Creek Street

Walking down the Creek Street boardwalk in Ketchikan I am terrified.

At yesterday’s Port Travel Preview, I learned that in Alaska, it is illegal to push a live moose from a moving airplane. What I want to know is this: have enough moose actually been pushed from airplanes that they had to enact a law to prevent it? The sky here is filled with float planes because there are only two ways out of Ketchikan: sea or air. There is a float plane landing or taking off about every ten minutes. How many of these planes are carrying moose bombs? Is there a law against pushing a dead moose from an airplane, or just a live moose? And, how does one get a moose into an airplane in the first place?

I am distracted from these deep thoughts by the activity in Ketchikan Creek. The creek is thick with salmon, and the surface of the water is churning. If I was fast enough, I could reach into the creek and grab a fish. It’s no wonder Ketchikan is called “The Salmon Capital of the World”; the fish are so abundant this time of year that they could be scooped up with a net.

Tradition in Ketchikan is that both salmon and seaman go up Creek Street to spawn. I suppose I’m a seaman (at least that’s what my seamans book says) but I’m not here to spawn. I’m here to breathe fresh air, get some exercise, and see some new sights. Historically, Creek Street housed Ketchikans “Red Light District”. The district operated without substantial interference from the authorities until the 1950′s. The last of the operating brothels, Dolly’s House, has been restored and is open to tourists (just for looking, though).

Like other Alaskan towns along the Inside Passage, Ketchikan is wedged between a mountain and the sea. It is built along a steep hillside, and right into the water on pilings. It rains here a lot. According to a downtown sign, Ketchikan gets over 160 inches of precipitation annually. The rain can come quickly. When I got off the ship today, the sun was shining, so I didn’t bring an umbrella. Within an hour, it was pouring. I ducked into a bookstore to ride out the rain. I should have paid attention when I was told that this area is called “Alaska’s Rainforest”.

The cruise ship quays in Ketchikan are substantial enough to accommodate several cruise ships. Today, there are two Holland America and one Princess ship tied up at the docks. The passengers, sheltered by their umbrellas, pour out of the ships and into downtown Ketchikan. As in other port towns, the sidewalks and the shops are full. Spanning the street in the center of town is a sign that reads “Welcome to Alaska’s First City: Ketchikan, the Salmon Capital of the World”. There are so many visitors in town that the city hires crossing guards to work 12 hours a day during “the season” from May through the end of September. Most of the guards appear to be college-age men and women, and they take their jobs seriously. Cars and buses follow the guards’ directions as if the guards had badges and guns. Downtown Ketchikan is a pleasant place. The streets are clean and the buildings are well kept. It’s clear that there is money here.

My weekly ritual in Ketchikan includes a “run” to Wal-Mart to buy office supplies and sundries for the coming week. Wal-Mart provides a free shuttle for the four mile trip from downtown. The ride to Wal-Mart shows a different side of Ketchikan. Once outside the “tourist” area, everything becomes more rugged: the terrain, the buildings, and the people. Lots are overgrown and untended; buildings are in need of paint and repair; the people have a “hard” look about them. It’s clear that not everyone in Ketchikan gets a share of the “tourist pie”.

With my Wal-Mart supplies in hand, I board the shuttle and make my way back to the ship. It’s raining again when I get back to town. I promise myself that the next time I’m in Ketchikan I will carry an umbrella, even if the sun is shining. At the same instant I make that promise, I wonder if an umbrella affords any protection from falling moose.