June 13 - 19, 1996 / Volume V, No. 24

I'm heading toward one of the large cruise ships that can be seen from almost everywhere in town, each one larger than most of the buildings. Together, the shifting mosaic of boats will carry more than 400,000 well-heeled travelers to this community of 30,000 this summer.

Every last one of them will stroll through Fisherman's Wharf and browse the shops - but few will climb the innumerable sets of stairs running up the steep mountains on the side of the road, pedestrian thoroughfares designed to shuttle residential dwellers between expensive homes and downtown. Probably none of these visitors will witness what lies beyond the stairs.

But I will. Struggling up a steep creekbed with water almost to my ankles, wet plants soaking me more thoroughly than the airborne water, I stumble upon some ruins - a complex of concrete buildings filled and surrounded with a large, apparently stable, homeless camp.

I don't know what it is, but I always seem to discover the homeless encampments before the mini malls when I arrive in a new city. Perhaps it's the lure of the woods, perhaps an inescapable fascination with the 'underbelly' of society - maybe just a desire to investigate those places where it's possible to live without paying our dues.

There's a lot to be said for living free. No rent, a beautiful place and some good neighbors can be an attractive alternative to a life of slavery to the system, even if you do get a fancy shower and TV set with the latter arrangement.

And in Juneau, housing comes at a very steep price. Since the beginning of its economic recovery in the late '80s, an ever-shrinking vacancy rate has combined with high housing demand to produce some of the most expensive housing in the state. If you want to rent here, you'd better be making decent money, and God help you if you're laid off.

Here in the rent-free rainforest, blue tarps are a predominant feature of the landscape. Over a half-dozen distinct living spaces have been cleared and sheltered. Inside the concrete ruins, a palatial arrangement of tarps protects a large room from the elements, and what appears to be a communal landfill is full of perhaps years' worth of cheap beer cans.

Paths between the sites are well-worn, suggesting that these people interact regularly; clothing and gear lie strewn about as if theft weren't a problem. Though no one is around right now, I get the feeling that these are friendly people, at least with each other. Who knows how they feel about intruders.

According to Ellen Northup, executive director of local homeless shelter The Glory Hole, most homeless people make it to her place at least for a meal now and then. "We're serving about 250 meals per day, but we get different people each day," she says. Though many low-income Natives drop by for food, Northup estimates that only around 10 Natives in Juneau are homeless.

The other estimated 490 came here looking for work and failed, were laid off, left a cohabitation arrangement, or are among the one third of the homeless here classified as mentally ill. Many are from out of state and, says Northup, many are frustrated with their situation but have few options.

"It's pathetic these people have no place to go," says Northup. And I guess she's right. When living free is a sentence rather than a choice, you're not living free at all.