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

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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 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

Voyage to Alaska—Days 1 and 2

Starting today, and for the next ten days, I’ll be charting a new course for this blog. I’ll tell you about a cruise I took to Alaska, along with my wife and another couple.

As all my steadfast readers know, I write fiction. Some parts of these blog posts may tack a bit downwind of the truth. For example, I traveled with my wife, Jean, and the other couple—Mike and Brenda Knyght. None of those is a real name. I’ve changed a few company brand names, too.

Our plane flight to Seattle went without incident. Why we flew to Seattle to board a cruise ship departing from Vancouver, BC will remain one of the universe’s mysteries. There being four of us, we rented a large SUV. Black and rugged, it resembled the Batmobile, and I signed a form promising to use its Bat-missiles only for fighting crime.

We checked into a hotel in downtown Seattle, chosen since it was near the train station. You may only reach this hotel via a series of right turns so labyrinthine I had to leave a trail of Bat homing devices to find my way out. An antique flying saucer loomed overhead, or maybe it was the Space Needle. That night, we enjoyed dinner at the delightfully quirky 5-Point Café.

Love & Loss, in Olympic Sculpture Park, Seattle

Due to clever prior planning, we’d left the next day free for us to explore the wilds of the Seattle area, since Jean and Brenda had never been there.

Steampunk art in Olympic Sculpture Park, Seattle

Mike and I woke early, and walked to the Olympic Sculpture Park and marveled at the artwork.

For Mike, marveling at artwork consumes very little time. After our wives woke up, we drove the Batmobile aboard a ferryboat bound for Bainbridge Island, across Puget Sound.

After a brief drive, we walked through picturesque Poulsbo, a village founded by a band of Vikings whose longboat got terribly lost. For lunch, we had Mexican food at the Hop Jack, a nice restaurant at the edge of Dyes Inlet in Silverdale. The ferry brought us back to Seattle, where Brenda and Mike met some local friends for dinner while Jean and I dined at the Green Lounge, nearer our hotel. The salmon portions there may be small, but given my over-fondness for food, that’s a fortunate thing.

Then a strange thing happened.

With the sun still up, Jean and I walked down toward the shore of the Sound. Jean spied a corner of some object sticking up from the ground. I dug it up and it proved to be a tan leather parcel or satchel, cracked and flaking with age. With care, I opened it and extracted a folded and mildew-damaged flag—a British Union Jack—and a page of parchment. Despite the paper’s torn edges and faded ink, I made out the following: “…do hereby claim the entirety of this continent, from its western extent to its eastern, for England in the royal name of Queen Elizabeth, said continent to be called Nova Albion. Set by my hand on this 4th Day of July, in the Year of Our Lord 1579. Sir Francis Drake.”

I looked at Jean and she looked at me. We discussed the matter, imagining all the consequences of finding this and of showing it to others. We did what any two Americans would do: without taking any pictures, we set fire to satchel, flag, and parchment. Having no regrets, we walked away, Jean and—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 18, 2018Poseidon's ScribePermalink