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The Upper Dewey
By Milt Abel | July 12, 2008
| July 12, 2008Skagway, Alaska is a small town. Even by the standards of someone who already lives in a small town, it’s small. Maybe ten to twelve blocks will hold all that’s built there. That doesn’t stop it from having an airport. I flew out of Skagway once, and it’s a singular experience.
It was probably tens years ago so I don’t recall which cruise line had me routed out of Skagway for the short hop to Juneau then down to the lower forty-eight, or what the name of the airline was that flew me –it had to be something casual and provincial, like ‘Ed’s Plane.’ When you check in at this airport they take your luggage and say, “Okay, we’ll come get you.” You are free to walk around downtown and when the plane is about to take off they send a car looking for you in those ten to twelve blocks and they gather you up and bring you back to the airport. Really. This was my experience about a decade ago. With 9/11 that may have changed some, but it couldn’t have changed much because if you’re assigned the same seat I got when I flew out, searching you for possible weapons is mute point: I sat right next to the pilot in the cockpit and could have reached over and strangled him, forget the box cutter.
On that flight a decade ago there were three passengers –there was only room for three; two sat in back and I rode up front next to the pilot. And let me relate the entire conversation transmitted over the radio between the pilot and the tower and ground personal:
“Okay, let’s go.”
That was it. No runway assignments, no check to clear of oncoming traffic, no permissions; just, ‘we’re leaving.’ It was a little Cessna and as we lifted and bumped about I didn’t know what to grab for to steady myself, all the controls of the plane were crowded right in front of me. I was afraid in my mad pawing I’d set the brake, or lower a flap and send us into a tailspin and the pilot would have to remove my hand with an icy, “Do you mind?”
This trip to Skagway I set myself on a different adventure; I was going to hike to the Upper Dewey Lake. They call it the Upper Dewey because there’s also a Lower Dewey. An upper and a lower just like upper and lower teeth, only less saliva. The hike to the Lower Dewey is a pleasant and mildly exerting hike, you walk up a series of switchbacks that takes you up 500 feet from the town and empties into a small reservoir and then the Lower Dewey immediately behind. The hike to the Upper Dewey Lake is a beast that should be feared, very feared.
For my age, I’m in shape. I can run a 5K on any given day, and on most weeks of the year I’ll run a couple of them. The hike to the Upper Dewey is three miles each way and you climb 3100 feet. It’s pretty much like climbing stairs for three miles. Three miles! And do I need to mention you have to come back down? It was without a doubt the hardest physical thing I’ve accomplished since disassembling Pangaea and setting the continents adrift.
I reached the level of exhaustion where you begin wondering things like; will I make to the top, and how much will the helicopter evacuation cost? As I rested more and more frequently on the climb and looked up the trail for what lay ahead and saw over and over the same steep, rock and root trail I had just covered I found myself saying out loud, “Oh, come on!” Like my perturbed tone would cause the mountain to regret, and cordially level itself out some.
I made it to the Upper Dewey. It was vanity that allowed it to happen. I told the other entertainers on board the Serenade of the Seas I was going to do it, so I had to. I made it by giving myself small goals of just getting to the next switchback, then reconvening the planning committee halfway to that switchback when I needed time to sit and think about more realistic short-term goals.
It was exhausting going up and painful coming down. You have to lower yourself from rock to rock, sometimes the trail can be walked but mostly it’s climbing then lowering. You don’t lock your knees much at all for over four hour, so your thighs begin to tell you as loud as they can, “Enough!” Plus, my shoes were suddenly much tighter in the toes than I remember and after an hour of your weight cramming them into the inside limits of your shoes your only salve is the thankful thought you didn’t attempt this in high heels.
I made it up and back. The view was beautiful but I was too exhausted to tranquilly enjoy it. I got back to the ship on wobbly legs and had a late lunch and fell asleep. Was it worth it? Only for the bragging rights. And the costs of the hike continue; it’s two days later and I now have Olympic speed-skater thighs and they strain the fabric of my pants like and irritated Bruce Banner.
Topics: comedy, travel | 1 Comment »
June 14th, 2009 at 1:11 am
I feel your pain. I did the same walk on my own just over a week ago whilst visiting Skagway for the day on a cruiseliner. The top part of the walk was snow and slush and mud. The lake was frozen and picturesque but by the time I got there I was too exhausted to really take it all in. I fell in the snow and heard a faint ‘crack’, then my wrist started to swell. I had to do the descent with my one good hand. I slipped, slid and cursed my way back down the mountain, ruined a good pair of shoes and couldn’t walk for 3 days.