Thompson Eight Stars North

A personal journey to the last frontier
1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4835-4423-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 185 Seiten

While living and working in Colorado, the author responds to an offer to join the crew of an Alaska fishing vessel. In his journey north he discovers far less and far more than he'd anticipated. Harsh weather and high seas are the norm at sea while other challenges are presented by life on shore.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Thompson, Graham

Leseproben

To Juneau
August 4,1986 Seattle was overcast, a low and uniformly grey ceiling of clouds looming overhead. I was recalling the only other time I'd visited the Pacific Northwest, when in November of 1982 I'd arrived aboard a Mayflower moving van, working as a "lumper," a furniture mover. While I'd looked forward to seeing the Cascade Mountains and the forests of the northwest, it had poured rain without any noticeable letup for three of the four days I'd been there, the noisy staccato generated by the pounding deluge upon the roof of the truck rendering even simple thought difficult. I'd commented to others since then, that it certainly “knew how to rain in Seattle,” but now I was about to receive my first lesson in the meaning of real rain. The level of nervousness within me began to rise noticeably now. From here, I could still return to Denver, to my remaining possessions, to familiar faces and surroundings. Once I boarded the next plane, there would be no turning back. Juneau (as is nearly every other town in Southeast Alaska), is isolated; unconnected to the rest of the world by road. Regardless of what lay in store for me, I was going; curiosity and a sense of impending adventure overriding any serious thought of my returning. As the plane lifted off the runway, climbing toward the grey cloud ceiling, my attention began to focus on the land below. Although few passengers had boarded this flight, I'd been sure to be seated on the right side of the plane affording me continuous viewing of the coastline as we traveled toward Juneau. As we flew over the Olympic Peninsula, the cloud cover broke, revealing alpine glaciers and jagged rock precipices below, rising from the misty forests. The grand view offered a preview of what was to come, although far more tame, and on a much smaller scale. Vancouver Island, long thought by me to be largely comprised of wilderness, in fact appeared to be covered by an extensive network of roads, carved into what seemed to be every hill-crest and valley. These were logging roads, the timber industry apparently remaining relatively vibrant in southeast Canada. The “inside passage,” the navigable channels sheltered by coastal islands from the Pacific Ocean proper, was congested this day by an incredible number of ships and other craft. More marine craft navigated these waters than I'd ever imagined. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the level of marine traffic however as Vancouver served as the only "real" Canadian west coast port. My education had begun. My interest now shifted to the mainland, to an endless array of snow covered peaks extending to the horizon. The land was rapidly changing, the mountains taking on a wilder, more forbidding appearance. As we neared the Stikine Ice Field, the great valleys were becoming ice covered, alpine glaciers separating the jagged peaks and spires thrust thousands of feet upward in the collision of continental plates. Further north, the enormous ranges became completely entombed by ice and snow, only the highest of peaks protruding above the blanket of white. Enthralled by this spectacle, I graciously accepted the complimentary refills of champagne offered by the flight attendants. We arrived in Ketchikan a short time later, the skies having remained clear since our departing Seattle; quite a stroke of luck considering many coastal areas along the inside passage receive as much as two hundred inches of rainfall per year. The cooperative weather had so far allowed for excellent viewing of the rugged, nearly uninhabited coastline The plane parked at the Ketchikan Airport before a row of steel buildings and small aircraft, there being little to see here but the airport itself. The airport was located on an island, separated from the town proper by the inside passage. From the airport, Ketchikan was accessible only by boat. A few passengers disembarked, the flight quickly resuming. Two hundred fifty miles to Juneau. We continued on at a lower altitude than before with more complimentary champagne and peanuts being served...an unlikely combination of food and drink. The flight attendants now seemed in a hurry to dispose of their stock of champagne, and I'd decided to do my best to help them out...besides, I was feeling nervous again. Nagging doubts about the wisdom of this trip persisted. Was this fishing job on the level? What would I find in Juneau? Judging by the appearance of the land below, I was obviously embarking upon something very foreign to my past experiences. The plane slowly began to descend as we passed over a large pod of whales swimming off the south shore of Admiralty Island. I had seen whales before, off the Cape Cod coast, but nothing like this. Here were dozens, their enormous bodies shimmering in the crystalline waters, adding to the awesome beauty surrounding me. It was low tide now, rock strewn beaches exposed below marshy estuaries and steeply sloped shoreline. Swathes of clear cut forest interrupted the otherwise jungle like canopy of towering Sitka spruce. The corridor between the mountains narrowed as we entered the valley containing the Gastineau channel, downtown Juneau passing by on our right as we continued to descend toward the airport, nine miles north. Lower we flew until it appeared that we would land upon the water itself, runway appearing seconds before touchdown. During our last moments of flight, I was afforded my first view of Mendenhall Glacier. The glacier flows down from the mountains, emptying into the Mendenhall Valley, four miles east of the airport. It is the second most visited glacier in Alaska, thousands of tourists making the pilgrimage to this river of ice each year. Its popularity lies in its accessibility, a modern paved highway allowing the visitor to drive virtually to the terminus of the glacier. The sky had turned overcast, the indirect sunlight accentuating the incredible aquamarine hue of the glacial ice, the almost iridescent color being a product of ice density. The super dense glacial ice tends to reflect blue, the effect being increased during cloudy days. My first impression was strong, holding me somewhat awestruck. It appeared as though a tremendous cascade of water, coursing through the mountains had suddenly stopped in its tracks, frozen in time. In fact it wasn’t “stopped in its tracks” at all. It was moving, “coursing” through the mountains at about one foot per day. Four jagged rock spires, rising one thousand feet from the higher elevations of the Juneau ice field provided the backdrop to the spectacle. Impressive as it is, Mendenhall Glacier is small by Alaskan standards, being dwarfed by such giants as Hubbard, with a length of ninety two miles, or the sprawling Malispina, smothering eight hundred fifty square miles of land beneath its icy mass. Collecting my baggage, I boarded the airport shuttle for the nine mile ride to Juneau. The shuttle, an old grey Dodge van, equipped with several passenger seats as well as a greasy floor in the rear for baggage, appeared near the end of its serviceable life. The luggage was placed atop a clutter of tools and jumper cables in the rear, and the van started, the oil smoke and vibration suggesting that this fine vehicle was running on at least six of its eight cylinders. As we chugged away from the airport I requested to be taken to a centrally located hotel with reasonable rates...whatever reasonable rates might be in Juneau. The van drove south down Egan Drive, now a modern divided highway, toward Juneau, passing broad salt marshes and mountain peaks still streaked with snow. Dozens of bald eagles flew about the waterfront, “scrapping” over fish caught, or carrion found. Passing Mount Juneau and the boat harbors, the shuttle stopped on South Franklin Street in the middle of downtown...my stop. I paid the five-dollar fee for the ride, entering the front door of the Alaskan Hotel. The hotel is on the registry of national historic places and had been remodeled with that in mind. Stained glass windows and nineteenth century woodwork adorned the small lobby, while to the rear of the check in desk a bar room was situated, complete with more ornate woodwork and decorative tin ceiling. Before reaching the bar, one was confronted with a glass display case containing small samples of gold ore for sale. A small card instructed the would-be buyer to crush the ore, then pan out the gold, or apply heat to melt it out. Considering the chance a small amount of ore would yield an appreciable amount of gold, the ten-dollar purchase price seemed a bad investment at best. The grey chunks of rock certainly did contain high concentrations of gleaming pyrite, to attract the eye of the tourist. Indeed “Juneau” ore was not overly rich, a ton of typical ore yielding one half ounce of gold. For twenty one dollars I was rented a third floor room equipped with a small kitchenette, while shower and bath facilities were located down the hall, shared by the guests of that floor. Depositing my belongings in the room, I headed for the boat harbors in search of the Karen A. The two boat harbors lie about a mile north of downtown Juneau, the first being Harris Harbor, the second Aurora Basin. Aurora Basin, situated directly beneath a large avalanche chute, lies in the shadow of Mount Juneau, its thirty six hundred foot summit towering over the city. Huge fallen trees, their trunks broken to pieces, clutter the chute, attesting to the violence of past snow slides. In spite of the fact that at least one of these slides had made it all the way to the harbor, several rows of houses, as well as a motel-restaurant had since been constructed directly in harm’s way. Juneau, for good reason, has been cited as the most...