J is for Juneau

Alaska had been on Judy’s and my top-ten list for a number of years. In May of 2010, we sailed aboard the Ryndam, a Holland-America cruise ship, navigating through the Inland Passage. On our second day in port, we docked in Juneau, Alaska’s capital city.

A dog-sledding adventure intrigued us as we read about the many possibilities for land tours. Then we talked with the vendors outside our gangplank and found that it wasn't what we had in mind. One company’s tour entailed a group outing in wheeled carts, like on a hayride, pulled by dogs mushing around on a track.  The second dog-sledding option, actually on snow and ice, would involve a helicopter ride and would cost us $495 each.   

Moving down the line to another booth, we came upon a zip-lining excursion. This company promised zip lines to eleven stations, and we were hooked.  It began with a speed boat ride across the Gastenau Channel to Douglas Island, where the guides suited us up in all manner of cables and buckles as well as helmets and gloves. Our cameras were attached to our rigging so we wouldn’t lose them as we zipped along. Then came the instructions for once we were on the course. 

Our guides put us into an ancient truck they called an Ugmog and took us out to the first station. Once there, they gave us further instructions.  We'd use our left hand on the trolley to insure that we stayed forward and straight on the line.  When signaled by our guide on the destination platform, we'd brake by pressing our right palm on the lower zip cable. 

We got the hang of it pretty quickly, and our little group of six zipped across those lines with style!  We laughed, shouted, and whooped as we traversed the zip lines high above the ground and through the trees. It was a thrill. Then, it turned scary. 

Judy was the lead zipper for our longest, fastest run -- over 800 feet.  She disappeared into the canopy, and all went well for the first two-thirds of the run. 

Unbeknownst to all of us waiting at the take-off platform, Judy began to twirl sideways.  We had been instructed to correct that by a little wrist twisting on the control trolley on the top cable.  Instead of this working smoothly as it had before, her shirtsleeve caught between the pulley and the cable wire. This caused her to turn 180 degrees and zip along head first instead of feet first.  Since she could not see the landing platform, she applied her brake hand way too soon. That stopped her 75-80 feet short and required her to haul herself hand-over-hand up to the station, a tedious and time-consuming venture.
 
Back at the take-off station for this leg, our group and guide Alex waited for the all-clear signal. It would mean that I, already clipped in and ready to zip, could launch.  After what seemed like forever, Alex spoke into the walkie-talkie, asking if everything was clear.  No response then, and no response the next four times she posed the question.  I was worried. When I finally got the "go", I took off, zipping at breakneck speed. When Judy came into view, I lost focus and went roaring toward the landing platform.  Too late, I saw Martin's signal to slow down. By then, he had already used the emergency cord brake to slow me down; I floated in for a perfect two-point landing.  Judy was uninjured, but the sleeve of her new hiking shirt was chewed up like it had been in a dogfight.

We finished the zip-line course by rappelling down from the last station. There were plenty of high-fives and smiles as we congratulated each other. Then, to our surprise and great pleasure, the crew hung medals around our necks in honor of our surviving the adventure.

  

~ xoA ~