September 13, 2025
Welcome to Skagway, the gateway to the Klondike.
Before we press on with this saga, I thought I would make a couple of public service announcements for the benefit of you men who might have the good fortune to follow in my footsteps. Just a couple of random thoughts. Cheerful encouragement.
I should note that Cathy is concerned about me. She fears the crass commercialization of this historic place might have.me in a bad mood. But neither she nor you need worry; I will keep my sentiments short and, as always, positive.
PSA No. 1
Men?
Man up, you pansies.
I’ve about had it with your behavior. You’re embarrassing our gender.
Three quick examples:
Example No. 1
We’ll call him Wimpy. We encountered this grown-out-not-up blow hard two minutes after we boarded in Seattle. Two minutes! While waiting for the elevator to take them to their cabin, he barked at his wife, “I’ve been walking all day; I’m exhausted.” And, with that, he refused to budge. The poor woman was mortified. His family or friends, apparently familiar with such tantrums, bolted for the stairway rather than get in a closed container with Baby Huey.
Example No. 2
We’ll call him Jack Spratt. Jack apparently failed to pack any vertebrae for the trip. We discovered this when, sitting next to us at the buffet breakfast, his heavy set bigger-not-better-half Frau Spratt dressed him down…we’re talking down to his skivvies…by asking him in a snidely, condescending way, “Are you quite through foraging, Jack?” He meekly answered, “Yes dear.”
We suspect Jack has either met with foul play, or possibly jumped ship, as we did not see him at breakfast the next day and Inga, seemed even more edgy than ever.
Example No. 3
We’ll call him Arlan because…well… that’s what his wife called him. Let’s listen in on their conversation in the buffet line, shall we?
W: What sounds good to you, Arlan?
A: Nuthin.
W: No really, honey, what would you like?
A: I said, nuthin.
W: Must be something?
A: (Looking around disgusted) I just want a god damn hot dog.
Moments later…
W: How was it?
A: How was what?
W: Your dog?
A: My what?
W: Your dog, honey.
A: My dog?
It was at this point that, had Cathy not restrained me, I almost broke in with, “Your damn hot dog, Arlan.”
Men, the day may come when, after retirement, or maybe a special anniversary, your wife pleads to do something special, maybe something not in the budget, but something she has always dreamed of. Maybe a cruise? Maybe to Alaska.
Should you be so lucky, but reluctant to go, do this: either go and make her believe you are having the time of your life, or don’t go and allow her to have the time of her life she has always dreamed of without you. But don’t do the passive aggressive two step on the poor woman whose only mistake in life was to choose your sorry ass as her mate for life.
It’s simple. Be nice to her.
PSA No. 2
Men, be prepared.
Whether it’s Ketchikan, Juneau or Skagway…even little Skagway that boasts a population of 1400 and where last year’s graduating class was three girls and one very lucky boy…in every port you will find, within the first two hundred yards of the gangplank, a gauntlet not of tee shirt stores or kitschy refrigerator magnet souvenir shops but, oddly enough, high-end jewelry stores.
They are everywhere.
We’re not talking quaint locally owned shops on hand hewn wood floors tended by a Native Alaskan named Roy in a flannel shirt selling handmade whalebone scrimshaw. No, we’re talking Bulgarian mafia types with Russian accents, in fitted Armani sportscoats, a starched shirt with one undone button too many, inside fluorescent glass doors, inviting you to dicker on the price of the Rolex just shipped from his cousin Misha back in Bucharest.
Who the hell buys their wife a diamond tennis bracelet in Skagway?
I can see a gold ingot panned from the Klondike, but not bling from The Jewelry Exchange in Redwood City hawked by Tom Shane, “your friend in the diamond business.”
Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programing.
Skagway.
What can I say?
It’s a bi-polar little town with split personalities. Which pole depends on whether or not you’re on the train.
Stay in town, and it’s a sad salute to commercialism. A downtown made of false fronts teaming with businesses which claim to be locally owned but clearly are not and cruise passengers who don’t really care. A sad historic footnote of a greed filled era where the greed now is, like the gold which first brought men here, almost panned out.
But, step onto the platform between two White Pass Railroad train cars on your way to the White Pass summit and Skagway…and you…are transformed.
Take these two photographs. In this first photograph, my wife is happy. Content. Enjoying herself.
Now look at the second photo. Same location. Taken just moments apart. What changed?
Wanna know?
That is the look on Cathy’s face when she hears the sound of a steam train whistle.
It is her inner child. A nine-year-old again. Not worn down by this weary world, not cynical like her husband sometimes becomes. But, shamelessly happy to revisit the old and rediscover the new.
"Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost" 