Alaska Day 6, A Change of Plans

Day 6

Thursday June 7, 2018

      The Tlingit were the first to settle here and named the area Skagua, meaning “windy place.”  They established the Chilkoot Trail as a way to trade with other tribes further north.  By the 1880’s  the trail was being used by the earliest gold prospectors headed hundreds of miles to the Yukon. This trail began six miles west of Shagway in the town of Dyea(pr: Die-EE)

     In 1887, a new route was being surveyed by Captain William Moore.  This route would leave directly from Skagway and be named White Pass. 

     Nine years later, gold was discovered six hundred miles north in what would quickly become a town and be named Bonanza.  As you’d expect, fortune seekers soon followed.  Skagway and Dyea quickly grew.  Within two years Skagway’s population had exploded to over eight thousand. 

     Within two years, construction began on the White Pass and Yukon Railroad.  While the railroad did make for easier access to the gold fields, it all but killed the town of Dyea.

      Today’s hike was supposed to be out to Denver Glacier.  It’s also the reason I came to Skagway.  Imagine if you can, getting on a train and having it stop six miles up the line to let you off.  A few hours later, it stops again to pick you up and take you back to town.   Seriously, how cool is that.

      While the train is taking the other passengers along a scenic ride into Canada, you’re hiking two miles out to a glacier.  Your only constraint is time.  The train won’t wait for you.  You need to be back at the trailhead on time, or you’re on your own until the next day.   This is what I had planned for the day.  It went belly up promptly at 7:15 that morning.  In the end it’s my own damn fault. 

      Last December, I went onto the website for the White Pass and Yukon Railroad and signed up for the ride to the trailhead.  They sent me an email confirming my request, complete with a confirmation number.  What I didn’t do was double check to see if the payment had gone through or not.  It hadn’t.

      So, when I arrived at the depot at 7:15A to check in, they told me.  But, they could still get me on the train.  Did I have a passport?  I explained that I was only going as far as the Denver Glacier and not crossing into Canada.  That didn’t matter.  The railroad is Canadian owned and wouldn’t let me on board without one. The confirmation of payment email lists things you’ll need like this. 

       When I was having those issues with the TSA, I carried my passport on every trip.  It made the perfect second ID.  But, once that was rectified, I stopped carrying it.  So, no train ride for me.  I had to find an alternate plan for the day.   At least I wasn’t out the money.

      Just a couple of blocks from the hotel is the trailhead for the Dewey Lakes trails.  The trail to the lower lake loop is fairly short, but steep.  I had met a few people who raved about the upper lake trail.  It’s three and a half miles to the lake and another mile and a half to a place called the Devils Punchbowl. 

      Three and a half miles may not sound too bad.  But, the elevation gain is 3,200 feet.  It’s a climb the entire way, alternating between rocks, roots and soft, wet dirt.  For me that means slow going.  I started up the trail at 8A and the trail started to climb right away.

       Nice view through the occasional break in the trees.

      The trail splits near the old municipal reservoir.         

      Parts of the trail followed alongside a fast running river.

 
    This is one of those frustrating types of trail.  You can’t see your destination.  All you see are more and more switchbacks.  The summit never seems to get any closer.  Hikers coming down all claimed I was “close.”  And yet, I still climbed.

      Four hours after I started, I crested the final hill and saw Upper Dewey Lake.  And yes, that’s ice on the lake.

    

  I lingered and walked around the lake for a while, pausing for some lunch.  Since the sky had cleared, I was feeling energized again.  I started up the mile and  half trail to the Devils Punchbowl.  I didn’t go that far.  It was rocks. Lots of rocks. Lots of big rocks.  I don’t mind scrambling for a while.  But, it became clear this was going to go on for a while.  That’s when I decided to turn back.  It was the best decision of the day.

      Just before heading down, I paused at a picnic table to sort out my backpack.  I hadn’t gone ten feet from the picnic table when a family of four came around the corner.  They asked, how much further.  I told them, “about ten feet.”   There’s a cabin right on the lake. They had reserved it for the night.

      You’re probably wondering why there aren’t photos from the hike down.  Well, the trail was just as steep heading down.  And second, the rain started a half hour into the trip down.  It started with the sort of mist that’s light enough that I didn’t feel the need to tuck my camera away, just annoying.

     As I kept hiking down, the rain picked up.  I found a dry spot under some thick forest canopy and pulled out my waterproof(ish) windbreaker.  I really didn’t want the extra layer.   But, it beat getting soaked.  The camera went into the pack and stayed there.   My phone went in, too.  

      While the trip down was faster, the trail was still steep.  Add in the factor of the rocks now being wet, and that slowed me down a little more.   I kept looking forward to certain landmarks, just to know I was getting closer to the end of the trail.

      The rain had petered out by the time I started hearing traffic noises.  By the time I made it back to the street, the sun was out and the sky clearing nicely.  Of course.

      When I arrived back at the hotel, I asked the folks at the desk for some paper towels.  They gave me a weird look, so I explained.  My boots and my trekking poles were both muddy.  I was soaking wet. I’d rather wipe everything off with paper towels than the hotel’s white towels. 

      Back in the room, I hung my jacket over the showerhead to dry, emptied my pack and left it in the corner of the bathroom and draped my t-shirt over the shower rod.  After washing up, it was time to go in search of a well deserved dinner.

     One block up from the hotel is a place called the Red Onion Saloon. They claim it used to be a brothel.   I was just there for the pizza, which was quite good.  The waitresses all wore outfits straight out of an old western movie, complete with ruffled skirts, corsets and cleavage pouring out.   Cameron, my waitress couldn’t have been better.  She took good care of me and never stopped moving. 

      After leaving the restaurant, I took a walk up the street to work out the kinks in my legs.  Eventually, I found my way to a bar that served beer from Skagway’s own craft brewery.  I tried a Spruce Tip Blonde that was simply amazing.  Sitting at the bar, I met a guy from Arizona.  He had only been to Georgia once.  He’s a huge Allman Brothers fan and traveled to Macon a few years ago to see the house where the band used to live and visit Rose Hill Cemetery to pay his respects to Duane Allman.

Coming Up,

A visit to the Pet Cemetery