Busted in Small Town Alaska

 

Chunks of ice are stranded at low tide in Turnagain Arm.

 

Pewter-colored skies, flat light, and occasional raindrops don't make for nice photographs, but I was determined to get out and find something to aim a lens at, knowing that anything I photographed would be surrounded by snow.

Snow, I thought, will cover up a lot of distracting things, historical or not.

Sixmile Creek.

 I wound up in Hope, a very small, former gold-mining town along Turnagain Arm.

 

I drove slowly up and down one-lane roads in residential neighborhoods, looking for subjects and peering into yards.  The roads were in that transitional state from winter to spring, partly snow, water, and ice, and partly gravel showing through.

Though I saw no one, I felt there were eyes on me as I wandered, turning around in driveways, stopping frequently.

I turned onto the main street where a lot of old cabins are located, most dating from the gold rush around the 1900s. 

 

 

I climbed up four- and five-foot rotting snow banks to get more of the cabins in view.   I passed the old post office, the social hall, and a café.

Window detail.

 

The historic museum was buried in snow so I couldn’t get close to several cabins there.

 

 

One of the many historic markers attached to a fence.

 

As I was leaving town, I pulled over to the side to make sure the cameras were secure in their seat belt. A van pulled up next to me.

 

Here it comes, I thought. A local is going to want to know why I was prowling the town. 

 

A man came around the front of the van as his Australian shepherd, riding shotgun, stared at me.

 

I rolled down my window, ready with an explanation and an apology.

 

"Are you the one who picks up trash along the highway?" he asked. I nodded, realizing he must have seen  my truck parked along the highway.

 

He smiled and stuck out his hand.

 

"I've been wanting to meet you and say thanks. If you ever need anything when you're in Hope, the lady at the post office knows where I am. Anything at all," he said.

Jamesway hut, similar to Quonset huts.

I have a fondness for old Jamesways and Quonsets because my family lived in one for several years when we first came to Alaska.

POST SCRIPT:

 I drove away with a full heart and remembrances of my many visits to Hope.   My parents loved to come here to pan for gold. 

I thought of one time when I'd stubbed my little toe and was sure it was broken.   It hurt a lot.   Sitting in the back seat, I rolled down the window and stuck my foot out.   The cold air felt good and my toe didn't hurt as much.

 I sometimes bring visitors here to eat at the Seaview.   

And, Hope is one end of the Resurrection Pass Trail, which I've hiked and snowmobiled and run my dog team along.