There is a certain rhythm to life here in Ketchikan, an ebb and flow...of tides, tourists, seasons, salmon... It's a dance that you find yourself slipping so easily into and in such a short time that, before you know it, you can't remember the frenetic, exhausted, unorganized state you were in when you first arrived.
The tides here are celebrated. There are morning radio announcements letting you know what to expect, tide table books are everywhere, from restaurant counters to sporting good stores, and there is happy chatter all over town when the tides are at their highest and at their lowest. High tides bring the salmon into the streams, gives boaters access to areas previously unreachable and makes kayaking a breeze. Low tide ushers the salmon out, strands tourists in rented boats on sandbars that locals know to avoid which in itself brings the town great delight and offers hours of entertaining stories to be told at the local supermarket and watering holes. With the lowest of the low tides, hikes out to islands are arranged and treasure hunters comb the beaches and exposed sea-bed that hasn't seen the light of day in who knows how long.
Then you have the cruise ships and marine ferries that sail in and disgorge thousands onto the street. It's like a circus has come to town and then, just as quickly, the thousands are sucked back up leaving the streets quiet and expectant, waiting patiently for the next ships to come in. The locals are able to plan their town errands around the ebb and flow of the out-of-towners by picking up a local paper which prints an arrival and departure list of the expected cruise ships. You can also tune in to the local morning radio show which goes a step beyond the list of times to announce the actual number of tourists that are to be expected to be wandering aimlessly on the streets of our fair city.
And let's not forget the salmon. I have never seen such a cohesion of community as I've seen over the comings and goings of salmon. It's like a constant buzz in the air, talk of which kinds are running or who has seen what in the creeks. There are silver in the ocean but they haven't hit the streams yet but, woo boy!, are those pinks coming in strong! A school of orcas just came through so you'd have better luck fishing up Behm Canal. Hey, what kind of flies are the silvers hitting on? People stop each other in the street to find out where the hotspots are, information is passed among the locals in coded messages, secret fishing spots are actually shared...with relish. Heck, I don't even fish and I still catch myself peering with bated breath into every creek I cross hoping to catch sight of a spawning salmon.
Oh, and of course not a day goes by without a mention of the weather. The flow from seventy and sunny to fifty and pouring rain happens seamlessly and seems to bring a reassurance in its constant change. When the sun is shining, I couldn't count the number of people who make sure I know that rain is expected in two or so days time and when the rain comes, the talk turns to when we can expect the sun. There are no grumbles or complaints, just a sharing of information, because the locals know you just have to wait a bit longer for that sun to shine again.
And it's in that ebb and flow of life that I feel most connected to the residents of Ketchikan. It is so strong here that I can only liken it to feeling as if you're witnessing the earth breathe in and out. I've been lucky to live in a variety of locales, urban to rural, and I have to say I have never felt this tie as strongly as I do here. Is it the unending wilderness that surrounds us, the vast ocean lapping at the shores, the small population gathered together in this small little pocket of the world? I certainly couldn't tell you but I do know that I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to experience it and join in this beautiful dance.
