Down the Inside Passage — Part 3 of 6
After a long day’s passage from Taku Bay, just south of Juneau, Peter, Jan, John and I are happy to see the transient dock at Petersburg. The sun slaps a gold wash on the canvas of pale green and blue buildings. Their tin roofs bleed rust.
Seagulls are massed on the rooftop and in the water near one green building that sits on pilings over the water. In a shrill chorus they cry for their supper. They must know these structures that squat along the waterfront are processing plants and cold storage facilities for salmon, halibut, shrimp and crab — all products of one of the largest fishing fleets in Alaska.
We tie up and wander along Sing Lee Alley, stopping to appreciate the preserved buildings along the way, including the Sons of Norway Hall. We use our noses to find Rooney’s Northern Lights Restaurant. We sit in a booth and the moon shines in this land of endless purple twilight through the unscreened window. I notice on the menu that the week is divided into Salmon Monday, Crab Tuesday, Shrimp Wednesday, Land Lover’s Thursday and All-You-Can-Eat Fish and Chips on Friday. It’s a crab evening for me.
There is a gargantuan King Crab replica framed on a swath of black velvet on the wall. I poke John. “Hey, look at that. Elvis thought he was the King.”
From my spot nearest the window, I can see the bustle at the building across the parking lot. Forklifts talk to each other in a series of staccato beeps and whines, and move with the precision of soldier ants around the concrete loading zone. The air smells of fish, and serious commerce.
On our way back, we pass a sorrowful little boat, lines rotting, huddled under a green moss blanket. Next to it is an ancient houseboat covered in enough layers of dirt and grime to make a seasoned archaeologist happy. A cat hisses, and the slap of a dog’s tail on the hard deck gives way to the growl of a hard-eyed, used-up redhead filling a cooler with beer. I hope she’s not driving a fork-lift tonight.
John, Peter and Jan wander off to our respective staterooms. I linger on the flybridge. We will leave here tomorrow but I’m not ready. Petersburg is filled with tidy streets, jaw-dropping saw-tooth mountains beyond, and men and women who gamble their livelihoods on catching slippery gold from the sea. This is a place rich in stories, some steeped in fierce Viking heritage, some patched together like the one that snarling redhead could tell. I want those stories, but we leave tomorrow morning with the dawn.
