If you come to Sit­ka – and I think you should, at least once in your life – you’ll be greet­ed by Mt. Edge­cumbe, our res­i­dent vol­cano. Come in ear­ly May, before the cruise ships begin their dai­ly tourist deposits, and that winter’s snow­fall will be cas­cad­ing from the hol­low in her shoul­ders, down to the curve where her hips meet the rain­for­est of Kru­zof Island. Come in late Sep­tem­ber, when summer’s lust­ful sun has coaxed her out of her cloak, and you’ll see her skin glow­ing sien­na-red in our wan­ing day­light hours.

April 7, 2007

If there’s one icon­ic image rep­re­sent­ing Sit­ka, she’s it.  Thir­teen miles west of down­town, she pre­sides over Sit­ka Sound with the con­fi­dence that comes of some 12,000 years of an unques­tioned régime. At 3201 feet, she’s a quar­ter the height of her unof­fi­cial sis­ter, Japan’s Mt. Fuji. When South­east Alas­ka bless­es us with a clear day, we can be trolling on the Fair­weath­er Grounds, more than 130 miles away, and see her pierc­ing the far­thest reach­es of the sea. When we head north every sea­son and she final­ly appears on the hori­zon, I know I’m home.

Mount Edge­cumbe rep­re­sents home­com­ing to many Sitkans. One of our fish­ing part­ners is a gift­ed song-writer. After much plead­ing (and a fair few cans of Rainier beer,) he can be cajoled into shar­ing his Swede-tinged, bluesy bari­tone, croon­ing dit­ties cre­at­ed over long fish­ing trips. This is one of my favorites, to the tune of “Rawhide”:

Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’

We’re all filled up from trollin’.

We’re rollin’ into Sit­ka tonight.

With that big full moon a‑shinin’,

And the north­ern lights a‑blindin’,

And that old vol­cano comin’ into sight.

Dor­mant for over 10,000 years, Mt. Edge­cumbe gave Sitkans a big scare just 37 years ago.  After wak­ing up one beau­ti­ful morn­ing to see dense black smoke pour­ing out of her crater, ter­ri­fied res­i­dents flood­ed the streets.  When you live on an island with 19 miles of road, and the only exit is by boat or by plane, how do you flee from a volcano’s immi­nent eruption?

April 1, 1974 (Pho­to Pro­vid­ed by Ed Cushing)

For­tu­nate­ly, folks didn’t have to find out. Before any pan­icked exo­dus could occur, the Juneau Coast Guard sent a heli­copter to inves­ti­gate. Fly­ing low, the chop­per crew peered through the plumes and radioed in their report.  A tow­er of tires was alight with­in, fifty-foot let­ters spray-paint­ed in the near­by snow.  “APRIL FOOL!”

Local prankster Porky Bickar lat­er shared the details in an inter­view with the Sit­ka Sen­tinel.  With a team of co-con­spir­a­tors, he’d char­tered a heli­copter to deposit hun­dreds of tires in the basin. “We’d planned it for 3 years, and just wait­ed for an April Fool’s Day when it wasn’t rain­ing like hell.” Awak­en­ing to the long-await­ed clear morn­ing, they made a final trip out, armed with assort­ed smoke bombs, fuel, and matches.

Porky had the good sense to give the Sit­ka Police and FAA a heads-up of his scheme, but he’d for­got­ten to con­tact the Coast Guard. There was some sig­nif­i­cant fall-out over that lapse, and he was billed for the clean-up required to remove the pyre’s remains.  Seems a small price to pay, real­ly… Though Porky passed away in 2003, his infamy is as absolute as Mt. Edgecumbe’s con­tin­ued reign over Sit­ka Sound.

August, 2008

This is one of those sto­ries so over-told that it’s a ter­ri­ble cliché to post, but I can’t resist.  To Sit­ka read­ers who could tell this sto­ry far more authen­ti­cal­ly than I, my apolo­gies for appro­pri­at­ing local lore. To the rest of you… May you one day expe­ri­ence for your­self the warmth of a Mt. Edge­cumbe welcome.