Category Archives: Antarctica to Alaska

150. ‘aving a whale of a time

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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’.

143. Rubbish!

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Tuesday, 14 May 2019

Ketchikan, Alaska, USA

 

Wake up in Alaska.

At last.

After all these months of travelling am nearing the final destination.

Boo. Don’t want it to end.

Another scrum at the breakfast buffet and have to queue nearly half an hour to get an omelette, though surprisingly find a vacant table straight away.

Short queue to disembark. Everyone has to have their keycard scanned which is checked against the photograph of you they took at check in. One bloke on a mobility scooter has forgotten his card and so needs to go back to room to retrieve it. Without even a cursory glance backwards, he reverses scooter straight back without any warning and runs into people waiting in line. The trouble with some of these scooter people is that they think they have a God given right to mow people down.

Well, dear reader, after months of hot and sunny weather. Guess what. It’s bloody freezing in Ketchikan this morning.

Very cold.

Very wet.

Very grey.

Welcome to Alaska.

Having shipped all my winter gear back home when in Buenos Aires, have no warm clothing. Am in need of warm clothing now though.

In the limited time before the shore excursion starts, nip into a number of shops in search of a woolly hat and woolly scarf. Surprisingly, there aren’t many shops selling scarves. Woolly hats, yes. No problem. Scarf no. The next best thing is, as an assistant recommends, a pashmina. But that’s for a girl, I exclaim. No, no, men wear them too. I am assured. In the hope of a sale, no doubt. So. A pashmina it is. Purely out of desperation you understand. Not wanting an effeminate pink or purple, opt for the, oh, so manly black. If any of you girls reading this would like a black pashmina upon my return, you can have it. I’ve worn the same old scarf since I was a teenager. Wish I’d kept it with me now.

Step out of the shop looking, oh, so metrosexual. Very…chic, I am, with my pashmina wrapped around my neck.

Look like I’m a friend of Dorothy. If you get my drift.

Walk past a lot of jewellery shops to get back to the ship. Each is offering a free gift if you just walk in, with the hope that they can flog you some jewellery. All the shops are owned by Indians (as in curry, rather than indigenous First Nation), and I have no hesitation in collecting a freebie. They’ll do as gifts for nieces. Lucky girls.

Off I trot. Pop into each jewellery shop, given a free gift, thank you very much and walk out. Soon amass a small collection.

Half hour bus journey to the George Inlet Lodge where the excursion starts. Driver is quite entertaining and regales us with local folklore stories, usually involving a raven or a bear. Pass the cemetery and the road sign now says ‘No through route’. Used to be ‘Dead End’.

Once at the Lodge, board a float boat for a pootle around the fjord. Low cloud prevents decent views but we are able to get close to a cliff face as it continues 350ft further down into the water. The fjord is 1,400ft deep in the middle. Seeing some bald eagles, the lad throws a dead fish into the water. After a minute or so the eagles have spotted it. One swoops down to grab it close to where the boat is. Awesome sight as they come diving in (see photos below). Amazing eyesight to be able to see a small fish from about 200m away.

Stop at a buoy and haul up a crab cage from 65ft. This is the local delicacy. Dungeness Crab. Explained that they only eat males, so the females can continue to reproduce. The male’s abdomen is long and thin, like the Washington Monument, whilst the female’s is round and squat, like the Capitol Building.

Sail past the old salmon cannery building. Now derelict, it used to be a hive of activity until it closed in 1958. They developed a salmon catching contraption, which negated the need to buy the salmon from fishing vessels. All the original machinery still works and they’re in the process of repairing the machinery and opening a museum.

Lunch is included in this particular excursion. All you can eat crab. Yep. Lots of small dining rooms full of cruise ship tourists gorging on crab. Feeding time at the zoo. Herded into a small room, given a demonstration on how to extract the meat from the legs. Brash, loud mouthed, young girl who is giving the demonstration asks for a volunteer and looks at me. I am the chosen one. She asks if I’ve ever been fed fresh crab by a young lady before. That would be telling. Having extracted some nice fresh meat from the leg, she feeds the meat into my mouth. It’s delicious. Yum. She asks how is it, expecting a gushing comment like ‘delicious’. Instead. Dear reader. I respond in a typical British way. And say, “Rubbish!”. The whole tour group roars with laughter. Her little face drops. She thinks I’m being serious. She doesn’t get the holiday camp humour. As I walk back to sit down, an Australian woman grabs my arm and says, “That was funny, it’s the sort of thing an Australian would say!”

The crab is served in halves. The competition is to stack the waste shell as high as you can. Tuck in. Oh. My. God. It is, quite simply, the best crab I have ever eaten. I’m sallyvating just thinking about it as I type. It’s the sweetest, most succulent, juiciest, tastiest, freshest crab. The trouble is that every time I now eat crab elsewhere, it will be rubbish compared to this. Absolutely delicious. Two more halves of crab are served. Wow. Memorable crab that. The winners of the ‘stack the shells as high as you can’ competition have the privilege of doing the crab dance. Shown by a bonny girl how to do it. Glad we lost that particular competition.

The building for lunch, the George Inlet Lodge, was originally located 90 miles down river but in the 1970s, it was floated up river and positioned in its current location. The photo below shows the building being towed.

Back to the ship with a different driver. He starts telling us local folklore stories. The same ones we were told this morning. He’s soon told we’ve heard that one. So he starts another story. Soon told we’ve heard that one too. Tries a third time. Ditto. Fourth time. Ditto. After four attempts, drive back in silence.

An old friend emails to say that she and sister have found webcams along my route and that I should try and stand in a certain spot on board so she can see me. Sadly, it’s a restricted area and can’t access. Reminds me of the time, parents were on a cruise with some friends in Gerainger Fjord, Norway. Told them to stand in a certain spot and wave so I could see them on the live webcam. For a bit of fun. There they are waving when I see other people on the webcam come up to them. Like a silent movie, they point to the webcam and they can only be explaining what they’re doing. Soon, a larger crowd gathers of elderly folk tapping away on their phones and waving, obviously telling friends and family to look at this webcam.

It’s the magician tonight for evening entertainment. He’s funnier than the comedian last night. Cast your mind back to yesterday’s blog. Remember the whiny kid that’s not the full shilling. He’s special. Special needs. Well, dear reader. He’s sitting on the front row. At one point he stands up, puts his arm in the air and heckles the magician. Magician fobs him off with a funny remark. Kid sits down.

Much later on in the show. Magician asks for volunteers that are needed to catch a small pink ball. Whiny kid immediately stands up saying, “Me, me, me.” Magician sees an opportunity for payback. Throws pink ball to whiny kid. Tells him to go back a bit. A bit further up the aisle. No. A bit further. That’s it. Now across the back of the stalls. Keep going. Now go back a bit up that aisle. Bit further. That’s it. Keep going. You see those double doors? (the exit doors). Well go through them.

It brings the house down. So funny.

Whiny kid is told to come nearer the stage. He stands about 5m from the stage in the stalls aisle. Magician has now donned a blue Velcro suit. Whiny kid is to throw his pink ball at Velcro suit so it sticks on the magician. Whiny kid throws ball as hard as he can. It goes way off course and ends up in the wings. Cue laughter. Whiny kid told to come closer. Second throw. It too goes wide of the mark. Cue laughter. You could hardly miss from where whiny kid is standing. Told to come closer. Third throw. Magician is standing on stage like a big blue starfish. You can’t miss him. Whiny kid throws ball. The pink ball hits the magician’s crotch. It brings the house down. So funny. Magician is standing in a big blue Velcro suit with a small pink ball in his crotch. It’s with such perfect positioning that you wonder if that was a lucky shot or there’s some deliberate trickery. Especially as the second person to throw a pink ball lands it on his right nipple and the third person lands it on his left nipple. The ‘trick’ being that he then produces a figure of himself, done earlier before the show, with pink dots in exactly the same position they are now.

Very funny.

142. Floating nursing home

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Monday, 13 May 2019

At sea north of Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada

 

Such is the silence and the stability of the ship can’t tell if it’s actually moving or not when I wake up. Have sailed through the Johnstone Strait overnight and now in open sea north of Vancouver Island.

Dead calm.

Just how I like it.

Only wanting a coffee for breakfast, venture up to the drinks station in the Lido Buffet on deck 9. What a scrum. Morbidly obese stuffing their faces with plates piled high of muffins, waffles, omelettes, bacon, sausages. Ever heard of portion control?

Grab a coffee and retire to the oasis of calm that is the Explorer’s Lounge. Review which excursions I want to do when we dock in Ketchikan tomorrow, Juneau on Wednesday and Skagway on Thursday. Ridiculously expensive but it’s a captive market and as I’ve not had time to do any research and make my own plans, a ship organised tour it is.

Full day at sea, so spend some time catching up on diary and blog in the Explorer’s Lounge. A quiet library like area. Young family come in and Dad starts browsing the ship’s intranet on the computer with Mum. Whiny kid, of about 9 years old, starts kicking off. He’s bored. Starts whining that he wants to see Alaska now. Mum & Dad ignore him. He becomes whinier and whinier. He’s clearly not the full shilling. Whine. Whine. Whine. I want to see Alaska now. He whines. Crying now. Needs a clip around the ear. Which I’d be happy to give if he continues disrupting my peaceful morning. Take note of him, dear reader, as he will feature in tomorrow’s blog.

Venture once again to the Lido buffet. All I want is a quick light salad for lunch. Trying to avoid over eating. Join the queue. Staggering to see how much people can eat. I’m a big bloke but I couldn’t eat all of what I see some people put away. For breakfast, lunch and dinner. Crikey. So busy up here that people tend to reserve a table by putting a jumper or a book on the seat, wander off to get food and then come back to a vacant spot. One grumpy old bloke thought he’d it made it clear he had reserved a table by putting down his glass of water on the table. Disgruntled to find that someone had taken the seat. Like Victor Meldrew, has a hissy fit at the elderly couple now sitting at ‘his’ table, telling them they’re rude. He’s winding himself up and wonder if he’s going to have a heart attack over it. He’s that wound up by this slightest thing. Trouble is, it’s very difficult to establish if a table is ‘reserved’ or not if you just put a glass of water down. If you’re going to reserve a table and make it ‘yours’, you need to go full on German and put the towels out.

Hope my German readers laugh at that.

There’s a lot of old folk with walking sticks, scooters, strollers and oxygen tanks. A lot of oxygen tanks. The crippled, infirm, elderly, blind and disabled all trundle past.

It’s like a floating nursing home.

Each day, the ship’s onboard activities are left in cabin. Was struggling to understand who Bill W was and why he had so many friends that needed to meet until an old friend; an old friend as in longevity rather than being old, well, OK, she’s no spring chicken, but she’s not ancient just yet (hope she’s laughing?!); texts to say that if I see any meetings for Bill W that’s the Alcoholics Anonymous group. Ah. I see.

Do you know what the difference is between alcoholics and drunks?

Us drunks don’t go to meetings.

She also advises that if I see meetings for Friends of Dorothy then that’s the LGBTQ, and any other consonants, meeting of lesbians, homosexuals and other deviations. So I won’t be going to that meeting either.

Gala Dinner Night tonight.

Yep.

Chance for people to get all dressed up.

Except.

This particular explorer has nothing to wear. Apart from rapidly fading jeans and a heavily creased shirt out of his rucksack. Miss Vancouver’s hospitality didn’t extend to ironing my shirts for me. A blot on her otherwise pristine copybook.

Wanting to sit at the same table as last night, find it’s already reserved. Placed on a nearby table. You can only book a particular table two nights in advance. Push the maitre d’ to see if he will book my favourite table all the way through to the end of the cruise. With a bit of pushing and persuasion, he does so. Taurean charm you see. Or was it just to get rid of me?

There’s some rare shapes and sizes on this cruise. It’s apparent there’s two types of passenger on this ship. There’s a white middle class set who tend to gravitate to the fine dining restaurant and the smaller bars, and attend the concerts and theatrical entertainment. Then there’s the other type that confine themselves to deck 9, with the swimming pool, all you can eat buffet and smoking area. You get my drift.

As the black comedian jokes in tonight’s set, cruising’s a white persons pastime.

He’s not wrong.

141. All aboard the Skylark!

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Sunday, 12 May 2019

At sea south of Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada

 

Three cruise ships in port today. All loading up for an evening sailing. All three will be in convoy up the Inside Passage for a few days.

Have a spare few hours and thought I’d be rushed to research and book things to do for the spare week I now have between landing in Seward and needing to be in Anchorage. Thankfully, and very gratefully, Mrs Cincinnati (whom I met on the train travelling through Ecuador and who has been a very useful travel guru for the USA, thank you very much) emails with a list of hotels and things to do in the region. Saves an awful lot of time on my part, so thank you Mrs C. What would have taken hours, takes a few minutes to book. I know I can trust her judgement on hotels.

Having already done a recce of the cruise ship check in, leave it until after lunch to go and embark. There’s a very short queue at check in and through in a matter of minutes. I’m all over this. Security screening of bags and people also takes a matter of minutes. I’m all over this. This is easy. Good job I did my recce.

Thought I.

And then.

US Immigration.

Oh.

My.

God.

There’s a queue. For the queue. For the queue.

Yep.

US & Canadians are channelled down one line which is free flowing.

Non-US & Canadians are channelled down another. And we queue. This queue is then released to go join another queue.

Which is so long that they’ve provided chairs for us to sit on.

I kid you not.

Told it will only take 20mins.

20mins my arse.

Losing the will to live.

Just under 2hrs of my life I’ll never get back.

Sat waiting…to join another sodding queue.

The rows of chairs are called in the order in which you sat down.

Sitting with old folk all around me. If this is what life holds for me in later life then shoot me now.

Deary me.

We’ve had Top Trumps Medical Conditions. It starts with some lowly ailment, then another pipes up with something slightly worse and ends up with the Top Trump. Cancer, obviously. Then it’s various types of cancer Top Trumps.

Dear God.

Remember once whilst travelling on the Trans Siberian Express that one old dear told the dinner table that she’d donated her husband’s brain for research at the local university. The last thing you want to be discussing whilst eating your mashed potato.

Eventually.

Our row is called.

Thank God.

But.

This is merely to join the standing up queue for the Immigration desks.

Now. Get this. To process the 6,500 people on three cruise ships in a matter of hours. Guess how many Immigration desks there are.

14.

Yep. You read that right.

14.

Bloody ridiculous.

US and Canadian passport holders can go through an automated passport scan kiosk but everyone else has to go and have passports checked by a human US Immigration Officer and have fingerprints taken.

2hrs of my life for that.

Harumph.

However, that’s the final hurdle. It is with some glee that I can now finally embark the ship.

Except.

I can’t.

In a scene that would be perfect for Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights and his character Brian Potter, some old bloke on a mobility scooter is blocking the gang plank. He’s been driving up the zig zag ramps to the ship when his scooter battery runs out half way up.

Stop laughing.

So. There we all are. Backing up in yet another queue. Because a broken down mobility scooter is blocking the way. Have to laugh to myself.

Couple of able bodied blokes help push the scooter up the gang plank. But. The scooter is in gear and they can’t push. Old bloke tries to fix it by pushing the ‘go’ button (or whatever it is they have) and as the batteries have accumulated a smidgeon more power after a brief respite, the scooter lurches forward. Which means the blokes pushing are taken by surprise and stumble over as they’ve been pushing hard a static object which is now mobile. Bit like when you used to jump start a car and it would shoot off. Trying not to laugh at the situation, the scooter finally makes it on to the deck.

What larks.

Once on board find my cabin.

I know it’s an ‘Ocean View’ and that’s about it.

Well, dear reader. Open my cabin door. It is indeed ‘Ocean View’.

Yes.

At.

Sea.

Level.

Ducks are practically floating past my window.

Like Leonardo di Caprio in the film ‘Titanic’, find I’m in what is essentially, steerage. You couldn’t be more lower down in the bowels of the ship.

It’s actually quite nice and pleased with my cabin. Far better than the car ferry cabin that I had anticipated being on. No. This will do very nicely.

Quick orientation tour of the ship before the lifeboat muster. The tannoy expressly says there’s absolutely no need to bring your lifejacket for the purposes of the drill. Surprising how many people bring a lifejacket though.

On my tour, find the theatre and have a quick chat with a techie. Walk down some stairs and find myself at stage level. So, obviously, as I have an interest in such things, walk on to stage. Oh dear. What have I done. No sooner have I stepped on to the stage than a load of voices shriek out, “Sir, you can’t go on the stage!”. Why, I ask. “It’s dangerous, you might fall off!”. FFS. Spend half my life on theatre stages rigging lights at high level up a ladder. Think I can handle standing on an empty stage. And anyway, young man, I’ve been standing on stages longer than you’ve been born.

Dockside is a hive of activity loading up all the food, drinks and baggage. Plenty of cranes, conveyors and fork lift trucks scurrying around. Fascinating stuff.

Set sail just after 1800hrs. The Star Princess and the Westerdam have also departed within the hour.

Au revoir Vancouver. It’s been a blast.

Can hardly tell we’re moving as we sail out. It’s that solid and stable. No noise. No squeaks. No groans. No rattles. Smooth as silk. A very quiet ship.

Surprised by how many people reading this blog have done the Alaska Inside Passage cruise and also how many have sailed on this particular ship. Some very useful advice has been given. Thank you to all. Number 1: avoid the buffet restaurants. Number 2: use the fine dining room. Number 3: find a quiet corner and you won’t know there’s 2,000 other people on board. Number 4: see the BBC show. Number 5: there’s always a trivia quiz and the answer is yoghurt if you get a question on American school kids’ lunches.

So.

Dinner in the fine dining restaurant it is then. Having been to the Lido buffet on deck 9, I now understand why. It’s like a scrum up there, queueing for food at various counters, with the morbidly obese waddling about with plates stacked high of all you can eat and more mobility scooters than you shake a stick at. Yuk. Disgusting.

The fine dining restaurant and the buffet are included in the general price and, in addition, there are two other restaurants which you can pay a supplement for to enter. Very happy with the food and service in the included fine dining restaurant though and find there’s no need to pay the extra.

Ask for a window table. And a window table I get. Right at the stern looking out over the propeller wash. Awesome view. Quiet place away from the main thoroughfare and meet the Indonesian waiter. He used to play in a football team that toured England when he was younger. Tells me that Chelsea and Arsenal beat them 7-2, Leicester 5-3 but that they actually beat a team called Nottingham Forest 3-2. He laughs when I tell him I’m from Nottingham.

Postprandial perambulation along the Promenade Deck admiring the sunset over Hornby Island as we sail past.

Can’t believe it’s a week already since I was on Hornby.