Downtown Juneau — clustered, conveniently enough, right smack around the piers where the cruise ships dock — features a delightful collection of technicolor storefronts as gaudy and artificial as anything you’ll find in a Disney park.
But as we discovered today, everything that makes Juneau so special is actually a ten or twenty minute shuttle ride away from the tacky, touristy, tinker-toy town where all too many tourists spend most of their time.
During the morning, we take a little-known "Nature and Seacoast Walk" offered by Gasineau Guides. Our guide’s a laid-back, long-haired mountain man with a quiet voice and gentle manner that belies his size. On the way to the rain forest, he points to the stores that line the streets of downtown Juneau. "These aren’t owned by local people," he says. "They’re owned by folks who board ’em up the minute the last boat leaves town, and then we don’t see ’em again until the next summer."
I notice he uses the first person, so I ask, "Are you local?"
He pauses. "Well, no. Actually, I’m from Texas. I just come up here for the summer. But I want to live here full time, though."
It seems a little hypocritical for our nomadic tour guide to be down on the nomadic shopkeepers, but soon, when our walk begins, we forgive even this, as he proves to be a more than competent fellow. By the time our walk’s over, I’ve got names for the spiky, large-leafed plants that line the trail ("devil’s club"), the bright purple blossoms on upright stalks along the roadside ("fireweed"), and the super-sized, malodorous lettuce plants in the local bogs ("skunk cabbages").
The three-hour walk is over too quickly, and soon, we find ourselves back at the port. Our guide sighs. "How many people are there on your boat? About 1400. How many signed up for this walking tour? Fourteen. One in one hundred!" As it turns out, a gentle walk through the rain forest has a lot of trouble competing with helicopter tours and dogsled rides across the Mendenhall Glacier.
And that’s a shame, because our walk — featuring eagle sightings, concerts by winter wrens, and hands-on introductions to everything from lichens to bear’s bread fungus — will stick with me as one of the high points of our entire voyage.
* * * * * *
The Mendenhall Glacier is no more than ten minutes from the crowded streets of downtown Juneau. If you like, you can pay Holland America eighty bucks for a "city and glacier tour package," or you can just walk off the boat, approach any of several vendors, and arrange the whole thing for yourself — for about eighty percent less.
We snag a six-dollar shuttle ride with Perry, who turns out, in addition to being a shuttle driver, is a friendly and knowledgeable tour guide. He’s also the first person we’ve met in Alaska’s entire tourism industry who is actually local to the city where he works. "Juneau born and bred," he says proudly. "Been here all twenty-eight years."
Perry’s a pro — he’s got a pleasant narrative memorized, and he can deliver it with just the right mix of enthusiasm and authority. But he’s also genuinely friendly, and, since we’re the only two people on his shuttle bus, we strike up a conversation. "I drive school busses during the winter," he tells us.
The pay’s not so great, though, so Perry’s thinking about doing some work for the brand new Kensington Gold Mine. "You can earn upward of $70,000.00 a year," he says, his earnest voice stressing the importance of that figure. "That’s more than twice the average income in Juneau."
By the time he drops us off, I’m convinced that someone as easy-going and personable as Perry ought to be leading high-dollar customized one-on-one tours of Juneau — you know, an Alaskan version of the services offered by Thai Friends over in Bangkok.
As we part ways, Perry, inspired by Clyde’s success on the Internet, muses aloud, "I ought to find a way to make me some money on the Internet." Frankly? I’m thinking a guy like Perry ought to whip up a web site, advertise personalized one-on-one or two-on-one tours, and strike it rich without having to descend into the mines to do it.
* * * * * *
The State of Alaska built the Mendenhall Glacier Visitor’s Center right in front of the face of the massive glacier. That was just a few years ago. Now, the glacier has retreated several hundred yards from the center’s observation decks; the valley created by its retreat is filled with bright, chilly water. Nope, no global warming here.
We spend an hour or so photographing the glacier, the lake, local kids who actually swim in the frigid water (it’s summer here, after all, with temps in the fifties and sixties!), and the monstrous waterfall created by seasonal snow melts high in the mountains above.
Back at the docks, we hop aboard the Mount Roberts Tramway for a quick trip up to the summit of Mt. Roberts. From there, we can see the entire city of Juneau laid out like a scale model. From that height, I can cover our entire cruise liner with the fingers of one hand.
Back on board, we set sail for Ketchikan, where we understand our options for jewelry shopping will be all but unlimited. But we’re not concerned; instead, we don our tuxedos for one last formal night and look forward to dinner with newfound friends Jay & Ariel (the Unitarian minister and his wife) and Patty & Roger (two good friends traveling together — and a delight to converse with, to boot).
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