Burke: Neah Bay revisited and a bit more Alaska

Published 1:30 am Wednesday, July 15, 2026

It’s been eight years since we last visited Neah Bay and not much has changed.

Well, one of the eateries has a new name and there were more fishermen (and boats) than the last time; but the drive was just as exhausting (with nary a straight bit of road for a bunch of the trip) as it was in 2018 and the Hobuck Beach Resort was as clean and friendly as ever.

While a bit of fog last Friday gave the town an other-worldly, kinda time-worn look, the thing to remember is — Neah Bay doesn’t shout, “I’m soooo cute” like the Leavenworth’s ersatz-Bavarian village or “Hey, I’m cool.” Rather, it’s an unequivocal affirmation by the Makah people, “We’re still here!”

And remember, Neah Bay is the end of the road. Literally. Go any further west and, first, you’re swimming, and then, after 5,000 miles, you’re speaking Japanese. And it isn’t on the way to anywhere; it’s not a fancy destination with a grand casino; it’s not the Hamptons, Palm Springs, or Hilton Head; and it’s not home to outlet malls or boutique antique shops.

There’s (still) one gas station with a quick-mart, one not-quite-old-timey general store/supermarket, a couple of joints for food, and one of the most outstanding, amazing, must-visit, can’t-miss, gotta-see, world-class native-American museums/cultural centers anywhere – the Makah Museum.

Neah Bay’s Main Street is defined by its expansive, hard-working commercial, almost-yacht-less, fishing-dock complex and a jumble of homes with both well-tended and junk-filled yards. Ocean Shores it ain’t, but that ain’t bad.

‘Cause Neah Bay is, if nothing else, an honest place. It’s the real deal. There’s no false-façade, “restored” main street; no dainty, flower-basket-hung lamp posts; no charming sidewalk cafes, brew-pubs or Starbucks. Instead you look out and see God’s handiwork all around with a gritty city tucked away in the heavily-treed hills.

Up close, the Olympic Mountains, Cape Flattery, and the Straits of Juan de Fuca are humbling. Their wildness (still) underscores man’s utter insignificance, just as Route 112 and its many, many warnings of rock slides, mud slides, and closed roads underscores the transcendent presumption that we can control nature.

Neah Bay’s pre-European-contact indigenous society was sophisticated and knew not just how to adapt and survive, but to flourish as a stable, highly organized hunting and gathering society. The Makah Museum explains it all. You learn about the lost village of Ozette and how it’s discovery after 300 years of burial in mud (can you say, “Pompeii?”) showed how the Makah people thrived before Vitas Bering, Juan Perez, and George Vancouver sailed in and changed everything.

You learn how these first-nations people prospered in a non-extreme (but damp) climate, with abundant food and near-at-hand raw materials. It shows life was solid and honest until European diseases, an 1855 treaty stealing near-500 square Makah miles of land for the white invaders, and forced acculturalization destroyed it. It was, simply, a society in equilibrium forever altered by destructive colonization.

Neah Bay’s halibut and salmon fisheries are world famous. And visitors aren’t wearing Filson or Ralph Lauren; more like Carhart and Grudens.

They aren’t agonizing over small-plate entrees either, they’re cooking on a Coleman stove, not sweating the bed-linen’s thread count, or looking for a mint on the pillow – cause they’re mostly sleeping in campers, tents, or in Hobuck Beach’s basic cabins after a ferry and miles of narrow, twisting roads trying to keep their eyes on the driving while the majesty of the Straits begs for more than a quick glance.

Now I can’t help but compare the drive to see Neah Bay to our Cunard cruise to see Alaska.

To begin there ain’t gourmet cuisine in Neah Bay like there was on the Queen, unless you’re cooking your own fresh-caught fish over an open fire.

And you have to make your own entertainment, so, no floor shows, string quartets, or comedians. (There is, however, more internet connection/cellphone reception than I recall from our last visit).

And no drink packages or wine lists — the Makah reservation is dry, so no booze or beer allowed.

While only five or six miles separates Neah Bay and the Alaska cruise ships sailing the Straits, the cultural divide seems much further. The passengers being pampered on the Queen and the guys gutting fish at the end of “C” dock seem worlds, not miles, apart.

As for the wilderness – there’s also a big difference.

At Neah Bay you have to discover it for yourself – hiking in to Shi Shi Beach, finding your own blinds to bird, or walking the beach picking up what’s washed up.

And yes there are charters to take you whale watching. But there aren’t any $600 seaplane rides, ersatz dog sledding, make-believe gold panning, $60 tram rides, or hokey “recreations” of Bering Sea crabbing ala Juneau or Ketchikan tours.

And you’re not standing in line with 1,999 other passengers buying $387 buckets-for-two crab legs or Alaska trinkets made in China.

I enjoyed our cruise.

It was luxurious, sumptuous, a once-in-a-lifetime experience, worth the expense.

But just once.

Next trip is gonna be about the culture, or the wildlife, or the history, or the people – and not so much about the duck flambe or the captain’s cocktail reception.

And if you read a column in August about a trip to Westport – it’s gonna be about the boats and the fishing, not about the best place to pick up a tee shirt.

(Note: For those with a good memory, some of the words here may seem familiar. And yes, I used some of the piece I wrote about Neah Bay back in 2018, as I didn’t think I could say it any better than I did then. No apologies, just try’n to keep it honest.)

Tom Burke’s email address is t.burke.column@gmail.com.