Alaska: Rising Tide

Communities grapple with windfall and fallout as cruise ship tourism transforms Southeast Alaska

For 92 years, the old Hoonah Packing Co. has been the first thing you see after rounding Cannery Point a mile north of Hoonah. Where Icy Strait meets Port Frederick, the cannery's red walls stand out against mist-shrouded Chichagof Island. The relative freshness of the building's paint is a testament to Hoonah's oscillating fortunes.

Johan Dybdahl spent the first seven years of his life within view of this landmark.

"Everyone has ties here," Dybdahl said. "(Villagers) put up fish around Cannery Point. Now, it's a local picnic area."

Before the cannery closed in 1953, his father, Capt. Paul E. Dybdahl, worked here as a tender captain, then a watchman. The elder Dybdahl is buried in a tidy cemetery overlooking the cannery boardwalk.

Surprisingly close to shore, in Port Frederick's deep, green waters, humpback whales set bubble nets. just inland, Sitka blacktail deer pause, their reflections captured by the still waters of forest-fringed ponds. Glacier Bay, the ancestral homeland of Hoonah's Native population, is a short boat ride north. Totem poles stand guard in front of the local schoolhouse, a short walk up a narrow road.

It's everything tourists long to experience: dramatic scenery, wildlife and living Native culture-the same elements that captivated John Muir when he visited this shore in 1879. But mass-market tourism never made inroads into Southeast Alaska's largest Tlingit community.

This May, when the first large cruise ships discreetly anchor north of the point and tender their passengers and crew ashore, all that will change. The resulting windfall-or fallout-will be the latest twist in a saga that has transformed and divided Inside Passage communities for years.

As president of Point Sophia Development Co., Johan Dybdahl is leading the project that will bring cruise ships to Hoonah's historic cannery, which has been transformed into what Miami-based marketers are calling "Icy Strait Point" and billing as "Alaska's first purpose-built destination."

In tropical locations, "purpose-built" usually means a private island transformed into a ship passenger's playground. In Hoonah, population 900, it will mean a cannery-themed museum-theater-shopping mall-excursion lounge complex, cast with a 1930s period flavor, staffed by employees in period dress and backed by newly landscaped forest trails. Visitors will be able to dine at a salmon bake, purchase shirts emblazoned with the new cannery logo, peer at vintage cannery equipment and hear Tlingit stories sanctioned by the local clans.

Huna Totem, the local Native corporation, and juneau-based Koma Sales have invested $20 million in the venture, Dybdahl said. So far, 33 ship calls from two cruise lines, Royal Caribbean International and Celebrity Cruises, have been slated.

Where visitors once came by the handful, tourists will pile ashore by the thousands, tripling Hoonah's population each day a cruise ship arrives.

"I don't think our little town of Hoonah is aware of what's going to happen," said Mayor AIf "Windy" Skaflestad. "I myself don't know what's going to happen. Right now, Hoonah is a peaceful community. You have to look at our community as a little juneau, and look what happens there."

But the benefits are hard to ignore, he said. "Logging is down, fishing is down. We're struggling. Thank God for Point Sophia Development; it put about 60 (residents) to work." This summer, that figure will rise to about 160 jobs, with more employment possible if cruise lines add more Hoonah stops to their itineraries.

The project has "breathed a new vitality into this community," said Johanna Dybdahl, tribal administrator for Hoonah Indian Association and sister of Johan Dybdahl. "We'll have to get used to people taking pictures of our smokehouses. But the good far, far outweighs the bad."

Statewide-in fact, worldwide-the gleaming, gargantuan ships bound for smaller towns like Hoonah are just one more ripple in an ever-rising tide of cruise ship tourism. Anxiously courted by some communities, scorned or simply tolerated by others, cruise ships leave a wake of questions about profits, pollution and what makes Alaska a place worth visiting or calling home in the first place.

Six years ago and only 30 miles away, the little town of Tenakee Springs closed its doors when a small cruise ship carrying 120 passengers came to call. Fearing the social change that cruise ship traffic might bring, residents handed out leaflets informing passengers they were unwelcome. (They were, however, invited to return as independent travelers.)

In other ports, like Haines, anti-cruise ship demonstrations have led to street scraps complete with name-calling and tomato throwing.

No such dissent has materialized in Hoonah, said Johan Dybdahl. "We've enjoyed 99 percent support and I haven't heard from the other 1 percent."

Perhaps Hoonah simply has made a truce with change. The community got its start, both legend and recent archaeology attest, when a Little Ice Age glacial advance destroyed the tribe's original home in Glacier Bay. In 1944, fire decimated much of the present town, including many Tlingit cultural objects.

In recent decades Huna Totem invested in logging that denuded the hillsides now healing under a carpet of green visible from the boardwalks where cruise ship visitors will stroll.

"Ten years ago there was dissension in the community," Johanna Dybdahl said, referring to rifts opened by regional logging practices. "Now we're trying to resolve: Let's be part of the solution. Let's learn from this. Let's rebound."

Big, and Getting Bigger

Last year, 742,000 people visited Alaska by cruise ship-more people than live in the entire state.

While resource industries sag and small-scale tourism struggles to recover from the Sept. 11 attacks, the cruising industry has proved itself resilient in the face of terror threats and economic downturns. Last year's passenger totals were up 5 percent from 2002. Since 1990, total cruise ship visits to Alaska have tripled.

"There's still capacity to grow," said John Hansen, spokesman for the North West CruiseShip Association. "Clearly, we're not at the limit yet."

At the same time, the ships are getting bigger. In the 1970s, a typical cruise ship held 700 passengers. Last year, the typical Inside Passage vessel carried 1,400 to 2,400 passengers, with 500 to 900 crewmembers.

In 2002, passengers purchased $250 million in goods and services in Alaska; the industry as a whole made $595 million in direct purchases, according to a study commissioned by the International Council of Cruise Lines.

Juneau benefits from the highest average rates of passenger spending-$125 per person for excursions such as flightseeing or rafting, shopping and other shoreside extras, according to 1999 statistics from the McDowell Group. In other ports of call, the spending ranges from $20 in Sitka to $95 in Ketchikan.

That's the wealth that Hoonah is hoping to tap. But even with figures at hand-2,000 passengers and crew spending 8 to 12 hours ashore, multiplied by 33 or more ship calls-the math isn't easy. Cruise ship advocates like the North West CruiseShip Association say cruise ship passenger spending has a greater effect on Alaska's economy than resident spending. Critics say passenger spending has a disappointing tendency to leak-out of the communities and back into the cruise ship companies' hands.

"The initial expectations are often starry-eyed-that lots of money will be made," said Ross Klein, a Canadian social science professor and author of Cruise Ship Blues: The Underside of the Cruise Industry.

The focus, Klein said, shouldn't be what passengers spend, but how much of that money stays in Alaska. While the cruise industry is reluctant to discuss its trade practices, shop owners report that ships promote certain stores in shipboard lectures and dissuade passengers from shopping elsewhere. "Approved stores" pay as much as 40 percent of gross receipts for the privilege of onboard promotion. Similarly, excursion vendors-small business owners specializing in flightseeing, charter fishing, and similar operations-receive only part of the money paid by passengers for their shore adventures. The cruise line's commission for activities runs 25 percent or higher.

Shoreside spending pales next to the onboard revenue that cruise lines earn. In a single week in 1997, Princess Cruises' Sun Princess, with 1,200 passengers, generated $6 million in onboard revenue-or more than $5,000 per passenger-according to Klein.

Considering that most cruise ships offer all-you-can-eat meals, included in the basic fare, where is the onboard money flowing? Into art auctions, jewelry stores, casinos, massages and other services. In some cases, the cost of the berth is negligible.

Call it economic envy or a desire for parity; in any case, some Alaskans want a bigger cut.

A new state ballot initiative sponsored by several Alaska groups that say they are "tired of subsidizing the cruise ship industry" calls for a $46 head tax on each cruise ship passenger to support tourism infrastructure in affected communities, and a 33 percent tax on shipboard gambling income. It would also place independent observers aboard ships to monitor environmental practices. Like the $5 head tax already in effect in juneau and a $2- to $4-per-passenger fee recently implemented in Ketchikan, the new initiative would mitigate tourism impacts and be a "balm" to those living in Southeast Alaska, said Joe Geldhof, lawyer for Responsible Cruising in Alaska, and co-sponsor of the initiative.

"There are a lot of people who would like to say, 'Slam the door.' As a matter of public policy and as a matter of law, I don't think you can do that. But you can meet the responsibility of having your 800,000 friends show up between May and August."

Initiative supporters must gather more than 23,000 signatures to earn the initiative a spot on a 2006 ballot.

Not surprisingly, cruise ship advocates oppose the initiative. "We think it's not a good thing for our guests to be faced with another $50 cost," said Hansen of the North West CruiseShip Association. "It will deter people from coming. We know that from polls we're taking."

Geldhof doesn't buy it. "We want to call the bluff of the industry. If you don't come to Alaska, where you gonna go? Kamchatka? I don't think so."

In the meanwhile, Gov. Frank Murkowski is trying to., interest the Legislature in making all overnight tourists pay a fairer share. Early this year, he proposed an accommodations tax that would raise money from cruise ship passengers and hotel guests. Whether his plan sinks or swims in the face of. stiff GOP opposition, it suggests that ever-growing tourism remains a visible target for tax supporters.

Not Welcome

"NOT FOR TOURISTS," reads a window sign in downtown juneau. "Just off the boat and looking for a two-dollar plastic hat tack that says 'I WENT TO juNEAU' on it? We don't have them."

Inside the business behind the sign, Susan Kirkness explained why her enamel pin store, William Spear Designs, takes no pains to court the typical cruise ship tourist.

"I think tourism has ruined this town," she said. "I had better business in 1991 than now. The quality of visitor was better. They were people who wanted to see Alaska. Now, they're just people who want a cruise ship tour."

To draw customers in a time of nationwide travel jitters, cruise lines have dropped their prices. Web sites trumpet special, last-minute fares. Early this year, a 7-day Inside Passage summer cruise could be purchased for $580.

What has long been considered a "once-in-a-lifetime" trip has become, for some, a "why not?" trip.

The "why not?" folks can be penny-pinchers, as Kirkness tells it. She recalled one irate visitor who passed up a $6 flag downtown, knowing it cost only $5.95 several blocks west of the cruise ship docks.

But that anecdote is unusual in at least one regard. Most cruise ship tourists aren't willing to walk quite so far, even when a nickel is at stake, Kirkness said. "They make it to the Red Dog (Saloon)"-a Franklin Street landmark-"and die there. They're like spawning salmon."

When four or more ships discharge passengers into Juneau, South Franklin Street strains at the seams. The sidewalks are packed. Traffic backs up. Crossing guards frantically corral disoriented tourists.

This kind of downtown congestion, as well as flightseeing noise, were residents' top concerns, city-hired pollsters found two years ago. While most locals saw tourism as "positive" (40 percent) or "both positive and negative" (37 percent), most agree that the effects have increased in recent years.

Last year, public comment on a new waterfront plan was emphatic about the need to create a diverse, year-round downtown. Two-thirds of households polled were "unsupportive" or "very unsupportive" of a plan to build a new marina and two large cruise ship berths in the Subport area, in the heart of downtown. (One new cruise ship dock is already slated for south of downtown.)

Wary of seeing the welcome mat pulled out from under their feet, cruise ship companies have responded over the years to some resident concerns. Since 1997, a voluntary effort between tourism companies and the city and borough has resulted in a "Tourism and Best Management Practices" program to reduce annoyances. Among the dozens of specifications: Glacier tour operators agree to curb flights after 9 p.m. Tour drivers agree to avoid residential areas when possible and to avoid slowing down in front of the governor's mansion. A tourism hotline is available to residents with complaints. The number of calls has significantly decreased, said Linda Huston, regional manager for Holland America and Gray Line of Alaska.

The state also hears resident gripes. "When we get complaints from the public, they tend to be about opacity," said Denise Koch of the Department of Environmental Conservation, referring to air clarity, a sore point in port towns that take pride in pollution-free mountain views. Last summer, the DEC issued two notices of violation for cruise ship air emissions-a steep decline from previous summers.

Less visible than air emissions is what cruise ship lines are doing below the waterline. But there too, the industry claims it's cleaning up its act.

Clean and Green?

Deep within the bowels of Holland America's Maasdam, environmental officer Chris Gascoigne turns the taps of an advanced wastewater treatment system to demonstrate how sewage appears after it has been through one of the best bioreactor filtration systems a cruise line can buy. It looks like clear water.

More than half the large cruise ships plying Inside Passage waters now treat their sewage and "gray water" (such as the run-off from showers and kitchen sinks) to the highest standard set by a new state law passed in 2001. By meeting the new standards and passing U.S. Coast Guard certification, ships can discharge wastewater continuously. (Vessels that meet a lesser standard may discharge when the vessel is at least one nautical mile from shore and traveling at least 6 knots, or hold their wastewater until they are outside Alaska waters.)

The stringent new rules are a substantial change from four years ago, when then-Gov. Tony Knowles called wastewater discharges "shocking," after it was discovered that treated gray water being drained into Alaska waters had up to 50,000 times the level of fecal coliform allowable under the federal standard for treated sewage.

"It's a real success story as far as the new technology that has been developed," said Hansen of the North West CruiseShip Association. "This is technology that didn't even exist for this purpose five years ago. We're way ahead of virtually any other part of the marine industry, and well ahead of communities around the world."

Not everyone shares that optimistic outlook.

"The regulations don't do what I'd like them to do. The law is essentially worthless," said Gershon Cohen, who co-sponsored the new head tax ballot initiative and who was on the committee that helped write the state wastewater regulations.

"Half of the ships are dumping outside 12 miles, which the state doesn't count as a problem. The other half have systems that work only half the time." Comparing the newest treatment systerns to a brand new car, Cohen said, "Drive it 100,000 miles and then tell me how well it performs."

Even with new regulations in place, accidents happen. Both the state and federal governments are pursuing cases against Holland America Line for an August 2002 spill from the cruise ship Ryndam, which belched about 40,000 gallons of scuzzy brown sludge into juneau's harbor. Koch of the state DEC said the Ryndam investigation will be the "first large-scale wastewater investigation" under the state's new cruise ship law.

The Ryndam spill is just the latest in a history of reputation-tarnishing offenses and resulting goodwill gestures. In 1999, Royal Caribbean International paid $6.5 million in fines for pumping oily bilge water and toxic dry cleaning and photo processing chemicals into Southeast Alaska waters. A month earlier, the company had been ordered to pay $18 million for illegal dumping in other U.S. waters. In 2000, the federal government cracked down on international cruise lines-including Norwegian Cruise Line and Carnival Corp.-for keeping fake logbooks and for tampering with monitoring equipment.

At the same time, cruise lines have spent millions to prove they're becoming "clean and green." Princess Cruises spent $4.5 million to allow their ships to plug into shore power, enabling them to shut down diesel engines and reduce smoke pollution at the docks. Two other cruise lines, Celebrity and Royal Caribbean, have experimented with using "smokeless" gas turbine engines that also reduce visible smoke.

"Don't just look at them as a monolithic industry," said Geldhof, of Responsible Cruising in Alaska. "Princess has been better on air pollution. Norwegian, relatively speaking, is better at labor policy. . . . Even though there has been this consolidation, there are corporate subcultures."

Invited Quests

Smoke and spills are the last things Hoonah wants to worry about as it hurries to cash in on its reputation as part of "the real Alaska"-distant, clean and wild.

"Hopefully, they've learned their lessons and they'll respect our waters," said Mayor Skaflestad, referring to the industry's more notorious polluters. "If they don't, that's what we have the Coast Guard for."

With his father's nearby grave a constant reminder, Johan Dybdahl-a product of mixed Tlingit, Norwegian, and Irish heritage-steers a careful path between Hoonah's past and Hoonah's future.

In traditional Tlingit culture, villagers presented a departing guest with a paddle. "It was a way of saying you can return to visit us again," Dybdahl said.

But for such symbols to retain their historic potency, the host must be in charge. The guest must understand his role.

"The main thing with Tlingit culture is the idea of respect," Dybdahl said. Cruise ships and their passengers "are invited guests, is what it amounts to. I think they'll be learning a lot."

ANDROMEDA ROMANO-LAX is a freelance writer and the author of SEARCHING FOR STEINBECK'S SEA OF CORTEZ: A MAKESHIFT EXPEDITION ALONG BAJA'S DESERT COAST.