Day 1 – Getting There (July 31, Saturday)
Going to the airport 1 1/2 hrs early seemed a little extreme until we got to the airport. The line for Alaska Airlines baggage check seemed about a mile long. At one point, when we first arrived, it stretched right up to where an escalator spilled its passengers out onto the ticketing floor and for a few seconds I thought there would be some massive pile up, with people and baggage falling backwards like dominoes when they could not exit at the top.
Fortunately, someone figured out that this was a really bad idea, and moved the line around so that no persons were in immediate peril. I had insisted that we get one of those rented luggage carts. Ed was making noises about how it really wasn't that bad and he could manage, huffing and puffing carrying two very heavy bags while I carried two carryons and my purse. Sometimes he can be so cheap it is maddening, but once we got the damn thing, he teased me about what a good thing it was that he had thought of getting a luggage cart. Silly man.
It seemed worrisome that the line was so long, even though we had an hour or more until our flight, but eventually the line began to move and we checked thru without incident, and headed to the gate. Once there, it was clear that a large percentage of the passengers were on the same tour. Big yellow tags were attached to luggage, even the carryons, and one woman had even tied the requisite red and blue ribbon onto the crown of her cap. The flight was delayed 15 minutes, and in the end there was absolutely no hurry.
In the meantime, I just watched the crowd. West coast people are different from other parts of the country. I'm not sure what it is. There were more Asians, not surprisingly. A lot of teenagers with violins. There must be some big music teaching/festival going on. And the younger women are more...self aware? I don't know. People watching….just a way to pass the time.
We arrived in Juneau. Couldn't see much coming in since I was on the aisle seat of a three-seat row. A lot of green, topped by snow-capped mountains. Virtually no buildings or signs of 'town' life until after we landed. Found out later that Juneau has a population of only about 30,000. A mere hamlet, even though it is the capitol of the state. They unloaded our luggage and carted it away, then had to entertain three busloads of us until the ship had been cleaned up from the last excursion and was ready for its new load.
A bus driver by the name of William George (no relation that he knows of since he’s from Southern California) drove us around for the afternoon. He was full of tidbits about Juneau, and also serves as the assistant volunteer firechief for the city. The very best moments were at the Mendenhal Glacier. The weather was perfect. There was no other word for it. The sky was a beautiful blue with almost no clouds. The wind was light with just a touch of coolness, and the air was clear and crisp and felt rich in oxygen and some other unknown, but almost intoxicatingly healthy substance that you had never realized your body needed until right then.
The Glacier itself was impressive, but it was the vista that was magnificent. The odd, gray silty color of the water that melted off of that massive ice flow that had been thousands of years in the making, the intense green of the steep mountains that cradled the ice, the incredible azure blue of a perfect sky, accompanied by the sound of a roaring waterfall in the distance, where the melting icewater poured down in a white froth into the lake.
Children played in a cold tributary while their adult guardians lay on the scarred, bare rocks that had been scrubbed clean by the passing ice only a few decades ago. Nearby, in a heavily wooded creek, the salmon made their last dash to life and to death, huge and pink and red and desperate. They mated and died, splashing noisily, their fishy smell permeating the air leaving a unmistakable trail for the bears to follow and feed.
The young ones were almost scarlet. They thrashed and fought to make it through the stream's shallow passages to find their mate, to procreate. The older ones fought the same battle, but were scarred white along their fins and their color had paled almost to gray, and this battle would be their last.
At last we left the glacier, stopped briefly at a museum in Juneau, then headed to the ship, the Sea Bird. I knew it would be small, but still had to smile when I spied it perched near a standard cruise ship that loomed over it like a great Eagle over a tiny sparrow. We found our cabin, a tiny thing with two twin bunks, a combination shower, toilet, and storage areas snugged away into any possible available space. It was adequate, but nothing more. Not a place where it was intended you spend a lot of time. We shoved our luggage, which had arrived safe and sound, under the beds and went through the check-in routine, which included a ship-wide meeting in the lounge, one deck below.
The entire passenger population fit into the lounge, which was maybe three times the size of my living room. Everyone wore nametags and was being very friendly, much more so than when I was on a 'real' cruise ship a number of years ago. The captain, a young, handsome man all decked out in his dress uniform, introduced the six or seven officers and went through the usual shtick, but I must say it was less formal and more friendly than I expected. He then introduced the naturalists, a cast of five or so botanists, geologists, etc. who will serve as tour guides on all the various adventures. They were a mixed group, both in age and sex.
We went to dinner, salmon, not surprisingly. It was good, and our tablemates were fun and funny. Teachers, nurses, people who had led interesting and useful lives. Generally older. Retired or semi-retired. All college educated, again not surprisingly. I don't suppose others would either be interested or could afford this "special expeditions" type of cruise. Vermont. Dallas. I was asked what I did. When I tried to be cryptic, it just led to more of the usual questions, which led to more of the usual responses. Makes me uncomfortable. I know its unavoidable, but I really hate it.
After dinner, Ed went for a walk while I watched a local music teacher Heidi Tippen present a program of slides and songs. It was really delightful, and presented a very personal view and vision of Alaska through music and pictures, demonstrating how it was possible to really fall in love with the unusual and magnetic place.
After dinner we had drinks on the deck, talking to friendly people as we watched seaplanes land on the glassy waters as the sun set. It is hard to believe the weather could be so very perfect. An excellent start.