Hoonah, Alaska

On our way to Glacier Bay on the six hour ferry trip from Juneau, we stopped in the small village port of Hoonah for almost two hours. At perhaps the lowest point of the trip for me that day (I was exhausted and couldn’t get comfortable), another passenger we met earlier came into the main cabin and told us a whale had been sighted off the stern.

Without a doubt, it was the best view of a humped back whale we’ve ever seen. Right there in the tiny harbor of Hoonah, this magnificent animal dove for fish—breaching, flapping, and showing its flukes within fifty yards of the boat for at least half an hour.

Perhaps the best part of the experience was that it wasn’t fleeting. There was something about this whale’s behavior that indicated it was sticking around for awhile. This was no fast food joint; it had come to Hoonah for a leisurely dining experience!

Although we were only spectators, we were fed, too.

More pictures coming

Alert: Internet service is terrible in Alaska so I’m having a problem posting pictures. I’ll try to do that at the next possible opportunity!

O’Light Thirty

We are now awake, packed up and ready to disembark at 3:30 am on the Fourth of July. Yes, that’s the ferry schedule. Our friend, Tamra, calls this time “o’dark thirty,” but here in Alaska, it is light out…not bright and sunny, mind you…but light. Later on, it will get light-er, but probably not much lighter as the forecast for the day is “rain likely.”

We’ve enjoyed our ferry trip immensely. This was definitely the way to go for us. We were comfortable, but not pampered—which for us is an important distinction. Pampered, I think, removes you from the intimacy of the real experience. But the ferry has been very comfortable, as in a bed to sleep in, hot showers, good food, good company, friendly people, and a great view.

In a couple of hours, we will set sail on the ferry, Le Conte, to the tiny town of Gustavus and Glacier Bay Lodge. We’ll be there for 3 days, 2 nights. Tomorrow, we’ll take an eight hour cruise into the Bay to see glaciers and wild life. Stay tuned.

Here are a bunch of pictures from the last few days.

Mystic Alaska

July 3: Something happened around mid-afternoon today (Sunday). It came upon me more as a feeling than a dramatic shift in view. For the first forty-eight hours of our trip, the scenery looked similar to that which we’ve experienced around the San Juan Islands north of Seattle—lots of islands, lots of lush green and lots of water. Up to then, we’d been in the Canadian waters of British Columbia. But almost as soon as our cell phones told us we would no longer be charged for “international” calls, the scenery subtly changed.

After making a brief stop in the town of Wrangell (which we’ll return to at the end of the trip for our bear tour), the ship passed through the Wrangell Narrows. Richard invited me to stand with him on an outer side deck to view the passing scenery.

This is when I became aware of the “beauty of gray,” the veiled gray of distant snow-dripped mountains, the steely gray of sea, the misty gray of clouds, the white-gray of waterfalls against rock and stone, all against the deep, verdant green of tall pine and Sitka Spruce. I tend to be attracted to more vibrant colors as a general rule, but the subtlety of shades and tones touched me in an Ansel Adams kind of way. “I get it,” I thought, as I felt myself opening to this Alaskan kind of beauty. Remote, wild, isolated, soft and stark.

Then we began noticing bright white dots at the tops of passing trees. Eagles! First one, then another, then a flock of five were startled from a tree. After a while, we lost count. We began to notice a few cabins hiding among the trees and rock. Who lives here, we wondered, and how? Later, as we neared the town of Petersburg, we passed by a dock where a group of children were waving white streamers and waving at us. The ferry boat captain honked at them and they cheered. We waved and cheered back. Minutes later, we passed some fishing boats docked at a small marina. A deck hand said that the “fellow in the yellow slicker” had just caught a 55 pound salmon. How he knew this, we didn’t know. I guess word of “big fish” gets around.
Our first day sailing was bright and beautiful. Our second day felt dreary and wet. Yesterday, I fretted over the forecast for more days of “rain likely,” wishing for the sun. Now, I think, either way, there’s beauty—even in shades of gray.

(Pictures later)

Beware of Water Crossings!

JULY 2: On Friday evening when we first set sail, I asked the Park Ranger if we would be in sight of land all the way up to Alaska. He immediately told me about three “water crossings” we would experience on the way, as if by warning. At the time I didn’t understand why a water crossing would pose any kind of a problem. On a boat, you’re crossing water all the time…aren’t you?

Well, yes. But there are different kinds of “water.” There’s the inside water (my term) and the outside water (also my term). The inside water is what we’ve been sailing across most of our time on the ferry. And indeed, to the starboard is either the mainland or islands and to the port, more islands—numbering several thousand between British Columbia and Alaska overall. It is quite beautiful, even in the cloud-clinging, misty wet grays of our first full day of sailing.

The outside water is a different story. This is when the ferry crosses the ocean in places where there are no islands to buffer its mounting waves. Ah ha, you say…so that’s when the ride gets really fun, right?

Uhhhh…not so much.

At breakfast, I overheard one of the wait staff tell a customer: “The first water crossing is for two hours and it’s by far the worst. If you can survive ‘Charlotte,’ you can survive anything.” I should have known then that I was in trouble. The only human Charlotte I ever knew, I barely survived. The universe was offering me a warning that unfortunately, I did not heed.

Later, as Richard and I sat with our cousin Floyd and friend, Terri, in the Forward Viewing Lounge on Deck 7, we watched the distant horizon rise and fall through the rain streaked bank of windows directly in front of us. “Keep your eyes on the horizon,” everyone kept telling me, so I kept looking for one that didn’t move, but when I looked to the horizons on either side of us, they were rolling, too. Richard joked with our friend, Terri, “I wonder who’s going to cave first!” after which he recounted a whale watching trip we took off the coast of Oregon on a small boat with fifteen foot waves. That one didn’t turn out so good either.

Whether it was the power of suggestion, the ever-moving horizon, or the eggs I ate for breakfast, the rest, as they say, is history. At least that’s what they say when they don’t want to give you all the gory details, and I certainly do not. Suffice it to say, it was a long two hours.

I felt better immediately once we returned to “inside” water, and the rolling action stopped. I even tried some turkey and rice soup at the cafeteria a little later…which was when I met my new best friend Gary, the ferry’s chef. When I mentioned my queasy stomach, he uttered a long “Ahhhhhh…” as if he knew exactly how I felt. The soup should help, he said. Eat a lot of crackers. And do not watch the horizon. Ignore what everyone tells you, he said. That’s a myth.

Finally, someone who tells the truth, I thought. This is what I’ve known all along, but I kept thinking that everyone else knew something I didn’t. “The best place to be during the next water crossing,” Gary said, “is in your cabin, in your bunk, with your eyes closed.”

Which is exactly where I went for Crossing #2.

I took a Dramamine first and climbed into the bunk, whereupon Richard read to me in that deep, soothing voice of his. Pitch and roll, side to side, with eyes closed—it was like swaying in a hammock or perhaps, a mother’s womb—and soon I was soundly and safely asleep.

I got to thank Gary personally later that night, when we took this picture of him and us on the wayward deck. He told us he was once Donald Trump’s personal chef. Now he works on the ferry and lives in Alaska in a little house with his beloved wife—a life he is apparently thankful for every day. He looks up to heaven a lot and talks about his blessings.

Gary was my blessing today. And Richard, of course. Always Richard.
Water Crossing #3 will be sometime tonight as we sleep.

Next morning note: Didn’t even feel it.

A Ferry Is Not a Cruise Ship

JULY 2: Richard and I thought long and hard about how we wanted to see Alaska for about the last ten years. We finally decided against a cruise—too much time on board, too much to eat, too little time at ports with thousands of your new best friends. Then our Seattle cousins, Donna and Floyd, discovered that the Alaska ferry system recently began a travel agency that coordinates the ferry schedule with time on land, lodging, sightseeing, etc. and we knew that was the way we wanted to go. We are always looking for “local color,” and we figured this was the way to see it. Our Alaskan travel agent, Sandy, was extremely helpful every step of the way—answering our questions and coordinating everything we wanted to do.

Let me just say…it is NOT a cruise! Nobody handles your luggage on and off the ferry, but you. The cabins are small, but comfortable. We have our own bathroom; the shower is spacious and the water, hot. It’s the first time I’ve slept in a top bunk since college. Actually, by the end of our first night on the ship, Richard and I figured out that there is actually room for two in a bunk…sort of. Like I said, kind of like college.

Other passengers bring sleeping bags and sleep on lounge chairs outside on the upper deck—in what they call the “solarium”—and others pitch tents. Rugged, yes…but there are heaters above the lounge chairs, bathrooms and showers, movies for the kids, a snack bar cafeteria and a sit-down restaurant. You can even get a bucket of ice for a quarter. Service sometimes feels brusque, but the people are real. (Check next posting for the ferry’s chef, Gary, and some of the best advice I ever got.)
At the moment, Richard and I are sitting in comfortable seats port side by a large picture window, reading, blogging, and gazing at the waterfalls of the Canadian island, Princess Royal. You would never get this close to these islands on a cruise ship. We’ve been told we may see whales (orca and hump back), dolphins, and bears along the way. An Alaskan park ranger stands at his desk about thirty feet in front of us, answering everyone’s questions—like how all of these islands were made by the shifting of tectonic plates and some by volcanic action, and where you can get wi-fi in the port of Ketchikan.

Earlier today, Richard attended a talk by the ranger on bears—including how to discern the difference between aggressive and defensive behavior—which incidentally are counter intuitive. The bear approaches you quietly sniffing before it decides to eat you, while huffing, puffing, stomping and barking are defensive tactics because it’s afraid of you. You respond differently to the bear, of course, depending on which it is, although the behavior can change between the two in an instant. Reassuring, eh? Your own human instinct to run is never an option, of course, as the bear can run at thirty miles an hour despite its size. The best time to see bears, then, is when they have a plentiful food supply, such as salmon and in other words, not you! (Stay tuned for our bear tour in Wrangell, July 12th.)

A Fond Farewell

JULY 1: Here we are in Bellingham before boarding the Columbia, the largest ferry in the Alaskan state fleet. Our Northwest family—Cassandra, Lou, Trey and Chad—were all there to wish us a bon voyage. I didn’t realize how much that mattered to me until Richard and I were in our stateroom and pointed out our window. There they still were, out on the patio behind the ferry station, waving up at us. The boys were acting silly as usual, pretending to hit their mother over the head with a patio chair. It was a wonderful sight.

Good-byes these days are fleeting at best, if they occur at all. Richard and I are blessed with family that cares about these things—cares about us. From Zach and Jennifer taking us to the Lexington Airport to Cass and family seeing us off on our Alaskan adventure, taking the time to say “good-bye” makes all the difference in how a journey begins.

Hand Delivered

I wasn’t going to start blogging until we got on the ferry to Alaska, but I just had to share what happened yesterday after we landed in the Northwest. First let me say, I believe in what Carl Jung called “synchronicity;” that is, an alignment of events that feels like an improbable coincidence. It also feels like the universe has given you a gift created just for you. This is my definition, incidentally—not Jung’s!

The first gift yesterday without a doubt was seeing our daughter, Cassandra, at the shuttle station in Burlington. Yes, it was planned and I wouldn’t exactly call it synchronicity, but when you take into account all of the challenging travel issues between Lexington and Seattle that came up in the process of getting to her….Let’s just say that seeing her felt amazing, like we couldn’t believe we were finally there with her in the same place.

After she picked us up, we went to lunch at the Calico Cupboard in Mt. Vernon, Washington, just steps away from her workplace. We got there late, outlasted the lunch crowd and got up to pay the bill around 2:30. As we stood at the cash register, I don’t know what made me turn around and look across the restaurant, but there sitting across a table from each other were two of my most treasured friends in the entire Northwest—Kate and Karen.

Need I mention that they live on Whidbey Island, where Richard and I used to live, an hour and a half drive to Mt. Vernon? Need I mention that the population of this surrounding area north of Seattle may be close to half a million people? Need I mention that we had just landed in the Northwest from our new home in Kentucky a little more than 12 hours before? Need I mention that they had no idea that I was even in the vicinity at that time, nor did I have any idea that Karen would be accompanying Kate to an eye appointment close to there on that day…and oh…that they would be having a late lunch at a place called the Calico Cupboard that Karen had only discovered on the internet the night before?

Well, you get the point.

I walked up to their table and just stood there, waiting for one of them to notice me. When Karen finally looked up, I now know what it feels like to be a ghost. Kate said later that it seemed like my molecules had assembled right in front of her—as if I had been “beamed up” like in Star Trek. We just kept hugging and kissing each other and looking into each other’s faces—it’s you, it’s really you. The waitress rolled her eyes at us every time she walked by, but I didn’t care.

The last thing I need to share is that another of our best friends in all the world, David, Kate’s husband, passed away this April…and we’ve been aching to see Kate ever since, longing to hug her and hold her. And there she was, right before our eyes, and we got to do just that.

Synchronicity? A gift from the universe? Hand-delivered? You bet. I could almost hear his full-hearted laughter ringing in my ears.

Thank you, David, for your part in this unmistakable gift. Your love was written all over it.

Confirmation #…Betsy!

So I finally got a call back from the Practical Rental Car company in Wrangell, Alaska. I had several choices, but decided on a van for our group of five. I keep getting this nagging feeling that when we get there, we’re going to find that everything we’d want to see is within walking distance, but maybe not. I think the main “highway” is about 13.5 miles long, so even though that gets us to the end of it in about, um, 15-20 minutes, I guess it’s still further than we’d want to walk. When I asked for a confirmation number, she said it was “Betsy,” that being her name and all. I still haven’t gotten the email confirmation, but I guess I won’t sweat it. Which makes me wonder what “special” name they call us up there. In northern Michigan, tourists are “fudgies.” In Alaska…mainlanders? My guess is that it’s a bit more colorful than that. Stay tuned. I’ll let you know!

Renting a car in Wrangell

Me and my sweetie

I called the only rental car company in the town of Wrangell today to reserve a car for our visit there in July. Apparently, they are only open for an hour in the morning when the plane arrives from Juneau and an hour in the afternoon when it leaves. This makes me wonder what they do for the rest of their day. Hunt? Fish? Work at another business? Raise the children? Write? This will be one of many questions I’ll want to explore in our great Alaskan adventure yet to come. Departing July 1st!