I Need To Tell You About Alaska
I just have a lot of feelings
I visited Ketchikan, Alaska at the beginning of February, but it already feels like it was eight years ago.
I want to — no, need to — tell you about it, but I’ve been tripping over all the things that are demanding to be written …
For instance, Ketchikan is the most Southern city in Alaska (out of 1,800 islands, holy shit) and even though Google insists over 8,000 people live there, the town is small enough that if you visit with your boyfriend and go out to a bar, you WILL run into his ex-girlfriend, the guy she cheated on him with, and the girl that was cheated on by the guy the ex cheated on your boyfriend with. It’s a lot of math.
I should also note that all the bars are very narrow.
The flight from Seattle to Ketchikan runs a bit over two hours, but the town is separated from the airport by the Inside Passage, a chunk of Pacific Ocean. During the summer, cruise ships stop here so tourists can eat salmon and watch The Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show. But it’s February, and the cruise ships are elsewhere, so you have to take the ferry. The ferry will cost $6. It takes five minutes to cross the bit of water, but feels like it’s transporting you farther than the full flight you were just on.
You might wonder if it’s because you’re entering the territory of so many of your boyfriend’s core childhood memories or if it’s because you decided to wear fake eyelashes for a confidence boost but after hours of traveling, they are starting to make your eyes water.
There’s a one hour time difference between Ketchikan and the West Coast, but time seems different in other ways. You might be running late for dinner, but the restaurant turns out to be a two minute walk away. So actually, you’re early. Your boyfriend could take you on a tour of the island and you can drive all the way North and all the way South. With stops, lots of talking, and you needing to stop for coffee and a cookie, it will take about 90 minutes. The length of Space Jam.
It’s dark, but not nighttime dark like you expected. Apparently, you have to go a lot farther North for those infamous sunless days. Here, it’s dark because it’s raining. The sky will be gray, but the rain itself will also be dark because there is so so much of it. It’s like God putting his thumb on the end of a hose and spraying the town mercilessly.
If you’re like me, you’ll get worried that you look too uncomfortable, so in order not to offend anyone (like the weather is their favorite, very personal thing) you will start referring to yourself as a California Girl.
You could go to a middle school to tell kids they can be a writer as a job, and even though they look and talk like little babies, one of them will want to show your boyfriend his tattoo. One of the girls will have her lip pierced. On every desk, there’s a sticker with the National Suicide Hotline number on it. You won’t help but remember how young you were in 8th grade, how even a bad grade on a science test had the potential to devastate you. How your mom still packed your lunch (tomato sandwiches a la Harriet the Spy).
Upon entering the classroom, your boyfriend will say, “Oh wow, guys! You finally got a window in here!!” Outside, it’s raining. But at least you can see outside.
Ketchikan is named after the creek that flows through the town. Some have translated the Native Alaskan Tlingit word to mean, “Thundering Wings of an Eagle.” While you’re in Alaska, you can see bald eagles every day. The locals compare them to pigeons. You won’t hear their wings, but they look big enough to thunder.
During salmon mating season, the Ketchikan Creek explodes with fish swimming upstream to complete their suicide spawning mission. You can stand on the Creek Street dock to watch and smell. One of the pastel houses on Creek Street sports a huge sign that says, “Dolly’s” in cute red script. Dolly was the town’s most famous, and likely most successful, prostitute in the early 1900’s and this house served as her brothel. There’s a path you can easily take from the town’s civic center to Dolly’s called Married Man’s Pass because, like the salmon, legend has it that workers made their way to Creek Street for spawning.
Ew, gross.
Anyway, I want — no, need — to keep writing about my trip to Alaska, and I have tons of amazing pictures from West that you will love. So I’m going to keep at it. I promise the next segments will have better grammar and MUCH better photos.
See you soon!!