3. A Very Little City for a Very Little Rabbit

The plane was nearly empty and the friendly flight staff had plenty of time to chat. Fluffy learned from them that this was the inaugural flight this summer for the Juneau to Gustavus flight (a bit of newsworthy information that would later be reiterated in an article in the community paper, complete with a photo of the plane on descent).

Perhaps more noteworthy, Fluffy was also informed that the Juneau-Gustavus flight is the shortest commercial jet flight in the world, as it occupies a roughly 20 minute space in time. A couple other local flight companies offer the same route many times a day, usually for a better price, and in darling and intimate 6-seater (or approx. 6,000 very, very small rabbits) planes. Nevertheless, it is rather convenient to stay on the same plane through Juneau and suddenly find yourself dropped into the Alaskan wilds after having just been in the mighty metropolis of Seattle only hours earlier. The only reasons Alaska Air can even bother with this short flight are:
a) While Gustavus is technically on the mainland, it's separated from British Columbia and the rest of Alaska by massive glaciers, snowy peaks, rushing rivers, and icy ocean waters.
b) Gustavus is the gateway to Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, a World Heritage Site visited by many people from all around the world.
c) An impressive airstrip was built in Gustavus in preparation for World War II, and since it didn't get much use then it would be a shame to let it go to waste now.

Now feeling bright and informed, Fluffy was ready to hop out of the plane and explore! She and her travel companions were greeted at the teeny airport (an assortment of small buildings and sheds along a dirt parking lot) by a friendly employee of Alaska Mountain Guides, the company with which one of Fluffy's friends would be working as a kayak expedition guide. Given the lovely and unusual summer weather (68 degrees and partly sunny), they all made plans to head to the Lodge at the National Park after settling into their new home in a tent community.


Driving down the main road, Fluffy and her friends received a fairly thorough tour of the town, essentially an assortment of small buildings spread out over a few roads, mostly dirt. This tour can be done in about 3 minutes, driving between 20-30 mph. Gustavus is a town of 400 people, more or less, and estimates for the winter population are around 250. It only officially became a "city" about a decade ago and still has no police force. It does however have an impressive little library, a school and gymnasium, a community thrift store, a recycling center complete with a composting system, a public dock, and a fire department. Additionally, there's the Mercantile for groceries etc., a hardware and building supplies store, the Gustavus Dray 1950s-style gas station, and a new health food shop run out of a room in a family's home. Decentralizing the town even more is a scattering of quaint little shops, B&Bs and cafes.


Fluffy was driven down a series of roads, narrower and rougher with every half mile. At the end of Grandpa's Farm Road they reached their home, an 8'x10' canvas wall tent amongst three others in a spruce and cottonwood forest. It would be tight accommodations for two young adults and an energetic rabbit, but Fluffy wasn't too worried because she knew she was very good at fitting into small spaces.


After sorting out personal belongings to make sure that no items described as perfumed or delicious would be found by a bear inside the tent, the gang headed out to the Lodge, 9 miles down the road. While slightly chilly by the standards of anywhere else, the outdoor deck provided a great view and only a few mosquitos. The famously unreliable kitchen managed to supply some excellent sweet potato fries and crab cakes, and everyone was pleased to learn that Pike Place Brewery's Kilt Lifter was a featured beer on tap. But these details were all secondary to the remarkable view from the deck, across the harbor at Bartlett Cove westward to the Fairweather Range, named because the peaks can only be seen on the rare fair weather days.

These are massive mountains, especially for a 3 1/3" bunnyrabbit. Mt. Fairweather meets the 15,325 feet mark, and the several others in the range get up past 10,000. And this is pretty much from sea level, something that many other so-called high peaks cannot claim. Fluffy daydreamed that she would like to be the first rabbit to summit Fairweather, but figured she should probably first recruit a team of pikas to assist her in such alpine pursuits. Maybe next year.