KETCHIKAN

Maybe the residents of coastal towns paint their buildings so outrageously colorful because

nature's palette is grey with rain nearly every day of the year.

We scurried to an historic place immediately after disembarking, avoiding the main street tourist shops.
This is Creek Street, the infamous district where "women of negotiable affections" had their places (over 37 of them at one time), practically stacked one on top of the other:

 Creek street window:

The real adventure from Ketchikan was our little bush plane outing to a remote inlet several islands away from Ketchikan with the hopes of spotting bear at a fishing place.

But how could our pilot spot anything, I wondered, when I tried to look over shoulders, through the soggy, foggy windshield:

Because of engine noise, we couldn't talk, but I saw by Dick's charades that he was trying

to find out how I was doing and whether I had motion sickness.

I couldn't have put my 2 thumbs up any faster!

 It was exhilarating from the rushing skim across the water, to take-off, to flying high and higher!

Forty-five minutes later we put down in a secluded inlet and were picked up by our guide for a

short drive through the woods to a trailhead:

We hiked to a lovely river and small waterfalls, and - yes- bears, fishing!

In spite of salmon a-plenty, this one looks disgruntled,

for good reason: he couldn't catch anything:

This big guy almost looks like a beloved dog posing for a portrait.

Our guide's silent hand signals and a glance at his side-arms of pistol and Bowie knife

warned otherwise:

 

Our float plane coming to pick us up: