In a bustling shop on a central corner of downtown Haines, a shop owner told me in a hushed voice that she didn’t think my rainbow flyers would get a lot of attention in her shop … lack of foot traffic she said.  Cruise ship tourists were squeezing into the small shop around us shoulder to shoulder, after walking from the small cruise terminal on the edge of town.  Hmm… I thought I might have to give up on my search for other queer people during my first short sojourn through Haines.  Other business owners that day had given me a cold tone and declined to hang my project flyers.  I had no luck finding any LGBTQ+ groups or individuals online that were associated with Haines. The shop owner now talking with me then said in a low voice, “but let me tell you who might be able to help …” as if it were a dangerous secret, then gave me the names of two more businesses, one of which ended up being a queer-owned business. 

This small town of only 1600 people is nestled in the lush, green rainforest of southeast Alaska, on the edge of a sparkling inlet lined with dandelions, with snow covered mountains rising straight up from its waters on the other side.  The cruise ship tourists milled around, looking delighted with their surroundings.  I also enjoyed the stunning backdrops, but something in the small town speckled with a dozen active churches (and a Jehovah’s Witness hall) felt off.  How weird was it that employees at a coffee shop serving as a central hub averted their eyes when I told them about this project, saying they weren’t sure about “something like that?” 

A very small Pride sticker was in the window of the last shop I walked to.  The owner sounded emotional as she told me about the town’s tumultuous relationships with its LGBTQ+ community members.   Anyone here who was visibly queer was harassed.  Anyone who was open about their queer identities in local online forums was harassed and bullied to an alarming degree.  She found other members of the LGBTQ community in quiet ways to organize a weekly support and social group for about half a dozen regular attendees.  The group couldn’t advertise their presence with flyers or online announcements.  

The shop owner kindly suggested “maybe you should try Skagway instead?   It’s completely different than here … maybe because there’s a lot more outside influence …” in referring to the old gold mining town’s ability to dock massive cruise ships on a daily basis and host a swelling population of transient workers each summer to support the ships.  Understandably, she wasn’t sure if any queer folks in Haines would feel safe enough to be part of a project promoting visibility.   I had actually rescheduled my ferry tickets (to the state’s capital) from the Skagway port to Haines in order to make a photo session work with a trucker on a tight schedule headed towards Haines.  Haines felt like a place where I was supposed to be on this trip.  On my way back, I was grateful that two transgender women here felt safe enough to meet up for photos and share stories.  This type of visibility seemed all the more meaningful for them in a place where many of their neighbors actively pushed them into invisibility.

Juneau, Alaska

The Most Remote U.S. State Capital: You can’t get There from Here

This is the only U.S. state capital that is not connected to a mainland road system, yet found that despite the geographical isolation most of the queer people I met here were OUT, and thriving, and mostly accepted in their small city.  Juneau was also on my way north … kind of.   

Let me take you through my journey to get here for a moment.  The nearest small city to Juneau is Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory.  Drive two hours west from Whitehorse, to the next intersection to turn south.  Drive through the northwest corner of British Columbia, over a spectacular mountain range, past an expansive icy lake, stretch your legs walking up a massive black rock glacier, then cross the U.S./Canadian border nearly another 3 hours later before arriving in Haines, Alaska.  In Haines, the highway ends, but not really.  The route just continues as a 6 hour ferry ride on the Alaska Marine Highway to the capital of Juneau.  The ferry was just a cheaper version of a cruise ride for me, taking both me and my car down a long inlet lined with lush green steep misty mountains, cascading waterfalls, and waters filled with whales, sea otters, and sea birds.  Many Alaskans living in this geographically segmented part of the world found the journey commonplace as they napped in the spacious sitting areas.  I spent most of my time on the deck, not wanting to miss anything, tears springing to my eyes during my first week back in this unique state. 

A queer park ranger in the Tongass National Forest, a gorgeous and lush rainforest blanketing much of southeast Alaska, had reached out several weeks earlier, giving me the idea to stop in Juneau on the way north.  My travel schedule ended up not lining up with his work, but after SEAGLA (SouthEast Alaska LGBTQ+ Alliance) helped me with getting the word out, people sent messages from pockets all over SouthEast Alaska, many of them being in Juneau.  SouthEast Alaska is not easy to skip around on a slim budget; small towns that are wedged between high mountain ranges and the sea are mostly inaccessible by driving, and are accessible by air or boat if you have the money to get there and stay in the high priced towns.  Juneau is not a cheap city for travelers or residents, but the ferry company squeezed my car onto a small ship for a lucky, last minute stand by slot that opened, so I could car camp for a week in the epic location with no need for a hotel. 

Kelby met me for my first photo session here, warmly introducing me to their group of friends at one of their bars/hang-out spots.  My ears struggled to hear their story over the bustling bar noise, so we hopped in their antique sports car to roar a few miles up the road to Juneau’s most iconic and well known site, the Mendenhall Glacier.   12 years earlier, I was in the constant stream of cruise ship tourists making their way from the piers to Mendenhall Glacier.   This place felt so different now, and I sift through my fuzzy travel memories to figure out why.  We were here closer to sunset, and the glassy water was serene and quiet.  The hoards of cruise tourists were back on their boats.   The glacier’s massive base … also appeared a lot less massive than before, ONLY 12 years before.  Kelby talked passionately about Juneau’s constantly shifting glacial landscapes, and the shockingly rapid retreat of the massive block of ice.  

Later I pulled up my old vacation photos to compare and found these images from 2012: the same glacier spilling out into its lake, still filling the lake with icebergs in the middle of August.

Kelby’s clear passion for their adopted town set the tone for the rest of my week here.  They had truly found their queer community here and their personal journey blossomed in this place.  Queer workers who come here sometimes don’t leave this more temperate corner of Alaska, finding a beautifully, welcoming LGBTQ community and Allies.  Long time locals who grew up with these magnificent landscapes still shared in Kelby’s fascination with the land, and also warmly welcomed the revolving door of travelers and more transient residents.  They all create a vibrant LGBTQ scene that includes drag shows, caberet shows, queer friendly clothing exchanges, many businesses signaling their inclusiveness with pride flags, and simply being able to visibly thrive anywhere they want to in this city.

My last day in Juneau, I reluctantly packed up my cheap campsite that sat next to a peaceful cove frequented by dolphins and bald eagles every day.  After splurging on a hot meal in town, stood on the docks looking at the cruise ships that dwarfed the five story buildings near the water.  Three different tourists that morning asked how I liked living there, and asked if I would take their photo.  A camera hanging on my own neck didn’t seem to cue them into the fact that I was also passing through; perhaps I looked too disheveled in my camping outfit, or just too unrushed, to pass as a frenzied cruise ship tourist. On this second trip back north, I still felt at home here, in this city that was new to me, and in this state that I was already familiar with.  I couldn’t wait to spend another summer here, getting more acquainted with one of my favorite “homes” in the world. 

Thank you for being here on this journey with me! Keep me company on my next stops traveling Alaska’s central road system, starting at the southern end in Homer – a town I’ll call a haven at the end of the road.

May 2023