The Forgotten Spirits: A Personal Journey into the Haunted History of The Red Dog Saloon, Juneau, Alaska
As a history buff and a self-proclaimed ghost enthusiast, I’ve sought out places steeped in stories—places where the echoes of the past still linger in the air. My latest adventure brought me to the infamous Red Dog Saloon in Juneau, Alaska. Nestled in the heart of one of the oldest towns in Alaska, this establishment is not just a bar; it’s a treasure trove of history, folklore, and (as I would soon discover) the supernatural.
The moment I walked through the creaky wooden doors of the Red Dog, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. The low lighting and the faint smell of aged whiskey combined with the lively chatter of patrons made it feel both inviting and eerily intimate. It was as if the walls themselves were whispering secrets. There’s a charm about places like this that makes you feel enveloped in history. I could almost hear the laughter and raucous tales of gold miners and fishermen who once filled this space.
Established in 1897, the Red Dog Saloon is one of the oldest bars in Alaska. It has seen its fair share of the Gold Rush, prohibition era, and everything in between. But what captivated me the most was the spine-chilling lore that accompanies its rich history. The Red Dog is reputed to be haunted by spirits of the past—forgotten souls who still linger in the corners of the saloon.
As I settled at the bar, I struck up a conversation with the bartender, a spirited woman named Molly. She seemed to enjoy sharing stories with curious onlookers like myself. “You’d be surprised how many people come in here for the food and drinks but end up getting fascinated by our ghosts,” she chuckled, pouring me a pint of local craft beer.
Molly told me about a ghost named “Red,” who is said to be the spirit of a miner who met his end under mysterious circumstances right in the saloon. Legend has it that he had struck gold but was too paranoid to share his fortune, fearing robbery or betrayal. One fateful night, after celebrating what he believed to be a successful haul, he vanished. “People say Red still roams these halls, looking for his treasure,” Molly said, her voice lowering as she leaned in closer.
Feeling a mix of intrigue and trepidation, I asked her if she had ever seen anything spooky herself. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she recounted one evening when the lights flickered strangely, and a door slammed shut on its own—despite the lack of a draft. “We were all out back smoking when it happened,” she recalled. “When we came in, the jukebox was playing a song that hadn’t been selected by anyone. It was an old country tune that we later learned was one of Red’s favorites.”
My heart raced as I listened, each shadow in the bar bringing with it a new layer of suspense. It was astounding to consider that amidst the lively banter and laughter, the spirits of those who once walked these floors might still be among us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched by unseen eyes.
Determined to delve deeper, I asked Molly about other hauntings attributed to the Red Dog. “Oh, there’s also the lady in white,” she said with a knowing nod. “Some say she’s the ghost of a dancer who worked here during the gold rush. She was a beauty, but a tragic end left her spirit behind.” Molly explained that many patrons have reported seeing a woman in vintage clothing gliding across the room during quieter hours, her presence bringing an inexplicable chill.
Intrigued, I couldn’t resist sharing my own experiences. I mentioned how, during a previous visit to another reputedly haunted bar in a different city, my phone inexplicably died just moments after I began recording an EVP session. “Maybe it’s the spirits telling you to leave them alone!” Molly joked, yet there was a hint of seriousness to her tone. She then elaborated on the time a group of ghost hunters visited; they claimed to have captured unexplained orbs on their cameras, as well as faint, disembodied voices during their session.
As the night wore on, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter grew louder, but there was a haunting undercurrent, a reminder of the many lives that had touched this place. It’s hard to explain, but as I listened to the stories, I could almost see the ghostly figures of miners, dancers, and servers dancing among the patrons, sharing in the revelry of the present even as they remained eternally tethered to the past.
Eventually, I decided to linger a bit longer, hoping that maybe I’d feel a presence or see a glimpse of “Red” or the lady in white myself. I couldn’t shake the thought that I might just leave with more than just tales to share. I repositioned myself at the bar, savoring the ambiance while peering into the dim corners of the saloon. There’s something thrilling about the unknown—something in the air that tingled at the back of my neck.
As I mulled over the stories in my mind, I caught sight of a shadow darting past the mirror behind the bar. My heart raced as I turned to look, but there was nothing there—just the boisterous chatter of my fellow patrons lost in their world, unaware of the echoes surrounding us. I couldn’t tell if it was merely my imagination or a fleeting glimpse into the soul of the establishment.
Leaving the Red Dog Saloon that night felt bittersweet. I had come searching for stories, but I found much more—a connection to history, a sense of the mysterious, and a reminder that though the spirits may be forgotten, the stories they share continue to thrive. Whether they lingered just beyond my sight or faded into the sounds of laughter, I couldn’t say for sure. But one thing was certain: I would forever cherish this experience and the haunting tales of the Red Dog Saloon.
