Skagway

The late 90s – I mean the 1890s – are important in the history of this remote Alaskan town. The Gold Rush, the building of the railroad, prospecting, mining. Today, tourism. We rode the Whitepass Railway for three and a half glorious hours that did get a little long for me, as I tired of the stories of the poor pack animals that died here, along with early settlers who succumbed from a variety of ailments, including scurvy. I had a hard time making the human connection, sitting in this old railway car with well fed tourists.

The scenery was spectacular, way up the mountain on narrow track rails. Snow capped mountains in the fog. Rushing waterfalls. Green mountain lakes. Red fall berries. Tall forests of evergreens: spruce, balsam, cedar, fir. The day was filled with sun, the first in many days. When we reached the end of the track (for us!), we were at nearly 3,000 feet above sea level. I enjoyed leaning out of the train, feeling daring as I contemplated the treacherous cliff below, just off the edge of the track. I was glad the trees growing in the rock above our heads seemed to be as well rooted as they could be, under the circumstances.

The air grew cold before we headed back down the mountain, somewhere around Fraser, British Columbia. By the time we returned to Skagway, we were too weary to brave the touristy shops. I had hoped to browse through Istanbul Rugs, wondering about the route from Turkey to Alaska. However, my curiosity was not as strong as my fatigue, and we returned to the ship. After a great dinner at the French Le Bistro, we watched our departure from the dock. We were third in a line of three brightly lighted ships moving through the darkness, some of the last to visit Skagway until next May.