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I make my home in Whittier, California,
a genial suburb of 85,000 at the southeast corner of L.A. County,
best known for weekend cruising on Whittier Boulevard and as the
boyhood home of Richard Nixon. I was born and raised in Whittier,
but left for 18 years following high school before returning in
1996. So I had to visit Whittier, Alaska, a tiny outpost located
near Portage Glacier on the northeastern flank of the Kenai Peninsula.
What to say about the town? Let's just say that no matter where
your wanderlusts may lead you, you will never find a place quite
like this. Driving through a single-lane, 2.7-mile tunnel bored
in granite, you emerge in a compact, fog-shrouded village built
on a sliver of land between a narrow bay and the foot of precipitous,
snow-laced mountains. Most of the 350 townsfolk live in a single
building, the 14-story concrete monolith known as the Begich Tower.
This unlikely settlement came into being during World War II, after
the Japanese attacked the Aleutian Islands and the Army sought a
hideaway base for defending the rest of Alaska. They couldn't have
found a better place -- at the end of a narrow arm of the Prince
William Sound, ice-free year-round, guarded by 3500-foot peaks and
almost always shrouded by clouds or fog.
There was no overland access until the Army bored the tunnel through
the mountains, linking Whittier to the Seward Highway, 11 miles
away. Originally built for trains, the tunnel only opened to vehicular
traffic in 2000. They charge $12 to drive through the tunnel, and
the wait can be up to an hour long … factors which may explain
why the town doesn't get more tourists.
It was inevitable that both Glenn and I would take a liking to Whittier,
given the soft spot we both have for the offbeat … and it
doesn't get more offbeat than this. The challenge of getting here
surely added to our intrigue. We also liked the sweet and sour halibut
at the China Sea restaurant -- fresh, thickly sliced chunks of the
flatfish, slathered in the namesake sauce and served with a heaping
mound of steamed white rice. The toll-taker at the tunnel had recommended
it and we thanked him on our way out.
While enjoying our lunch, we caught up on the local business/political
scene with the owner, who yearned for more visitors like ourselves,
complaining that tour operators barely stop in Whittier while taking
tourists on cruises of the Prince William Sound. Meanwhile, diagonal
sheets of rain swept down across the marina outside -- just another
day in Whittier, Alaska, which averages 185 inches of precipitation
a year, more than my hometown receives in a decade.Not that I really
minded; I got to try out my new Gore-Tex rain suit, jumping out
of the rental car to buy a trinket at a local gift shop and to snap
a few gray photos about town.
What else to say? I probably wouldn't want to live in Whittier,
Alaska -- I'll stick with sunny Southern Cal, thank you -- but I'm
glad I came here at least once. And if my travels ever bring me
back this way, I will by all means stop in. Perhaps the sun will
make a rare appearance, like all the postcard shots I saw ... and
next time I'll try the kung-pao halibut.
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