Page 55 of Finn

Alaska is beyond stunning. Everywhere you turn there’s a beautiful view. The snowy mountains, the thick forests, the clear waters of the lakes and inlets and channels—it’s all wild and untamed and just gorgeous.

I’ve also been having a blast checking out the places that mean something to Finn. He’s already showed me the suburban split-level house he grew up in, the pond in the back where he first learned to skate, and his old schools.

We then drove by the hockey rink where he used to play in pee-wee games. It was a rickety old structure, but he told me he helped pay for a new one to be built.

He showed me that one too.

It’s really nice, and I told him, “That was very generous of you.”

He replied in a serious tone, “It’s important to me to give back.”

I love that about him.

Hell, I just love him.

I look over at him slyly now, so he doesn’t catch me, and smile to myself.

Did I mention I am having a great day?

Thankfully, it’s not over yet.

We reach downtown Juneau and find a place to park. A few minutes later, we’re strolling through town, with Finn pointing out all the touristy places. It’s not overly busy, as there are no cruise ships in port today, so we have the streets more or less to ourselves.

He just pointed out a famous crab shack by the pier, and now we’re heading down Franklin Street.

Finn tells me, “This is the main road where all the visitors come.”

“I can tell,” I reply. “Check out all the gift shops and souvenir stores.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “There are a ton of those around here.”

There are, but we don’t go into any of them. Finn does slow down at an old structure called “The Alaskan Hotel.”

Stopping under the sign at the entrance, Finn jerks his chin to the hotel and says, “This place is supposed to be super haunted.”

“No way.” I glance up to where the rooms are and do indeed get a creepy vibe. “Really?”

Finn nods. “Yeah. It’s pretty old, so who knows what all has happened here in the past. Juneau has seen some pretty wild and crazy days. Anyway, there’s supposedly one room in there that no one is allowed to ever stay in. The rumor is that one night back in 2007, a sailor who was in port was determined to convince the hotel proprietor to let him stay in that particular room for the night.”

Rapt with attention, I ask, “Did they let him?”

“They sure did,” he shares. “And that night, the sailor got so freaked out and scared by whatever happened in there that he jumped out of the window.”

“Holy crap!” I exclaim. “Was he okay?”

“He was,” Finn confirms. “But no one ever found out what exactly occurred in that room or why he jumped. I guess he just never wanted to talk about it. Must’ve been bad, though.”

“I’d say.” I look at the hotel again and a chill runs down my spine, the scary kind. Nudging Finn, I say, “Let’s get out of here.”

He laughs. “Okay, we’ll head back down the street. There’s something else I want to show you anyway.”

I shake off another chill. “Sounds good to me.”

We walk away, and I’m happy to put space between me and the creepy old hotel.

Down the road, we reach the spot Finn wanted to show me. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s the Red Dog Saloon.

We stop, and pointing to the wooden structure, he says, “This is where the famous Duck Fart shot was invented.”

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