tep out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of Octo

Often people ask what my favorite destination was in our sailboat travels. After twenty-five years, I still never vacillate. Why did I love the archipelago of S.E. Alaska so? I cannot begin to say precisely. It was everything; it was nothing. It was the beginning of a new adventure. It was the last frontier. All I know is the two years my husband and I spent aboard our sailboat in Alaska have kept Alaska on my mind.

I have often wondered if my husband, Tom, and I had first seen the tiny town of Wrangell in pouring rain if we’d have been quite so taken with it. Approaching Wrangell from the sea is like approaching a magic island. Set at the mouth of the Stikine River, the settlement nestles at the foot of towering snow-capped mountains on the mainland behind it. We studied the town for some time through binoculars as we approached and could see virtually no movement.

We entered the silent harbor, tied to the transient dock and meandered up the dusty little road to town. The streets were mostly deserted in the early evening hours, and we were enthralled by the prevailing hush. We walked the length of the town three or four times laughing and talking quietly, for it seemed inappropriate to make any exuberant noises. The little settlement looked like it had sprung straight out of the old west. The buildings all had western style facades, and I kept expecting Gary Cooper or James Arness to step out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of Octob

d I spent aboard our sailboat in Alaska have kept Alaska on my mind.

I have often wondered if my husband, Tom, and I had first seen the tiny town of Wrangell in pouring rain if we’d have been quite so taken with it. Approaching Wrangell from the sea is like approaching a magic island. Set at the mouth of the Stikine River, the settlement nestles at the foot of towering snow-capped mountains on the mainland behind it. We studied the town for some time through binoculars as we approached and could see virtually no movement.

We entered the silent harbor, tied to the transient dock and meandered up the dusty little road to town. The streets were mostly deserted in the early evening hours, and we were enthralled by the prevailing hush. We walked the length of the town three or four times laughing and talking quietly, for it seemed inappropriate to make any exuberant noises. The little settlement looked like it had sprung straight out of the old west. The buildings all had western style facades, and I kept expecting Gary Cooper or James Arness to step out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of Octo

the foot of towering snow-capped mountains on the mainland behind it. We studied the town for some time through binoculars as we approached and could see virtually no movement.

We entered the silent harbor, tied to the transient dock and meandered up the dusty little road to town. The streets were mostly deserted in the early evening hours, and we were enthralled by the prevailing hush. We walked the length of the town three or four times laughing and talking quietly, for it seemed inappropriate to make any exuberant noises. The little settlement looked like it had sprung straight out of the old west. The buildings all had western style facades, and I kept expecting Gary Cooper or James Arness to step out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of Octo

ere enthralled by the prevailing hush. We walked the length of the town three or four times laughing and talking quietly, for it seemed inappropriate to make any exuberant noises. The little settlement looked like it had sprung straight out of the old west. The buildings all had western style facades, and I kept expecting Gary Cooper or James Arness to step out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of Octo

tep out and draw his weapon. We were ready to stop traveling for awhile, and Wrangell had the right feel, so we spent a week se curing moorage and jobs. Tom got hired at the boat yard, and I eventually found employment at the mill.

The beautiful weather we had experienced since our arrival in S.E. quickly passed, and the monsoons of October began. We had always believed that the Oregon Coast was the rainiest place in the world until we saw the rains of Wrangell. Overnight large skiffs in the harbor filled and sank. We walked the docks and saw the bows sticking up, held secure only by strained mooring lines. It was incredible, and still it rained. We quickly acquired Alaska tennies (high topped rubber boots) and we watched the deluge in awe. Could there possibly be this much rain in the world? Surely the rest of the world must be having a drought.

November 7th the rains ceased and the snow began. Enchanted by the winter wonderland effect the white beauty of the snow performed on the little town, in a siege of enthusiasm we ordered cross-country skis from the local catalogue store.

We skied around town now after dinner, going over what we would in the spring find out were people’s fences, staircases, gardens, and garbage cans. The streets were deserted, and we would glide along breathing in the clean, crisp air, looking for likely objects to ski over.

And now the weather grew so cold the harbor began to freeze. Our pumps froze, bilge lines froze, even our bed froze. Nightly as we crawled into our bed I saw a line of ice slowly building along the hull by the mattress. Some nights the sheets would be frozen to the hull, and I’d have to jerk them free. It slowly and continually grew, and I studied the encroaching ice, v