2018 - Steven R. Southard (Poseidon's Scribe)

Home » Posts Published in: 2018 (Page 5)

Author Suicides

Writers, it’s difficult, but we have to talk about this. The recent celebrity suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade have raised awareness of the general suicide problem. However, writers may be particularly at risk.

A study released in March 2017 by the UK’s Office for National Statistics reported a higher risk of suicide “among those working in artistic, literary and media occupations.” [My emphasis added.]

It didn’t take long for me to compile my own partial list of fiction authors who have committed suicide (in order of birth date):

Virginia Woolf – (1882-1941, age 59)
L.M. Montgomery – (1884-1942, age 67)
Ryunosuke Akutagawa – (1892-1927, age 35)
Yasunari Kawabata – (1899-1972, age 72)
Ernest Hemingway – (1899-1961, age 61)
Sándor Márai – (1900-1989, age 88)
Karin Boye – (1900 – 1941, age 40)
Arthur Koestler – (1905-1983, age 77)
Klaus Mann – (1906-1949, age 42)
Osamu Dazai (1909-1948, age 38)
Primo Levi – (1919-1987, age 67)
Walter M. Miller Jr.– (1923-1996, age 72)
Yukio Mishima – (1925-1970, age 45)
Sylvia Plath – (1932-1963, age 30)
Jerzy Kosinski – (1933-1991, age 57)
Richard Brautigan (1935-1984, age 49)
Hunter S. Thompson – (1937-2005, age 67)
John Kennedy Toole – (1937-1969, age 31)
Thomas Disch – (1940-2008, age 68)
David Foster Wallace – (1962-2008, age 46)
Ned Vizzini – (1981-2013, age 32)

For three of these (Kawabata, Mann, and Levi), the suicide explanation remains in doubt. I feel compelled to point out that three other authors on this list (Boye, Miller, and Disch) wrote Science Fiction, my chosen genre.

In reading articles about these authors, it’s significant how many articles mention the word “depression.”

Following any suicide, we naturally seek a reason, an explanation, an answer to “why?” Some authors left notes attempting to rationalize their choice, but often these only leave us with more questions.

It’s probably unfair to generalize about such a personal choice, an option chosen based on necessarily specific reasons. Still, it’s natural to wonder if there are aspects of writing fiction that increase suicide risk. Here are my (unscientific and unsupported) speculations on that:

Writing is solitary. Writers tend to be less social and have fewer contacts with friends who might talk them out of suicide.
Writers explore their inner feelings, and those of their characters. Such deep introspection can lead to depression and suicide.
Writers think more about death and suffering than most people do. All fiction involves conflict, and writers must put their characters through pain, and, in some cases, death.
Feedback can depress writers. Authors offer their cherished work to the entre world, and hope for a positive reaction. If the public ignores their stories or reviewers lambast them, authors often take it personally.

If you’re a writer (or anyone) contemplating suicide, please, please, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or go to their website.

Perhaps you know a writer (or, again, anyone) who may be at risk of suicide. There’s a Twitter hashtag devoted to this: #BeThe1To. Here are the 5 Action Steps you can take to help your friend:

Ask your friend in a caring way if they feel suicidal;
Do what you can to keep your friend safe;
Listen without judgement and be there for your friend;
Connect your friend to a network of resources and helpful people; and
Follow up with your friend, even after treatment.

Let’s have a world without suicides. That’s the dream of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 10, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

A Writing Fool and his Money

After eleven entries about my cruise to Alaska, I’m returning this blog to topics dealing with the writing scene. Authors often debate the pros and cons of retaining a literary agent. You can add one item to the con list—your agent’s bookkeeper might be embezzling your earnings.

According to a New York Post report, the bookkeeper for a top literary agency has admitted to a charge of wire fraud. The agency alleges the bookkeeper stole at least $3.4M, leaving the company on the verge of bankruptcy. Forensic auditors are combing the agency’s books back to 2001, so that figure could go much higher.

Donadio & Olson is a prestigious company based in New York, boasting an impressive list of clients, including Chuck Palahnuik and McKay Jenkins, and the estates of Mario Puzo, Studs Terkel, and Peter Matthiessen.

How could such a thing happen? Writer and editor Kristine Kathryn Rusch has a theory, and I suspect she’s right, though I respectfully disagree with some of her remedies.

Ms. Rusch’s blogpost paints a picture of authors who loved to write, and didn’t really care to mess with figures having dollar signs, so they outsourced that job to a literary agent. When some of those authors died, their heirs didn’t want to know details either, and outsourced the financial and contractual stuff to the agent. Workers within the agency, likewise, may not have relished the numerical, pecuniary part of their job, so they contracted that to a bookkeeper.

Then nobody checked up. The authors and heirs trusted the agent; the agent trusted the bookkeeper. Millions of dollars passed through this bookkeeper’s hands, and nobody asked him if he was putting every dollar into the right account. Temptation may have overcome honesty, and years passed.

Then somebody checked up. One author, represented by D&O, asked about a $200,000 advance payment the author expected to receive from a publisher. When the bookkeeper kept putting the author off, the author persisted, then asked several people at D&O. The house of cards began to collapse.

I don’t know if this is what really happened, but it is believable, given the attitudes some authors have about money. If this scenario is true, what lessons should writers draw from this misfortune?

Ms. Rusch’s advice is clear: (1) sever your relationship with your agent and never hire one, and (2) learn the financial and contractual end of the writing business and do it yourself.

While acknowledging her greater knowledge in this area, I believe Ms. Rusch’s recommendations go too far. They strike me as disparaging an entire group of professionals for the actions of a few.

I’d summarize my suggestions as follows: (1) hire an agent if you believe you must, and (2) learn enough of the financial and contracting biz to ask hard questions. More simply: trust, but verify.

If you’re the type of starry-eyed writer who wishes only to frolic in the forest of words, leaving those dreary accounting matters to your (oh, so friendly) agent, be warned: there are wolves in those woods. These wolves smile nicely and talk sweetly, but prey on your intentional ignorance of money.

Remember how the D&O bookkeeper scam got discovered? Out of all their clients, just one persistent author cared enough to check up, to ask the hard questions. That author may have trusted, but went on to verify.

Don’t be the writing fool who’s soon parted from his, or her, money. That’s the advice about agents, and money, from—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 3, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 11

Thanks, Steadfast Reader, for hanging with me until the final day. I’ve been providing daily commentary about my recent cruise to Alaska, from the perspective of a fiction writer, a perspective that sometimes strays beyond complete accuracy. For the past ten days, you’ve been following the madcap escapades of me; my wife, Jean; and friends Mike and Brenda Knyght.

I awoke early on Day 11 while Jean still slept in our room at the Crimson Canopy Inn near Seattle-Tacoma Airport. With an hour to kill before the agreed-on time to meet for breakfast, I went out for a walk.

Then a strange thing happened.

A construction site consumed both the back of the hotel and a section of its parking lot. Evidently, the hotel would be adding more rooms. Workers had not shown up yet and their equipment sat idle. At the edge of the site, I saw an odd object almost entirely buried in recently excavated dirt. Without reaching past any marked borders, I pulled it out of the ground and dealt with it the best I could. I discussed it with my companions over breakfast, and realized I could have handled things differently.

“What did you find?” Brenda asked me.

“A briefcase. It had the initials D.B.C. engraved on it.”

“D.B.C?” Mike asked. “Was this briefcase old or new?”

“Pretty old-fashioned and beat-up,” I said.

“Did you open it?” he asked.

“No. It wasn’t mine.”

“What did you do with it?” Jean asked.

“I turned it in to the hotel receptionist. It might belong to a guest.”

“Does the name D.B. Cooper mean anything to you?” Mike asked.

“Hmm. Wasn’t he the guy who hijacked a plane in the 1970s?”

“Yeah. He parachuted out somewhere in this area, with a briefcase full of hundreds of thousands of dollars. They never found him or his briefcase.”

“Oh.”

“You had it in your hands, man,” Mike said. “You could have been the one to crack the biggest unsolved hijacking case in history. But you left that to the hotel receptionist.”

“Oops.”

I guess we’ll hear the announcement in the news soon. Or maybe the receptionist decided to pocket the cash. Or maybe the briefcase was empty, or didn’t belong to Cooper after all. Who knows?

We made our flight, which took off a few minutes late. At the other end, we retrieved our luggage at the carousel. Jean and I said goodbye to our friends and used a shuttle service to get home.

So ended my astounding voyage to Alaska. We saw only a fraction of that vast state with its fantastic vistas, majestic mountains, and prodigious glaciers. We rode a superb and luxurious cruise ship manned by an excellent and professional crew. Thank you, Steadfast Reader, for coming aboard. Check back at this website as this blog returns to its normal weekly format, featuring interesting posts by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 27, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 10

Welcome back, Steadfast Reader, to the continuing saga of my strange and awesome trip to Alaska. Be warned: I’m a fiction writer, and it’s my job to lie. I made this voyage with my wife, Jean, and long-time friends Brenda and Mike Knyght.

The author, helpfully pointing out Vancouver, BC ahead

At 6:36, the venerable MS Hellandam had steamed her way to 49°19’N, 123°15’W, where she churned through the waves on course 088°, speed 17.9 knots. Outside, 20-knot, 55°F winds blew from the southeast, and I could just see the city of Vancouver ahead.

The ship moored at Canada Place wharf by 7:20 am, having journeyed 1,964 nautical miles since she had left that spot.

At 8:30 am, we departed the ship that had sustained and pampered us for a week. Only seven days previously, she had seemed a mystery for us to explore, with her many decks and corridors, plush carpets, colorful bulkheads, and stylish furnishings. Now she was familiar to us; we knew how to find her theater, her Main Stage, her Crow’s Nest, her Exploration Lounge, her shops, and all her wonderful dining places. We’d each had our own brief love affair with the ship, knowing it had to end, but intense nonetheless. Now we walked her pleasant passageways for the final time, said our silent farewells, and made our way across the metal gangway.

It surprised me that our processing through Customs into Canada went very quickly. We’d previously made reservations on a RapidBus shuttle to Seattle, and we walked, rolling and toting our luggage, to the bus pickup area. The RapidBus was a huge coach bus, but only eight passengers boarded, including our quartet, so everyone had plenty of room. Our bus departed on time.

Then a strange thing happened.

The bus stopped in downtown Vancouver to pick up a couple of passengers. The wind kicked up and blew a scrap of paper against the bus window where I sat. It lingered there, plastered flat by the wind, and I idly glanced at it. Creases and torn edges marred this oddly sized, tan scrap. In black ink, it depicted a sort of map that resembled the Vancouver area, its land and waterways, though not the city itself. An arrow pointed to a single spot on the map, and beside the arrow, crude lettering stated, “Slumach’s mine. Mountains of gold here. – Shotwell.”

I whipped out my cell phone to take a picture, but a gust grabbed the page and sent it soaring on the breeze. I watched with dismay as it fluttered away down the block. How I wish I’d gotten a better glimpse of that arrow! I’ve since discovered that Slumach’s mine has remained a mystery for over a century. Easy come, easy go, I guess. Someone else will surely find that map.

At 12:30, our bus stopped at the border so we could pass through U.S. Customs. While we waited in line, empires rose and fell, glaciers advanced and receded, continents drifted and collided, and new species evolved while others went extinct. Finally, the customs agents welcomed us back into our country and we boarded our bus again.

Seattle, through a bus window, including the mirror effect, with the Space Needle in the distance

The ride to Seattle went smoothly and we reached its outskirts by 3:30. This was a bright, clear day with few clouds, endless blue skies, and temperatures just shy of 70°F. By 4:30, we’d reached Seattle-Tacoma Airport. We rode a hotel shuttle to the Crimson Canopy Inn on International Boulevard. After settling in our rooms, we walked to the nearby Ginger Palace, a small restaurant with Pan-Asian cuisine. I delighted in consuming their scrumptious Mongolian Beef.

By now, the four of us suffered from a sudden culture change, a life shift, an abrupt transition across contrasting milieus. We’d left Cruise World and re-entered Real World. Here are the characteristics of each:

Cruise World	Real World
600 people are dedicated to making you happy	Nobody cares
Everything is “free”	No free lunch, or anything else
A cheerful Room Steward makes your bed each day	Make your own bed, and clean your room
Wake up in a different place every day	Same room, same building, same town
Time is suspended; no clocks or calendars	Clocks and calendars run your life
No internet (unless you pay extra)	Constant linkage to email, social media, and the web
The floor gently rocks	The floor seems to gently rock until you regain your ‘land legs’

I can’t spend my whole life there, regrettably, but Cruise World will be fondly missed by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 26, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 9

As a rule, fiction writers pay more attention to reader interest and entertainment than they do to accuracy. Readers of this blog may suspect I’ve stretched the truth in my entries about my recent cruise to Alaska. Okay, I’ve changed a few names and exaggerated some events. Guilty as charged.

To bring you up to date, I was visiting Alaska along with my wife, Jean, and hardy traveling companions Mike and Brenda Knyght. Day 8 had concluded with our departure from Ketchikan aboard the good ship Hellandam. When I awoke on Day 9, at 7:12 am, we’d steamed southeast to 52°29’N, 129°57’W, farther west than on the northbound route.

For the first time in our voyage, I noted an apparent wind from the stern at 10 knots, as if Alaska were pushing us south. This resulted from a ship’s speed of 15.3 knots on a course of 144°, combined with strong winds of 26 knots from the northwest. Outside temperature was 48°F. I saw no land from my verandah on the starboard side, just moderate waves. We’d traversed 1,618 NM since leaving Vancouver, and this day promised to be an uneventful transit south along the inside passage off Canada’s west coast.

Regular readers will recall, from Day 4, that I’d agreed to read a novel during the cruise. At 9:00 am, I participated in a fun discussion as part of the ship’s O’s Reading Room (associated with the Oprah Book Club). Seven of us had read the book An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. The Cruise Director led a lively and engaging conversation, which gave me new insights. You can read my review on Goodreads.

Our voyaging foursome ate lunch on the Lido Deck’s fine buffet. At 3:00 pm, I attended a “Meet the Captain” session in the ship’s spacious, two-level Main Theater. About 100 people in the audience peppered Captain Christopher Grayne with questions, some more intelligent than others. I asked him to tell us about his strangest experiences at sea, and he said he’d seen a UFO, but it turned out to be a weather balloon (don’t they all?). On a separate occasion, he had witnessed St. Elmo’s fire, which must have been fascinating.

Then a strange thing happened.

I returned to my cabin to view the passing scenery from my verandah. We cruised through moderately choppy seas with only occasional whitecaps. With no warning, and with lightning speed, a giant snakehead emerged from the waves, saw me, and struck. For an instant, all I saw were long, dripping fangs, a dark gullet, and a whipping forked tongue. I jerked backwards and the serpent clamped down on the varnished wooden rail and the Plexiglas panel beneath it, and ripped them both away. By then I’d escaped back into my cabin through the glass doors inboard of the verandah. I will never forget the glare from the two unfeeling, reptilian eyes before the colossal sea snake vanished from view.

There had been no time for picture taking, and I wasn’t about to go back out there with no railing. In a rather panicked voice, I used the room’s phone to report the encounter to Guest Services. Within a half hour, workers arrived to repair the verandah railing. They said nothing to me, but as they talked to each other, I picked up the word ‘Tizheruk’ several times. Apparently, these monstrous snakes, said to roam Alaskan and Canadian wasters, are not myths. Fair warning—don’t lean over your verandah railing when your ship is transiting this passage. They really should mention Tizheruks on the cruise line’s website.

Though shaken by that event, I ate a nice dinner at the Lido Deck buffet with my three traveling companions. After I told them about my near disaster, Mike asked if I’d fallen asleep while watching a movie, perhaps ‘Anaconda’ or ‘The Jungle Book.’ I replied that it really happened. He assured me that, had the snake eaten me, he would have fought to get that spot declared a hissstorical site. Very thoughtful, Mike is.

A towel-origami elephant for our last night on board

While Jean and I had been at dinner, our inventive room steward had left another fun creation on our bed, this time an elephant.

Later, the four of us passed the time in the Exploration Lounge, playing the ‘For Sale’ card game. A quiet area, this lounge contained comfortable chairs, games, large windows, and a well-equipped library. The ‘For Sale’ game, which Mike and Brenda brought with them, was just the thing to calm the troubled nerves of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 25, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 8

I now resume the exciting, and largely factual, adventures of an intrepid foursome on their cruise to Alaska. I’ve changed many names to protect guilty and innocent alike. I traveled with my wife, Jean, and another couple, Brenda and Mike Knyght.

Day 8 dawned with MS Hellandam underway. At 6:56 am, we steamed on course 122° at a speed of 21.5 knots, crossing latitude 55°30’N. During the night, we’d weaved among various islands on our route to Ketchikan. Outside, no rain fell from the overcast sky, and winds blew 46°F air from the west at 8 knots. Since leaving Vancouver, we’d traveled 1,413 nautical miles.

I see I’ve neglected to give you my impressions of the Hellandam’s crew. The senior officers were mostly Dutch or English, but the ones with whom we interacted were from many other countries. Our server in the dining room—Rafid—was from Indonesia, and was unfailingly polite and prompt, and a bit of a jokester. Our room steward—Awang—always called us by name and took meticulous care of our room. Without exception, every one of the 604-person crew we met was gracious, helpful, friendly, and professional.

While waiting for breakfast to open in the Main Dining Room, Jean and I relaxed in the comfortable chairs of the Exploration Lounge. Gazing out the window, she spotted a whale. I said it was just a floating log…until it spouted. She kindly refrained from telling everyone this story, including the nice couple from Canada with whom we ate breakfast. Over a meal of Dungeness Crab Benedict, I watched the ship pull into the town of Ketchikan.

The four of us ate a quick and early lunch, since our shore excursion was to start just before noon. We disembarked and entered Ketchikan. If you’ve detected a pattern from previous blog entries, this town also lay at the base of giant mountains and contained a main street catering to tourists, crowded with gift shops, jewelry shops, a Christmas gift store, and seafood restaurants.

Ketchikan prides itself on being the rainiest city in the country, but we neither felt nor saw a single drop all day. That was odd, considering it had rained a little in every other port we visited.

We boarded a bus driven by Mattie, who also served as our tour guide to introduce us to the native Tlingit village in nearby Saxman. There we learned more about the Tlingit natives, their customs, language, and entertainment. If you go there, be aware that Wasahee’atee means ‘How are you?’ and Kla’ek-wahsah means ‘I am fine.’ Finally, Gunalcheesh means ‘thank you.’

We saw many totem poles, and Tlingit guides welcomed us into the Beaver Clan Lodge where we enjoyed their dances and songs. We toured their totem pole carving workshop where natives explained the construction and meaning of these markers.

Then a strange thing happened.

The Nature Trail, where you never know what you’ll see

Our Tlingit guides led us on a “nature walk” along a path through a short stretch of woods. Cedar and pine predominated here, and we walked on uneven and rocky ground. A wave of unease and fear swept over me at one point, as if someone were watching me, but not one of the others on our tour. I gazed in the direction from where the eeriness emanated. In the shadow of a tree, just thirty yards away, stood a giant, hairy animal, a man-shaped thing. It towered some twelve feet high, and its hair blended with the browns and blacks of wood and earth.

The Sasquatch and I stared at each other for an eternal instant. I reached for my cellphone to take the photo of a lifetime, but the creature vanished. I asked if others in my group had seen anything unusual in that direction, but nobody had. At least, nobody admitted it. I’d had so many experiences on this cruise that I couldn’t explain or prove, and now I must add a Big Foot sighting to that list.

Our bus driver and tour guide then drove us back to Ketchikan where we watched the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show. Four talented lumberjacks demonstrated great skill, strength, and humor in entertaining the crowd while showing common lumberjack roles and tasks.

We returned to the ship, and it pulled away from the wharf at 6:00 pm to begin its return trip to Vancouver. The four of us ate a formal dinner in the Main Dining Room (mine was Kingfish), and we once again played the ‘For Sale’ card game in the quiet library called the Explorer’s Lounge.

Yet another towel origami creation awaited us on our cabin bed, courtesy of our multi-talented room steward. Although this day completed the port-touring opportunities on the cruise, I suspected further adventures awaited—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 24, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 7

Are you still hanging with me, Steadfast Reader? I’m continuing the amazing and often true saga of my recent cruise to Alaska. I made the trip along with my wife, Jean, and long-time friends, Mike and Brenda Knyght (not their real names). In my previous post, our ship, the MS Hellandam (not its real name either), had just departed Skagway.

I awoke on Day 7 to find the ship in Glacier Bay. At 6:40 am, our location was 58°29’N, 136°03’W, on course 342° at 17.0 knots. Outside the temperature was 43°F with Northerly winds at 8 knots. We had traveled 1,014 nautical miles since departing Vancouver.

The morning fog seemed to be lifting over the calm seas, revealing occasional glimpses of forested land. I looked forward to my imagined version of Glacier Bay, with titanic ice walls dwarfing our ship.

Soon a curtain of fog closed in again. At 8:00 am, we passed Gloomy Knob (what a name!) Over the ship’s PA, they said to look for mountain goats at the Knob, but I saw none.

Later, the seas smoothed to a mirror finish, marred by floating chunks of ice. At first, I saw chair-sized chunks, then piano-sized masses, and finally house-sized bergs.

Yours truly, the only one not gawking at Johns Hopkins Glacier

At 9:30, we beheld the magnificent Johns Hopkins Glacier, visible in an inlet cruise ships must not enter. At 10:15 am, we passed the Lamplugh Glacier. Our ship motored slowly and turned so all passengers could get views. Still, fog lingered on this overcast day, with occasional drizzle, dampening some of the effect.

Glacier receding back into the inlet it carved

If you go to Glacier Bay, don’t go there saddled with my expectations. The glaciers have been receding since 1750, like a giant hand being pulled back, leaving rocky rubble and watery inlets where the icy fingers had been. You might spot some wildlife, though. Mike claimed he saw otters; and someone aboard sighted a humpback whale fluke.

At 11:45 am, we dressed up, strode to the Pinnacle Grill, and consumed a delightful Mother’s Day brunch of Lobster Eggs Benedict in an elegant atmosphere. It helped assuage the fact that neither Jean nor Brenda could connect with their children on this holiday, due to lack of cell phone reception.

Then a strange thing happened.

Jean and I went back to our cabin to watch glaciers from our verandah. On one of the larger bergs, I pointed out an otter to her. She said she couldn’t see it. I focused my monocular on the animal and let her look, but she said the berg had nothing on it. Gazing at it again, I saw this otter’s head looked human. Not just human, but—fantastically—it changed before my eyes. For a few seconds, its head resembled that of my late Mother; then it took the form of my father-in-law, dead for nearly two decades; finally, it morphed to look like my mother-in-law, who passed last year. The creature then slipped into the water and vanished.

Only then, too late, did I think to grab my camera. I was so astonished, so overcome by intense feelings of grief and remembrance; I couldn’t speak to Jean about those bizarre facial changes.

An explanation, of sorts, came later. At 2:15 pm, Jean and I attended a lecture on Tlingit native culture given by a Huna Cultural Interpreter named Kevin. After the lecture, I privately asked him about Tlingit legends involving otters. He must have sensed something in my query and asked if I’d seen an odd-looking otter. I nodded. He said, “My people tell a legend of the Kooshdakhaa, a half-human, half-otter. Did you see, in this animal’s face, someone you lost?” I nodded again. He said, “The Kooshdakhaa is a shape-shifter, appearing at times of departing. It reflects back feelings of grief, but may also absorb these feelings itself.” I thanked Kevin. I’ll have to admit, I felt better after that.

Afternoon sun cutting through clouds in Glacier Bay

The ship increased speed and headed south, leaving Glacier Bay, bound for Ketchikan. We passed ghostly islands, half-obscured by layers of wispy fog. Jean and I watched the movie musical “The Greatest Showman” in our cabin, then our foursome ate surf and turf in the Main Dining Room. Finally, we played the card game ‘For Sale’ in the Exploration Lounge, which had become a routine for us.

Back in our cabin, we found another example of hand-towel origami—a walrus, I think. With the ship steaming among the many elongated north-south islands between us and Ketchikan, we turned in, while thoughts of shape-shifting half-otters filled the mind of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 23, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 6

For the last few blog posts, I’ve been relating facts, many of which are true, about my recent cruise to Alaska with my wife, Jean, and traveling companions Brenda and Mike. I’ll resume my account on the morning after we slept aboard our cruise ship, MS Hellandam, moored in Juneau.

I awoke to see the vessel backing into a slip in the town of Skagway. It’s at 59°, 26’N, 135°20’W, where the sun had risen early, at 4:34 am, and wouldn’t set until 9:23 pm. This was as far north as we would ever travel on our cruise.

Feeling adventurous, Jean and I bundled up and walked into town, despite the 48°F temperature, gusty winds, and spitting rain. As with Juneau, the town sat at the feet of huge, snow-topped mountains. Once again, we passed many tourist shops, mostly selling jewelry. We walked to the far end of Broadway Street, found the Post Office, and mailed post cards.

Then a strange thing happened.

The wind and rain picked up, buffeting us and steering us down a side street. We felt driven toward a lonely hotel, far from the areas where tourists go. Why would someone put an inn here? Did the sign really say ‘No Vacancy?’ We went in to the White House hotel, and found nobody in its small lobby. Turning right, I saw a woman descending the stairs. Attired in an off-white dress with frills and a high collar, she seemed to fit the 1902-era décor. I told her we didn’t want a room; we were just getting warm and dry for a few minutes. She said nothing, but just stared at us. I asked if I could take her picture, and she gave no answer. I took a photo anyway, and she turned and walked upstairs without a word.

Oddly, she does not appear in the photograph. After a moment, a second, and younger, woman came out to the lobby desk and asked if she could help us. I said we’d just spoken to a dark-haired woman in a frilly white dress. The receptionist said no one in the hotel matched that description, but some previous guests had reported seeing a ghost in the inn, a woman dating from a time when the White House hotel was a day care center.

“Did you find gold yet, Master? Can I stop carrying your heavy pack now?”

On the way back to our ship, Jean and I bought some gifts and passed by a wonderful statue of a luckless prospector and his ever-faithful dog.

Engine and cars of the White Pass and Yukon Route railroad

After a buffet lunch on the Lido Deck, the four of us took a ride on the White Pass & Yukon Route Railroad. The green-and-yellow engine bore a picture of a thunderbird, making me shudder to recall the previous day’s encounter. The train cars felt warm inside, and came equipped with large windows and an outer, railed platform at each end. Tour guides kept us informed of sights as we clacked along, climbing from Skagway’s sea level to nearly 3000 feet in 20 miles.

This unique track, constructed for the Yukon Gold Rush starting in 1897, featured bends, bridges, two tunnels, and breathtaking mountain vistas. Over the eons, a fast river surging at the bottom had etched deep gorges between the peaks. Along the way, we saw waterfalls cascading down the mountains that towered to phenomenal heights around us. As we neared the summit, the river’s source proved to be a tiny creek fed by a small, deep, icy lake near the top.

At the summit, the engine detached and moved to our train’s other end. All passengers switched seats around to face the other way and swapped sides so everyone could get both views. After the trip back down, Jean and I returned to the ship and relaxed, while Mike and Brenda explored Skagway.

We dressed for a semi-formal meal in the Main Dining Room at 8:00 pm (I had delicious Halibut and Mahi-mahi). Our creative steward had left another towel-sculpture on our bed, this one unidentifiable. The ship got underway at 9:00 pm. We left Skagway in our wake, a town not to be forgotten by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 22, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 5

I’ve been recounting a fiction writer’s perspective of a journey to the wilds of Alaska by four intrepid adventurers—me, my wife, Jean, and friends Mike and Brenda Knyght. When we last saw our heroes, they were riding the cruise ship Hellandam through Canada’s Inside Passage.

After waking up on Day 5, Jean and I enjoyed a fine buffet breakfast on the Lido Deck—mine, waffles; hers, an omelet. By 8:40 am, the ship was north of 57°N, on course 036 at a prodigious speed of 21.4 knots. I’d slept through sunrise at 4:45 am. The air outside was 43°F, with southerly winds at 12 knots, and we’d traveled 716 nautical miles from Vancouver. We were snaking our way through the cluster of islands protecting Juneau, our first port of call. A calm, gray sea rolled along beneath gray skies, sprinkled by light rain.

Later in the morning, Mike and I wandered the ship, a favorite pastime for him. We paused at the Main Stage, where the audience watched a quiz show featuring three two-person teams of fellow passengers trying to answer the host’s questions about animals. To Mike’s surprise, and mine, we found our wives in the audience, because their scheduled Mahjong event had failed to materialize.

After eating a lunch of cod and chips in the elegant Main Dining Room, we watched the ship dock in Juneau around 1:00 pm beneath a rainy, foggy sky. Juneau huddles along both shores of Gastineau Channel, which cuts its path between two imposing mountain ranges.

On the shear rock face opposite our ship’s wharf, people had painted messages commemorating various events. The predominant architecture in the city was basic and rustic, each structure plain and functional. Gift shops and restaurants near the wharves catered to tourists, but jewelry shops outnumbered them all.

A fun-looking aerial tram was available to lift you up the mountain, but we refrained.

At 3:30, the four of us boarded a seaplane—more specifically, a floatplane—to take a five-glacier ride. The flight was bumpy at times, but fun.

These glaciers were breathtaking, gigantic, and alive in their ponderous way, a dirty white liquid flowing through mountain valleys at speeds I couldn’t comprehend. Scarred by deep lines, cracks, fissures, and irregular surfaces, the snow was electric blue in some areas, as if glowing with the fantastic potential energy of slowness.

Our plane flew north through Taku Inlet and passed by five glaciers: Norris, Taku, Hole-in-the-Wall, West Twin, and East Twin. All of these were receding now but stood ready to push their mighty fingers forward in the next ice age. Too soon, it seemed, the plane banked to return to Juneau.

Then a strange thing happened.

From out of a nightmare, an enormous bird flew alongside the plane. As long as our floatplane, with twice the wingspan, it looked like a raptor from Hell. Its powerful wings buffeted our tiny craft. I was horrified, frozen in fear, so I can’t describe it in detail, though I recall it being mainly black and brown. I regret not taking a picture, but panic and terror were the only things on my mind. It turned its giant eagle-head toward us and let loose an unearthly and deafening shriek. This blast could have been a greeting, but more likely a warning. The stare from that predator’s glaring eyes still makes me shiver. Our pilot banked away, giving the monster a wide berth. Locals later told us about a seldom-seen, legendary Thunderbird, said to kill whales by hurling “lightning snakes” at its prey. It’s no myth.

Shaken but undeterred by our ordeal, we returned to the ship. After dinner on the Lido Deck and another card game of ‘For Sale,’ (see yesterday’s post) we took in the evening show on the Main Stage. A group of the ship’s performers calling themselves Rock Legends entertained us with songs by Elton John, Abba, Michael Jackson, John Lennon, the Rolling Stones, and others. A four-man band made the music, while ten singer/dancers performed in various eye-catching costumes with well-rehearsed choreography.

Our steward had left a cute butterfly on the bed, which cheered me and banished most recollections of the fearsome Thunderbird from the troubled mind of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 21, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 4

I’m recounting, in a mostly true way, my recent cruise to Alaska, accompanied by my wife, Jean, and long-time friends Mike and Brenda. To fend off lawsuits, I’ve changed just about every proper noun. In our last episode, we’d boarded our cruise ship, cast off lines, and began motoring north from Vancouver, BC.

Our ship was the MS Hellandam, of the NetherStates Line. In that cruise line, the ships’ names ended in ‘dam,’ every dam one of them. Hellandam had ten decks, five devoted to passenger cabins. She was 778 feet long, displaced 61,000 long tons, and could make 23 knots. Her officers and crew numbered 604 (of 32 different nationalities), and the ship could accommodate 1432 passengers.

A nice place for drinking morning coffee

Having scouted around the previous night, I knew where to get coffee when I awoke. I drank it on our cabin’s verandah, a 5’ x 8’ area with a waist-high wooden railing and comfortable lounging chairs. As the ship rolled gently, I watched fog lift from distant mountains under an overcast sky. We weren’t scheduled to visit any ports this day, but just cruise north along the Canadian Inside Passage.

Jean and I enjoyed breakfast in our room, making quick work of two delicious ham and cheese omelets. The ship offered many activities, and we thought we’d check out O’s Reading Room (associated with the Oprah Book Club). Only a few others showed up for this activity. The Cruise Director handed us a novel—An American Marriage by Tayari Jones—and said we’d meet to discuss it on the last day of the cruise.

Mountains and islets of the Canadian Inside Passage

While Jean and Brenda attended a poorly attended Mahjong lesson, I watched the scenery drift by. By 10:40 am, we were nearing 52° N latitude, and had steamed 287 nautical miles from Vancouver, BC. We hugged the eastern side of the Passage, keeping land in sight to starboard. On our course of 342°, we maintained a steady 18.8 knots.

The four of us ate lunch at the Dive Inn, a fast food eatery. Jean and I then attended a lecture on Alaskan ports, including places to visit and things to do. This took place in the ship’s expansive Main Stage, a beautiful stage and auditorium, with seats one could fall asleep in…hypothetically. Jean woke me up when it was over.

A place to see whales…and maybe ghostly missing ships

Mike was uninterested in the English Tea event that followed, but I went along with Jean and Brenda. Servers provided black tea, of the Bigalow brand, along with a tray of sweets. Afterward, I spent more time on our cabin’s verandah, and even saw a small whale spouting several times, around 4:30 pm.

Then a strange thing happened.

Ahead and to starboard, I saw a ship in the distance with no wake—apparently stationary. I grabbed my monocular and saw an old ship with two slightly canted smokestacks, neither spewing smoke. Two masts, fore and aft, had broken and were trailing in the water. A tattered British Union Jack flew from her stern. As we neared, I made out a name on her transom: BAYCHIMO, Ardrossan, Scotland. We passed her by at a distance of half a mile and I saw nobody on her deck to wave to. Only later did I learn SS Baychimo was lost in 1931 after being repeatedly stuck in the ice. Owned by the Hudson’s Bay Company, the ship’s last sighting had been in 1969. So mysterious and weird was this encounter that I completely forgot to take a picture. I trust our captain reported this sighting.

The fun game we enjoyed almost every night of our cruise

In any case, the four of us ate dinner on the Lido Deck, and played a fun card game called ‘For Sale’ in Mike and Brenda’s cabin.

Returning to our room, Jean and I found the steward had left a stingray on our bed, but a detailed examination showed it was neither alive nor dangerous. Our cruising foursome then went to the ship’s theater, ate popcorn, and watched the movie “The Black Panther.” Retiring to our rooms, we set our clocks back one hour in preparation for entering Alaska’s time zone. Juneau would be the next destination awaiting—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 20, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink