Juneau’s residents are divided over whether to embrace the economic benefits of millions of visitors, or reclaim their town from an industry that has reshaped it
||| FROM THE GUARDIAN |||
“The noise never stops,” says Karla Hart, her voice competing with the hum of approaching helicopters. “I can feel them before I see them.” She looks at her phone to check a website that monitors air traffic and identifies operators. Hart wants to know whether the pilots are adhering to legal flight routes.
A few minutes later, five helicopters, flying in formation, crisscross the grey October skies above Hart’s home in Juneau, Alaska’s capital. “I get groups of two to five helicopters flying over my house every 20 minutes. On any given day, that adds up to 50 to 75 flights. It’s impossible to enjoy my garden or concentrate on work.”
For Hart and other Juneau residents, the noise from helicopters shuttling cruise tourists to remote glaciers is one of the many reminders of how their lives are being upended by a city that has embraced industrial tourism.
Juneau is one of the US’s most remote towns, accessible only by air or sea. The waters surrounding it are the traditional fishing grounds of Alaska’s Indigenous communities. It is wedged between towering mountains and the Gastineau Channel, a dramatic vista for more than 1.5 million cruise passengers who visit annually. Juneau was historically reliant on timber and gold, but as those industries have declined, the city now depends on tourism and government sector jobs.
Cruise season runs from April to October, with as many as five vessels docking daily in the heart of the historic district. Ships such as the Ovation of the Seas and Norwegian Bliss, with passenger capacities exceeding 4,000 plus crew, arrive in the morning and depart by nightfall, only to be replaced by new arrivals. This cycle continues until the treacherous Taku Winds, with gusts reaching more than 100mph, signal the end of the season.
The rhythm of the cruise season dictates daily life for Juneau’s 32,000 residents. Local people monitor the schedule provided by the Alaska Cruise Ship Association and avoid the centre during peak cruise hours. Traditional seasons have been replaced by two distinct periods: cruise and non-cruise.
Under an agreement with the City of Juneau, up to 16,000 cruise passengers disembark daily from Sunday to Friday, with a cap of 12,000 on Saturdays. Annually, cruise passengers outnumber the local population by 50 to one.
Hart eagerly anticipates the end of the cruise season. It will offer a break from traffic congestion on the town’s single-lane road, and the relentless noise from aircraft ferrying tourists seeking a brief taste of Alaska wilderness. Souvenir shops selling little that’s authentically Alaskan, alongside jewellery stores offering Tasmanite and pendants for couples celebrating milestones, will shutter. Themed pubs, aspiring to evoke a bygone era, will close for the season.
Hart, a former tourism business owner turned activist, is at the centre of a political fight that has divided the community. She spearheaded Proposition 2, a ballot initiative aimed at banning cruise ships on Saturdays and 4 July. In October, it was defeated by a margin of about 60/40, with approximately 10,000 people voting, more than in the mayoral election, which took place at the same time. “We’ve become an amusement park,” Hart says. “The soul of Juneau is being sold off piece by piece.”
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Cruise ship tourism is awful. Huge floating hotels packed with sloppy drunks that descend on remote locations like a locust invasion.
I will never go to Juneau again. The last time I visited Glacier Bay NP (on my own vessel that I had navigated the 1000 or so miles from Orcas) we were required to obtain a special permit. Most private vessels have minimal impact, but the giant white monsters seem to be on a conveyor belt from Hell itself as they slowly transit pristine waters, blocking views of glaciers and generally obstructing access. At least they are not pemitted to anchor in NP waters or discharge passengers. Instead, they tie up at “Icy Strait Point” which is a completely fake tourist trap just outside of Hoonah. Replete with a fake cannery, fake locals, souvenir shops and other money extractors designed by imagineers from Disney Corporation. The ships moor there while awaiting their turn in the parade.
“Annually, cruise passengers outnumber the local population by 50 to one.”
Annually, tourists to the San Juans also outnumber the local population by 50 to one.
Over tourism (of any kind) sucks the soul out of small resort communities. The only thing worse than a single season tourist destination is a multi-season tourist destination.