A Vast Archipelago
The remnants of the last Ice Age are still visible in the island kingdom that stretches from Southeast Alaska all the way to Seattle and the Puget Sound. Carved by glaciers, these waterways — and their inland counterparts — have an irregular beauty or, perhaps better said, a beautiful irregularity. These islands in the sea are marked by the scour of a vast frozen mass that ground everything in its path. Only when the ice retreated was its hidden majesty revealed. There are islands in the sea.
One Very Big Island
Prince of Wales Island is the fourth largest in the U.S., after the islands of Hawaii, Kodiak and Puerto Rico. The Tongass National Forest graces the majority of its landmass. Paved roads are outmatched by the labyrinth of Forest Service roads meandering across its verdant hills, valleys and peaks. Boats and floatplanes remain the most reliable intra-island transport. Yeah, a person can really get lost up here. There’s a sea of wilderness roads.
Which partially explains why a mass murder could go so long without a viable suspect.
Even so, that’s only a partial explanation. As extractive industries, both fishing and logging attract a transient workforce. You know, make the big bucks and then leave. Or something like that. It’s the Alaska fantasy and, lacking any attachment to the place, these (mostly) men can disappear with hardly trace.
That’s something I witnessed first hand in my early teens. Let me be clear: I’m only talking about the disappearing part.
(The can still looks like 1962)
A True Story: An older cousin, who lived in the Texas panhandle, decided to venture north to Alaska with two Texas buddies. They were after adventure and fortune, not necessarily in that order. They lasted less than a month. When they stopped to visit Seattle during their hasty retreat, they left us with a case of Ranch Style Beans, their only souvenir from an adventure gone wrong. After consuming a partial can on a dare, those beans suffered the same fate. We banished the near-full case to the crawlspace beneath our house. And quickly forgot about it.
That’s not the only Alaska myth worth beating down.
The Snow Myth
Over the years, I’ve also had the opportunity to query folks on their top of mind impressions of “Alaska.” Snow. They always say, “snow.” To be sure, Alaska gets its fair share of the white stuff. But Southeast Alaska, where Prince of Wales sits, is another beast entirely. Storms coming in from the vast Pacific Ocean are relentless. When they hit the land, they turn into… Rain. Lots and lots of rain.
Between 60 and 220 inches of rain saturate the island each year. July is generally the driest month, and November is usually the wettest.
U.S. Forest Service
As a denizen of the Pacific Northwest, I will testify that a surfeit of wet can get depressing, especially among those not raised in the stuff. But it’s not just the rain.
(copyright Leland E. Hale)
It’s the grey. Grey skies, grey horizons, even the sun — greyed out. I could go on and on.
By the Deep Blue Sea
The sun is a welcome antidote. I’d venture to guess that in places where it cannot be counted upon, its sudden appearance looms as a miracle. And certainly, the green of foliage takes on a special glow when the sun it out. “Thank you,” say the trees. “We’re growing. We’re collecting and storing the sunshine. You’re welcome.”
Yeah, the green always beats the grey. Always. And Prince of Wales? A magical place, even as it harbored one of the darkest days imaginable.
Copyright Leland E. Hale, all rights reserved (2024).
Order “What Happened In Craig,” HERE and HERE. True crime from Epicenter Press about Alaska’s Worst Unsolved Mass Murder.