A bearded man with long, stringy hair had a woman draped across his lap, her head resting on his crossed legs. He told me they’d hitchhiked all the way from California, and had been on the road for months now.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, stroking the woman’s hair.
She smiled up at him. “Yes, we love being free spirits. We’ve camped in such beautiful places. People are so kind; we’ve made tons of friends.”
What would it be like to see Alaska that way? Maybe the weather would improve, and I could camp overnight in Skagway.
A cold and damp morning greeted me as I tiptoed out early to explore the streets of Whitehorse before departure. Bright and sunny, at least by Alaskan standards, only a few wind-whipped residual clouds from last night’s rain streaked the sky. Quaint, historic railroad cars painted bright canary-yellow with black trim, awaited boarding. There was no sign they’d let me on yet, though, and with my empty stomach reminding me that I hadn’t eaten, I sat down on a bench next to an interpretive sign, fished peanut butter and a bagel out of my pack, and read:
This trail, the longest of its kind, winds through the steep Chilkoot Pass, following the route of the historic Klondike Gold Rush that took place from 1897 through 1899. Over one hundred thousand people walked the Chilkoot Trail. So many horses and mules died, their remains left where they fell, the route became known as the “Dead Horse Trail.”
How tragic. No wonder it’s called gold fever. And all of those poor animals, just left there.
Before I boarded, I asked at the ticket counter if there were any messages. Monte’s note apologized for not making this stop. Only slightly disappointed, I thought maybe I’d see him in Skagway.
On the train, I discovered a small group of people standing on a platform outside the caboose. With no windows to get in the way of photos, and plenty of fresh air, this was the place to be. Smiles greeted me. So far, traveling alone was far from lonely. With a toot of the train whistle and a sharp jerk shaking the caboose, off we went, the clicking of the train over the tracks rhythmic and reassuring.
“Excuse me,” a middle-aged man said with a gentle smile. “Would you mind giving me a hand so I can lean over the railing to take some photos?”
If this meant my making a mistake would have him falling off the train and dying a horrible death, well, I’d have to pass. Hesitant, I asked him to explain.
He grinned broadly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve done it before. You can get great shots of the train as it turns corners if you lean over and point the lens down the track. I just need some help.”
“Well, okay,” I said. “What do I do?”
My right hand gripped his belt, my left kept a tight handhold on the caboose to counter his forward lean. Pictures taken, he asked if I wanted to try it. Heck, why not?
“I’ve got you,” he said confidently. I leaned over, my heart racing. Whatever you do, don’t drop your camera. I squeezed it so tight that my hands cramped, and I took photos so fast, I could only hope they’d turn out. What a thrill, though.
A startled cry made me turn to a woman staring at the camera clutched in her gloved hands, her face horrified. “Oh my God! It’s jammed!”
After determining that it was broken, everyone came to her rescue, including me, offering to send her prints. Another man even said he’d let her use his camera.
The woman wept from the outpour of support—making me tear up, too. Then I realized I was missing some great scenery and returned to the railing. In the distance, folded shadows defined the jagged snow-covered mountains and autumn had turned the tundra into a patchwork of turquoise, gold, and rust. Between two prominent peaks, an iridescent blue-green glacier spread out like an alluvial fan. Glaciers were plentiful, but I never tired of seeing them. I’d visited Portage Glacier with Fred and Dan a month earlier. We’d stood together on the shore, hushed by the utter silence, deep space coldness and glacial patience. Fred had impressed me again that day, in the way he stood there, honoring the icy monolith.
Our train plunged into a dark, narrow, hand-built tunnel. Gasps and murmurs of riders echoed inside. It was dark in there. Very dark. Okay, I want out now … Just in time before I got claustrophobia, the train emerged from the tunnel and clattered across a wooden trestle—spanning easily a thousand-foot-deep gorge. My breath hitched, and I clutched the railing. Not only because of the precarious height, but from noticing the trestles were original, made of wood, and therefore over a hundred years old. No point in questioning if they were sound, it wasn’t like I could hop off the train and walk.
At the halfway point, we stopped at the Bennett Lake depot for our free lunch. My legs wobbled when I stepped off the train, a side effect from compensating for the sway of the caboose. After regaining my balance, I detoured to the shoreline to take a photo of the lake. Clouds shaped like white, woolly sheep, and the fall-colored mountains beyond, mirrored in the lake with such perfection, I couldn’t differentiate the reflection from the real thing. I momentarily forgot I was starving, and took so many photos, I had to scurry to catch up with everyone heading to the dining area. Seated at a long wooden table, I quivered with delight at the hot meal set before me. Not one speck of peanut butter in sight.
Upon arriving in Skagway, my perfect weather became a rainstorm with a wintery bite. So much for my camping plans. Another youth hostel provided shelter, and after dropping off my backpack, I ventured outside to explore. Lined with weathered, wooden buildings, main street Skagway still had the character of its rowdy mining days, and held an amazing number of saloons. I took refuge from the glacial temperatures inside a historical museum, reading the displays about Skagway’s gold rush days while soaking up the warmth. Reluctant to go outside, I took my time, but eventually I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I dashed through the deluge to the hostel, longing for hot soup, a grilled-cheese sandwich, and a steaming mug of tea—with brandy—none of which was on my menu.
Rising early, I shouldered my backpack and slipped out the door. A damp, misty morning greeted me, with feathery lowlying clouds wrapped around the mountains like a shawl. Each breath suspended as white vapors in front of me for a moment. Before boarding the ferry, I stopped at the ticket counter to see if Monte had left a message. He had not. I frowned. Whatever. So far, I hadn’t missed having a traveling companion.
The ferry’s travel brochure said I could either book a stateroom or camp free on deck. Free was much better. On deck, I discovered there was not only a cover, but ceiling-mounted heaters. Perfect. I wouldn’t have to worry about being cold. At first, I thought I wouldn’t bother to set up my tent, but as the area filled with passengers, I opted for privacy. Within an hour, I’d made acquaintances with six travelers on their own unique adventures. Shy Eileen latched onto me first. I didn’t mind that she seemed to need a friend and invited her to set up her tent near mine.
After a brief stop in Haines, the ship anchored in Juneau late afternoon. Linda had said to meet her at the Red Dog Saloon, easily identified by the large red sign sporting not a red dog, as one might expect, but a gun-toting “Yosemite Sam.” A rowdy place in Alaska’s gold rush days; that evening I also found it filled elbow-to-elbow with rambunctious locals and tourists.
“Only took two days for clouds to lift,” Linda said over loud music and voices.
“Wonderful!” A pang of regret that I hadn’t stayed longer to see it with her hit me.
“I used to live in a big city with so much crime,” she said, taking a sip of beer. “We’ve got practically no crime. Everyone knows each other. Plus, we’re landlocked! The only way in or out of Juneau’s by boat or plane.” She threw her head back and laughed. “We have zero car thefts. There’s no place to go with one! Heck, you’re looking at a city with only a few miles of roads. Authorities would be waiting at the ferry, the only way out.”
Imagine a life where everything you needed was within a few miles, and no car theft … I glanced at my watch. Darn. Time to
leave. Linda promised to stay in touch.
Eileen and I talked and played Rummy the following day while we sailed on open ocean, heading to Sitka. Her job as an executive in Seattle paid well, she said, but she didn’t much like it. This solo trip was her once-a-year treat. She’d never married.
“Do you regret that?” I asked.
She twirled a lock of curly hair with her finger. “Sometimes I’m lonely.”
I understood lonely, having felt that way, even in a room full of people I knew. I told her about Joe, our problems, my dilemma. And … about Monte, my other problem, my other dilemma, who was supposed to join me on this trip, but so far, hadn’t.
“Wow. Conflicted?” she asked.
“You bet.”
Eileen suggested we eat dinner together at the cafeteria. Even though I couldn’t afford to buy anything, I joined her. Just thinking about real food made my stomach rumble, despite downing a peanut butter sandwich earlier. She loaded a plate with macaroni and cheese, steamed broccoli, and a slab of sourdough bread. My mouth salivated. God that smelled good. Not only that—it was hot.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked, when I didn’t grab a plate.
I faked a smile. “No, I’m good. I’ll visit with you while you eat.”
Not having enough money was my own fault. I hadn’t budgeted for meals. Did I think I’d crave something other than peanut butter? Obviously not. By the time this trip ended, I wouldn’t be able to eat peanut butter for over a year.
Curled up in my sleeping bag, I felt waves rock the ship with Chinese water-torture precision. My stomach protested. No, no, no … I chanted, willing myself not to get sick.At daybreak, I staggered to the railing, fearing I’d throw up at any minute. The sharp breeze tasted of the sea, easing my queasy tummy. Eileen joined me, holding the hood of her faded green sweatshirt snugged tight at her throat. She gave me a knowing smile, and patted my back.
Abruptly, she pointed to the water. “Oh look! A whale!”
A humpback broke the surface, its shiny gray skin glimmering in the soft light. After blasting forth a fountain, it dove back under with a grandiose tail flip. My nausea vanished. Damn. Of all the times to not have my camera handy. An older couple joined us to watch, and I smiled at them.
“Did you know Sitka doesn’t have any hoofed animals?” I overheard the guy say. Right away, I assumed he meant horses, possibly because of the difficulty of getting them on a boat?
“It’s the rainfall,” he told his companion. “Ninety inches a year. Causes hoof rot.”
Ninety? Tucson averages eleven. How could it possibly rain that much and not float the town away?
Eileen and I scurried down the gangplank to explore Sitka after the ship docked. Who could’ve imagined a city like this? The houses perched on stilts over shores and marshes, with bridges connecting the many islands. At first, I marveled at the residents’ resourcefulness, then I wondered where in the world they parked their cars. If I chose to live here, I’d pick that house, I thought. Maybe I could work in a gift store, or be a tour guide. It was fun to daydream.
“Let’s go to the totem pole park,” Eileen said.
We hitched a ride to the park, where I stared up at the exotic, colorful carvings. Although intriguing, I found the sinister grimaces carved on half-bird, half-human faces ghoulish enough to give me nightmares.
That night, a loud bang and a violent shake jolted me upright from a sound sleep. Did I dream that? Unsure, I crawled out of my tent to see people milling around, wide-eyed and confused. Oh my God, are we sinking? Where are the lifeboats? Why didn’t I pay more attention?
A crewman rushed to the deck, making calming hand motions. “It’s okay, folks, we bumped the dock in Petersburg a bit too hard. We’ll be shoving off soon, so don’t get off.”
It took me a while to go back to sleep after the rude awakening. Groggy, I emerged from my tent to a hazy day in Wrangell. I forced myself to nibble a PB-bagel once again while Eileen and I strolled down the gangplank.
“Still no word from Monte?” she asked.
“No. And you know what, I’m to the point where I don’t care. I thought I needed him to join me, but I discovered I’m doing just fine on my own.”
I was doing fine on my own, but it hurt like heck that he’d blown me off.
Mist swirled around deep-green conifers in the mountains surrounding the tiny community. Everything sparkled with dew, the air so saturated that it felt like rain without it actually raining. I couldn’t get over all of the water here: waterfalls poured from gashes in steep cliffs, filling streams and street gutters.
“Any more thoughts on what you’ll do when you get back to Tucson?” Eileen asked.
“Not really.”
I wished she hadn’t asked. It was too hard to think about how to solve the love triangle situation. Was this love I felt for Monte one-sided? I refused to go there. For some stupid reason, I kept justifying the fact that Monte had never outright said he loved me with: He does love me, he just hasn’t realized it yet. It did cross my mind however, that maybe neither he nor Joe were right for me. Then what? Good thing I had plenty of distractions on this trip.
Eileen and I strolled past another row of bright, primary-colored houses. Such a dramatic contrast to Tucson, where homes were often painted in muted earth tones. I envisioned living in this town, too. Curious about those magical waterfalls, the first thing I’d do was hike to the top of one to find its source.
“Let’s get some lunch,” Eileen suggested.
I finally admitted I didn’t have much money.
“Fast food is okay by me. C’mon, you need to eat something other than peanut butter.”
She had that right. Standing in a Kentucky Fried Chicken, I searched the menu board for the cheapest item that constituted real food. Four-fifty for one piece of chicken and a biscuit? No way. Eileen passed too, probably because she didn’t want to eat in front of me again. What a pal.
One block later, I couldn’t stand it. “Eileen, I have to go back.”
I wasn’t sure which was worse—spending the money and getting Canadian change—not realizing I couldn’t spend it in the U.S.—or the greasy chicken that sat in the pit of my stomach like a brick for hours.
Our final stop: Ketchikan. Eileen and I stood on the pier, where brilliant fishing boats danced at their moorings, the briny air rich and brisk.
“Monte might be waiting for me in Seattle,” I said.
She glanced down, then back to me. “If he isn’t, how about staying with me a couple days?”
“Thanks, Eileen. I might just do that.”
Way too soon, our ferry tooted its horn, signaling that it was time to return to our campground on deck.
Our ship headed south, easing between the San Juan Islands, where red buoys delineated the safe zone so we wouldn’t run aground. Leaning on the railing, I studied the closer islands, thick with evergreens right up to the water’s edge, some no bigger than a house and yard—all begging to be explored. What would it be like to visit one? Hmmm … with no shoreline, how could you even get out of the boat?
Over the loudspeaker, our captain announced that we’d have to move over to let a cruise ship pass. Look at the size of that thing! When I first boarded the ferry, I’d thought it was big. But compared to that Princess cruise ship, we were on a dinky tugboat. Passengers waved at us. I waved back. It must be nice to sail in style.
Soon the channel filled with speedboats, sailboats, and cabin cruisers—we were getting close to Seattle—and the end of my adventure. Never for one moment had I worried about traveling alone, not just on this trip, but during my entire time in Alaska. I would never feel that way again.
“The Emerald City” inundated my senses with dazzling greenness, like Oz’s Dorothy, opening her door to a Technicolor world. It even smelled green. Crowds gathered at the railing, searching for faces of loved ones, including me, scanning for Monte. But there was no sign of him. My heart fell surprisingly far, considering I hadn’t bee
n very disappointed the other times he hadn’t shown up. Then I recognized the handsome man with sandy-blond hair in bell-bottoms and a green polo shirt. I waved wildly to get his attention. Eileen’s disappointment showed, but I hoped she understood.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Monte said, sweeping me off my feet in a twirling bear hug. “I couldn’t get away. But we’ll have two whole days together.”
Two whole days. Maybe now he would tell me he loved me. However, I’d need to play it cool—not let on that it mattered to me one way or another. Wouldn’t playing hard-to-get work? I refused to think about how I might never see Monte again, or how I’d deal with Joe when I got home. Who hasn’t floated down the “Denial River” once in a while?
Our time together played out like scenes in a romance movie, with me the lucky heroine. Monte and I dined atop the Space Needle, the restaurant revolving like a lazy carousel. We sampled delicious food at Pike Place Fish Market, strolled hand-in-hand through the Seattle aquarium, acting like a couple of teenagers, sneaking kisses in public, touching each other at every chance. By the time he dropped me off at the airport, though, his demeanor had changed. We kissed goodbye, and he again told me he wanted to be with someone like me some day. This time I knew he meant someone like me, but not me. I turned to wave one last time from the gate, but he’d already moved on and didn’t look back. Boy, did that hurt. But you know—I’d seen this coming and chose to deny it. Stupid me. I had no right to expect more.
When I stepped off the plane in Tucson, a white-bright sun blinded me. My eyes adjusted, and I stared up at a sky that didn’t seem real. How could I have forgotten how intensely blue the sky was here?I felt the need to imprint that blue into my brain forever. My heart jumped when through the throngs of people, I glimpsed Joe. Even though his body felt familiar against mine, I’d been away a long time and could tell. I wanted this moment to end all of my doubts, to make me forget Monte, to be the perfect reunion. It shouldn’t have been so hard. After all, Joe loved me and Monte did not. What concerned me was that I thought I loved two men at the same time. Would one man ever be enough? Could he be?
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