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GUSTAVUS - "Lotsa people looking for the road to Gustavus," said the porter at the ferry terminal.

"Well you found it," someone in line replied.

Hours before dawn, a large group of people were gathered to hop on the Alaska Marine Highway System's (AMHS) M/V Aurora on its maiden voyage from Juneau to Gustavus, the community about 50 miles west of the capital city, and with a population of about 450 people this time of year. The crowd was energetic, especially for people in the dark on a snowy Tuesday morning in Juneau. Everyone greeted each other, and talked excitedly about the upcoming trip, sharing extremely detailed itineraries.

As it turned out, many of the 114 passengers were Gustavians on their way home. Cars and trucks, loaded with groceries and supplies, were lined up in neat rows. A station wagon had "I BELIEVE IN FERRIES!" scrawled across the windshield.

Everyone and everything was boarded quickly and efficiently, and people immediately made themselves comfortable for the ride, Right on schedule, the ferry left the port, with the whole company set into a sleepy early morning ritual. Some crashed on the floor between the chairs, carefully stepped over by others; some caught up over coffee and knitting in the dining hall; others pulled out laptops or music pods and kicked their feet up, drawing the shades over the windows against the feeble morning light to catch the movie "Sherlock Holmes" entering its first act on the enormous flat panel television.

They were the antithesis of tourists - perhaps due to living too long in one of the most beautiful places on Earth - travelers on their way home, yet with the steady hum of an undercurrent of excitement at the newly discovered path to get there.

THE BLESSING OF THE VOYAGE

After a couple of hours people began to stretch and stir, stepping out into the frosty wind for a smoke or checking in with their neighbors to see what they were up to. In the central hallway, Juneau resident Erin Ohlson was lulling her baby girl, Layla, who was dressed in a full bear suit. Ohlson said she was on her way to a visit with the cub's grandparents.

"This is her first trip to Gustavus," Ohlson said. "She'll live there eventually."

The dining hall was buzzing with noise now, with the games of cribbage reaching a fever pitch and preparations being made for a ceremonial cake-cutting. At one table AMHS Deputy Commissioner Jim Beedle was preparing for another kind of departure. He will be retiring by the end of the year after more than 25 years of working on the marine highway. In his time with AMHS, Beedle has worked on every ferry in the fleet in Southeast and Southwest Alaska, and has held positions ranging from steward to deputy commissioner.

"You know, thirty years on a boat, and you're looking out the window going 'Wow,'" Beedle said. "Now I want to get out my own boat, and I want to hike the mountains and the trails. It's just a stunning place we live in and I want to see it while I'm still healthy."

It was difficult to discern any potential for frailty in the lively Beedle, who will be turning 58 in December, levitating out of his seat and looking around at the tables now filled with diners and laughter.

"Seeing Alaskans meeting and talking and hugging their friends, this is Alaskan community, and the Alaska Marine Highway is a part of that, a huge part of that," he said.

Beedle said the new ferry service will be an easy route to the community of Gustavus, which until now has had to resort to air and costlier marine travel.

"You got a lot of people in Juneau who want to go to Gustavus, but really what you have is a lot of people that need to go to Juneau," he said. "They need to go there for their banking, they need to go there to purchase stuff, or get their vehicles taken care of. ... I think the people of Gustavus are going to find out the Alaska Marine Highway System is going to bring a lot of good."

But will this fundamentally change the community?

"I'm sure it will change Gustavus, the question is how much ... what is the right level of service?" Beedle said. "As we start figuring that out, the community will decide what is the right level of service for them and they'll let us know."

At present throughout the winter the ferry will be running once a month. When it switches over to the summer schedule next year, there will be trips every Monday and Wednesday.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the dining hall: the cake was being cut.

While everyone was having their fill of treats, Ken Grieser, captain of the Aurora, came down from the bridge to observe. Grieser said the route he was on to Gustavus was his favorite.

"It sounds kind of corny, but it is," he said. "It's a lot more fun to serve the smaller communities, you really feel like you're having an impact," he said.

An announcement came from the dining hall. There was plenty of cake left, and it wasn't going to eat itself. There was also the sharp warning that "the restaurant" was going to be closing at 1:30, and wouldn't be open again until 5 p.m.

It had been rather smooth sailing all day. The water was calm, only one whale and a few pods of Dall's porpoises had been spotted. Before long the ferry was rounding the bend and headed towards shore. There were two docks in the distance, one ancient and weather-beaten, and another, with tiny figures standing on it, shining like a beacon despite the overcast day.

THE NEW DOCK

"What's the altitude here?" shouted Tim Sunday, returning home with a turkey tucked under his arm, from the deck of the Aurora down to his friends waiting on the dock. The question was an oft-repeated joke, routinely asked in earnest by tourists.

"About 18 feet from where you're standing!" someone shouted back. The flat expanse of Gustavus spread out behind the dock.

The multimillion-dollar project is a result of a joint effort between the city of Gustavus, the U.S. National Park Service and the Department of Transportation and Public Facilities. The old dock, after decades of service, is being "retired" next year, with demolition slated for the spring. The new causeway and dock, which broke ground in June 2009, was funded in part by the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, sometimes referred to cryptically as "the Stimulus."

At that moment, with a fair portion of the population standing out on it, the structure seemed the embodiment of the tenets of the act. The entire school came on a field trip to greet the ferry. Friends, family and loved ones met up as the travelers disembarked. Cheers went up when a refrigerator truck rattled up the ramp. Gus Martinez, the driver of the car with "I BELIEVE IN FERRIES!" written on the windshield, waved as he passed by. Some of the vehicles weren't in the most pristine condition, and looked like they might be permanently retiring to Gustavus.

After the quick unloading, the denizens made their way back to town, and the Aurora headed off to the even smaller community of Pelican, slated to return to Gustavus in the evening. In minutes, the entire area was deserted, just a long, pristine beach stretching out under the white sky. Harbor seals peaked from around the worn poles of the old dock.

Out along the beach, the snowy sand was decorated from the tides, and from some of the schoolchildren, who had drawn pictures in the sand. Unbroken seashells dotted the beach, and here or there frozen red domes, about the size of a dinner plate, jutted out of the sand: jellyfish. A noisy gaggle of geese waddled out in a pasture. As if in answer, the new dock adjusted itself with vague creaks. Water ran in rivulets along the beach, and the sand bubbled up. The tide was rising.

AT THE CROSSROADS IN GUSTAVUS

Out along the road to town, you'll pass the notable Mt. Fairweather Golf Course, the Bear Track Mercantile a fully stocked grocery store, and a few churches. A tall wooden arch, which might be spooky to a tourist, is lined with moose skulls. Eventually you get to the crossroads, the central hub of Gustavus. On one corner is Gustavus Dray, a gas station and gift shop with gas pumps that look straight out of another era - in décor, not repair; diagonally across is the Fireweed Gallery and the Homeshore Café. There were also signs directing people to the natural foods store and "Toshco," Gustavus's next incarnation of Costco.

Despite the warnings that there would be nowhere to eat, the café stayed open late that afternoon.

"We didn't know what would happen with the ferry today," explained the woman behind the counter, who offered her first name: Karen. It almost seemed like it would be inappropriate to ask for her surname.

Homeshore Café, which serves up pizzas, sandwiches and cold beer, has an old jukebox in a corner, and a life-sized cardboard cutout of former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, one of her front teeth silvered in stylishly.

After offering up the use of her truck for the day to a complete stranger and of whom she also only knew the first name, Karen said that the dock was the talk of the town.

"We're excited and scared at the same time," she said. "It'll change, but who knows how? We'll see."

Several residents later expressed similar feelings, generally with a hopeful tone, and with the distinctive usage of the plural "we" in statements. In a place like Gustavus, geographically isolated and heartbreakingly beautiful, people undoubtedly develop an affinity shared by only a handful of "modern" places: an actual community.

Karen said that she would be shutting down soon and going ice-skating, but the place would reopen for dinner. It didn't look like any more customers would be coming in. Just then, a small child ran up to the counter holding the Sarah Palin cutout aloft.

"I'd like to order 200 pizzas to go!" Palin ordered in an authoritative voice.

BUSINESS AS USUAL

The only thing out of the ordinary down Gustavus Road towards the airport, along ditches spotless of even a single candy wrapper, is an electrical box decorated to look like a woman. Although there was no explanation of its exact origin or who did it, there was mention of a biannual gender change the box went through.

About twenty feet up the road, a car stopped, and then backed up slowly. An older woman got out and shouted back, "Couple of moose! Right there!" She watched for a short time, and then gave the OK to proceed. "There they go!" Through the trees two enormous moose stared out. They didn't seem in a particular hurry, but after several minutes they didn't venture out.

Just by walking into the Gustavus Public Library, the foyer is enough to prepare you for comfort and reading. Along the bricks - with messages from donors like "Curiouser and Curiouser said Annabou to Dot" and "Read any good bricks lately?" - coats and mittens have been shed off and scattered. A sign reminds you to remove your shoes or boots, and indeed inside people are walking around in their socks, perusing the well-stocked shelves or connecting to the outside world on the bank of computers. It's not all that surprising to find such a spectacular and singular library in Gustavus, considering that 5 percent of the population are published authors.

It was business as usual that afternoon, some children working on projects in the school, others practicing volleyball drills in the gymnasium across the street. Down behind the post office several skaters were out on the ice laughing. Across the street some people emerged from the back area of The Community Chest, the local "thrift" store started more than ten years ago to keep things from going to the landfill.

At the Gustavus Dray, Ky Sellards said she and her husband were celebrating their 11th anniversary of moving from Oregon to Gustavus this month. She expressed continual delight of living there, and felt like the community had embraced her.

She said that she wasn't overly concerned with the new ferry, other than RVs ending up in town without proper infrastructure in place to deal with them.

"Change doesn't happen very quickly here, or very easily," she said.

Back at the Homeshore Café People were congregating for pizza and libations. At the counter, Lindsay - the cafe is a first name kind of place, too - said she thought the new ferry was "awesome."

"Gustavus is amazing, I think it should be shared with everyone," said Lindsay, a relative newcomer from North Carolina who came up for work at Glacier Bay National Park. She said the ferry would help bring people to enjoy the park, right in Gustavus's backyard.

"There's only a handful of backcountry campers, and it would be good to get more," she said.

AT THE END OF THE DOCK

The sun had set hours before, but in the headlights of the line of cars headed to the new dock, it could be seen clearly that the beach had been washed clean of drawings and footprints. The tide was low now, and fine snow was drifting down. The Aurora was running a little behind schedule, but everyone had enough to keep them occupied, learning the best way to line up the cars to get ready for loading. There were just as many cars going out to Juneau as had come in, to get worked on, loaded up with gear or groceries, and lay low until the next ferry ran.

A couple of people on foot waited by the end of the dock, staring out through the snow at the winking beacons. A friendly DOT worker, who introduced himself as "Doc," invited everyone inside his truck. He adjusted the controls on the crackling radio in an attempt to find out where the Aurora was.

Another worker came up to the truck, and Doc rolled the window down.

"Got a couple of tourists in here warming up," he said to the man.

"What's this?" the other one burst out, ducking down and holding up something in the air. "A gum wrapper!" He sounded furious.

"Oh, no, that just fell out of my truck," Doc said, taking the wrapper and stuffing it into a pocket.

The Aurora finally showed and everyone found their places, lying down on the floor or reading quietly in the dining room or catching the replay of "Sherlock Holmes." The ferry barely rocked as it sped on its route back to Juneau.

Whenever anything new comes to a place, change always follows, and something like the dock in Gustavus is no exception. Being so protected, it isn't surprising residents might be on their guard. Sandi Marchbanks, the first mayor of Gustavus after being incorporated in 2004, said that there was some "initial resistance" to the idea of the project back when it first surfaced.

"People don't like change," she said. "Change is hard for a lot of people."

Still, one glance at the city's Strategic Plan shows a community both integrated and forward-thinking. Change might be inevitable, but it's hard to look at Gustavus in its present form and not see its future as being just as bright.

Richard Radford may reached at richard.radford@capweek.com.