To the lover of wilderness, Alaska is one of the most wonderful countries in the world.
—John Muir
Earlier this summer, my husband and I flew from Petersburg to Wrangell, then Ketchikan and finally to Seattle on what’s known in Southeast Alaska as the “milk run.” In years past, the flight held space for milk among other goods as it ferried people and products from island to island along the south peninsula of Alaska. Today, there’s a morning jet and an afternoon jet, with one going north and the other south, which is the means by which most people, visitor or resident, arrives in Petersburg.
Petersburg, a town of 3000, sits on the north end of Mitkof Island and is part of a collection of boroughs and seaways that make up Alaska’s Inside Passage.
My husband and I spent six days exploring the Wrangell Narrows, Thomas Bay and the Frederick Sound. Our trusty guides (dear friends from college) chartered us through icebergs large and small on their fishing boat, drove us “out the road” into the Tongass National Forest and shared a little of their life in Alaska.
I wish I could bottle up their kids’ enthusiasm and sense of adventure for every activity we encountered—new or old—over the last week. The kids bounced from trail to beach, picking up sticks, shells and sea glass. They showed us their favorite beaches and parks, describing in great detail what they liked about each location. Where one of them went, the other desired to go, removing socks and hiking up pant legs to wade through shallow waters, climb tree stumps and hop through the muskeg.
My best friend and I have been friends for nearly 17 years, since the beginning of freshman year at Gonzaga. She told me about her life in Petersburg, and I remember vividly her speeches for our Speech 101 class about the dangers of farmed fish and how to talk to a bear. But I failed to grasp what her day-to-day life was like in some pretty significant ways.
We lived together for four years in college and developed a deep and lasting friendship. Her family absorbed me into their fold for Thanksgivings and Easters, long weekends and celebrations in Seattle. Her grandma adopted me as one of her own and she and I wrote letters back and forth until her passing in 2015. Through late night conversations and visits over the last 13 years since we graduated from college, I thought we knew each other as best as best friends do.
When we landed at the one-room airport in Petersburg, I realized there was so much more to know about my friend, her family and her home.
Five minutes out of the airport, we were in their driveway (contrast this with any major urban airport experience). Another five minutes brought us to one of the kid’s T-ball games, coached by parents and grandparents. The whole town seemed to be at the ball fields on this sunny Wednesday afternoon as the players swung the bat around—sometimes a full 360 spin!—and made contact before they scooted their little legs as fast as they could to first base.
In a town this size, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that we would run into people everywhere. On the dock. At the grocery store. Out the road. During a hike. In line at Inga’s and the Salty Pantry. The Salty Pantry, by the way, has the best cinnamon rolls according to my husband, and he has some high standards!
My friend’s dad took us out to the LeConte Glacier our first full day, navigating the tricky waters filled with icebergs of all shapes and sizes. Sea lions sunbathed on “the can” (a large buoy) and seals decorated the icebergs with their brand new pups. We were the first boat to the glacier that day and sat in awe while pieces of the glacier calved off into the ocean and shot back up due to their buoyancy. The mile-wide glacier is nothing short of spectacular. Equally spectacular is the fact that every year high school students from the town fly by helicopter to collect data on the glacier’s retreat, which they then publish as official records.
On the boat ride back to town, the kids, zipped into their lifejackets, requested a tiny iceberg, which the boat captain happily collected with a fishing net and brought aboard. The reason? They wanted to taste it! We cruised beneath hundred-foot waterfalls, examined ancient petroglyphs from a stone’s throw and took in the majestic view of Devil’s Thumb in the distance as we left LeConte Bay.
Whale watching and fishing followed the next day with sightings of humpbacks, porpoises, bald eagles and more sea lions. Blind Slough swimming, another T-ball game, Olmer Creek hiking and a near-Moose sighting filled Friday night and Saturday. Sunday morning, both kids entered the church as baptized children of God, followed by an afternoon of dam building and playing in the sand during low tide in the Petersburg Creek with extended family.
On Monday, we went out to collect crab pots before the commercial crabbing season begins later this week. My friend shimmied the boat up against the buoy, where her dad grabbed the rope with a hook, pulling in enough weight to attach it to an electric pulley system. Cranking through nearly 70 feet, the crab pot surfaced to our exclamatory remarks. I’ve never seen anything like that.
Then, my friend’s dad went to work, sorting different sizes and species of crabs onto the deck and picking out the occasional misplaced snail or other sea creature caught in the mix. The kids helped launch the small crabs and snails back into the ocean waters, and my friend’s dad shelled and cleaned the keepers. Four pots resulted in upwards of 50 keepable crabs. That night, we cracked, peeled and sampled freshly boiled crabs, and my friend’s husband made a succulent crab alfredo with the day’s catch.
During the evenings, we walked through the North and South Harbor to see the fishing vessels, most of which were unloading gear from one fishing season and preparing for the start of another. With more than 17 hours of sunlight each day, the days feel long and full.
On the boat rides, during meals and throughout the days, my husband and I peppered the family with questions—How do IFQs work? What is life like when you’re out on a dive? What does that boat do? How many types of fishing seasons are there and when are they? How does fishing affect the family structure? What do residents think of tourists? How is school different here? What do you miss about living down south [in the lower 48]? What is life really like in a small town?
My friend and her family graciously answered our many questions as we tried to wrap our minds around what it means to live in Southeast Alaska, specifically Petersburg. My husband noticed the absence of stoplights and just how resilient every single person is. Our fascination deepened with each answer and led to even more questions.
There’s an entirely different skill set developed living in a rural community, including everything from outdoor survival and cooking, to making and fixing things. Take, for example, the fact that every kid in elementary school has swimming as part of their regular P.E. curriculum, every other week for five days in a row, and middle schoolers learn how to roll and rescue in a kayak.
As we gathered our things to leave, the most important souvenirs became a map, a guidebook and a few hundred photos. We began to try to describe what life is like in Petersburg to our families and friends back home.
“The boat hit the can and the sea lions almost jumped on board with us!”
“A bald eagle sat on the beach 100 feet away while we played in the sand.”
“We watched the tide rise 15 feet. Twice. In one day.”
And so on.
For those in Petersburg, these probably sound like very ordinary occurrences, but for my husband and I, it was an entirely new world.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been mesmerized by something to the extent that I was in Petersburg, and I’m sure there is much to unpack there. But, for now, I leave you with this little glimpse into our six-day adventure that doesn’t come anywhere close to describing our newfound appreciation for this place my friend calls home.
The Faithful Writer
The Faithful Writer 