Petersburg and Thomas Bay
Morning found us at the entrance to Wrangell Narrows, approaching the community of Petersburg, Alaska—The Town That Fish Built. The harbor bristled with the masts and booms of fishing boats, among which we found our berth at the dock. The waterfront was dominated by canneries and their piers. Petersburg is one of the most active, productive, and diverse fishing ports in the country, in spite of the fact that it boasts only about 3,300 inhabitants.
The other thing it’s important to know about Petersburg is that it’s very, very Norwegian. This became apparent as soon as we disembarked and were confronted by the imposing white Sons of Norway Hall, built in 1912. On one side resides a mock Viking longboat, which enters the water once a year for the annual Norse winter festival; on the other is the fisherman’s memorial, with a dramatic statue and numerous plagues bearing the names of sons of Petersburg who have been lost at sea. Judging by the last names appearing on the plagues, some families have given much to the hungry sea.
Petersburg, often called the most charming town in Southeast Alaska, was ablaze with flowers this midsummer day: fireweed, forget-me-not, dogwood, lupine. Arctic bumblebees worked the fragrant wild roses.
We were in Petersburg not only to see the town, but also to base out of there for flightseeing. Two different types of flights were on offer: by floatplane over the Le Conte Glacier, and by helicopter to land on the Patterson Glacier. These rivers of ice surge out of the Coast Range, the Le Conte at a galloping 60-80 feet per day. Petersburg’s location was chosen in 1899 to take advantage of the Le Conte’s ice for fish packing.
Getting all the fliers up in the air took all morning and some of the afternoon. Those who were on the ground at 10:00 had the option of joining Lee and Chuck for a walk on Petersburg Creek (which, paradoxically, is located across the Narrows from Petersburg, on another island). The trail climbs to a muskeg bog and crosses it on a well-built boardwalk. Besides lovely forest and wetland, hikers got fine views of a merlin and a great horned owl, and closely approached an amazingly tolerant Sitka black-tailed deer.
Mid-afternoon found us slipping our lines and sailing out across Frederick Sound. Along the way, Steve Zeff gave us an erudite lecture on marine mammals and their place in the family of life. When we looked out the windows, we were within Thomas Bay, sailing up to the toe of the broad Baird Glacier, now shrunken to the point that it is landlocked behind its moraine. Before long we had added a mammal to our life list for the trip: a black bear, which we found foraging amongst the grasses along the shore.
Our anchorage for the night, in the aptly-named Scenery Cove, seems a world away from Petersburg. But then, Petersburg seemed a world away from everything else.
Morning found us at the entrance to Wrangell Narrows, approaching the community of Petersburg, Alaska—The Town That Fish Built. The harbor bristled with the masts and booms of fishing boats, among which we found our berth at the dock. The waterfront was dominated by canneries and their piers. Petersburg is one of the most active, productive, and diverse fishing ports in the country, in spite of the fact that it boasts only about 3,300 inhabitants.
The other thing it’s important to know about Petersburg is that it’s very, very Norwegian. This became apparent as soon as we disembarked and were confronted by the imposing white Sons of Norway Hall, built in 1912. On one side resides a mock Viking longboat, which enters the water once a year for the annual Norse winter festival; on the other is the fisherman’s memorial, with a dramatic statue and numerous plagues bearing the names of sons of Petersburg who have been lost at sea. Judging by the last names appearing on the plagues, some families have given much to the hungry sea.
Petersburg, often called the most charming town in Southeast Alaska, was ablaze with flowers this midsummer day: fireweed, forget-me-not, dogwood, lupine. Arctic bumblebees worked the fragrant wild roses.
We were in Petersburg not only to see the town, but also to base out of there for flightseeing. Two different types of flights were on offer: by floatplane over the Le Conte Glacier, and by helicopter to land on the Patterson Glacier. These rivers of ice surge out of the Coast Range, the Le Conte at a galloping 60-80 feet per day. Petersburg’s location was chosen in 1899 to take advantage of the Le Conte’s ice for fish packing.
Getting all the fliers up in the air took all morning and some of the afternoon. Those who were on the ground at 10:00 had the option of joining Lee and Chuck for a walk on Petersburg Creek (which, paradoxically, is located across the Narrows from Petersburg, on another island). The trail climbs to a muskeg bog and crosses it on a well-built boardwalk. Besides lovely forest and wetland, hikers got fine views of a merlin and a great horned owl, and closely approached an amazingly tolerant Sitka black-tailed deer.
Mid-afternoon found us slipping our lines and sailing out across Frederick Sound. Along the way, Steve Zeff gave us an erudite lecture on marine mammals and their place in the family of life. When we looked out the windows, we were within Thomas Bay, sailing up to the toe of the broad Baird Glacier, now shrunken to the point that it is landlocked behind its moraine. Before long we had added a mammal to our life list for the trip: a black bear, which we found foraging amongst the grasses along the shore.
Our anchorage for the night, in the aptly-named Scenery Cove, seems a world away from Petersburg. But then, Petersburg seemed a world away from everything else.
