Exploring the Aleutians aboard the 'Trusty Tusty'

UNALASKA, Alaska - — Scott Skonberg smiles as the Alaska ferry Tustumena tosses like a rocking cradle on the North Pacific.

"Going home," he says, gulping the salt air. "It's time to go fishing again."

Home is the village of Chignik (population 100), out toward the Aleutian Islands. The Aleutians ... wind-whipped stepping-stones between North America and Asia, a thousand-mile arc of smoldering volcanoes, killer storms, bald eagles and orchids.

Skonberg's Aleut ("Alley-oot") forebears came to this land thousands of years before the great pyramids were built for the pharaohs of Egypt.

"We're still here," he says.

The Tustumena is a lifeline for Chignik and other scattered villages of the Alaska Peninsula and the Aleutian Chain. From April to October — when the seagoing ferry commutes once a month between Kodiak Island in the Gulf of Alaska and the booming fisheries port of Unalaska/Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians — adventurous visitors join Alaskans aboard the Tustumena. They go to places few travelers have heard of — and fewer have visited.

The ferry departs Kodiak just before 5 p.m. Wednesdays. Next-day ports are Chignik, on the Alaska Peninsula, and Sand Point, a tiny fishing town in the Shumagin Islands. Stops at King Cove, Cold Bay and False Pass, all on the Alaska Peninsula, are scheduled the third day. The Tustumena reaches Unalaska/Dutch Harbor about 6:30 a.m. Saturday, then turns around and sails back to Kodiak and on to Homer on the Kenai Peninsula.

"But this is no cruise ship; it's a work boat" says Steve Rockwood, the Tustumena's chief steward.

"I remember when we carried a circus out to Kodiak. Lions, tigers and elephants. I was treating one of the elephants to a carrot when it wrapped its trunk around my arm and didn't want to let go.

"The weather out here can be nasty at times. But this old boat can take a beating."

The 'Trusty Tusty'

The 38-year-old ferry — Alaskans call it the "Trusty Tusty" — has cabins for only 26 of its 220 passengers, and most of the staterooms come with shared baths. Guests without cabins spread sleeping bags on deck or nap in airline-style reclining chairs in the forward lounge. Many travelers bring their own food, but there is a dining room, offering three meals a day. Bacon and eggs, $6.75; coffee, $1; hamburger deluxe, $6.50; clam chowder, $2.75 a cup; fish and chips, $8.25; sirloin steak with onion rings, $12.75.

And, just in case, Dramamine for rough seas, $1.

Alaska is so big (about one resident per square mile) that the frontier state has few highways. There is none out where the Aleutians meet the International Dateline. So the state of Alaska created a ferry system — the Alaska Marine Highway — to link scattered communities. The Tustumena is one of nine ferries in a fleet that operates all the way from Washington state and British Columbia to Prince William Sound and the Aleutians.

"I don't know what we would do without the Tustumena," says Myrtle McCallum, a King Cove-born Aleut. "The name of the game out here is survival. It's really hell to be stranded, especially in emergencies, when storms ground the few aircraft that fly out this way. We had no options before the ferries. Besides, it's a nice, easy way to travel."

Bald eagles circle a covey of commercial-fishing boats in Kodiak's harbor as the Tustumena departs on a cloudy springtime evening. One eagle lands atop a sky-blue dome of Kodiak's old Russian Orthodox church. Soon there is the first rock-and-roll motion of open water.

"We could experience some seas tonight," the purser announces. But there isn't much action at the Dramamine machine. Most of the passengers have sailed this way before.

A few already have staked out space for their sleeping bags. Others are reading or playing video games. A few hardy travelers are walking exercise laps around the deck. The wind, even in spring, is icy.

'I guess we're pretty tough'

Newcomers and Aleut villagers are getting acquainted. Based on archaeological evidence, the Aleuts can document at least 9,000 years of unbroken, but sometimes battered, history. They were enslaved by Russian settlers. The men were forced to hunt sea otters and other fur-bearing animals for their Russian masters. Women were raped and murdered until Russian missionaries interceded.

Generations of neglect followed the American purchase of Alaska in 1867. Then came World War II with the roar of bombs and bullets. Japanese planes pummeled Dutch Harbor in June 1942, and troops invaded the islands of Attu and Kiska.

Surviving Attu villagers spent the rest of the war years in Japanese prison camps. Most of the rest of the Aleuts were herded onto transport ships and "evacuated" to far-from-home rain-forest camps in Southeastern Alaska. Dozens died there. The rest returned to find their homes plundered or destroyed. Aleuts numbered at least 20,000 before Russia colonized Alaska. There are only about 5,000 today.

"I guess we're pretty tough," says Myrtle McCallum.

It's a dauntless bunch aboard the Tustumena on this journey into Alaska's wild west.

Two young biologists are on their way to Sand Point to board a salmon-fishing vessel for a trip to a tiny island where they will spend three months studying a rare seabird known as the crested auklet.

Keith Jarrett, 35, a Navy veteran from Goldsboro, N.C., is bound for Dutch Harbor to find a job on a fishing boat. He has a one-way ticket and only a few traveler's checks.

"Not a good idea," says Mya Renken, executive director of the Unalaska/Port of Dutch Harbor Convention & Visitors Bureau. "People think they can come here and find a job and a place to live. It doesn't work that way. They could be stranded. The truth is that most of the hiring is done out of Seattle."

Shelly Laukitis and her daughters, Claire, 12, and Emma, 11, are ticketed for the fishing village of False Pass. Shelly's husband, Buck, will be on the pier there to meet them. The family lived year-round at False Pass (population 60) until the daughters enrolled for school in Homer, their winter home. They spend summers at their homestead in False Pass.

"We're self-sufficient," Laukitis says. "We dammed a creek for a hydro plant. There's a greenhouse for lettuce, radishes and tomatoes and such. There are chickens for fresh eggs. It's a lovely place. Wave after wave of wildflowers there, including pretty little orchids."

In Chignik, passengers and vehicles board a turntable on the ferry's car deck to go ashore. "Hang on!" calls a crewman, as the carousel-like platform rotates into position by a starboard side exit hatch. We peek out of the hatch. A snowslide has tumbled down a mountainside almost to the beach. "It looks like a giant slurpie," says a passenger.

Dozens of fishing nets are stored on wooden pallets for the next salmon season. A big, shaggy dog named Buck roams the pier unchallenged. Other dogs keep their distance. "Buck's the mayor," a King Cove youngster jokes.

'Still a good place to be'

The Tustumena sails on. It's a fine day for sightseeing. Bright sunshine and blue sky. Icy mountains and sun sequins dancing on the sea.

When the ferry docks in King Cove, a young woman hands out invitations to visit Harbor House, a crafts shop, for coffee and doughnuts. It's a long walk, and the morning wind cuts like a cold knife. A high-school student offers a ride in her car.

"Not much to do here for kids, except to play basketball and just drive around," she says. "But it's still a good place to be."

Back at sea and a few hours later, we sight a long, brownish streak of tundra on the southern horizon.

"That's Cold Bay," says Capt. Gary Anderson, the Tustumena's skipper, 25 years with the ferry system.

Thousands of GIs were stationed at Fort Randall there in World War II. The flat terrain was ideal for cargo aircraft needing long runways. Old military trails are still visible in the fragile tundra.

Now Cold Bay is headquarters for one of the nation's largest wildlife preserves, the Izembek National Wildlife Refuge, covering more than 2 million acres.

Later in the trip, as the Tustumena glides into a narrow channel leading to the village of False Pass, Laukitis and her daughters are almost home. "There's Daddy!" shouts 11-year-old Emma. We'll have about an hour ashore to stretch our sea legs.

There, Khasity Condello, 7, is selling glass fishing floats on the pier. The light-green glass balls break off Japanese fishing nets in the Bering Sea and wash ashore on nearby beaches. They are rare treasures for collectors, some valued at more than $200. Khasity offers a softball-size float for $25. Meanwhile, local kids hurry aboard the ferry to buy candy and soft drinks from the vending machines.

On to Unalaska

After the Tustumena's whistle blasts "All aboard!" the ferry sails into a starry Aleutian sky. Off to starboard, Shishaldin Volcano, more than 9,000 feet high, appears to be spewing a geyser of black smoke. But it's only a dark cloud that has settled over the still-active volcano.

"It isn't always nice weather like this — usually it's pretty ornery," says Nina Christensen Shelikof, an Aleut housewife who boarded at False Pass. The Tustumena bypasses False Pass on the return voyage.

"I'm headed for Homer with two kids, a dog and a parakeet. Then on to Anchorage, where I'll be taking care of my sick sister," she added. "It's a long trip. By the time we get there the dog will be talking like the parakeet and the bird will be barking like a dog."

Finally, Unalaska/Dutch Harbor — the Aleutian metropolis of about 4,000. Floodlights from seafood-processing plants streak like moonbeams across the bay. End of the line for this voyage.

Keith Jarrett, the adventurer from North Carolina, hurries ashore with his duffel bag.

"I bet I'll find a job before dinner time," he says.

"Hey, this looks like great country!"

Stanton H. Patty, born and reared in Alaska, is the retired assistant travel editor of The Seattle Times.