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