MURDER!

They boarded the train on a frosty October morning dressed in flowery shirts, plastic lays, straw hats, flip flops and sun glasses. Some carried snorkels and flippers as they climbed the steps into the Alaska Railroad train.

Outside, across the street, normal Wasilla residents shopped at Carrs or sipped morning latt/s at the coffee shops, while running weekend errands. A few might have taken a second look and rubbed the sleep from their eyes at the sight of hundreds of brightly clothed characters boarding the train near Wasilla Depot at 9 o'clock, Saturday morning.

They were part of the sixth annual Murder on the Alaska Railroad, complete with a Hawaiian luau, a fund-raiser for the Greater Wasilla Chamber of Commerce.

Just more than 200 passengers paid $120 cover charges to join the circus-like atmosphere as it rumbled down the tracks, 100 miles to Hurricane Gulch.

When all were aboard the whistle sounded and the train rolled north and the fun began.

Upon entering, passengers received name tags and copies of the morning paper, before purchasing raffle tickets and filling out menu requests. Most passengers eased into the eight-hour, round trip excursion.

After a few cups of coffee and polite conversation, many folks headed to the "Tiki Rail Bar" car where a steady steam of morning mimosas, bloody marys and beer from Great Bear Brewing Co. was flowing well before noon, to get the party started.

A four-piece jazz band provided virtually nonstop live music for passengers mingling at the rail bar. Outside, beyond the laughter and swinging tunes, snow capped mountains, misty lakes and miles of thick untouched forests raced past the jumbo viewing windows.

The bass, the trumpet, the neon colors and tropical drinks created an illusion of island cruises, so much so that the snow-covered outside world could just as well have been movie images, or highlight videos broadcast into the climate controlled train trip.

Occasionally, tiny log cabins, smoke billowing from their chimneys, would flash by the windows. At one point, two mountain men waved to the merry band of travelers as they sped by, glasses raised. Even a grizzly bear stopped to watch the carnival rumble through the wilderness.

The surprise guest for the day was Sen. Ted Stevens, R-Alaska. Stevens, up in Alaska for a couple weeks, was campaigning for fellow Republican, Sen. Lisa Murkowski.

Despite the bizarre band of merry travelers, Stevens, in his earth tone turtle neck and formal jacket, still managed to turn a few heads, shaking hands, posing for photos, hugging and high-fiving his many constituents. He meandered through the cars like a grand old uncle, whom some adored and some did not.

When the train finally stopped it was in the middle of the bridge, over Hurricane Gulch. Passengers looked out the viewing windows and down, hundreds and hundreds of feet, to the canyon below. The vista stretched nearly as far as the eye could see and several people, who were afraid of heights, had to sit down to keep from passing out.

After a few minutes, the train jerked and began rolling back from whence it came.

As it crept along, a professional cast of actors continued their performance of the ongoing murder mystery drama. The actors were often indistinguishable from the crowds of costumed paying customers. The two groups mixed and mingled into one partially improvised, partially rehearsed drama, making it difficult to tell where theater ended and real life began.

Some people followed the murder mystery with hawkish attention, jotting notes and conferring with partners to determine 'whodunit.' Others, were content gaze out the windows, listen to jazz or belly up to the bar.

After raffle tickets were drawn, round trip tickets to Hawaii given away and the $1,000 cash prize handed out, the train slowly pulled into Wasilla.

The music faded and the exit doors opened as cool October winds rushed past the flushed face travelers. They stepped off the murder mystery train, laughing and smiling -- back from paradise.

Contact Joel Davidson at joel.davidson@frontiersman.com.