Notes from an Ocean Journey

I feel like I should condense the ferry posts a bit, the days where we didn't stop in port tend to blur together. My morning usually with the announcement for the morning car check. They let the passengers down there three times a day to check on things, and, more importantly, walk your dog if you brought one. I feel pretty sorry for most of these animals, cooped up in cars or crates for most of the day. At least they get some exercise at port.

The cafeteria serves some pretty solid food. You hear the word cafeteria and your mind immediately travels back to school and the comestible horrors therein, but the cooks on the Kennikott actually care about what they serve.

The first day on the ship, before lunch, we got our first glimpse of whales. A pod of orcas passed by our port side, half a dozen including a mother and young. A few hours later a small group of porpoises played alongside our boat.

That evening we pulled into Yakutat, a tiny village three-quarters to nowhere. No roads run to it, the only way to get there is by boat or plane. We had a few hours to kill, so we disembarked to stretch our legs and hopefully find a restaurant. We never did find a place to eat, but we did find a really well-equipped general store, which would have been great if we had a kitchen, but alas.

A few of the other passengers went looking for a liquor store for some cheap hooch, but it was a savings of something like fifty cents, so they said forget it. Life is hard when everything comes into town the same way you did.

Dad got some good photos of bald eagle, at least, before we had to get back on board. We wound up getting dinner in the cafeteria again, sweet and sour pork ribs!

We traveled through fog and rain through most of the journey. Slate-grey water below, grey sky above, and green mountainous islands looming out of the mist on either side. Several times we came out of a channel into the open sea and the wild seas would roll across the ship. Never enough to cause alarm, it was more entertaining than anything.

The next day opened grey, but we stopped that morning in Juneau, the capital of Alaska. The port was several miles outside of town, so we took a taxi into the town center for lunch at the Sandpiper. It's existed in one form or another for decades, and the food was awesome. A chicken salad that blew my parents away and a quality corned beef sandwich with au jus for me.

We had a full day before our next stop, but things didn't get too boring. One of the mothers hosted a pirate treasure hunt to entertain the younger passengers, they spent most of the day on a scavenger hunt figuring out clues leading from one part of the ship to the next.

At lunch the next day we pulled into Ketchikan. It's been many things over the last hundred years, fishing, logging, and now tourism each taking the fore in the city's history. We took a tour bus into town, regaled by tales by the local driver. He took us past the river that runs through the middle of town, pointing out the salmon ladder that let's the fish get upstream to spawn. He also pointed out the ex- red light district built out over the tidelands, now converted into jewelry stores and tourist stops for the cruise folk. It was a short stop, so after we bolted some fish (some of the poorer cod I've had this trip) it was back on the bus then back on the ship.

Four Miles in the Heart of the Mountain

The next day, which they tell me is Monday despite not being at work, was also laid back. We had to pick up my mother around 4:00pm at the airport then head down to Whittier to catch the ferry, but aside from that we were free. The Fellowship began to drift apart. Biju decided to take a glacier cruise and left early that morning. Scott returned in his bike and picked up a rental truck, he'd be staying in AK for another week. We fooled around in downtown Anchorage at the tourist shops most of the morning.

After lunch we packed our bags back on the bikes and picked up my mom. Whittier is about an hour's ride to the south of Anchorage along the tidal basin. It's amazing country, with glaciers holding fast to the mountains, sending icy torrents to join the rivers far below. Whittier is little more than a port, and the town is cut off by icy peaks. The only way into town, other than boat, is to go through the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel. Bored through a mountain, it stretches four dark miles under the rock. It's not more than 15 feet wide, and the tunnel floor is bisected by a rail line cut into the rock. It's a little precarious in a bike, should you stray too far to either side into the rail you're certain to go down. Each mile felt like an age as we rode on under the orange glow of the fluorescents.

Once we passed through that night we were in Whittier. The ship, the MV Kennicott, was slow to board. The port didn't have the facilities to refuel, so they had to run tankers into the hold to top up. After sitting in the rain and the cold for a few hours they finally let us into the ship to tie the bikes down in the car deck.

My berth sleeps four in a hair less space than my freshman dorm, which is to say it is a spacious walk-in closet. This is not a problem since I'm the only one staying there and I've got a porthole wide enough to sit in and watch the world go by.

We ate in the ship's cafeteria, which wasn't serving the full menu as late as we got in. It was enough, we just wanted something hot in us after waiting outside for so long!