Category: Alaska News

Alaska’s mariculture industry is continuing to grow, even though it is in its infancy compared to that in other states.

Alaska’s shellfish farms reported just under $1.5 million in sales of oysters and mussels in 2024 and $48,713 in aquatic plant sales, according figures collected by Emily Gettis, a the state Department of Natural Resources.

In comparison, Washington state in 2022 sold $166.4 million worth of farmed mollusks, according to the McKinley Research Group. Washington is the top U.S. state in production of farmed shellfish; Alaska is not even in the top 10 on that list, according to the McKinley Research Group.

Also dwarfing Alaska’s output is Maine’s booming seaweed-harvesting industry, which generated $1.6 million in sales in 2020, according to reports from that state. Maine supplies about 60% of the edible seaweed that is farmed in the United States, according to industry reports.

Still, Alaska’s industry is expanding, thanks to research, strategic investment and a desire to bolster coastal communities’ economies.

Michelle Morris, permit coordinator for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, described some of that growth in a presentation at the annual Mariculture Conference of Alaska, organized by the Alaska Sea Grant program and held March 9 to 12 in Anchorage.

The number of aquatic farm applications received by the department over the last 10 years is about triple that received over the previous 10-year period, rising to more than 150 from the 46 received between 2006 and 2015. “So that’s pretty crazy,” she said.

There are potentially more sites that could spur permit applications.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has published a new atlas identifying 77 areas in the Gulf of Alaska that are suitable for shellfish or seaweed farming. NOAA researchers analyzed over 4 million acres across those 10 study areas and identified 77 locations totaling 13,000 acres, said Alicia Bishop of NOAA Fisheries’ Alaska regional office.

The atlas is part of a wider multiyear program to establish sites formally designated as Aquaculture Opportunity Areas, Bishop said.

“The whole goal of this planning process is to find locations that may be environmentally, socially and economically suitable for aquaculture,” she said.

There are also environmental considerations: effects on mariculture and effects created by mariculture, both positive and negative.

Higher water temperatures, a problem increasing with climate change, are tied to increased risks of harmful algal blooms and parasites that can cause shellfish eaters to become ill. Fending off those risks requires regular monitoring of water temperatures and diligence about keeping farmed oysters chilled, issues that were detailed at a special food-safety workshop that was part of the conference.

Shellfish farms can also attract otters and other wild marine mammals seeking easy meals, though there are ways to fend off such raids, experts said at the conference.

Ocean acidification, the result of atmospheric carbon dioxide being absorbed in the water, inhibits shellfish growth and can affect all sectors of the seafood industry.

At the same time, shellfish and kelp farms can, if properly managed, enhance marine ecosystems in localized areas and help native species there develop resilience to environmental changes, said Ester Kennedy of the University of Alaska Southeast.

Activities like kelp farming, however, cannot be seen as panaceas to environmental degradation, Kennedy cautioned. “Kelp is great, but it’s not going to fix the water chemistry problem,” she said.

There are also important social issues affected by mariculture, conference participants said.

A key issue is the protection of Indigenous rights as the industry grows, said Keolani Booth of the Native Conservancy, a Native-led organization based in Cordova.

“The waters off the coast of Southeast Alaska, the Gulf, the Aleutians, these are not empty waters. These are ancestral places,” he said in his presentation at the conference. “They carry Indigenous knowledge accumulated over thousands of years, and right now those waters are being permitted, farmed and profited, often by people with no connection to land or the communities nearby. It’s an injustice we feel, and we’re here to change that.”

The Native Conservancy, through partnerships with other organizations, is conducting research and providing technical assistance to support community-based mariculture.

Alaska’s mariculture industry has benefited from big infusions of grant money, including $49 million awarded by the Biden administration in 2022. The funds are being administered by an organization called the Alaska Mariculture Cluster, a coalition led by Southeast Conference, an economic development organization in Southeast Alaska. The Alaska Mariculture Cluster is engaged in projects spanning several years, and it shares a goal with state officials of creating an industry in Alaska worth $100 million a year.

The Exxon Valdez Oil Spill Trustee Council, which administers settlement funds that Exxon paid to the state and federal governments to settle claims for the 1989 disaster, is another source of funding. The trustee council has distributed grants for local research and development projects.

Research has included investigation of ways to expand shellfish farming to other types of bivalves, some of which have diminished native populations.

The Seward-based Alutiiq Pride Marine Institute has engaged in experimental projects to enhance natural clam beds in the Cook Inlet region, where stocks have been depleted, and in Southeast Alaska, where a partnership is ongoing with the Organized Village of Kake.

And University of Alaska Fairbanks researchers have teamed with the Metlakatla Indian Community on a project investigating the possibility of farming pinto abalones. The species is listed as endangered in Washington and British Columbia, and numbers in Alaska have declined enough to justify a “species of concern” classification in the state.

For seaweed, potential markets go beyond people who eat kelp and kelp-containing food like seasoning. Alaska companies are exploring opportunities in fertilizer, cosmetics and health products. Some of those new products were available for sale at the conference.

The small size of Alaska’s mariculture industry notwithstanding, it has some special advantages, said one expert who spoke at the conference.

Julie Qiu, a New York-based shellfish connoisseur who founded an educational and training organization called the Oyster Master Guild, said Alaska’s farmed bivalves are of high quality.

“They are really remarkable oysters,” Qiu said during a keynote address at the conference.

She praised Alaska oysters’ texture, delicacy and flavor developed over the extra-long growing period in the state’s cold waters.

“I think fresh and clean come to mind immediately,” she said.

 But there is a shortcoming, she added: “They’re just a little bit hard to get in New York City.”

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A stocky brown-and-white shorebird scurried along the beach, pausing midstride to probe the mud for tiny pink clams that are a lifeline for rock sandipers and many other species that call Alaska home. Nearby, my friend and former colleague Dan Ruthrauff collected observations to enter into eBird, a public reporting platform, recording data as diligently as he had during the months we’d worked together in the field. The bird’s delicately painted breast and long, slender beak belied its remarkable hardiness; during his PhD research, Ruthrauff had shown me photographs of overwintering rock sandpipers waiting out a cold snap, their feathers ruffled and their legs encased in ice like tiny popsicle sticks. Now, while he tracked the sandpiper’s movements, I took pictures of several seabird carcasses that had washed up on the beach, documenting another of the growing number of wildlife mortality events that I’d been studying for the past decade.

We’d arrived by sailboat to this rain-drenched cove in the Shumagin Islands of southwestern Alaska, where fields of eelgrass nudged crumbling sea stacks and black-legged kittiwakes perched on steep rock walls. We weren’t there in our official capacity as biologists, but we’re always on the job when it comes to paying attention to the ecosystems and species we’ve long studied and cared for. Until recently, Ruthrauff and I were research biologists for the U.S. Geological Survey in Alaska, with more than 50 years of experience between us. Ruthrauff was a shorebird and waterfowl specialist; I focused largely on wildlife and environmental health.

We left our respective positions in April 2025 as the Trump administration’s assault on federal science reached its initial climax. This was not an easy departure, but it felt untenable to stay in the climate of hostility and uncertainty that was building at USGS and other federal agencies. My decision was cemented when I heard Doug Burgum, a billionaire businessman who had recently been appointed Secretary of the Interior, describe the country’s public lands as a “balance sheet,” with the explicit desire to profit from their development and exploitation. The Department of the Interior oversees USGS, and thus Burgum had become our highest-level boss. In his “welcome” speech, he revealed both the depths of his team’s scientific ignorance and its intent to dismantle key components of our research, with severe implications for not only our careers but the nation’s wildlife, lands, and waters.

On top of what many of my colleagues and I saw as the administration’s pro-extraction, anti-science agenda, we faced another onslaught. Over the preceding weeks, we’d received threatening emails instructing us to “turn in” our colleagues for any suspected promotion of diversity and equity initiatives, including benign programs intended to support women or underrepresented groups in science. We were informed, on a near-daily basis, that we were likely to lose our jobs and all programmatic funding, and were advised to prepare a statement to send to partners in other agencies in case we faced sudden termination. Such messages were often routed through fabricated email addresses and used demeaning, unprofessional language.

The effect was both disheartening and chilling. The federal employees I worked alongside were not rabble-rousers but committed public servants, focused on providing unbiased scientific information to help manage species and ecosystems and protect human safety. Among our collective roles, we forecasted earthquakes and other natural hazards, measured toxin levels in subsistence foods, gauged streamflow that boaters and aquatic life depend on, mitigated human-wildlife conflicts, and provided early warning for infectious diseases like avian influenza. Far from being elite academics, my colleagues worked directly for the benefit of others. In Southeast Alaska, for example, USGS scientists used decades of mapping data to identify deadly landslide hazards as the warming climate brings more intense rainfall. On the Yukon River, my colleagues investigated the crash of chinook salmon stocks that left Alaska Native communities without a critical food source and brought the commercial fishing industry to a standstill.

By spring of 2025, however, our workplace felt less like a top-tier public science institution and more like an environment intended to cultivate submission via intimidation. We were fearful of losing our jobs, or worse. As a writer and concerned citizen, I knew my ability to speak out would be compromised. And as a researcher, I couldn’t, in good conscience, abandon the scientific transparency and conservation ethics that had formed the backbone of my training.

Federal employees like me were thus left with two impossible options: stay and tolerate whatever abuse and forced complicity came next, or leave and forfeit an entire career. Some of my colleagues simply could not leave: They had hospitalized children who couldn’t risk a break in health care, single-income mortgages to pay, or elderly family members to support. Others believed that the system of law would ultimately prevail. Most did not have a second career option at the ready, yet many nonetheless lost their jobs—sometimes with a few hours’ notice, and other times with no notice at all.

Ruthrauff and I were fortunate: He was eligible for early retirement, and I had a second job as a freelance writer to fall back on, with a new book contract in the works. Still, it was a decision neither of us wanted to make. We were given less than a week to collect our belongings, sign off from projects that were years in the making, and archive as much data as we could before permanently losing access to our email.

We are among the estimated 352,000 employees who have so far been fired or left the federal workforce in response to the Trump administration’s policies. Science has been hit especially hard, with climate, environment, health, and wildlife budgets specifically targeted. Some 7,800 research grants have been frozen or terminated, and further proposed cuts could result in additional losses to programs and personnel. And although Congress is pushing back, much of the damage has already been done. With programs and staff gone and employee morale tanked, it’s simply not possible to pick up where we left off.

For all of its promised cost savings, the Trump administration’s chaotic cuts over the past year haven’t actually saved taxpayers money. The federal budget grew by $220 billion in the first hundred days of the administration compared to the same period the prior year—yet our nation has lost more than many people realize. We have long relied on weather and natural hazard forecasting for our safety; we have trusted that our national parks will be sustained in perpetuity; we have hunted, fished, and recreated with the assurance that someone is looking after our natural resources. That someone might have been me, or Dan Ruthrauff, or any of my other colleagues who took an oath of public service only to find that they were no longer able to deliver on their promises—not because they weren’t qualified or didn’t care, but because the current government has failed us all.

After resigning, I took the opportunity to sail with my husband and 9- and 11-year-old sons on our small expedition sailboat through the Northwest Passage, a goal we’d been working toward for years. The same passions that drew me to my work as a biologist have long dovetailed with my personal interests. I’d walked, paddled, skied, and sailed across much of my home state; the four-month-long sailing trip was a chance to connect the dots across the broader Arctic and to report on what I’d witnessed. Along the way, I conducted in-person research for my forthcoming book about wildlife response to climate change.

Our route passed many places familiar to me from my work as a federal biologist. I glimpsed the snow-covered peaks of the Brooks Range backing up to the Arctic Coastal Plain, where I’d lived out of a tent while studying the effects of climate-driven storm surge on nesting common eiders. We stopped in communities where I’d partnered with local residents to document the risks to wildlife and people from harmful algal blooms, an emerging environmental health issue. The landscape had changed dramatically in the two decades since I began my career. Barrier islands where I’d done fieldwork were now routinely battered by what had once been described as hundred-year storms; hungry polar bears had become regular summer visitors; and sea ice had given way to large areas of open water. We saw historical sites that had flooded and seawalls that had been breached. It was impossible not to worry about how the isolated communities in this part of the world will feel the loss of federal support when salmon fail to return or wildfires rip through boreal forests or permafrost slumps into the sea.

Ruthrauff joined us for the 800-mile sailing leg from Nome to Sand Point, both in Alaska, offering an extra set of hands and an endless source of bird facts for my curious 9-year-old. It was our first reunion since we’d exchanged hasty goodbyes while packing up our USGS offices five months earlier.

Initially, as we scanned the horizon with binoculars and washed dishes with seawater, it felt as though we’d just stepped into another field stint. Only later, as we sailed past stretches of coastline where we’d each worked did we discuss our departure. I learned that a multiyear project to investigate the impacts of climate change on Arctic-nesting geese that Ruthrauff helped organize had been halted. The research I’d been doing on harmful algal blooms no longer had a program lead or a budget. Long-term monitoring studies—on caribou, polar bears, walruses, fishes, and birds—that provide basic population inventories necessary for endangered species assessments, sustainable hunting limits, and other applications had been shelved indefinitely. Meanwhile, employees were prohibited from speaking to the media, including about topics such as avian influenza and other issues that pertain to animal and human health. Our remaining colleagues and their expertise had been effectively silenced.

Other federal programs, such as those that focused on weather forecasting, were losing funds so quickly they couldn’t perform essential public services. Those gaps would soon become evident.

We had ventured into the Bering Sea at a time when the weather gods were smiling, but before long the mood would change, with disastrous effects. Far to our west, the anomalously warm waters of the North Pacific were stirring up trouble. Three weeks later, after we’d continued south and out of harm’s way, a Category 4 storm called Typhoon Halong hit the coastal villages of Kipnuk and Kwigillingok, changing course so quickly residents weren’t able to evacuate. Survivors, many of whom are now temporarily living in my hometown of Anchorage nearly 500 miles away, have become not only climate refugees, but victims of federal funding cuts: A $20 million coastal resilience grant was canceled in the months prior to the storm, at the same time that federal weather balloons were grounded and forecasting budgets were slashed.

Though no amount of preparation could have changed the storm’s track or severity, the lack of resources and information made a bad situation worse. Rick Thoman, a longtime Alaska meteorologist, wrote that while it’s not entirely clear whether the lack of weather balloons affected the forecast, “it seems likely that that had some effect on the model performance.” Emergency funding intended to help communities respond to extreme weather events, meanwhile, is no longer available under the Trump administration. That makes the future even more uncertain for the people of Kipnuk and Kwigillingok, many of whom are attempting to maintain their cultural roots while living out of temporary accommodations in the state’s biggest city.

These are not scientists or disgruntled employees, but real people feeling the real effects of a federal workforce in crisis. It doesn’t take a PhD to recognize that these and other losses will reverberate for decades to come, and that the true price of dismantling our federal science programs is far higher than any supposed cost-cutting measures have saved.

On the last day before we dropped Ruthrauff in the Unangax̂ community of Sand Point, where I’d spent one frigid December chasing sea ducks as a USGS employee, we did a final eBird survey. It was a drizzly afternoon with fickle sailing conditions, gusty one minute, dead calm the next. Ruthrauff sat in the cockpit with binoculars trained on the jumpy horizon; I held onto an overhead rail and steered through the waves. 

As we called out our sightings—sooty shearwater, common murre, black-legged kittiwake—we knew that these observations were nothing more than lone data points in a sea of information needs. But we also knew that even the most seemingly mundane reports, taken together, can provide valuable insight. Public data platforms such as eBird will never replace detailed monitoring studies, but in the absence of federal support, having extra eyes on the water, in the sky, and in the trees might help fill some of the gaps. 

Turning our collective attention to the natural world also offers the sort of inspiration we need in a time of crisis. From hardy rock sandpipers waiting out a deep freeze to the millions of seabirds that survived Typhoon Halong, we need look no farther than our own backyards to find examples of resilience. We, too, must find a way to weather this storm. 

This commentary was originally published in BioGraphic Magazine and is republished here with Permission.

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The state of Alaska is looking for someone to take the Matanuska, one of the first three ships built as part of the Alaska Marine Highway System after statehood.

In a public notice published Friday afternoon, the Alaska Department of Transportation and Public Facilities said it is now looking for “interested parties regarding the opportunities to dispose of the vessel in a manner that honors its historic significance while allowing it to continue serving Alaska in new innovative ways.” 

DOT is primarily looking for people or groups interested in operating the Matanuska “as a museum vessel, maritime training ship, tourism or hospitality venue, community facility, research platform, heritage site, or other maritime or public-serving use,” according to a detailed document accompanying the public notice.

Any applicant would have to demonstrate that they have the financial resources necessary to take care of the ship.

Retired ferries are notoriously expensive to operate, and idealistic plans for other ships have repeatedly fallen apart. The former Washington state ferry Kalakala was turned into a cannery in Kodiak, recovered and towed back to Washington, but fell derelict and almost sank into a canal before being scrapped in 2015.

The Alaska ferry Taku was intended for use as a hotel after its retirement, but it ultimately ended up being scrapped in India. 

The ferry Malaspina was retired by the Alaska Marine Highway System in 2022 and is now being used as housing at a cruise ship terminal in Ketchikan. The business partners behind that effort are now fighting in court over a variety of issues.

Built in 1963, the Matanuska served as an active ferry for almost 60 years and still has a gold-painted funnel indicating its status as the “Queen of the Fleet,” the oldest operating ship in state service.

Despite that honor, the Matanuska has been out of regular service for at least three years, and has been laid up in Ketchikan for use as a “hotel ship” by the ferry system. Last year, DOT officials said the ferry system lacked the money needed to return the ship to service, and they recommended fully retiring it.

Proposals for the Matanuska’s future are due to DOT by 2 p.m. April 14. 

“Letters of interest proposing scrapping, dismantling, or scuttling the vessel may be submitted for informational purposes,” the agency said, but for the time being, it’s looking at ideas to reuse the ship.

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Thirty-seven years ago the Exxon Valdez tanker grounded in Prince William Sound and spilled 11 million gallons of crude oil in what was for decades the nation’s worst oil spill. Now, state environmental officials are proposing to remove some of the spill sites from a list of polluted waters.

Of the more than 1,300 miles of coastline fouled by the spill, there are now 11 sites where lingering oil is too degraded, too deeply embedded and too immobile to pose any more water quality problems, according to analysis performed for the Alaska Department of Environmental Conservation.

The department is proposing to remove “impaired” designations from 11 spill-affected sites in its 2026 Integrated Water Quality Monitoring and Assessment Report, a tally required under the federal Clean Water Act.

Among the sites that may be reclassified are some that became famous for the thick coating of spilled oil they received in the immediate aftermath of the tanker’s grounding. They include Sleepy Bay on Latouche Island and Bay of Isles and Herring Bay on Knight Island.

Impaired water body lists, which identify sites that fail to meet water quality standards, are required by federal law of all states every two years.

For Alaska, the assessment of whether specific locations affected by the Exxon Valdez oil spill should still be on the list depends on whether they met state and federal water quality standards, according to the DEC.

“Just as water near a permitted sewage outfall may have pollutants present but remain in ‘attainment’ because it meets strict safety and environmental thresholds, some EVOS beaches may still contain traces of lingering oil while now meeting the legal standards for water quality,” a department statement said.

The draft proposes moving the 11 sites from Category 4b, used for sites that are impaired but have recovery plans in place, to Category 2, used for sites where water quality standards have been attained for at least one designated use.

The state agency’s draft 2026 list also contains another change: a consolidation of sites with lingering oil.

Two years ago, the state’s impaired water body list identified 36 such sites. As of now, the department has merged some of those, leaving a total of 16 sites.

Five of those sites are still considered impaired at the Category 4 level, under the draft list. Those sites are on Smith Island, Knight Island, Eleanor Island and Green Island, and altogether they account for a little under 16 miles of coastline, according to the DEC.

The lingering oil is a reminder of the environmental damage wreaked by the Exxon Valdez disaster and the difficulties encountered in the response to it.

Despite a massive cleanup effort, only about 10% of the spilled oil that fouled waters and beaches was ever recovered, according to the DEC.

Lingering oil posed environmental problems for several years after that, according to the Exxon Valdez Oil Spill Trustee Council, the federal and state organization that administers the funds paid by Exxon to settle government damage claims. Lingering oil leaching out from beach sites slowed the recovery of some species for more than two decades, including sea otters, and some research indicates that long-term impacts from lingering oil were as bad or worse than the initial acute impacts of the spill, according to the trustee council.

As of 2007, after years of weathering and degradation, an estimated 23,000 gallons of spilled oil remained on the beaches. That is about 0.2% of the original spill volume, according to the trustee council. A follow-up survey in 2015 revealed no significant change in that amount, according to the council.

Alaska’s draft 2026 impaired water body list is subject to public review, with comments accepted through April 6. After comments are analyzed, a final list will be produced and sent to the Environmental Protection Agency, DEC said.

The Exxon Valdez sites make up just part of the state’s draft impaired water body list, which includes numerous recommendations for category changes. Impaired water bodies have been identified in places stretching from Interior Alaska to the Aleutians and the southern tip of Southeast Alaska.

Some of those sites have been designated as Category 5, used for water bodies with the worst pollution problems. There were 20 such sites on DEC’s 2024 list, with fecal coliform affecting 13 of them.

The draft 2026 list proposes moving two of those sites, the Katlian River near Sitka and the Little Susitna River in the Matanuska-Susitna Borough, to Category 2 after there were improvements in their turbidity measurements. The draft also proposes moving a different site, Ketchikan Creek, to Category 5 because of fecal coliform problems.

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The Alaska Legislature is preparing to re-vote on a key spending bill that will cover millions of dollars in disaster response and construction projects in the current fiscal year.

On Monday, a bicameral conference committee voted 5-1 to send an amended version of the bill to final votes in the House and Senate. Those votes may take place Wednesday.

The state’s fast-track supplemental budget contains $449.3 million in spending — expenses accrued since legislators and Gov. Mike Dunleavy adopted the state budget last year.

Legislators are separately working on a budget for the next fiscal year, which begins July 1. A vote on that is expected at the end of the legislative session in May. 

The supplemental budget bill includes $70.2 million to unlock grant-funded construction projects principally paid for by the federal government — a major lobbying priority for the state’s construction industry.

It also includes tens of millions for the state response to last year’s wildfire season and millions more as a down payment for the state’s response to ex-Typhoon Halong, which devastated Western Alaska last fall.

The new spending would largely be paid for with new revenue the state expects because of higher oil prices caused by the Iran war. 

As long as prices remain high through June 30, the end of the fiscal year, legislators expect there will be enough general-purpose money to cover the expenses, plus a smaller package of budget amendments already proposed by Dunleavy. 

Those amendments arrived too late to be added to the supplemental bill. 

If oil prices don’t match expectations, the bill contains language that would allow the state to use the Constitutional Budget Reserve, the state’s principal savings account, to cover the difference plus $20 million in “headroom.” 

That clause may run into problems in the House, where the 19-person House Republican minority caucus has voted several times against spending from the reserve.

It takes 30 votes in the House and 15 in the Senate to spend from the reserve; while the Senate has met that threshold and is expected to do so again this week, it isn’t clear whether the House will do so.

The 21-person, predominantly Democratic coalition that controls the House would need to attract at least nine minority votes, and in earlier votes, it was unable to do so — something that forced the bill into a bicameral conference committee for further negotiations.

Rep. Will Stapp, R-Fairbanks and the minority’s negotiator on the conference committee, was the only lawmaker to vote against the revised bill on Monday, saying he doesn’t believe any kind of spending from the reserve is necessary at this point.

Members of the House majority have argued that allowing reserve spending — if necessary — would provide surety for construction businesses making summer plans. 

They have also argued that time is of the essence: Delaying action on the bill would mean those companies might have to defer purchasing and hiring decisions ahead of the summer construction season.

Members of the House minority argued that as previously written, the bill would have allowed members of the majority to direct the spending of hundreds of millions from the reserve, even if it wasn’t needed to balance the supplemental budget.

That version was cut to less than $375 million in spending, an attempt to attract minority votes, but while that approach worked in the Senate, it did not succeed in the House.

When the House failed to pass the reserve vote, lawmakers there sent the bill to the conference committee for further work.

While that committee was able to finalize a draft compromise, it won’t be clear until later whether that compromise can pass out of the Legislature.

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10 years ago

After a drop of 84 people in 2013 and an increase of 21 in 2014, the population of Haines has reverted to a downward trend, dropping 58 people in the last year to a total of 2,493, according to state statistics.

The town is also continuing to get older, maturing from a median age of 46.6 in 2012, to 48 in 2013, 48.5 in 2014, and 49.3 last year, according to the Department of Labor and Workforce Development.

That means the Haines Borough will retain its position as the oldest borough in Alaska, said state demographer Eddie Hunsinger.

Keeping with the town’s recent trend of no growth through natural increase, births and deaths matched each other last year. In 2014, two more people died than were born here, and in 2013, eight more people died than were born.

According to a news release put out by the Department of Labor and Workforce Development, among the state’s six economic regions, Anchorage/Mat-Su gained the most over the period (343) followed by Northern (277), and Gulf Coast (220). Southwest (-232), Interior (-172) and Southeast (-165) regions each had small losses.

Of Alaska’s 29 boroughs and census areas, 11 grew between 2014 and 2015. The largest population increases were in the Mat-Su Borough (1,801) and Kenai Peninsula Borough (348). The Municipality of Anchorage lost the most people over the period (-1,458).

Hunsinger said the state primarily uses census information and Permanent Fund Dividend applications to make annual population estimates.

24 years ago – March 21, 2002

The season’s centerpiece extreme skiing event begins Friday when two dozen skiers and photographers arrive for the second annual Red Bull Snow Thrill of Alaska.

The eight-day event begins with a downtown open house Friday evening to meet participants, and ends with a day-long competition on a ridge above the Chilkat River that should be visible from town.

Event coordinator Ryan Ernst said the Red Bull Freeskiing World Championship will be held around March 29 on “Telemark Ridge,” above Haska Creek on the west side of the Chilkat.

“It’s so weather dependent. I wish we could have it on a set day. When it looks like we can hold it, we’ll call around and make sure people know so they can get out and watch with binoculars,” Ernst said. A similar event was canceled last year due to poor weather conditions.

Ernst is leading a group of six event organizers who are spending the week scouting locations for the main event — a skiing photography contest to take place on mountain peaks near the Canadian border.

The event pits 12 teams of one skier and one photographer to create the best photos in six categories: best action and feature story sequence, air, fly-on-the-wall, Alaska lifestyles, and powder turns. Each team gets a limited amount of helicopter time to get their shots. Peer judging will be held over the Internet.

Ernst said the event will be based at 33 Mile Haines Highway and will employ three or four helicopters to haul participants and gear. The Telemark Ridge finale will be based at the Haines airport.

It’s the third year logistics coordinator Jim Conway has organized ski days in the upper valley. Conway said Haines has ideal mountains and snow conditions for high-country skiing. 

“It’s the best we’ve found, and I’m from Salt Lake. In coastal mountains, you get wetter snow than in the Interior and there’s way better stability. When it’s clear here, you really get the best of both worlds. It’s a treat to come here.”

But snow conditions aren’t that great this week, according to ski guide Shawn McNamara. McNamara, who’s helping organize the Red Bull event, said high winds during the past two weeks have polished and hardened the snow cover. “It’s been blowing a lot. There are pockets of soft snow, and there’s enough to hold the contest, but it’s not ideal.”

Conway said Outside skiers enjoy Haines’ rural atmosphere. “It’s a great town. People don’t come to Alaska for a five-star hotel. Haines is a nice comfortable town with its own character, and people enjoy that.” Haines local heliski outfitters and guides will be involved in the event, Conway said.

An open house sponsored by the Haines Chamber of Commerce, the Convention and Visitors’ Bureau, and local businesses will allow residents to meet skiers, photographers and guides particıpating in the competition. The reception, which will include a welcome from city mayor Dave Black and a presentation by Ellen Winkler of Mountain Sports International, will begin at 6 p.m. Friday at the Sheldon Museum.

Tourism director Michelle Glass said skiing and snowboarding enthusiasts should be sure to turn out. “They’ll have posters to autograph and we’ll all get to meet each other.” The Pioneer Bar is holding a welcoming party following the open house with music by the Truffles.

53 years ago – March 5, 1973

A petition requesting the relocation of the U.S. Customs and Immigration station from Haines to adjacent to the Canadian border station is making the rounds.

According to Dorothy Fossman of Klukwan, writer of the document, she was able to get “25 signatures in 15 minutes” and is confident of getting a majority of area residents to go along.

The recent waiver of “phone in” privileges for Haines Highway residents returning to Alaska from Canada has gotten several persons mad — namely those that must drive all the way into Haines to check in before driving all the way out to homes along the road. The “no stopping” rule has hurt businesses situated along the highway. The rule effectively bars inbound traffic from stopping to buy gas or eat a meal this side of the border. The owners of businesses along the road are not overjoyed with the setup.

“This may be in violation of the United States Constitution,” Fossman said. “This is an interruption of the free enterprise system.”

The petition, addressed to the Commissioner of Customs in Washington, D.C., requests that “adequate and up-to-standard facilities” be constructed adjacent to the Canadian facilities at the border. Attachments to the petition call attention to past requests along the same line that have had negligible response,” Fossman says.

“Even with a gate (which has been eliminated as a proposal), the basic problem remains,” Fossman said. “Persons would still have to drive clear into town without stopping. The rules simply were not designed to fit a case where such great distances between stations exist.”

Locations in town where petitions will be placed will be announced this week on TV, Fossman said.

The post This Week in History: Average Haines age, extreme ski contest and border relocation appeared first on Chilkat Valley News.

One person died Sunday afternoon in an avalanche near the Canadian border in British Columbia.

Atlin Royal Canadian Mounted Police received a Garmin SOS alert from a remote location near the Klehini River and Pleasant Camp, according to a news release. When they got the call, one person was reported unconscious and receiving CPR. Atlin Search and Rescue responded with a helicopter and flew out four people who were uninjured, and a fifth who had died.  

RCMP spokesperson Sgt. Vanessa Munn did not share more details Monday but said the accident happened on the Canadian side of the border.

According to Avalanche Canada, the risk is “considerable” in the Haines Pass and by the border. Haines Avalanche Center director Jeff Moskowitz reaffirmed this saying that human-triggered avalanches are likely.

Moskowitz said recent snowfall created sensitive layers in the upper snowpack with winds redistributing the snow. In addition to winds affecting the snowpack, solar radiation can lead to instability and trigger avalanches or increase the likelihood of human-triggered avalanches.

Moskowitz said that “when we get these really cold temperatures,” weak layers are created in the snowpack that get buried with successive snowfall. Additional risks Moskowitz said to keep an eye out for are cornices, or overhanging shelves of snow, as they can “trigger layers deeper in the snowpack,” leading to an avalanche.

Moskowitz said he has seen shooting cracks — a visible fracture in the top of the snowpack — while out in the backcountry. Shooting cracks occur due to weight from above, often caused by skiers traveling on the surface. He has also gotten reports of human-triggered whumpfing sounds, or collapsing, which occurs when the snowpack drops with weight from above. 

Moskowitz said that the strong-over-weak layering is “fairly widespread.” Such layering occurs when stiff snow, often from snow drifts, sits on top of a layer of sugary snow – or snowflakes that don’t stick together well.

For those traveling into the backcountry, Moskowitz advises to “make conservative terrain choices while the snowpack adjusts, and that could include sticking to slopes less than 30 degrees.” Additionally, he said skiers should assess conditions and layers before committing to steeper slopes.

Since 2012, eight people have died because of avalanches around Haines, in addition to an avalanche partially burying one person.

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