153. Land of the silver birch…

Friday, 24 May 2019

Cooper Landing, Alaska, USA

 

Late morning walk along one of the trails from hotel down to the river. The trail head recommends taking a stick from the box and to beware of bears. Off I go for a short leg stretch down the steep path leading to the river. The trail has a number of observation decks on the river to admire the views. Good views too.

Narrow path through the dense woods. Just the sort of place to be mauled by a bear. The advice is to make a noise as you walk. So as not to surprise the bears. Jolly good.

The only thing I can think of to make a noise is to…sing.

So.

There.

I.

Am.

All alone in the woods.

Singing. To myself.

I know.

It’s enough to scare the bears away.

The only suitable song I can think of is ‘Land of the silver birch’. Remember it from primary school days in the 1970s.

Except.

Can only remember two lines:

‘Land of the silver birch

Home of the beaver.’

So. It’s on repeat. As I walk through the bear infested woods.

Note to self. Ask piano teacher if she does singing lessons. Do you?

And then.

Some fellow walkers appear. They’re probably more concerned by the lunatic walking through the woods repeating, ‘Land of the silver birch, home of the beaver’ to himself, rather than being attacked by a bear.

An hour to kill, so have a quick drive into Cooper Landing. A blink and you’ll miss it sort of place. Not much to see or do especially as the ‘museum’ is closed. Local cemetery says enquire at the Post Office. As if to suggest something of interest is in there. Off I go. Meet the Postmaster and ask about the cemetery. “Eh? What? You’ll have to shout, I’m hard of hearing.”, he says. “I’M HERE ABOUT THE CEMETERY”, I shout. But he’s new and knows nothing. It was something to do with the old postmaster who has now left.

An afternoon of white water rafting down the Kenai River. I say white water. Sounds dangerous and impressive. But it’s only a little bit of white water in places. Not a raging rapid. All the hard work of rowing/steering is by a young millennial lad. Four guests and two from the rafting company. One of the other guests is a young girl, of about 20, from Tasmania. She’s cycling around Alaska. Like you do. In May. When it’s still cold. She’s wearing shorts and flip flops. I’m wearing three layers, waterproof coat, pashmina scarf wrapped around my neck, a woolly hat and two pairs of socks with boots on. It being a bit parky. It’s clear she hasn’t had a wash in weeks as there’s a distinct whiff of the unclean about her. Explains that she sleeps in a bivvy bag wherever she can. Bit feral. Her knees are cut and bloodied. Her nails are rugged and grimy. She’s just dirty. Like Eliza Doolittle, she needs a bloody good wash. She pulls at her hair under her beany bat as she chats with me and suddenly pulls out a huge clump of hair. Whoa. Where did that lot come from. Not a few strands of hair. A whole clump of hair.

It’s a pleasant two and a half hours floating down the turquoise river. Spotting a bald eagle and two eagle nests, told that that the first nest was built by Mr Eagle but then Mrs Eagle decided that it was too small and so Mr Eagle had to build a second and bigger nest in the adjoining tree.

Don’t see any bears though. It’s my one wish in Alaska to see a bear on the riverside fishing for salmon. But the salmon don’t arrive until about 10 June. They can pretty much tell the date the salmon will arrive. As they have every year. The river banks will then be full of fisherman catching salmon. However. There is a daily quota of three salmon per fisherman. Fisherman from Anchorage have been known to drive down after work, fish just before midnight and catch that day’s quota and then continue fishing after midnight to catch that day’s quota before driving back for work the following day. It’s quite a sight apparently to see hundreds of fisherman standing, quite literally, shoulder to shoulder fishing.

After an hour or so, the cold is getting to us all and as scenic as it is, the cold becomes a preoccupation. Coupled with sitting on a wooden board as a seat. Bum numb. Toes numb. Fingers numb. In need of a hot chocolate with whisky. Sadly, they forgot to pack that vital bit of survival kit.

The best sight of wildlife though is a baby moose on a shingle bank in the middle of the river. Just lying there. Only a few weeks old. Placed there by its mother for safe keeping as she goes off foraging, which could be for a few days. Baby moose has been there a few days now according to the guide. Such is the guide’s  excitement of showing us the baby moose we very nearly crash into a upturned tree stump in the middle of the river. Some very frantic and panicked rowing avoids a soaking for us all.

Quite glad to get into a warm bus and transfer back to the hotel. Have rafted 11 miles down river.

After dinner, decide I’ll take a beer back to room to watch a bit of TV in front of the log fire I can start in my log burner. Oh dear. What have I suggested. Now. Like most of you reading this, you will be based in Europe where the drinking laws are quite liberal. You can buy beer, wine and spirit most places. And drink it most places. If you were staying in a hotel, it would not be the slightest issue to get a drink at the bar and go back to your room to drink it. In fact, it’s normal to do that.

Well, dear reader. Alaska has a drink problem. Alcohol is strictly regulated. Hence the requirement for ID in liquor stores. I personally cannot take a small bottle of Heineken back to my room. Or even walk out of the bar into the corridor. No.

Instead. A hotel employee has to take the unopened bottle from the barman and escort me to my room, which, as it happens, means driving in the shuttle bus as she doesn’t want to waste time walking. Once in my room, she has to open the bottle and give it to me.

Bloody nonsense. I half joke that I’ll open the bottle in the shuttle bus, as she has the bottle opener to save her getting out. Deadly serious, she replies, “Well OK, just don’t tell my boss.”

Deary me.

152. Halibut in Homer

Thursday, 23 May 2019

Cooper Landing, Alaska, USA

 

Three hour drive down to the halibut capital of the world.

Homer.

A fishing port at the end of the Kenai Peninsula. There’s not much to see enroute apart from trees. Lots and lots of trees. Reminds me of Siberia. And northern Scandinavia.

And lots of roadworks. Told there are two seasons in Alaska. Winter. And construction.

A few towns along the way appear non-descript. You would probably only visit if you like hunting, shooting and fishing. Getting ready for the salmon season starting in a few weeks.

Homer’s small fishing port is at the end of a 4.5mile spit jutting out into Kachemak Bay. It’s where fishing boats from the TV programme, ‘Deadliest Catch’ sail from.

What else to have for lunch in the halibut capital of the world.

Halibut, of course.

With chips.

Very English seaside.

The spit houses a number of art galleries, craft studios and boutique shops. Well known local landmark, the Salty Dog Saloon dates back to 1897. There’s a cold bite in the air though, so not wanting to linger.

Stopping off at Soldotna on the way back, see some women wearing what appears to religious dress, bit like nuns. Long dress and a head covering. Realise they are part of the Russian Old Believer society that live in the region. Russia, obviously, being not too far away.

Also reminds me that it’s about nine years to the day that I was married to a Swiss girl of my acquaintance, in the Russian Old Believer’s traditional way, in the Buryat Republic in Siberia. You’ll have to wait for the retrospective blog on that trip. I know one of you reading this was witness to this unforgettable occasion.

Ah, the memories.

151. Beware the bear

Wednesday, 22 May 2019

Cooper Landing, Alaska, USA

 

Mundane day. Picked up hire car. Drove an hour to Cooper Landing through magnificent Alaskan scenery. Snow capped mountains. Lakes. Pine trees.

Checked in to the Kenai Princess Wilderness Lodge (https://www.princesslodges.com/princess-alaska-lodges/kenai-lodge/). Clue is in the title. Wilderness. Middle of nowhere. Overlooks the turquoise Kenai River. Rooms are set in blocks, away from the main reception. Each with its own log burner. Very peaceful. Very wild.

No laundry service. Only a self service laundry room. Here we go again. DIY.

Walk to main building a few hundred metres from room for dinner. Notes in the room tell you what to do if you confront a bear or a moose. As the rooms are set in the forest.

Hoping to not get mauled by a bear as I wander down for my G&T.

150. ‘aving a whale of a time

Tuesday, 21 May 2019

Seward, Alaska, USA

 

Quite a few days now of opening the curtains to see dank, dreary weather.

But.

Not today, dear reader.

Not today.

As you will see from the photos below. Gloriously sunny, blue sky day.

A day not to be wasted.

Quickly book a 5hr Resurrection Bay cruise. Boards at 1130hrs. As you may recall. Everything now is on the hoof with nothing planned. Everything is weather dependent. Inshallah.

Board the boat. Has an arrangement with the local National Park Service Rangers that they come on board and give educational talks. One of the things I have really enjoyed about the USA is the National Park Service. It’s an excellent set up and very informative. Have found their Rangers to be extremely knowledgeable, enthusiastic and educational. Today’s boat trip is no exception.

The usual safety announcements are followed by the ‘if you feel sea sick, do not go to the toilet, lean over the side’ talk. Though think that’s purely because they don’t want to clean the mess. It’s dead calm in the fjord though. Why on earth would they be talking about sea sickness.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Sailing out of Seward marina, surrounded by snow capped mountains, sparkling under the brightest bluest sky. Memorable. Two dismal days in Seward is rewarded with this.

Soon find porpoises darting around the bow wave. And if that isn’t enough, a humpback whale is spotted. Its spout gives it away like some aquatic will o’ the wisp. Soon followed by a small breach. The pectal fin and back break through, swiftly followed by the tail fin. It looks quite small until the Park Ranger explains that there’s no sense of scale out on the sea and the fact we’re about 200m away.

Continue sailing out to Resurrection Bay. Lunch is an excellent buffet of fresh poached salmon and rib of beef.

Swell’s up as we exit the fjord and enter Resurrection Bay.

The sort of swell that makes you stagger. In need of a pee after lunch so head to the toilet. Gulp. As soon I’m in the enclosed toilet with no outside view, you feel the swell.

Reminds me of the time I went on a cross channel ferry during a storm with 20ft waves crashing down on the high speed catamaran. Long story short, had to take a 7 year old boy to the toilet. As his Mother couldn’t leave her seat and a view of the horizon (I know you’re reading this and laughing about it now!). It was dreadful. Never felt so sick in all my life. Assumed young lad needed to use the urinals. We’re both slipping and sliding over the wet floors. I’m feeling rough as anything. Then young lad says he needs a pooh. The last thing you need to hear with someone else’s lad. Shove him in a cubicle and tell him to hurry up. I’m struggling to maintain my balance it’s that rough. All I can hear is thud…thud…thud…thud. The sound of a 7 year old being bounced from one side of the cubicle to the other. He’s instructed to sit down quickly and hurry up.

I digress.

Thankful to be back on top deck with fresh air.

Things calm down as we enter a small cove. Which has taken 2hrs to sail to. The purpose of coming all this way.

Killer whales.

They’re all over the place.

An amazing sight as they spout and breach.

The trouble is that it’s very difficult to get a good close up photograph. State Park laws decree that the boats must keep at some distance. You can try and zoom in on a specific area of sea where you think the whales will breach but you have to be lucky to get a good telephoto shot. As you will see from the photos below, it’s the best I could do. Especially as bobbing up and down on a boat.

Then.

We have to cross Resurrection Bay to Rugged Island. The swell gets up. The announcements over the PA keep saying that if you can feel the motion of the ocean then go outside to the deck and go to the back if you want to throw up. But we do have some ginger if you want.

Unsurprisingly, quite a few people have to leave the inside cabin and come out for some fresh air. I’m already on the top deck. Fresh air and horizon watching.

Reminds me of the time I went on a 4hr deep sea fishing trip with Dad in Cornwall as a 14 year old. Bobbing up and down of an evening with quite a swell. Dad, I don’t feel very well. Me neither, son. Keep looking at the horizon. It worked and neither of us were ill. One of many paternal words of wisdom I have taken note of.

Takes about an hour to cross Resurrection Bay and glad when the swell dies down as we approach Rugged Island and follow the cliffs back to Seward. Passing plenty of birds nesting on the cliffs and can smell the sealions as we approach, before we hear them. Puffins darting around speeding Spitfires. It’s a cacophony of sound.

To top it all off…a killer whale gives a stellar display as we near the marina.

An incredible day out on the sea with stunning panoramas. Snow capped mountains, glaciers, fjords, whales and wildlife.

A memorable trip.

Topped off with another amazing dinner at The Cookery.

Further topped off by an amazing sunset on the snow capped mountains.

Seward. You have redeemed yourself.

149. Killing time

Monday, 20 May 2019

Seward, Alaska, USA

 

Dismal and dreary weather. All day. Was going to walk along the coastal path to the main town area of Seward and visit the Sea Life Centre, 2km away, but it’s chucking it down. Taxi it is. Taxi driver used to drive the Dalton Highway between Fairbanks and Prudhoe Bay. My route in a few days. He used to be an Ice Road Trucker. Ever seen the TV programme, ‘Ice Road Truckers’? He was in series 1. Apparently. Provides some useful information for me on driving the route. The last time I was given information on the route was when I met an American couple in the Copper Canyon, in Mexico. That seems years ago now.

But first lunch. There’s a dog, about the size of a Doberman, sitting quietly on the outside entrance mat of the café. People that know me know that I hate dogs. And don’t get me started on cats. Wary as I approach. Have to bypass it on the mat to enter café. As I lean down to open the door handle this quiet dog immediately transforms into the beast. Bloody hell. It leaps up snarling and barking. Its front legs are on my stomach. Snarling, baring its teeth, and growling. Its head is close to mine. Its eyes are wild. If I had a gun, it would be dead now. Don’t move. It drops down onto the floor. Remain motionless. It’s all I can do. Hands in pockets. Protected. If it bites, it will get a kick. Owner quickly runs out from café and calms it down. Bloody dogs. Doesn’t even have a leash. Owner is told to control her dog. She couldn’t give a toss. Bloody dog owners. Once inside the café though, excellent fresh halibut tacos. Just what is needed on this dismal day.

Quick look around the Sea Life Centre. Quite small and only takes an hour. So a few more hours to kill in Seward. The only reason I’m here in Seward for longer than necessary is that my next hotel in Cooper Landing didn’t have any availability until Wednesday. The rain and grey sky doesn’t exactly show Seward off at its best. But even with bright blue sky and sun, Seward would still struggle to shine. It’s a bit backward. There are some odd bods about. Think remote Scottish Highlands fishing port. Has that air of remoteness and decay about the place.

However.

Seward’s one redeeming feature is a little gem of a discovery. A restaurant called ‘The Cookery’. Thank you TripAdvisor.

A very memorable dinner. Order fresh scallops for starters. Normally in Europe if you order scallops as a starter you would generally get three. Though have noticed in certain restaurants this is being reduced to two now. Well, as you all know by now. America does things ‘bigly’. Not three. Not four. Not five scallops. No. Six whole large scallops for a starter. Fresh, juicy and tasty. Ah yes.

Followed by the freshest halibut with a walnut crust. Snowy white fish straight out of the sea a few hours ago. Oh. Wow. Best fish dish I’ve had in a restaurant. Spirits are lifted much further with a very nice glass of Viognier. And then a lemon turnover with cheesecake ice cream. Oh yes. That’ll do very nicely. Note to self. Come back for dinner tomorrow.

The mere fact dinner is the highlight of my day in Seward tells you much about Seward.

148. Proof of age

Sunday, 19 May 2019

Seward, Alaska, USA

 

Really enjoyed the week’s cruising. Am now seriously thinking of changing my plans and rather than fly back to Seattle (for my flight home to the UK) from Anchorage, as originally intended, am now looking at cruising back. Such was the enjoyment. If you’ve never done a cruise, dear reader, then may I suggest you look at Alaskan Inside Passage cruise. Surprised by how many people I know have done it.

Thankfully I have a late disembarkation of 0900hrs. The first wave were pushed off at 0630hrs this morning. My base for the next few days is the Harbor Hotel 360 (https://harbor360hotel.com/). Can see it from the ship. Not far. At the end of the cruise ship pier and a few minutes walk. Doesn’t necessitate a taxi. Far too short a trip. But it’s chucking it down with rain. So all suited and booted in waterproofs. It’s exactly as it was when I disembarked the Stella Australis in Ushuaia. That was January!

The parallels are spooky. Bottom of the planet and now at the top of the planet.

Same wet weather.

Same sort of port town.

Same short walk from ship to hotel.

Same soggy and bedraggled TT checking in early morning as breakfast being served.

Same wait for a couple of hours whilst room is made up.

Same sitting in the hotel lounge with crap wifi trying to update blog.

Same view from room across the harbour.

Same long hours of daylight.

Ah yes.

The more life changes, the more it stays the same.

This is it folks.

We’re on the final furlong.

Not far to the final destination at Prudhoe Bay.

And the Arctic Ocean.

Lunch at a local crab shack with excellent fresh halibut tacos, served by a Bulgarian girl, of all things. Local clientele is very Jeremy Kyle. One morbidly obese, and coarse, mother with her brood of six children ranging in age from late teens to a toddler. Different fathers for all of them, I bet. It’s that sort of place.

Rain prevents play but that’s OK as need to catch up on blog, emails and news having not had internet access for seven whole days. First world problems, I know.

Can’t be bothered with going far for dinner and decide on pizza takeaway and beer to go and eat back in hotel room, watching TV and admiring the fantastic view. Another Bulgarian girl serves up the pizza. Nip into the adjoining petrol station for a couple of beers. Young lad assistant is clearly two cobs short of a picnic and seems to struggle to understand my clear English. He wouldn’t be out of place in the retards class at my old school.

He asks for proof of age. Really? Why? I ask. The mere fact I’ve questioned him throws him off. Asks for my date of birth. 26…4…70. Now, as you may know. Americans don’t know how to write dates properly. Unlike the British. Whose language it really is. Americans do dates back to front. Hence 9/11. Month first. Then day. So. You can imagine his confusion when some Englishman walks in and tells him his date of birth is 26…4…70. I can see the very small cogs whirring in his pea sized brain. He can’t work out what month 26 is. Can tell he’s getting agitated. He starts raising his voice. What is your date of birth. Again. 26…4…70. Struggling not to snigger, it’s so silly. Still can’t work it out. It’s resolved when, with an agitated raised voice that makes me think I might get shot if I continue being playful, he asks what the ‘proper date’ is. 26 April 1970. He bangs in the date on his terminal. Hitting the keys quite hard. Venting his frustration with the Englishman.

As you will see from the sunset photo below. There’s a reason why I was happy to have dinner in my room. The views of the snowcapped mountains across the harbour are memorable. Subtly going through shades of orange as the sun sets.

Room with a view.

Again.

147. Joy of a jigsaw

Saturday, 18 May 2019

At sea in the Gulf of Alaska, Alaska, USA

 

Woken with a jolt at 0230hrs. There’s a sound of rushing water. The ship has sprung a leak in my cabin. Sounds like a pressure washer right next to my ear. Takes a few seconds to come to and work out what is happening. During a recce a few days ago, established that I’m directly underneath a plantroom on deck 2. They’re obviously doing some maintenance. Bit of clanging, pressure washing, hammering and metallic sounds. Timely phone call to Guest Services to tell them to shut up takes effect half an hour later. After they’ve done the work.

Full day at sea crossing the Gulf of Alaska. Bit of a swell but nothing major. Just a gentle roll but enough sway to make you walk along the corridors in a slight zig zag. Surprising how quickly the day goes considering I’m not doing much. The library has a number of jigsaws laid out. You can dib in and out as the cruise progresses. People do a bit, go, and then someone else will come along and add a few pieces. Not done a jigsaw since I was a teenager. Forgotten how therapeutic jigsaws were. ‘English Country Cottage’ is sitting in a pile of 1,000 pieces like demolished debris. I’ll start doing the sides. They’re the easy bit. Right? It’s a very pleasant morning. Brain has completely switched off.

Force 4 winds and white horses this morning. Having taken some cinnarizine seasickness tablets just in case the sea became worse, as forecast, a side effect, coupled with the commotion on the ocean in the early hours, is that it makes you feel drowsy.

Well, dear reader, I enjoyed a 3hr afternoon nap.

Must be a sign of old age.

146. Potato is not a vegetable

Friday, 17 May 2019

Glacier Bay, Alaska, USA

 

Full day cruising up and down Glacier Bay. It would be superb scenery were it not for the low cloud and rain hiding the snowy peaks. At the head of the fjord are a number of tidewater glaciers. The ship pirouettes on its axis for an hour at the Margerie Glacier.

Glaciers need sun and blue sky to make them look spectacular though. Having been spoilt with glaciers in South America, the weather and glacial moraine makes these look dull.

Afternoon entertainment in the form of a trivia quiz. Sadly, no questions requiring ‘yoghurt’ as an answer. Happy to do the quiz on my own but American couple sitting on adjacent table invite me to join them for a threesome. In the quiz, I hasten to add. Not sure wife knows what day it is but husband seems a bit more clued up. For an American.

One question is: which vegetable does the Colorado beetle eat? I say potato. Brother-in-law is a potato farmer. I know that potato is a vegetable. Mr American forcefully tells me that potato is not a vegetable, it’s a starch. Without wishing to get into technicalities, can’t be bothered arguing and he goes for carrot.

The answer is, of course, potato.

As you will see from the photograph below, tonight’s towel art made me laugh as I entered my cabin. Not a fan of towel art but this was excellent.

145. Gold Rush

Thursday, 16 May 2019

Skagway, Alaska, USA

 

For reasons unknown to me, I’d assumed that the deck 9 Lido buffet restaurant was the only place to get breakfast. It’s with some glee, therefore, that I discover that the fine dining restaurant does breakfast. After all these days queuing in a noisy and overcrowded buffet, it’s rather nice to start the day with a bit of peace and quiet and a full English breakfast, served at my table, rather than having to join the morbidly obese in a scrum (I should point out that not everyone is morbidly obese on this ship).

Have to say, that I really am enjoying this cruising malarkey. So relaxing. And if you know where to go on board, rather peaceful. As a friend remarked, you won’t know there are 2,000 other people on board. She’s not wrong.

Long day ahead. Trip into the Yukon. Crossing the border back into Canada. Young female bus driver can’t quite get the gear changes smooth as she goes up the hill and we lurch forward every time. As she remarks, “Shift happens.”

Not long before we see our first wild bear by the roadside. A small cub scrambling up the verge foraging for food. Half an hour later, an adult bear is standing by the roadside. Quite a sight to see a bear in the wild. Drive straight through the US border without being stamped out. The Canadian border at Fraser consists of an Immigration officer jumping on board the bus and giving a cursory glance at our passport ID page. Lot less faff than Vancouver cruise terminal.

Short stop just after the border for a 5 minute photo opportunity. This turns into a 20 minute stop as everyone wants to use the onboard toilet on the bus. It being the only place for miles around. Or we could use the ‘lavatrees’. Get it? Made me laugh anyway.

Further hour’s drive through sensational snowy scenery. Really are in the wilds now driving along the Klondike Highway to Carcross.

This region is well known for the gold rush that started when gold was discovered in the Klondike in 1896. To reach the gold, Skagway was the main port of entry and from there it was a hike up the White Pass or Chilkoot trails to the Yukon river and onwards to the Klondike river.

The White Pass and Yukon Railway was subsequently built up the White Pass route to ferry miners from Skagway up the mountain to the Yukon River lakes at Carcross.

Lunch stop at Caribou Crossing is dreadful. Set up purely for cruise ship tourists, it’s main selling point is dog sledding. $45 for a quick dog sled ride. But here’s the thing. As you will see from the video below. You sit on a motorised buggy. With dogs ‘pulling’ said buggy. Not quite the real thing.

Pass through the Carcross desert. Glacial deposits ground down over millions of years to leave sand. Apparently the world’s smallest desert. Carcross is a one horse town. Exists on the proceeds of cruise ship tourists arriving by the coach load. Not much to see. A new ‘arts and crafts’ shopping area has been constructed to showcase local arts. The original station and railway bridge still stand from the gold rush era. This would have been a major staging post, transferring all the gear from train to the boats that would then navigate the Yukon river and lakes through to the Klondike river at Dawson City, over 500 miles away.

The oldest store in Carcross has a sign in one of the display cabinets, ‘Shoplifters will be shot. This is the law of the Yukon.’ Suspect that’s quite accurate. Really are in the wilds up here.

Return to Fraser to catch the White Pass and Yukon railway back to Skagway. 90 minutes of sensational scenery. Snow capped mountains. Frozen lakes. Two wild bears by the tracks. Original wooden trestle rickety bridges, thankfully not used now. The cloud has cleared and blue sky and sun shines down. What an amazing vista. Such is life here that the train stops on request to pick up hikers who have been walking the trails.

One of the best rail journeys I’ve done. A must for anyone visiting Skagway. I know one of you reading this is doing it in August. You will love it, my dear.

Skagway is a bit more upmarket than Juneau and Ketchikan. The whole town is a Historic Landmark and the centre has no pavements. Just raised boardwalks like it used to be. Wooden buildings and canopies line the main street.

Could almost be a film set for, say, Back to the Future III.

144. Owned by an Alaskan family

Wednesday, 15 May 2019

Juneau, Alaska, USA

 

Four cruise ships in town. Noordam, Westerdam, Star Princess and the Celebrity Eclipse. Cruise ship tourists all over Juneau.

The main shopping street is directly across from the cruise ship pier. Indian (as in curry) jewellery shops line the entire street. Each offering a free gift. As you will see from the photo below, have quite a haul of free trinkets and charms. Lucky nieces.

Learn about salmon at the local salmon hatchery. A non profit organisation, growing salmon for release into the wild to maintain salmon stocks.

In a nutshell, here is the lifecycle of a salmon.

Salmon eggs, of which there are hundreds of millions, harvested from returning salmon by slitting open the female’s belly.

Fertilised with the male salmon’s sperm, or ‘milt’, by squeezing their abdomen. The eggs and sperm are mixed in a bucket of water to activate the sperm.

Once fertilised, the eggs are put in incubation trays and allowed to incubate through Autumn and Winter.

The salmon die after spawning and the carcasses are processed into various products or put back into the sea to act as a nutrient.

After a month the embryos develop eyes and after the second month the salmon start to hatch and are in the ‘alevin’ stage. These tiny alevin subsist off the yolk sac attached to their belly.

As the alevin start to grow, they learn to swim, rise to the surface of the incubation trays and start to resemble small fish. Or what is known as ‘fry’.

Smoltification process then takes place and allows the salmon to adapt from freshwater to saltwater. It’s at this point that there are different timescales for smoltification. King, coho and sockeye salmon require at least a year in freshwater before adapting to saltwater. Pink and chum salmon can go straight into saltwater.

Before the salmon leave their freshwater birthplace, the all important ‘imprinting’ takes place, where the salmon memorise the unique chemical make up of the stream they were born in and also the signature of the Earth’s magnetic field.

After being reared at the hatchery, the salmon are released into the wild. After a few years they will return to the same spot they were born, to spawn.

And the cycle repeats.

You see. You don’t half learn stuff on this blog.

There’s a salmon bake later on to taste the goods but first a trip to the Mendenhall Glacier. Seems a bit rushed as only have just over an hour to visit it. Brisk walk along the Nuggett Falls trail to see the waterfall and the glacier from afar. Sadly, though, I’ve been spoilt on this trip with glaciers. Having seen the Perito Merino glacier in El Calafate, Argentina, all those months ago, this is a disappointment. Underwhelmed.

Enjoying my stride along the trail, can hear a heavy breathing, short legged, Asian girl keeping up with me, a few yards behind. Quite impressed that she can keep up as I’m going at a fairly full on pace myself. She explains that she’s very late for her transfer back to the ship. Hence the rush.

Having built up an appetite from my two mile stride along the trail, ready to eat at the ‘salmon bake’. BBQ salmon, in other words. Rather good and set up for cruise ship tourists with outdoor seating, cold buffet and bar. The sort of thing you might find at your local pub for a summer BBQ. Weather’s about the same as an English summer too. Cold and grey.

Dropped off at the former brothel in Juneau, the Red Dog Saloon. Full of cruise ship tourists. These towns solely exist on cruise ship tourists. Like Ketchikan, Juneau is nothing to write home about. There’s quite a few local odd bods about, which is becoming a theme for Alaska, I find. Drunk and drugged up. You know the sort.

Keep seeing signs in shop windows saying, ‘This shop is owned by an Alaskan family’. Can guess why but decide to ask one shop owner the reason.

Oh dear.

What I have done.

Having lit the blue touch paper, listen to a diatribe of anti-Indian sentiment.

All the prime locations are jewellery stores run by Indians (as in curry). They only come in for the cruise ship season of May to September, then clear off. Not only that but they rent apartments and houses for the shop workers. There’s seemingly a lot of animosity towards the Indians from the locals.

Now that there are no queues to go up the cable car to Mount Roberts (unlike this morning’s long cruise ship tourist queues as it’s the first thing you pass when exiting the cruise terminal), nip up for a quick half hour. Not much to do at the top apart from hiking trails (too late in the day for hiking) but stunning views up and down the Gastineau Channel. The four cruise ships below look tiny from up here.

A short film is on offer in the theatre explaining the local Tlingit (pronounced ‘klingit’) indigenous tribe’s way of life. Sit and wait on a bench between the two exit doors. So. In effect. Am sitting in the fallow area that no one will need to walk into on their way out. Officious woman, mid 60s, short cropped grey hair, highly strung looking, you know the sort, tells me to move. I’m in the way of the exiting people. And her. Then why put a bench here then? Move to another seat.

Once in the theatre, expecting the lights to dim and film to start.

But then. This.

She explains that she’s a retired teacher. It explains everything. She’s going to give us a little lesson. She has notes in her hand. She keeps turning over the pages. She starts by telling us to put our phones away. She doesn’t like talking to people who are looking at phones. She says, “I get kranky. Very kranky. So put your phones down and look at me. Then I won’t get kranky.” A tedious history lesson ensues. She’s back in the classroom. She will never retire from being a teacher. Her lesson finishes, the lights dim, film starts.

And then. A latecomer. A morbidly obese latecomer. The sort that can’t move and sit down quietly. The sort that plonks themselves down diagonally behind me on my left shoulder. The sort that is hot and sweaty and a heavy breather as she’s exerted herself by walking a few steps. The sort that can’t fit in the seats. The sort that has to lean forward to fit in the seat so the armrests don’t bite into her. The sort that leans forward and rests her big flabby arms and other bodily parts on the seat adjacent me. Still heavy breathing. Right in my left ear.

Well, dear reader, if you could hear me muttering to myself. You would be laughing. Can’t put up with this. Actually have to leave the film.

There’s a reason why there was no queue to go up in the cable car. It’s because they’re already at the top. Queuing to come down. Half an hour wait to go down. So much for a quick trip. There’s a smallish bloke in front who is from my ship. He looks like a Harry Potter Gringott’s Bank goblin. There are five benches to sit on. Four are completely free. One is occupied by an elderly woman. Sitting minding her own business. Normal people would sit on a vacant bench. Nope. Not him. He plonks himself on her bench. Not at one end to give her a few inches space. Nope. Plonks himself right next to her such that he’s encroaching on her space and his body is leaning on her bag and her. Some people. Unbelievable. His wife soon tells him to move when she sees where he’s sat. He’s completely oblivious.

Nowt* so queer as folk.

And there’s a lot of queer folk on this ship.

 

* for non-English speakers…and Americans…’nowt’ means ‘nothing’.