When Seattle is Just Too Sunny ...
Written: Oct 06 '02 (Updated Oct 09 '02)
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Pros: Rain. Beautiful downtown. Zero-cruiseship days.
Cons: Rain. Sprawl. Five-cruiseship days.
The Bottom Line: North America's best guarantee of near-perpetual rain. An endearing, historically rich town. For best service, look slightly worried.
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| Urbanist's Full Review: Juneau |
Here's a refreshing thought. If you just can't stand your weather at the moment, go to any of the many online weather services (Yahoo, AOL, Excite, etc.) and type in "99801". I did it just now, and got four-of-a-kind. Four days of rain, the forecast said, but a chance of sun on the fifth day. I wonder if the fifth-day forecast, always a wild guess, is inserted at the behest of the Chamber of Commerce, just to sustain hope.
The closer you look at a Juneau weather forecast, the more alarming it gets. Downtown Juneau, the most walkable, historic, and endearing part of the city, gets over 100 inches of rain a year, about twice what falls in supposedly rainy Portland and Seattle. But over and over, forecasts tell of "up to 1/4 inch of rain" in each rainy day. You do the math. If it rains 1/4 inch a day, but gets to 100 inches in a year, it must be raining or snowing, well, pretty much all the time. Even assuming that it rains every day, a mere 1/4 inch per day is behind the pace for hitting the annual target.
But actually, it doesn't rain ALL the time. In May of this year I witnessed two sunny days -- all the sunnier because it's sunny late into the evening in that season. In May I could do a long hike even after a day at work, because it stays light until 10:00 or later.
These rare clear days reveal a city hugging both sides of a shallow channel. On all sides, steep mountains plummet into the sea, leaving only small patches of buildable ground. In many places, it's only two horizontal miles from the sea-level channel to a permanent glacier at 4000 feet. And it's no distance at all to "timberline", which is around 2000 feet elevation here.
Here, then, is the classic spectacle of extreme topography plus water. From the high glaciers, rivulets drop silently through the thousands of feet down almost-vertical channels. A short hike will take you to fine roaring waterfalls. And thanks to the low timberline, a slightly longer hike (or a ride on the Mt. Roberts tram) will set you on genuine alpine tundra just above the city.
All this spectacle rewards even the dayhiker, thanks to the short distances and the most extensive trail network in Southeast Alaska. But Juneau also meets the needs of the sedentary. Just a few feet above sea level, at the end of a nice paved road about four miles from the airport, a glacier comes right down to greet you. Mendenhall Glacier, the most visited tourist attraction in Alaska, is a haunting place if you're there alone. But with tourists present it all becomes sort of amusing. It's as though one of these giant ice-masses, otherwise confined to high peaks around the city, has been hauled down to sea-level and tamed for public consumption, like a polar bear at the zoo.
Of course, it's only the constant pounding of tourists, hauled by the busload from the cruiseships, that gives this impression. Mendenhall Glacier is doing its own thing, just like the many sea-level glaciers at more remote spots like Glacier Bay and Tracy Arm. However, like all glaciers, it's retreating fast under the battering of global warming, and will be much less spectacular in as little as a decade. Only one of the worries that you'll catch in the air if you meet the natives in this very worried town.
But if you come as a tourist for a short stay, the odds are you won't see any of this magnificence, because the odds are it will be raining. You CAN see the Mendenhall Glacier in the rain -- the trails come right up to it -- and there are indoor pleasures such as the State Museum that invite you on such days. In the end, though, you'll have to either walk the town in the rain or huddle indoors thinking that you should have stayed home. Obviously, I suggest the former.
Summer is no guarantee of clear weather. In fact, August in Juneau is a near-perfect imitation of January in Seattle: Clouds so low and heavy that they seem to press down on you, views of nothing more than 50 feet away, and of course, the rain.
And yet rain hardly describes it. There are many kinds of rain, of course, as well as many kinds of just-about-to-rain and just-after-a-rain. In one hour, I catalogued about 30 different kinds, varying in intensity, angle, and sheer mood. Pre-contact Juneau was certainly an abundant place for the Haida, and I'm sure that the many kinds of rain, like the many kinds of snow further north, offered a range of subtleties that we can only begin to grasp. Perhaps children learned, as they still do, to go play outside because after all, it's only raining a little.
As you might imagine, wetlands are abundant in Juneau. Indeed, "wetland" seems a redundant term. One guidebook to Southeast Alaska states that when using the word "terrestrial" they mean "occasionally free of standing water." Juneau, then, is terrestrial only on its steepest slopes, or on one of those rare sunny days.
So face it: If it's Juneau, and it's not snowing, it's probably raining. My advice is to get some good knee-high waders and go hiking anyway. After all, one of the most delightful rain sensations is the staccato pattering of a gradual rain on the broad, soft leaves of the vine maple and salmonberry; at the right frequency, it can sound like the whole forest is thinking ...
If you stay at a hotel downtown, you'll find several spectacular trailheads within walking distance. An easy one is the climb to Mt. Roberts, especially because if you chicken out, the Mt. Roberts tramway is there, partway up the mountain, to take you back down. Sometimes, if you persevere, the Mt. Roberts trail will take you right through the lower cloud layer and you'll burst into the brightness of -- well, another cloud layer, probably, but a higher one that will let more light in, so that you can see the rain better.
FLORA AND FAUNA
Business goes on as usual in the forests, of course, whether it's raining or just-done-raining or just-about-to-rain. Animals that are big attractions in the lower-48 are no-big-deal here. Bears have been known to wander into downtown, loitering on the steps of the Capitol, and you'll certainly see one if you get much into the forest or tundra. You'll see porcupines, bald eagles, and lots of ravens. (Not crows: Crows caw, ravens croak.)
If you notice plants, you may be disappointed, at least until you adjust your expectations. You are at the north end of an ecoregion -- the Pacific temperate rainforest -- that extends south to the redwoods of California. And while northern lands offer much to fascinate, you'll be reminded of that near-universal principle of biology: all other things being equal, species diversity goes up as you go toward the equator (i.e. south for the Northern Hemisphere mind). The closer you get to the poles, the fewer species you'll find.
Go north from San Francisco along the coast, and the southern end of our rainforest belt offers not just redwoods, but many other species: douglas-fir, red fir, grand fir, various "cedars", Sitka spruce, and many kinds of pine. The understory is equally diverse. But as you go north, species reach their northern limits and disappear: the redwoods in southern Oregon, the red fir near Eugene. The douglas-fir, giant among Portland-Seattle area conifers, falls away in British Columbia. So by the time we get to Juneau, we have Sitka spruce, Alaska yellow-cedar, and, well, that's about it. Understory plants, likewise, are a small subset of what grows further south; few are unique to Southeast Alaska.
But even if the species are familar, the plants can still surprise you. Remove competition, and plants behave differently. In May, for example, the forest floor is covered with little bright yellow flags that look like surveyors-stakes. It's skunk cabbage, familar further south, but much more prominent and comical when it's the only thing coming up through mile after mile of brown duff. Alaska yellow cedar -- also native well south into Washington -- is far more dramatic when its yellow-green is the only contrast to the dull greyed-green of Sitka spruce, the ubiquitous conifer of the region.
TOURISTS, AND HOW NOT TO BE ONE
Though it was built on mining, and was also a fishing and timber center in its time, Juneau today has two major industries: government and tourism.
In summer, the cruise ships are Juneau's economic lifeline. Up to five giant ships can dock at once, an ensemble of colossal buildings on the water that dwarfs the cozy downtown. Natives plan their business around the ships, avoiding downtown on five-boat days but saving their business for a quieter one- or two-boat day.
David Foster Wallace's hilarious essay on cruise ships ("A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" in a collection of the same title) observes that there is something inescapably bovine about any large numbers of tourists in an unfamiliar place. When cruising toward the equator, of course, the norteamericanos can't help but stand out amid whatever culture they're in. But on cruises to Alaska, it's easier for a cruise ship passenger to blend in. Most of them suit up at North Face or Patagonia or REI, so that when they emerge into Juneau's rain, they're dressed pretty much like locals, though perhaps a little more heavily.
Still the locals can pick them out:
1. they're lost
2. the women have complex hairstyles that just don't last in the rain, and
3. most of all, they don't look especially worried, even when sober.
So here's a tip. If you don't want to stand out as a tourist, try to look a little worried.
Why worry? Well, you can probably work up a worry about whether the rain will cancel your excursion to see the glaciers at Tracy Arm (it won't, but you won't see much). You can fret over the high prices that the cruise ships charge to haul you out to Mendenhall Glacier. You can worry that a power outage -- routine in Juneau -- will catch you halfway up the Mount Roberts tramway. But I recommend picking up a local newspaper so that you can immerse yourself in local worries. Worry that the Mendenhall Glacier is receding so fast that it won't lure tourists for much longer. Or best of all, join the natives in a worry that's gone on for 20 years, but which seems freshly worrisome with each new dawn: the capital move.
Juneau, the capital of Alaska, has no connections to the Alaskan mainland except by air, and twice a month or so by sea. Juneau has roads, but they don't connect to the continent's road network. In short, Juneau is a difficult and expensive place for Alaskans to get to. Most mainland Alaskans I know have never been there.
As a result, relatively few eyes are on the Legislature as they do their business. You can't really have a proper rally on the Capitol steps when you have to fly your crowd in from Anchorage at $600 each. Besides, the Capitol, which is smaller than most lower-48 courthouses, has only about four steps, after which you're in the street, where it's raining. And since the street in front of the Capitol is barely two lanes wide, it's hard for the press to get a good camera angle anyway.
A nice situation for Legislators, really, but an obvious nuisance for Alaskans who live up on the mainland. So for decades, Alaska has pondered a proposal to move the capital to a more central location, a sunnier spot of real estate a bit north of Anchorage. Once again this fall, Alaskans will vote on this scheme, though the costs of such a massive project are always a deterrent. Even if this year's measure passes, it's unlikely that the capital will move anytime soon. What's certain, though, is that Juneau will continue to fret about it. During my visit this summer, some community leaders talked as though their city was about to become a ghost town -- unlikely even if the State departed at once, perhaps airlifted out under cover of darkness.
PLEASURES OF JUNEAU
So how to enjoy Juneau without being a tourist? May I suggest:
1. Arrive by air or ferry, not on a cruise ship. The zero-boat days are magical in Juneau. Natives sometimes even quit worrying for the day.
2. Climb the hill downtown, at least to Fourth Street. I recommend this not just to see the amusing micro-Capitol building, but also because you'll encounter local-oriented businesses, and if you go further, you'll be in Juneau's most charming historic neighborhood, which clings to the slope just above downtown. Walk the stairways that connect the steeply terraced streets.
3. Check out the State Museum. I saw only the beginning of it before the power went out, but it looked promising ...
4. Drive north, toward the End of the Road, or out to the west side of Douglas Island. Annual rainfall here is only about 60 inches compared to 100 downtown, so you might catch a glimpse of one of the huge mountain ranges to the north.
5. Drink, if you drink, but don't start if you don't. As in Russia, and for similar reasons, alcoholism is rampant in Alaska. But if you know your limits, many of the bars are lively and fun, and it's usually not raining inside. The Triangle Inn seems to have an especially nice balance, perhaps because it's near the most pleasant hotel, the Silverbow (see my review)
6. Watch the rain. Really watch it. Notice how a plumb-vertical rain and a breeze-driven diagonal shower can seem to occupy the same space at the same time. Get other senses involved, too. Rain has many smells and sounds, depending on what it strikes and at what angle. And if you're fortunate to have no hair, forget the hat or umbrella; rain on a bare pate strikes with the surprise and subtlety of a good masseur.
Sure it's raining, or just-finished-raining, or just-about-to-rain. Dress for it, though -- as you must throughout Southeast Alaska -- and you'll come home knowing more about rain than you ever thought there was to know. Invent your own 30 words for different kinds of rain. Get the kids involved. Fun for the whole family. Just remember: however much fun you're having, try to look a little worried in public.
Recommended:
Yes
Best Suited For: Couples
Best Time to Travel Here: Mar - May
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Epinions.com ID:
Urbanist
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Location: San Francisco
Reviews written: 78
Trusted by: 72 members
About Me:
Streetwise, academically credentialed gay renaissance man. For real bio, click "more" in profile.
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