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

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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