The long road to Alaska, a story of letting go and discovering - from Juneau to Haines:
Between ice and stories: a journey through fjords, fishing villages and memories that linger.
In this fourth part of the Alaska series, we travel from Juneau to Haines. Discover disappearing glaciers, a town that doesn't quite add up, and a village that feels like coming home. With encounters along the way, from sea lions to grizzly bears.
Arrival in Juneau – Rain, museum and first impressions
We arrived in Juneau under grey skies. The same rain that had seen us off from Wrangell greeted us again as we docked. Although the drive to Spruce Meadow RV Park was short, the sense of arriving in a capital city was lacking. Juneau is not a city that reveals itself immediately. After doing some shopping at Safeway, we headed to the State Museum in the city centre.
The museum was small but well organised. A temporary photo exhibition on whales immediately caught our attention, but it was the permanent collections on Alaska's indigenous peoples that made the biggest impression. The division into regions — Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian in the southeast, Athabascan in the interior, Aleut in the southwest, and Inuit along the coast — helped us to understand a culture that had intrigued us for some time. I was surprised to learn that Inuit culture was not limited to the far north but also included parts of the south coast.
The artefacts were beautiful, but despite being praised in travel guides, we found the museum shop disappointing. We had hoped to find authentic pieces, but we only found touristy souvenirs. Nevertheless, the visit was worthwhile. It gave us our first glimpse of Juneau: a historic city with a certain elusiveness. We returned to the campsite with mixed feelings. Although the welcome was warm, the city itself remained distant.
Tracy Arm Fjords – Icebergs, seals and silence
Our day trip to Tracy Arm got off to a confusing start. We thought we had booked with Goldbelt Tours, but it turned out that we were with Adventure Bound, which was fortunate because, according to our hostess, it was the better choice. The boat left at 8 a.m., and we were lucky with the weather: it was crisp, clear and dry. While most passengers settled inside, Didier and I, as usual, opted for the deck. We were wrapped up warm, as the temperature was barely 8°C.
The fjord slowly unfolded before us. First came the small icebergs, then the larger, sky-blue, whimsically shaped ones. Steve, our captain, skilfully navigated the boat between the floating blocks. The creaking of ice against the hull sounded ominous – the Titanic disaster briefly came to mind – but Steve remained calm. After one final turn, the Southern Sawyer Glacier loomed before us like a wall of ice. The engine was shut down, leaving only the impressive silence. Only the sounds of falling ice, flowing water, and crumbling rocks filled the air.
Dozens of seals lay on the ice floes with their pups. It was a wonderful, peaceful yet vulnerable sight. Steve told us that the glacier had receded by around 600 metres in just three years. The effects of climate change were visible and tangible here. We sailed on to the less imposing, yet still impressive, Northern Sawyer Glacier.
On the way back, we spotted an eagle perched on an iceberg and even a brown bear along the coast. By six o'clock, we were back in the harbour, tired but impressed. It was a day that made us feel small in a good way.
Mendenhall Glacier – Summer sun and melting ice
After spending the morning dealing with laptop problems, we decided to drive to the Mendenhall Glacier, which was just a few kilometres from the campsite. It was surprisingly warm at 29 degrees Celsius, and the car park was full. Children were splashing around in shallow pools of glacier water, some even wearing swimsuits. Gaia and Alessio tested the water and found it to be 'just a little warmer than water from a garden hose'. This turned out to be enough for an afternoon of fun in the Alaskan sunshine.
De gletsjer zelf was minder indrukwekkend dan de Sawyer-gletsjers, maar toch de moeite waard. Ook hier was de terugtrekking zichtbaar. Boven de Mendenhall hing een zogenaamde “hanging glacier”, een ijsmassa die abrupt stopt en als een muur boven het landschap hangt. We wilden een langere wandeling maken, maar de vermoeidheid van de dag ervoor zat nog in ons lijf. We kozen voor een korte trail en reden daarna naar downtown Juneau.
South Franklin Street has a charming historic feel, but it is overrun with tourists from cruise ships. Most of the buildings have been converted into souvenir shops. In one of those shops, I saw a beautiful birch wood bowl, but it was rather expensive. When I heard that the artist was from Haines, however, I decided to wait. After all, we would be there tomorrow.
From city to village – Juneau versus Haines
We left Juneau with mixed feelings. While the city has a rich history and beautiful natural surroundings, it is also bustling with tourists, which is difficult to ignore. The atmosphere felt impersonal, as if the focus was entirely on the ships that dock there daily. Haines, on the other hand, felt different immediately. It is smaller and quieter, and the view leaves you speechless.
On the way, the ferry took us past the Mendenhall, Eagle and Herbert Glaciers. The Herbert Glacier caught our attention, with its three glacier streams converging, visible by the double moraine stripes in the ice. Along the way, we saw a sea lion on a buoy and a pod of Dall's porpoises. Then, unexpectedly, we saw a pod of orcas. One of them jumped out of the water, which was a moment I had been hoping for a long time. Didier managed to take a photo, which was far away but still served as proof.
The majestic white-tailed eagle – stories of strength and protection
During the journey to Haines, a National Forest Service ranger gave a fascinating presentation about bald eagles. She began with an intriguing question: 'How much is a bald eagle worth to you?' In 1917, the answer would have been just 55 pence. However, by 1940, the population had declined so sharply that the Bald Eagle Protection Act was introduced. Remarkably, this law did not apply to Alaska at the time, where hunting continued. This changed later, and today they are protected everywhere. Anyone caught in possession of any part of a bald eagle risks a fine of up to $5,000 and a year in prison, even for a first offence. What about my dream of one day finding an eagle feather? Not a good idea, then.
The ranger explained that bald eagles continue to expand their nests, which can become enormous. The largest known nest is in South Florida and is 2.9 metres wide and 6 metres high! An eagle lays one to three eggs over the course of several days. The first chick to hatch is fed first and therefore grows faster. When food is scarce, the older chick can even push the younger one out of the nest — it's pure natural selection. After two and a half to three months, the chicks are fully grown, but they do not get their characteristic adult plumage until they are five years old.
The ranger had some impressive items on display: an eagle's wing with a wingspan larger than her arm, a leg as big as her hand and a cast of a surprisingly small skull. The eye sockets were enormous in relation to the skull – if our proportions were the same, our eyes would be the size of an orange. And did you know? Bald eagles can live for 30 to 35 years in the wild. So, how much is an eagle worth to you? I looked up at the sky and knew the answer.
Haines – Art, coffee and conversations that linger
We arrived in Haines at half past eight in the evening. The campsite itself was basic – just a car park overlooking the bay – but the setting was spectacular. There were white houses on a hill, snowy mountain peaks all around, and a peace and quiet that we had not found in Juneau. Didier and I took an evening stroll to the fishing harbour, where we took photos of the fishing boats in the soft light.
The next morning, we strolled through the village. We drank coffee in a local bakery, ate doughnuts, and observed the rhythm of the residents' lives. Everyone seemed to know each other. Yet the young woman behind the counter was stressed – a reminder that stress finds its way even into the most beautiful surroundings.
My mission was to find John Norton's birch wood bowl. I got his phone number through the visitor centre and found his crafts in a local smokehouse and cannery. The bowl was twenty dollars cheaper than in Juneau, so I bought it immediately, along with a matching ulu knife with a handle made of local marble stone.
The smoked salmon and halibut that we tasted on site were sublime: subtly smoked, juicy, and easy to digest.
Later, we visited 'Far North', a gallery selling original Inuit art. The owner, an American from Atlanta, told us that he was closing his shop because he could no longer live in his own country. His story touched me. He spoke of political frustration, a lack of openness and feelings of alienation. We bought a doll made by a female artist from St. Lawrence Island and arranged for it to be shipped straight to Belgium, complete with a base made of fossilised whale bone, which is banned in Canada.
Along the Chilkat – Eagles, ideals and a breaking sun
After lunch, we set off for Haines Junction via the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve. We were hoping to see eagles, but we didn't. The road slowly climbed to Chilkat Pass, where fog and rain limited the view. However, a few kilometres further on at the Yukon border, the cloud cover broke. The light danced between wisps of fog, over the mountain slopes, and across the ice and flowers. The effect was indescribably beautiful — a moment you'll never forget.
We stopped at a field full of purple flowers. While trying to photograph them, I stepped in fresh bear droppings – a reminder of how close the grizzly bears are at any moment. A little later, we saw a grizzly by the roadside, eating dandelion seeds. Didier wanted to get out of the car, but I stopped him. The bear was too close. We stayed in the car, took photos and drove on.
The road to Haines Junction was deserted but breathtakingly beautiful. The mountains of Kluane National Park dominated the landscape. We arrived at around seven o'clock, set our clocks forward by an hour and noticed that the long days were beginning to disrupt our sleep patterns. At one o'clock in the morning, it was still light. Alaska doesn't let you go easily, not even in your dreams.
