We woke up docked at the very end of a narrow fjord with sheer granite walls rising thousands of feet on both sides. The morning air was crisp and smelled of pine, saltwater, and fresh coffee from the docks. Skagway itself is literally a movie set — wooden boardwalks, vintage signs, rangers in flat hats and suspenders telling stories like they just stepped out of 1898. Four cruise ships were in port, but the moment we started walking down Broadway, the town's electric energy drew us in. What makes Skagway different from every other Alaska port is that it's not pretending — this town genuinely was the gateway to the Klondike goldfields when word of the August 1896 strike on Bonanza Creek triggered one of history's wildest human stampedes.

When the Seattle Post-Intelligencer announced the discovery on July 17, 1897, with its famous "Ton of Gold!" headline, the rush exploded overnight. Within a year, nearly 100,000 fortune-seekers poured through this narrow valley, and by June 1898 Skagway had swollen to somewhere between 8,800 and 10,000 souls — making it the largest city in Alaska at the time. Walking these same wooden planks, I could almost hear the chaos: pack mules braying, tent saloons roaring, desperate men shouldering impossible loads toward mountain passes that would break most of them. The Canadian Mounties had required every stampeder to haul one ton of supplies over these passes to prevent starvation in the goldfields — imagine dragging 2,000 pounds up what we were now riding in cushioned comfort.

The White Pass & Yukon Route Railway is the undisputed star — and rightly called the "Scenic Railway of the World." We boarded the 8:15 vintage train and immediately started climbing the 110-mile narrow-gauge track that hugs cliffs so close you can touch the rock walls. What staggered me wasn't just the scenery — trestle bridges, tunnels, switchbacks, and sudden views of glaciers hanging like frozen waterfalls — but the engineering audacity. Construction began on May 27, 1898, and just eight weeks later, on July 21, 1898, Alaska's first-ever train ran four miles from Skagway — a herculean feat that would take 30,000 workers and two years to complete the full route through solid granite using nothing but black powder and crude hand tools.

By February 1899 they'd reached the 2,885-foot summit of White Pass, and when we crested that same spot the wind hit us like a wall — cold, sharp, tasting of snow even in July. The railway earned designation as an International Historic Civil Engineering Landmark in 1994, and standing on that open platform with the whistle shrieking and the abyss yawning below, I understood why. Thousands of pack horses died on the infamous Dead Horse Trail below us; the guide said bones still surface after heavy rains.

Back down we joined the free National Park Service walking tour through the Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park — much of downtown Skagway is preserved as a living museum, and the rangers don't just recite facts, they inhabit the stories. We heard about Soapy Smith's con games and his violent end in July 1898, when he was shot and killed in a gunfight with surveyor Frank Reid on Juneau Wharf — both men died from their wounds, Reid four days later, hailed as the hero who ended Soapy's reign of crime. The rangers also showed us brothels disguised as "dress shops" — wild west perfection with footnotes.

The Moore Homestead cabin stands as a quiet counterpoint to all this chaos: Billy Moore had filed a 160-acre homestead claim here back in 1887, built a cabin, wharf, and sawmill, dreaming of a town that would serve prospectors heading to the interior — and when the stampede hit, his vision exploded beyond anything he could have imagined. Lunch was reindeer sausage with grilled onions on a sourdough bun from the Skagway Fish Company — the taste was savory and slightly sweet, eaten on a bench while watching floatplanes take off.

Afternoon we hiked the first mile of the Chilkoot Trail — the shorter but brutally steeper alternative route the stampeders used when Dead Horse Trail became impassable. Even that first mile was steep, rooty stairs through spruce forest with the scent of moss and old snow, but the sense of walking in the literal boot-prints of desperation and hope was overwhelming. I kept thinking: they did this with a ton of gear. We had water bottles and complaining knees.

The pros: most authentic Gold Rush town left standing, the railway is unforgettable, and everything is compact and walkable. The National Park Service rangers offer some of the best free tours in Alaska.

The cons: it gets crowded mid-day when multiple ships are in, and most shops close early. Book the earliest train possible for best light and smaller crowds.

Practical tips: Wear real shoes — boardwalks get slippery when wet. Bring a light jacket even if it's sunny at sea level; the summit is always 15–20°F colder. And book ahead — the White Pass Railway sells out months in advance during peak season.