were absolutely clear, and the flight proved to be scenic beyond belief.

After takeoff, I quickly set about taking pictures of the surrounding mountains. Off to the east, the coastal ranges seemed to go on forever, and below us, I could see a huge cruise boat making it's way up the inner passage. About a half hour into the ride, I noticed our pilot, Chuck, was veering off toward the mountains to the east. Soon we were flying over the Juneau ice sheet-an enormously deep reserve of compressed snow, which feeds most of the glaciers north of Juneau. Previously, we had seen the sheet off in the distance on our flight north to Haines, but now, on the return flight, Chuck was taking us right over it. Suddenly, the high mountain peaks surrounding us on all sides. Ike sat in the copilot's chair, Betse behind him and Nate to her left. I sat behind Nate and, to my right, sat a young man named Jeff. He leaned over to me and shouted over the din of the engines, "I've flown this stretch about 100 times and I've NEVER done this." Jeff told me he is a Sergeant-At-Arms for the Alaska State Legislature in Juneau, but lives in Haines. "This is a total TOURIST flight!" he shouted in my ear with joy. Chuck motioned out the right side of the aircraft, and word was passed back to us that there was a dogsled camp immediately below. I tried to see, but I was on the wrong side of the plane to see it. Chuck suddenly banked hard to the left and pulled a tight 360 degree turn so that we could all get a look. I heard Betse yelp (she hates roller coasters), but we all got a good picture of the camp from our new vantage point. Then Chuck straightened the Cub, and headed right down a deep glacier valley. In a few short and glorious minutes, he shot us out right over the Mendenhall Glacier, which terminates right at the city limits of Juneau. Before we could stop our gasping, he lined up the cub, and brought our plane in for a perfect landing at the airport. We piled out, shook Chuck's hand, and thanked him for the special unannounced tourist excursion.

Our hosts from Juneau, Liz and Greg, were waiting for us inside the airport, and we piled our stuff in the back of a pickup for the ride back into town. The view from the ground was equally beautiful, as we made our way up the channel to the Alaskan Hotel and Bar-our lodging destination for the next two nights. As I said in my previous post, the Alaskan is a historic and aging hotel right in the thick of downtown Juneau. We checked in, lugged our stuff up to our rooms, and then walked to a nearby restaurant for some badly needed breakfast. After eating, we were scheduled to do a radio show, and, since it was a "talk" only appearance, Ike and I agreed to go do the radio show as a duet, to let Nate and Betse catch up on some rest. After the interview, he and I took Liz up on her offer to see the Mendenhall Glacier up close. She stopped off to show us an area where bald eagles are plentiful, and we gawked at our nation's birds as they flew from tree to tree all around us. Then Liz took us on a short hike into a flower filled meadow in hopes of seeing more of the birds, and other possible wildlife. The snow melt from the mountains above us cascaded down the valleys, and we crossed over several small, and completely clear streams as we walked. Liz said, "You know, there's no development between here and the snow above us. There isn't enough wildlife to pollute the streams. This water is completely clean. You can drink it." Ike and I looked at her skeptically as she leaned over one of the creeks and scooped up a handful to her mouth. "Oh, that's sweet!" she said, "You should try it." Now, I was an eagle scout, and Ike was raised in the country, and both of us instinctively know that there is no such thing as drinking water from a stream without vomiting and potentially dying from the experience. But this was Alaska. Ike stepped over to the stream and inspected it closer. " It sure looks clear," he said. Then he looked at me and announced, "I'm scared, but what the hell?" He took a handful and raised it to his mouth. "That's good." he said. I figured I better give it a try too. That way, if there was going to be sickness and suffering, at least we would have each other to thank, blame, and hang out with at the hospital. I leaned over and cupped my hand, and, lifting it to my mouth, let the ice cold water pool at the back of my throat. It tasted fresh and sweet as I let it slide down. Ike looked at the stream and pointed out some tiny fish swimming in the area where we had quenched our thirsts. "Are those minnows, Liz?" he asked. She answered,"No, those are salmon fry. They were just born, and are trying to find their way down this stream and out to the ocean." I looked at the tiny fish and imagined what they would look like about 20 pounds heavier- fighting their way back up this exact stream to spawn in about 4 years. This was indeed a strange and wonderful place.

We hiked back to the car and drove a few more miles out to Mendenhall Glacier Park. Tourist busses and cars filled the parking lot, and Liz ( a long term resident of Juneau) was clearly upset by the number of visitors. "I hate the tourist season," she said as we walked through the crowd, "In the winter, we have this place all to ourselves," Ike and I sort of chuckled at this, since we had just played in Branson, Missouri a few weeks before. This was the kind of crowd you might find in Branson, during the off season, on a rainy day, with half the attractions closed and a good football game on TV. However, as is the case at most state parks, the visitors were content to cluster at the first available scenic overlook, taking a few pictures, before heading to the snack bar for some calories and souvenirs. Liz led us down a trail, and soon we left the crowds far behind. Up ahead, the face of the glacier loomed large over a shallow outlet pool of melted ice. It was a nice hot day (unusual for Juneau- which has over 200 rain days a year), and the locals were basking in the sun, testing their new swimsuits in the frigid water. The sun had heated some of the shallower spots, and, in those areas, kids laughed and splashed while their parents soaked up the sun's rays on the banks. We continued on, finally stopping where a gigantic waterfall of snow melt from the mountains above poured into the pool just a few yards from the glacier's terminus. The air next to the falls was easily 20 degrees cooler, and Ike just stood there gazing up the falls while I scurried around taking pictures. It was quite an experience. After a half hour or so, Ike and Liz headed back toward the car, while I reluctantly followed behind examining some glacially-smoothed rocks on my way. We stopped for some water at a grocery store (the sanitized and bottled variety), and arrived back at the Alaskan Hotel with enough time to catch some rest before our sound check.

That night, we played a couple of high impact sets in the Alaskan Hotel Bar in trade for our haunted hotel rooms. The sound was horrible, but none of the crowd of Juneau locals seemed to mind, as they danced and screamed and made us feel quite welcome. When I returned to my room around 2am, light was still pouring through my window as I finally lay down and drifted off to sleep with thoughts of glaciers, ghosts and this strange state of Alaska wobbling around in my head.