Heather Lende
Haines, Alaska - June 13, 2000
Too much of a good thing -- and all in my front yard
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The ship was greeted by volunteers dressed in costumes reflecting the town's heritage and natural wonders – a can-can girl and an eagle.
While the passengers made the most of Haines, the captain and crew walked up the hill to the Greggs'. There are three Gregg households on the site of the former Fort Seward, a turn-of-the-century Army base that overlooks the dock and Portage Cove. This pioneering family settled at the post after World War II and three generations of Greggs still live here.
These informal gatherings moved across green lawns from one wide front porch to another, with appetizers at one house, dinner at another, and desert at yet another Fort Seward home. They were perfect summer evenings, with children tumbling on the parade field and dogs licking scraps off the porch floors. Sometimes the ship would stay later than its 10 p.m. departure time because the crew was having so much fun.
After the sawmill closed for good in 1986, we voted to turn the old Army dock into a first-class cruise ship facility. It was such a simple way to improve the economy. A ship ties up to the dock, and the folks get off and take a float trip down the river or a flight over Glacier Bay. They pay to see the Chilkat Indian Dancers, walk around town buying ice cream cones souvenirs, and then they leave.
But the old ships held an average of 350 people and only came to town once or twice a week. These new ships carry 2,000 to 3,000 and come almost every afternoon. That's a lot considering Haines and the surrounding area have only about 2,400 residents.
Driving the children to school on the first cruise ship morning of the year, I passed a steady stream of tourists walking through my neighborhood toward my house, which is separated from town by a big hill and about a mile and a half of road. They were there in addition to the regular bike, antique car, and bus tours. It was like a parade.
When I got back home the entrance to my driveway was full of them. They were even petting my dogs. I had to ease in between people and trees, thankful that my house was hidden from view. I had reached tourists overload and it was only May.
The next week when the same ship arrived, people were on both sides of my house – my back yard is on the road, my front yard on the beach. I stepped out on the deck with my morning coffee only to be greeted by a friendly couple who smiled, waved, and said I had a lovely home. I should have said hello, just to be polite, but was appalled.
I ran inside and called city hall for help. I wanted to know who sold this tour so I could ask them not to do it again. I also wanted to get a general feeling for the number of tourists heading my way on any given cruise ship docking, just to be better prepared next time. That's when I learned, to my horror, that there are no schedules, no licenses, no permits. It's a free for all. Anyone can bring as many people as they want, anywhere, anytime.
My neighbors were equally distressed. The phone was ringing all morning. One woman half-jokingly suggested that a couple of the real Alaska men on our road may shoot these trespassers disguised as tourists. "We've got to tell someone," she said, "that it might not be safe to wander around down here."
A few days later I spent a rare evening out with my husband telling three Australians all about Haines. I couldn't help myself; instinctively I want to please our guests.
The next day my daughter arrived home early from track practice after one of the antique-car drivers gave her a lift. I'm baking the crew a batch of chocolate cookies. In the meantime, I'm reminding my husband, a city council member, that Haines needs to come up with tourism plan-soon, before I go crazy. Or one of my less reasonable neighbors fires a warning shot.