ALCOHOL WAS A FACTOR: Weekly Newspapering in Rural Alaska

The Snow Dragon Vanishes. And Reappears.

Haines Alaska, the feisty little fishing and tourist town set amid endless fields of retreating glaciers, can’t even throw a Christmas Parade without controversy.

This year’s bickering centers on the town’s venerable Snow Dragon.

Every year for decades, the 30-foot-long dragon was the star of the show — the parade that starts at the local gym and moves a half-mile down Main Street to the Sheldon Museum and its view of the harbor and Lynn Canal beyond, and beyond that the distant white peaks of the Chilkoot Mountains.

The event rarely seems to come off without some kind of hitch.

There’s often a scramble to find enough amateur musicians to volunteer for the marching band. A couple of years ago, a combination of snow and rain turned Haines roads into nearly impassable slush, causing cancellation of the local bazaar, high-school boys’ basketball games and even the Holiday Parade.

The one mainstay always was the Snow Dragon, this wintry town’s version of the of the snaking dragon in the annual Chinese New Year’s parade.

Some years, people create mini Snow Dragons that take part in the parade.

But nothing in Haines compares to the Mother of All Snow Dragons, Haines’ pride and joy that snorts pressurized flour out of its snout to simulate smoke.

But this year, the dragon has been pulled from the lineup.

Annette Gregg, a local community organizer, whose local artist and politician brother Tresham made the prop years ago, decided to go out town for the weekend the parade is held.
And if she can’t be here, she announced that Haines can’t use her Snow Dragon.

In some corners of town, tongues wagged on whether anyone could really own something that had become iconic to the town. Annette didn’t really own the dragon, that honor went to the Lynn Canal Community Players.

There was talk of a snow Dragon smash and grab.

“It’s too bad,” said Tom Morphet, the owner of the weekly Chilkat Valley News, an amateur trumpet player who each year organizes a motley parade marching band. “Other than the band, there’s really not much more than a bunch of firetrucks. We’re going to miss that dragon.”

Tom has negotiated, even pleaded with Annette, to let the town use the dragon in her absence.

But the spray-painted sheets and plastic containers that people don to create the dragon are showing their age and Anette but her foot down.

No Snow Dragon. It needed her loving care.

In the afternoon, a few hours before the start of the parade, a steady snow fell, covering downtown with a blanket of white. Rain was due to fall overnight, and would hopefully hold off until after the parade kicked off in the darkness just after sundown.

I was in the newsroom, faithfully reporting one of my regular town posts, when the phone rang.

It was Leigh Horner, who writes the gossipy Duly Noted column was breathless.

“Where’s Tom? she asked. I have news.”

Apparently, Snow Dragon lived.

Not the old snow Dragon, which was balled up in Annette’s garage.

A new Snow Dragon.

A better Snow Dragon.

“Geppetto’s Junkyard is stepping up to the plate,” Leigh said. “They are making their own Snow Dragon for the parade!”

And the news got better.

“This thing is going to be so much better than Annette’s,” she said. “She’s going to be so made. So jealous!”

In the parade, I called a banner announcing the Chilkat Valley News and threw candy at kids who lined the street under a heavy falling snow.

Tom played trumpet in the amateur band. Our hands began to freeze. Due to the unpleasantries in the borough assembly many people are angry at Tom and are making noises about a recall effort.

I worried I might be pelted with eggs caring the newspaper banner.

None came.

The new Snow Dragon was a hit. And the Feltist wore his tiger costume to brighten up the show. I was throwing out candy when we passed on Main Street, right on front of the newspaper. It was snowing hard by then, still bitter cold, but his yellow tiger costume stood out in the gloom. He was one his knees and children on the sidewalk were laughing. I went over and pushed him over, just to get a rise out of him. He grunted and fell to the ground. Then I realized he couldn’t see a thing under that Tiger head.

Ahhhhh, the Feltist.

And so the Haines Holiday parade came off without a hitch. Still, nobody knows whether Annette realizes that her dragon has been replaced, or if this move will go on in perpetuity.

The moral of the story is that no one really does own the Snow Dragon in Haines Alaska.

So for next year’s parade, this competitive little town is just going to have to find something else to bicker about.

I’m sure they’ll find something here in Haines, where controversies rage like snow storms.

With its annual big bird invasion each year, the place bills itself as the Valley of the Eagles.

But a wiseacre resident did that one better.

He calls it the Valley of the Egos.