Le Voyage -- Homeward bound

The adventure concludes

Did I say we were going home? Silly me.

We arrive at the airport in plenty of time, we think, to make it through security and board the plane. We wind up in line behind some guy who asks if we're leaving any time soon. When I indicate we are, he begins telling us what a horrible reputation the Vancouver airport has and that his flight doesn't go out until the middle of the afternoon, but he's in line because of the horrible stories he'd heard.

Vancouver ship terminal, built to look like a ship. You can't
see it in this pic, but many of those high rises have sections
with trees growing on them. Not shrubs like these
on the terminal. Trees, big enough to be recognized
as such from a distance.

Then he launches into telling some airport horror stories. A priest standing in front of him hears -- you really can't fail to hear this guy -- and joins in talking about his bad experiences, though none of the priest's problems have occurred in  Vancouver. Before long the two of them are engaged in their own conversation, which bothers me not except for having to hear it, which veers from travel.

The priest, it seems, is retired -- forced from his parish, by his account -- and now happily serves as a chaplain for one of the cruise lines. The reference to being forced out brings on a discussion of what he thinks of Pope Francis -- not much, though he says Francis is true to his Jesuit roots -- and then the conversation veers into theology, where our loud acquaintance is out of his depth.

You can see that the priest is tiring of the conversation, and we are all spared when one of the gate attendants comes over to talk to those in line. Don't know if she'd been checking through a lot of people who don't have flights until much later, or if someone said something to her as they checked their bags, but she announces that they will not be checking in folks who aren't on the next scheduled flight, which is ours. This sets the man off, and he starts smarting off to her. She holds her ground, and he leaves, along with several other folks, considerably shortening the line.

She recognizes the priest and greets him, which prompts him to let us go ahead of him when we arrive at the beginning of the line because the woman is not the next available agent. We take him up on it and fly through the process. We won't see him for a bit, which either means he was stuck behind someone who took a long time to go through, or he spent time chatting with the woman. I suspect the latter.

Random shot of our ship in Skagway.

Going through security isn't what I'd call an ordeal, but it winds up being strange for me. The line for flights to Seattle is empty. Sharon hands her passport to the security guy; he looks at it and sends her on. He looks at mine, then looks again, thinks a moment, and tells me to see the other security officer off to the side.

She asks for my passport and tells me to put my backpack and camera bag on the counter. She takes a tool, attaches a pad to it and begins swabbing all the zippers on my backpack. Then she opens the compartments and swabs inside those. My camera bag, however, is ignored. The pad is removed and slid into a machine, where it apparently passes inspection, and I'm allowed to proceed.

At the screening area, I set off the alarm going through the metal detector. I'm told I probably have metal in my shoes, which I have to take off, leave with the security agent and go through the screening again, passing this time. I'm wearing a different pair of shoes, dress style instead of sneakers, so it's possible they have metal in them, though my guess is that if there is, there's just enough that combined with the hardware in my ankle will set a machine off.

Meantime, we wait for the woman who's screening carry on items to release our stuff. She's either very careful or new at the task, because she's constantly stopping the conveyor, backing it up and scrutinizing the screen. Still, we make it to the gate with time to spare. (Remind me sometime to tell you about going through Canadian customs when we arrived. I'm apparently much dicier looking than Sharon.)

Another cruise line's ship, I think it's a Holland America,
passes us on it way to a mooring in Juneau.

The schedule for our flight from Vancouver to Seattle should leave about an hour to change planes. While we're waiting, another passenger with a view of the departure board notices the plane into Vancouver's been delayed. By 10 minutes. She checks with the airline personnel, and they tell her that making a connection shouldn't be a problem. They announce the delay about 10 minutes later.

When she returns she tells those of us sitting around her a few of her own missed-flight horror stories, then notices the flight board's been updated again and jumps up to talk to the gate attendants. She does this a couple of times, then comes back, gathers her husband and their things, announcing they were booked on the next Air Canada flight to DFW, and we should check to see if we can be rerouted. Sharon and I go to the gate desk just about the time one of the attendants announces that the plane we're supposed to fly on had to return to Seattle. They will attempt to reroute passengers as soon as possible.

That turns the boarding area into a mess, as people crowd up to be rerouted. An employees asks everyone to return to their seats, and they will call names as they work through the passenger list. When it comes our turn, the poor woman helping us tries and tries to find a way to get us to Dallas but can't. Just before I'm about to volunteer, she asks if we'd be OK with flying to Seattle and spending the night. They'd provide a hotel and meal vouchers. Sharon is off Monday, and my return to work was scheduled to be late that day anyway, so we readily agree.

Little to tell after that. We go to Seattle, grab a shuttle to the Double Tree, where we're booked, and check in. The chain gives you warm, chocolate-chip cookies when you check in. I try mine and find it's not too sweet to set off my whacked taste buds (long story, if you don't know me). Later we go down to the lobby to use their dedicated computers to check in for our flight the next morning and see a box about half full of cookies left behind by some conference being held there, so we snag a couple more. A few will still be there the next morning before we leave, and we'll snag another couple, which are still surprisingly fresh tasting when eaten later on the plane. (I know, that probably constitutes theft, but it would be a petty crime, and I so enjoyed the cookies.)

We weren't able to sit together on the flight home. Sharon sat behind me. The guy next to me tells me he'd had knee surgery recently and would need to get up an stretch a couple of times on the flight. I tell him it shouldn't be a problem. I'll need to be up a couple of times myself.

Random shot of our ship at dock in Juneau.

We arrive at DFW, grab a shuttle to our car, and head for the house. Apparently while we've been gone, most of the drivers along the route we're taking home got together and decided to drive slowly, bring up a situation in which I feel like a speed demon for driving the speed limit, weaving my way around the surrounding traffic. At one point while traveling on IH 820, traffic comes to a virtual standstill because on driver had stopped in the middle of his/her lane. S/he starts up again after I pass.

The trip has been grand. We've both picked up a cold or flu or something that we'll battle for a week and half or so, but we've also made memories galore. I probably wouldn't want to live there, but Alaska was an outstanding place to visit.


A short note: We'd never had a balcony room before, and I had some qualms about getting one for an Alaskan cruise. Afraid we'd never use it. But we did. It afforded protection from the elements and tremendous views as we sat in the deck chairs and watched the coastline slipping by. I'd recommend it.

Le Voyage -- In Canada

A short, sweet visit

We awake to a beautiful day in Vancouver. I'm not sure the view out our balcony qualifies as spectacular, but we'll be up on deck after breakfast and find the spectacular views. As we stand on the aft deck on the starboard side of the ship, we look to our left and see a green bridge that looks remarkably like the Golden Gate Bridge, except it's green.

View from the ship.

Sandra, the ship naturalist, had encouraged passengers to rise early to see the bridge and watch as the ship passed underneath. In the press of packing the night before, I completely forget so I don't set an alarm, and we miss it.

It looks like the Golden Gate, except for the color, because it was built by the same people, only a year earlier.

We hang out for a while, taking pictures of the bay -- of sailboats, sea planes taking off, mountains, sea planes taking off past sailboats with mountains in the background. The morning temps are a bit chill, so we eventually head inside to find a warmer place to wait. We find a little spot that's completely vacant, with a view of one of the passageways.

Suddenly we see some crew members apparently playing with the mobility scooters. I'm sure they were performing some serious duty, but when an officer sees Sharon laughing at him, he offers to let her try it. When she says no, he says, "You sure? It's fun."

About a half-hour before our designated departure time, someone announces that everyone is now clear to leave. After a little glitch when Sharon can't find her ship card -- resolved quite easily by the crewman checking those things -- we go pick up our bags.

Now, this is our fourth cruise, so we're not quite experts yet, but of all them our embarkation and disembarkation have flowed way more smoothly than any of the other three. I don't know if it's because of the ship line or the destination, but I don't care. It's just nice.

We had booked a hotel for the night to spend some time in Vancouver. Somehow I had it in my mind that we would have more time there, but we'll pretty much only have the afternoon and evening, as our flight leaves earlier on Sunday than I remembered.

Our room's not quite ready when we arrive, so we walk up to a local restaurant -- the White Spot -- that the shuttle bus driver had recommended and have lunch. It's kinda like a Chili's, though it's not part of a chain. They tout their hamburger with a special, "secret" sauce on their menu, and because we're always up for a hamburger, that's what we order.

Remember the "special sauce" on the McDonald's Big Mac? And everyone decided that it was just a variant of Thousand Island dressing? Well this "secret sauce" tastes for all the world like they mixed mayo, mustard and ketchup -- it has that flavor that you get on chain burgers when they put a dollop of each condiment on their buns.

Later, back at the hotel, the clerk who's checking us in asks where we ate. We tell her, and she doesn't look impressed but asks what we had. When we tell her hamburgers, she lights up. She loves the sauce, she tells us. Go figure.

Sharon asks for a map and directions to a nearby grocery store. The woman asks if we've heard of Safeway, and I have to stifle a laugh and the urge to say anything other than yes. The store is located pretty close to the hotel. We stow our stuff and decide that we only have time to see one thing, so we decide on Stanley Park and the Vancouver aquarium, both a short walk from the Safeway.

After picking up some cold medicine, sodas and a couple of bananas at the store we walk another few blocks to the park. The parks is, how do they say it? Amazeballs. To us, anyway. We have no experience with large urban parks and can hardly believe the plants and trees. One plant has giant leaves between which a huge spider has woven an appropriately large web. The leaves on this thing are nearly huge.

Look at the size of those leaves.

Look at the size of that spider.

The trees tower 100, 120 feet, maybe more. I don't know how tall they are, but I know they're significantly taller than the Sam Houston statue in Huntsville.

We misread a map sign erected in the park and wind up taking the long way around to the aquarium. The route we take loops us around a small lake, and along the way we come up on a group of -- please excuse the OF term -- young people. They've found some swans and are trying to take pictures, but every time one of the birds spreads its wings or start to move in their direction, the girls shriek, causing their male friends to dissolve into laughter and the swans to back off.

They have a rowing club. And it puts the Arlington
Yacht Club to shame.

 I have no idea how far we've walked this vacation, but it's a lot of steps. We had the idea we'd walk the promenade desk for exercise each day we were at sea, but what with traipsing from one end of the ship to other several times each day and taking the stairs almost exclusively, we never use the deck for any other exercise than creature watching. I think it worked out pretty well anyway.

Also on our way to the aquarium we pass through an area of the park where artists are set up. Most only have their art on display, but a few are quick sketch artists. All have signs up asking passersby not to take photographs. As we're passing through, I spot a knot of people gathered near a bench and trash can. A group of raccoons, well fed by the look of them, are wandering about, causing the excitement.

Sharon's picture of one of the raccoon.
My shots came out fuzzy.

The aquarium was nice, but I'd have to say the Texas State Aquarium in Corpus and the one in New Orleans are better. They do, however, have an impressive number of jellyfish, neither of those other aquariums I mentioned have what appears to be a totemic statue of an orca in front of their buildings. Our route out of the park ends up being much shorter, taking us along the seawall past the rowing club building, where a wedding was taking place, and quickly back to the room.

We crash for a while before heading to a restaurant Aaron and Brandon, our sons, had recommended after their recent trip to Vancouver. It's Saturday night, down near the seawall, and the place is a zoo. The hostess tells us we'll have to wait an hour to an hour and a half, unless we want to try the bar, where the wait time is shorter and they serve a full menu. We briefly try that wait, but the noise is overwhelming, what with the music playing loudly and people talking loudly to be heard over the music, so we strike our for quieter realms.

So we embark on what turns out to be another long walk, trying to find something that sounds good. We end up at a place called Hons Wun-Tun House, a Chinese food place. We were seated, given menus and a glass, not a cup, of hot tea and pretty much left alone. Turns out when you're ready to order you have to flag down one of the wait staff. But the food was good, plentiful and relatively inexpensive.

Whale statue in front of the aquarium. Part of a
fountain that's not running because Vancouver's
in a drought.

We've been wandering around in downtown, not really all that far from the hotel and pretty close to the Safeway we were at earlier. But the streets are transformed. In the daytime, I saw several homeless people camped out on the sidewalks. Tonight I don't see any of that, but people are everywhere. Couples, small groups, not many individuals. Most are dressed up a bit. Downtown seems to be a place to be at night on the weekend.

We find a 7-11 (a 7-11 y'all! In Canada!) we'd walked past in the afternoon, pick up some drinks and head back to our room. We've had another full, satisfying day, and we're tired. Tomorrow, we go home, and we're both ready. We'll actually be going back to work to rest up from our vacation.

Le Voyage: Wild Kingdom

Wait, aren't we supposed to be resting?

Our final day aboard is a day at sea. Fog dominates our view when we awake. Maybe this will be the day when the excitement abates, and we can recuperate a bit before our adventure in Vancouver.

After a late breakfast, we retire to the library, so I set up my tablet and keyboard and catch up on my journal entries. While there, the captain announces that the fog will mess with our schedule. They have to disembark an ill passenger, so a Coast Guard boat is coming to meet us, but our pilots for the Canadian portion of our trip can't get to us so, if I understand correctly, we'll be cruising outside the entrance to the passageway we'll be taking for a while before making another attempt to pick up our pilots.

Once we're in the passageway, I think it's the Johnstone Strait, we're supposed to sail through some prime Orca watching areas. We'll see how that goes.

Island in the passageway. The dark spot near the center
of the lower third of the pic might be a whale,
or it might be a log. Hard to say.

After about an hour and a half, the fog seems to be lifting and the captain announces we'll be able to pick up our pilot, but because of tidal conditions, we won't be going through an area called the Seymour Narrows until after dark.

Sandra, the naturalist, later explains to a group of us that the tidal currents in the Narrows are so strong that ships only go through during slack periods. The next one won't be until 11 p.m. We had hoped to be outside when we made that passage because the area is supposed to really live up to its name, and we wanted to see how close the ship was to shore while making the passage.
In a guidebook we've picked up, we read that a large underwater rock, Ripple Rock, used to pose a threat to ships navigating the passage. Various efforts were make to blow the rock up, but nothing succeeded until authorities tunneled into the rock from a nearby island, stuff it full of explosives and set off what is regarded to be the largest non-nuclear explosion ever. There's a nice little video of it here: Ripple Rock explosion


Sandra had said we'd be in the whale-watching area at about 5 p.m., and she'd be on the Promenade deck up in the bow if anyone wants to join her, which we do.

We're not up there long before she spots orca fins, and then the party begins. Several orcas show up, as do some humpbacks. In the beginning, we're mostly spotting orca fins and humpback blows, but shortly the action picks up. People spot the orcas jumping, and off to the port side we see an orca and a humpback surfacing near a small boat. Not long after that, one humpback surfaces forward and begins putting on quite a show. A couple of others will dive during this time, and Sharon winds up with a couple of great shots of the tail fluke on one humpback and the pectorals of the cavorting humpback.

Sea lions hanging out on shore.

Not sure how close this humpback is to that boat,
but it's close enough, I reckon.

Sharon's pic of a tail fluke, probably of a diving humpback.

Someone spots sea lions on the shore off the starboard side, which I get a picture of, and Sharon gets a pic of another bunch on an islet to the port side of the forward bow. About the time the whale and sea lion show begins to abate, groups of white-sided porpoises start jumping out of the water forward, then turn as a group and charge straight at the ship.


Excitement runs high on the deck, as you can imagine, and it's a tribute to the stability of a large ship that it doesn't rock back and forth from people charging to each side whenever an animal is spotted. Mercy, what a time. This is one of those times when I wish I were good at waxing poetic.


Sandra tells us this is the best whale watching she's seen this season. Just when we thought the wonderment was over, we're blessed with another amazing day at sea.


The rest of the evening is a bit more prosaic. The usual dinner and a show. We've had to pack up all our stuff, except what we'll sleep in and wear in the morning, and they've taken our luggage away. We hang out late on the balcony hoping to see at least the shadow of land as we pass through the narrows. For the first time on the cruise, stars are visible at night, and though I'm pretty sure we miss the Narrows, we soon spot lights on shore, and they appear to be pretty close.


We're in Vancouver in the morning, where we'll debark and spend the day exploring the city, and as has always happened, we're set to be one of the last groups to leave. I don't know how we do that. We even wind up having the same color code for our departure group we always have. We go to bed thinking the excitement must surely be over. As Sundance said to Butch, "You just keeping thinking, Butch. That's what you're good at."

Le Voyage -- Catch as Ketchikan

Rain, rain go ... oh, never mind

Ketchikan AK has a reputation for being rainy -- the rainiest spot in North America, to answer the question, "How rainy is it?"

On the other days of our trip, the gloomy, long-range predictions of my Weather Channel app will not come to fruition. Not so today. Today will be exactly as expected -- foggy, rainy, wet -- though not quite as cold as I dressed for. Still the layers come in handy because I have extra places to put things to keep them dry.

We've carried our backpacks everywhere we've been ashore, but in all that time we never figured out that only one compartment is waterproof. The outside pockets are mere canvas, which will prevent some water, but not all, especially when rained on for hours on end. I have my phone and iPod in an outer compartment, and Sharon put our map from the visitor center and some of our paperwork in one of those compartments. The map will wind up being replaced. None of the papers are particularly necessary, so they won't be needed, though the important info remains readable.

The town lies across the street from the docks. No need to walk a mile to town; you're there when you disembark. And, of course, the tourist shops dominate the section nearest the ships. Rain falls most of the day, sometimes drizzly, sometimes pouring.

Our ship lies at dock about 50 yards or less
behind that ramp.

We walk down to the visitor center to pick up a walking tour map. The woman running the information booth is a hoot. Some guy walks up to her to ask about a plane tour he was going on and wanting to know if it was still on. She asks him when it's supposed to take place. He looks at his watch and says, "Right about now." She asks where the tour meets, and after he replies she says, "Well, you're not going to be able to catch it here, are you?" He figures out he's asking the wrong person and leaves.

Next a group of older women approach to ask some questions. One wants to know if there are buses you can take or if you have to be on a tour bus. The booth lady tells her that public transportation is available, but they discourage tourists from just riding around on the buses just to see the sights. The woman asks how much the buses cost. The info lady says that depends on how far you're going and suggests it might not be a good idea to wait in the rain for 20 minutes to go to a destination you could walk to in five.

Another one of the women inquires about a horse and buggy drive she's read about in some brochure. The info lady tells her it went out of business 5 years ago. But they're still advertising it, the woman replies. Info lady says, "I know they're closed 'cause I used to work for them, and that's why I'm working here now."

Ketchikan claims the distinction of being the first city
in Alaska and the first city to have paved streets.

As fascinating as the conversations are, we're here to explore, so Sharon and I put our heads together over the map and figure out where we want to go. Sandra, the on-board naturalist, told us about a bridge that crosses the creek next to Creek Street that's supposed to be a good place to watch for salmon on their spawning run. We see some fish swimming there, but the majority are dead, lying on the creek bed. We do spot a couple of harbor seals, who seem to be there looking for easy pickings. And some artist produced a salmon statue that looms over the creek. Not quite as impressive as the Big Fish in Belfast, though.


Shops line Creek Street, which used to the be the town's brothel area, created by the city to contain the "sporting" houses so they wouldn't be spread out through the town. Efforts to shut the whole area down began in the early '40s, but the houses remained in business until the '50s. A sign in the area says that some residents are still upset the houses were closed because they employed 22 women. I'm thinking they must be Republicans.

We'd decided we would be taking any of the ship-sponsored tours and would wander about on our own. One of the promising places listed to visit is the Totem Heritage Center, which is run by the city. A glance out our soggy map indicates we can propably get there with what appears to be a relatively short hike, a route that runs along the river.

The totem on the right is a funerary
totem. The remains of the person
it honors would be placed in a box
that is then placed in a notch cut
into the back of the totem.

We're standing at the bottom of Married Man's Trail, a back way into the "sporting" district said to be frequented by, well, married guys. It leads steeply up to street level, and signs along the way point the direction to the heritage center. Don't know how long the walk was because your perception of time distorts when you don't know where you're going. And when you're being soaked as well, time stretches forever.

Still, as we're walking across a bridge, we notice a bunch of folks standing in a little clearing near the river. Gulls by the dozen float in the water nearby, probably there hoping salmon will jump into their beaks for lunch. While we're watching, I see a salmon jump out of the water. Sharon missed it, but soon enough, another one (or the same one) jumps again. While this is going on a couple of gulls swim rapidly down to the area, but neither they nor we spot another fish jump. Probably because I was standing there with my camera pointed in hopes of catching another jump. Those suckers jump pretty high.

We give up and press on for the center. The map we're following shows that we need to take a dead-end road, which seems wrong while we're walking on it, but we arrive at a turn-off for the center before we run out of road. Turns out, there's an easier way to arrive there, and the city operates a free shuttle bus from the center to "downtown." We'll wind up taking that bus back.

The totem center houses a collection of mostly 19th-century era totems that were rescued for preservation. The guide there is waiting for a group that he'll make a presentation to, and while he's not otherwise engaged, I pepper him with questions and get almost all the info we'll later hear him giving the group.

While wandering about the museum I read that one type of totem was called a "shame totem." If you did something wrong, a totem could be commissioned that commemorated the shameful events. Make proper atonement for your wrong doing, and the totem would be cut down and destroyed.

Totems, by the way, were not used for religious purposes, though some referenced religious beliefs. The man I spoke with said it would be fair to think of totems as memory aids, the various elements depicted helping to tell a particular story. But they were more than that. It's worth taking the time to read up on the customs surrounding the totems.

While we wait for the bus, Sharon talks to the woman staffing the admittance booth and gets a recommendation for a good place to grab fish and chips for lunch. She gives Sharon a new, dry map and points out a restaurant she says is a favorite of the locals. On the bus ride back, the driver pulls over for what may be a potential passenger. But her bus doesn't go where he wants to go. He's not satisfied with that answer and wants more information, so he stands on the bus step peppering her with questions. Finally she says, "Sir, I'm blocking traffic," and starts closing the door, forcing him off the step.

We find the recommended restaurant and enjoy a very good, though a bit expensive, meal. I'm sure many folks would consider the price reasonable, and it may well be for an Alaskan tourist area. Keep in mind, however, that I'm cheap, so my perspective may be skewed.

We pop into one of the tourist shops to buy sodas and add to Sharon's souvenir pressed-penny collection, then head back to the ship, where we'll spend the balance of the day, dry and warm. The only place Sharon won't be able to get a pressed-coin souvenir will turn out to be Vancouver. They have the machines, but the ones we run into only take Loons, and we wind up never having any Canadian money other than some pennies a man had given Sharon back in Skagway. Canadian pennies, or at least the ones he gives her are still mostly copper, as opposed to the copper-clad zinc coins we make in America.

Late in the afternoon, the captain makes an announcement. The number of people going to the medical area with cold and flu-like symptoms is up, he says, and they're taking steps to mitigate the situation. Passengers who appear to have the flu are being isolated and treated with antivirals, and we're all encouraged to practice proper sneezing and coughing etiquette and be sure to thoroughly and frequently wash our hands.

Sharon is developing a cold, but we only have a day left, and we have some OTC cold medicine, so we don't intend to patronize the infirmary.



I'm a bit fuzzy on this incident -- it may have actually taken place the next night -- but this will be the trip when my high-school French will actually prove to be somewhat helpful. We've taken all our meals in the buffet dining areas, which on this ship are really pretty nice, and wait staff take your orders for drinks and such. We're sitting at one of the larger tables when one of the wait staff brings an elderly woman over to sit at our table because everyone seems to be eating in that dining room, and space is limited. She can't carry her plate because she's unsteady and has to use a cane.

A young woman comes and asks "madame" what she would like to drink. The woman begins replying in French, most of which I don't get, but I do understand "le te chaud." I'm guessing that because the wait person called her madame, she thought the girl spoke French. And she doesn't speak English.

I glance at the waitperson's name tag and see that she is from Ukraine, and the puzzled look on her face indicates she has no idea what the French woman wants. Madame repeats her request. The Ukrainian woman guesses "tea?" The French woman nods and repeats the request. Again the puzzled look. I catch the Ukrainian's eye and say "hot tea." The French woman nods, and the Ukrainian asks if she wants it black. "Oui, black," the French woman replies then turns to me and begins expressing what is obviously her appreciation, though really I only understand "merci, merci beaucoup, monsieur." Before we leave, I wish her, "Bon soir, madame," and receive another outpouring of gratitude.

I have to mention the production show for this night. It's called "British Invasion," and we'll be treated to '60s music -- Beatles, the Who, Rolling Stones, etc. But the outfits the costumer has come up with for this show are beyond crazy. They sort of evoke the '60, but not. I wish I had broken the rules and taken a picture. It's too hard to describe. And though they did well with most of the songs, they annihilated others. Oh, well. None of the people performing were likely alive in the '60s. Who knows about the people who put the costumes together.

Le Voyage -- Capitol stop

Did Juneau?

(Feel free to groan at the attempted pun.)

Early morning Juneau

Juneau today. I spend some time in the morning dealing with an issue at work -- my sub for my duties having to handle those responsibilities for the first time without me to coach her along. She's very smart, so I figure she'll be able to handle it.

After breakfast we have a couple of hours before we're supposed to hop a bus for the Mendenhall Glacier, so we hot foot it the mile into town, emerging, of course, in the touristy, shop-filled section. Part of our walk takes place on the Sea Walk, a boardwalk that runs alongside the bay.

The only bald eagle we got a shot of.

The weather is overcast and foggy -- enough so you can't see the tops of the surrounding mountains, and the tramway that takes visitors to the top of one mountain disappears on it way up. But the sun occasionally peeks out when the clouds thin. The last long-range forecast I looked at before we left on this adventure predicted this day to be rainy, but we are spared that. In fact, the weather turns out to be pretty pleasant most of the day.

We spend some time looking at the tourist shops, but one thing we want to do is find a drug store to pick up a couple of items we forgot/failed to include enough of. You have to move away from the street where the tourist shops are, but we find one.

On the way we check out the state capitol, which Sharon insists looks like a library, see a bear statue -- the closest we'll come to seeing a bear -- and check out a curious set of blackboards that encourage passersby to write what they hope to do before they die. One wag wants to "Bring chalk 4 this," which I guess was accomplished. Another wants to have breakfast with Sarah Palin, which the writer claims was done.

What do you think? Library or capitol building?

What do you want to do before you di?

Another wants to "leave Juneau." This would involve more than just hopping in the car and driving off. The only ways in or out of Juneau are by water or air. A rather extensive ferry system operates in Alaska; still, you don't just decide, I think I'll pop over to (fill in the blank) the way we do in much of the lower 48.

We also encounter on our ramblings about town a sight I've not seen in America in a while -- a bank of pay phones. And a man is actually using one of the phones! Amazing.

When the time comes, we trek back to the dock to pick up our bus and head out for the Mendenhall Glacier. You'd think we'd seen enough of glaciers, but this one impresses nonetheless. A sign at the visitor center notes that in the '30s, you would be able to touch the face of the glacier from that spot. The face is now a little over a mile away.


We take a trail down to the edge of the lake that formed in front of the glacier after its retreat. The path also leads to a gigantic waterfall you can walk right up to. The sound of the falling water drowns out every other sound -- you can't hear conversation unless the person talking is standing right next to you. I have some video I'll eventually process and post.

Lower part of the falls at Mendenhall Glacier

We're scheduled to spend a couple of hours in the area, and in the morning I wondered what in the world we were going to do for that long. Turned out to not even being close to enough time. After our return from the waterfall, Sharon goes back to the visitor center to look for a hiking badge, while I look for one more scenic vantage point. I find a spot next to a stream and note that salmon are chasing each other around in the water. A woman leading a group down to the same area says they're sockeye.

When the time comes to leave, we reboard the bus and head back for town. On the way we drive over a stream and see hundreds of salmon leaping from the water on their way to their spawning grounds. Neither of us is fast enough with a camera to take a picture.


I keep thinking each day that we just cannot have as good a day as the one before, but so far I've been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Back on board I snooze out for a bit. When I wake, Sharon's sitting in a chair watching our passage out of the bay through the balcony door, and shortly after  she cries out that she saw something in the water. We grab our cameras, and sure enough several groups of something swim by. We're shooting like mad, and when we look at them after, the photos confirm my suspicion that we've seen orcas. Sharon's shots are really good, and I don't believe I've ever seen her more excited about pictures.

Orcas!

Later she spots activity on the far shore, either splashes or blows or both, but we can't get a good picture because it's so far away. Sharon does have a shot showing something dark in the water along with the cloud produced by a blow, and we wonder if we might have seen some humpback activity.

Soon enough we're not seeing any more activity, so we clean up and dress up a little for formal night. After supper, we have our picture made and go to the late show. Afterward, we turn on a movie in the room, but that doesn't last long. We're just too tired to stay awake.

Le Voyage --On Dry Ground

Pathway to gold

(Just a note before we begin: I added a short clip with the sounds I recorded that the pieces of ice that broke off the glacier make to the previous post. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work in Firefox or my mobile devices, but it will play in a Chrome browser on a desktop. Or you could try downloading it. I'm trying to figure out the format that will play in everything and will replace it when I can. Now, back to your regularly scheduled program.)

We wake up in Skagway, and the day promises to be a great one. The sun's shining already, and by the time we're ready to head for town, the day is gorgeous. None of the early morning fog or mist, no suggestion of rain.

Town is a short walk from the ship, so we grab cameras and load our backpacks with precautionary gear -- it might not look like bad weather, but hey, what's to stop the day from turning on us? Better to be prepared.

On our way in, we spot a house built high on the side of a mountain. Could be that owner has the best view in town. We walk a couple of blocks over from the road that shuttles you into the shopping district to take pics of the house without interference from telephone wires. The street we're standing on is Main Street, and it looks like any other small town Main Street you can imagine.

Not a bad view from up there. To the left is the inlet, in front
would be the town with mountains in the background, and
to the right would be more mountains.

Move over two blocks, and you're on Broadway, the main tourist artery for the town. We stop in at a bunch of the shops, and at the National Parks souvenir place the store clerk tells us it had rained the past two days, suggesting it's because of our arrival. I happily take credit on behalf of our ship. Never mind the other two boats in port. And the weather will hold all day. Clouds and fog move in a bit as the sun goes down, but the temps are nice, and you could hardly ask for a better day.

Speaking of fjords. (What fjords you say? Did you miss something? No, I haven't mentioned them before.) I did not realize that fjord was a specific geographical designation, not a just Scandinavian local term. A fjord is a long, narrow, deep inlet formed from a submerged valley that was formed by a glacier. The one Skagway lies at the end of is the longest in North America.

Skagway reminds me of Bar Harbor, Maine, but with snow on the mountains. Scenic barely begins to describe it; it's "ditto." (Another spectacular view, that is.) Mountains to the left, right and front, the inlet behind you, the enormous cruise ships dwarfed by their surroundings.

Our big event for the day is a train ride to the White Pass summit. I'd read mixed reviews about this on Trip Advisor. The chief complaint seemed to be that you don't make stops, so taking pictures is more difficult. This true, but the experience of the ride -- the bumps and jolts, the clacking of the wheels, the swaying of the restored, old-time carriages -- these make the ride almost as much as the scenery, and the scenery is ... well, you know.

Looking back toward town. Cruise ships are docked down
there. Look closely at the larger version of this photo,
and you might almost see them.

The White Pass railway was built during the Klondike gold rush days and is considered to be an engineering marvel. Along the way you can see a couple of other routes -- a now dilapidated roadway and an extremely narrow trail -- that adventurers took to reach the Yukon. We're traveling on a clear, sunny, fall-like day, and I try to imagine what it would have been like during worse weather. I shudder to think of the difficulties that would be encountered by anyone trying to use those routes during foul weather.

A guide on board broadcasts tidbits about what we're seeing along the route, and early on she say passengers can stand outside the cars on the their platforms to take pictures. Unfortunately, the guide's spiel isn't broadcast on the outside. Still, I take advantage of the opportunity, coming in when I grow cold and heading back out when our accompanying guide book or the narrator indicates a special sight is about to appear. At one point I switch to video and shoot 3.5 minutes of the ride. Come back in a week or so, and I'll have added a link to the video. The whole experience thrills me, though when I first stepped onto the platform I nearly fell while adjusting to the car's motion.

At the pass summit, the train's engineer detaches the locomotive and moves it to the other end of the train by means of a cleverly constructed siding. We'll also use the siding to allow another train to pass us -- the line run several trains and can also take tourists all the way to the Yukon territory. Technically we're in Canada, and we've been warned not to get off the train. Don't see any Mounties waiting to apprehend scofflaws, though.

Our train enters a tunnel. I'm standing outside the car. You
can barely see someone else standing outside to the
left of the picture.

For the trip back, passengers flip the seat backs of the benches they've been sitting on and switch sides so they can see the stuff they missed on the way up. I decide to hang out inside with Sharon on the way back. That way I can steal a kiss when we pass through the tunnel, one of the sights along the way. Man, it's dark in there.

Once we arrive in town, we hop off at the depot and go exploring the town again. They have a quilt shop, and we spend some time there, then wander about taking photos and enjoying the wonderful weather until it's time to return to the ship.

Our evening is unremarkable, but we do spend some time on our balcony watching the world go by as the ship heads for its next destination.