One of the towering totem poles in Totem Pole Park (top), a site where the Tlingit natives defended their land against the Russians.

Story and photos by Jeff Gielow

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Alaska is truly the great expansion. Alaska is awe-inspiring, from its majestic mountains covered with foliage, snow and isolated lakes, to the sky that is never-ending and fresh, to its rivers and bays teeming with life. I remember seeing bald eagles as often as pigeons in the city, seeing seals in the harbor outnumbering the boats, and salmon the height of a shovel and the width of a pillow. In Alaska everything is larger than life as I knew it, and its impact is as grand as its beauty.

I was 15 when I first traveled to the town of Sitka, on a church youth mission trip to work in Sheldon Jackson College. I was a punk rocker with a bleached mohawk and an adolescent temper. Our church had planned this trip for more than a year with numerous fundraisers to pay for our airfare. We were to receive free room and board from the college in exchange for our mental and physical labor around the campus and town. My main objective was to liberate myself from my parents’ house and rules for one of the first extended periods in my life.

This past summer, almost seven years later, I had the chance to travel back to the wet fishing town, but this time as a tourist, not a laborer. It was summer and my folks and I were trying to decide what to do for our vacation. It had been a few years since we had gone on a formal trip, so the family felt it was time.

I was at home by myself in the afternoon, thinking about what activities I would partake in that night, when my dad called and said, “How would you like to go on a two-week cruise to Alaska?” I was stunned at the proposition, but I remember being more excited with the chance to visit the great expanse of Alaska again.

Sitka is a small town that rests on the outside waters of the Inside Passage, on the west coast of Baranof Island facing the Pacific Ocean. It was founded more than 9,000 years ago by ancestors of the Tlingit people, pronounced t’clin kit. The name Sitka comes from the native word Shee Atika, meaning “people on the side of Shee (sea),” used to describe themselves and their location on the western coast of the island. There is also a major Russian influence from St. Michael’s Cathedral, the Russian Orthodox church that stands in the center of town, on the title of the island, which is named after Alexander Baranof, who established a fort in Sitka around 1799. Sitka was also once the home of the capital for Russian Americans, before Alaska was sold to the United States in 1867.

Evidence of these founding cultures is still present, though somewhat scattered throughout the town, but fishing is what brings everyone together. When I first traveled there I met numerous young adults who had traveled from all over the country by train or plane to fish the waters of Alaska. They explained to me that they would be able to pay for a round-trip ticket, food and as much alcohol as they could drink with the money they had made on the boats. At the end of the season they would use the last of their money to go back home.

The school I was working at, Sheldon Jackson College, had an emphasis in fisheries. The school was founded in 1962 and currently has only 12 full-time faculty. Their fishery laboratories, however, are extensive. The laboratory is placed near the ocean so they can collect spawning salmon for research. One of our jobs during my mission work was to collect these huge salmon from a concrete water chamber 6 feet deep and hurl them to the deck, where others of us would be waiting with hammers, Louisville Sluggers, and sticks. It was their job to then strike the fish above the eye, in an attempt to restrain the 20-pound fish from flopping back down the chamber. I remember standing on the deck with a small baseball bat in my hand and feeling powerful, almost god-like. By taking these strong, determined fish and stripping them of their life, I felt I was in control.

When I returned to the laboratory seven years later, I saw the deck where the carnage had occurred and felt different. I thought back to laughing, hitting, and smashing, and felt disturbed that I could be so maliciously violent. Was it done in the name of science? I had still participated and felt no remorse until confronted face to face with my past.

When I was in Alaska on the cruise, I learned a lot about the salmon and was amazed by its yearly struggle to spawn upstream and mate. These animals were more than a convenient package of soft, pink meat wrapped in a slimy, scaly exterior. They were fighters, survivors, and filled with the call of the wild.

Passengers on the cruise ship (bottom) view the majestic Alaskan mountains while traveling through the Inside Passage.

It may sound funny that a fish could seem so admirable, but when confronted with evidence of their struggle, one cannot help but feel inspired to continue trying, no matter what the obstacles ahead may be.

I remember strolling in the Totem Pole Park, which is situated in a rainforest and stretches along the shore. It is also the site of the infamous Battle of Sitka, where the Tlingit natives defended their land for the last time against the Russians. The narrow dirt pathway winds around trees and over mounds of fertile soil. The park is dimly lit because of the few light rays allowed in by the dominating canopy overhead. When walking down in the trees one is almost unaware of the foliage above, filled with squawking ravens and the silent, ominous bald eagles. Everything is colorful, even the brown dirt seems to be filled with movement and life. Different shades of green moss engulf the trees from their roots up to as far on the trunk as I could see. It is in this forest that the summertime fisherman stay, and also where many salmon make their run up the river.

As I crossed the arching bridge I noticed rocks in the water that appeared to be waving slightly. I did not know if it was an illusion created by the water or the magic that is felt all through Alaska. As I examined this fluid rock I realized that it was not a mineral, but a gigantic fish that must have been 3 inches too tall for the river and about the size of a loaf of sourdough. The salmon was muscling its way upstream, and appeared to me to be almost stagnant against the current. As I watched, I noticed it did make slow progress upriver, inching its way toward the goal, running on instinctual drive and persistence. I saw other fish in the river that were literally decomposing while alive, yet they still continued to fight with the water. These fish had a mission to survive to continue existence, and nothing, not water, predators, disease, or fatigue, could stop their struggle to continue.

I realized as I watched these animals that I could use them as an example of my life and how it had changed. I was once young, hard-headed and rebellious.

Now I have focus in my life, to concentrate on the good aspects and try to fix the negative ones. My experience with the salmon in Alaska helped reinforce my ideal of never giving up; to get what you desire, no matter how difficult the road, or river ahead may appear to be.