Day 9: Up the creek without a paddle (Skagway)

The weather gods are becoming all to predictable: foggy in the morning, then perfectly clear. Which was a good thing as today we were walking two miles up the Chilkoot Trail, and rafting back down the river. 

Last time we were here we did the White Pass Railway ride up to the Yukon border, one of the two routes into the Yukon during the Klondike Gold Rush. That was marvellous (I do like my train trips), but today was a chance to do something new, and more active.

Our guide, Sam, was like most Alaskans we've met: from somewhere else. In his case, Missouri, having come up here two years ago, with no intention of moving back anytime soon.

We drove up the coast road, and then alongside the tidal flats, which went a long, looong way up the valley. Being a glacial valley the land was compressed for centuries under hundreds of meters of ice. Now that the glaciers have retreated the land is rebounding ("glacial uplift") about 1.5cm/three-quarters of an inch per year, which has the effect of flattening out valley.

Apparently many a prospective gold digger discovered the effect of this the hard way. They landed at low tide, dumped their gear on the shore, took the first load up the valley, and returned to find the rest of their equipment floating out to sea on the high tide.

During the gold rush the Canadian government, tired of watching dumbass hopefuls from the lower 48 coming north and starving to death, required every miner to bring in two tonnes of supplies. Once the White Pass rail opened the city of Dyae at the start of the Chilkoot trail disappeared within days.

But before that many a miner carted their gear 30 miles up the trail we set out on. 

It's not the most difficult trail I've ever walked. It was difficult enough that I would have gone no more than 1 mile before deciding that doing this trip, 30 miles each way, several dozen times just to reach the border, was a Very Bad Idea.

Carrying a back pack and a camera was a breeze.

The forest was quite different from others we've been to. Most of the rocks on the upper path were covered with various types of lichen, and numerous types of mushroom. We had the good fortune of having an amateur mycologist (mushroom expert) from Vancouver in our group, and she was pointing out some of the more interesting species to our guide.

Wildlife was scarce, apart from two red squirrels. The first one put on an unintentionally hilarious display, chattering madly as he tried to drive us out of his territory. So much energy. So little effect.

After walking two miles into the forest we climbed into the raft for the ride back. This was the easiest thing I've done this trip, sitting on the inflated edge and watching Sam do all the work.

The trip down was an absolute delight, and Emma's favourite "wow-I've-never-done-that-before-can-we-do-it-again?" moment of the trip. 

Breathtaking views of the river, forest, and mountains, as well as perhaps half a dozen bald eagles along the banks and flying over the river (pictures to come, once I have extended access to the Internet), and just a hint of Danger - if you consider a tiny bit of white water in an area the size of a bathtub dangerous. 

Still cool, though, sitting on a raft spinning and dipping through that part of the river. And we can always pick a more intense river next time...

Sam drove us back to Skagway (wearing sandals. In Alaska. They go a bit nutty up here), and we walked through the township. This doesn't take long, given the permanent population is only 800, with another 1200 during the tourist season. With four cruise ships in port we probably outnumbered the the locals about 4:1.

We skipped the tourist shops, and passed on the tour of the Red Dog, the town's brothel during the gold rush (a tour Sam described as "fifteen dollars for five minutes"), but did pop into a shop selling local foodstuffs. We picked up fresh hot-smoked salmon, two types of moosetard (mustard with a picture of a moose on the jar; the mustard was excellent, but we'd probably buy one just for the packaging), and a small pack of almond brittle. We passed on the caribous salami; I liked it, too gamey for Emma.

Our final stop was a small restaurant/cafe near the docks, which wasn't overly touristy. I had an Alaskan beer and a "mermaid sandwich" (halibut fillet), Emma went for the salmon patty, both plates overflowing with several kilos of very nice hot chips ("french fries" for US readers). Alaskan portion sizes are like those in the lower 48: huge.

We decided to skip the live show, a ventriloquist (I deal with enough dummies when I'm not on holiday) and the movies under the stars (it just seems wrong to stuff yourself four times a day for a week, then go to watch The Hunger Games).

So another quiet finish, and a good thing, because the next day was going to be a long one.