By Stuart Freedman
Tugs pull back from the Cunard Line cruise ship, the MS Sagerfjord in Vancouver harbour.
Multi-coloured streamers cascade from its decks and the engines throb to life, propelling the majestic ship under the Lions Gate Bridge, gathering speed as she heads into the North Pacific.
Another cruise to Glacier Bay, Alaska has started. An exhilarating wind picks up, and the ship pitches and rolls as it moves against the swells. Soon Vancouver Island recedes far behind the churning wake of our ship.
The next day is spent at sea, cruising the calm waters of the Inside Passage, past the mist-shrouded Canadian mainland and islands. Mystical totem poles emerge through the mist, each one a unique art form and a mosaic of the people living along the wooded shores.
People are sunbathing on the deck chairs. A lecture on the history of the people of the wooded shores of the Pacific north-west is about to start.
A group of killer whales suddenly slices through the calm waters. Bald eagles are spotted commuting to and from their nests, precariously perched high in the fir trees. And as the ship meanders through narrow channels, grizzly bears prowl the shoreline, their eyes peeled for salmon.
The ship glides by isolated fishing and logging towns, nestled on the forested shoreline, the smoke from their log fires giving their positions away. Unmanned lighthouses warn of strong currents, whirlpools and dangerous rocks.
And on this tranquil sea an endless parade of traffic passes by; tugboats towing rafts of logs; fishing boats chugging to lucrative fishing grounds; ferries, canoes and kayaks, weaving their way to and from isolated villages.
At noon the ship’s bell is rung over the intercom, followed by the announcement that the ship is approaching an area where whales are often seen.
At night the moods of the bars and lounges change; the lighting is subtle and the drinks flow freely. In one of the sumptuous lounges people dressed in their evening finery are dancing to a seven-piece band. People are out on deck walking - enjoying the spectacular scenery and unique light.
Passengers John Catrell and his wife Joan were on their way to their home in Glacier Bay. “For many years, I ran my own business in Chicago which involved working long hours and constant stress. After much soul-searching, we bought a small bed and breakfast hotel and a whale-watching boat in Glacier Bay National Park. We have both moved into a much richer place emotionally and we love it. Nothing can beat the stillness, spirituality and, of course, the magnificent scenery and wildlife that Glacier Bay offers.”
The first port of call was Ketchikan, the salmon capital of Alaska; a town with wooden boardwalks and Wild West timber buildings.
This area is known as the panhandle - originally owned by the Russians, who sold it to the United States in 1876, along with the rest of Alaska for $7,2-million - less than two cents per acre.
A group of us decided to visit “Dolly’s House”, the house of ill repute on the waterfront boardwalk, which includes secret panels to hide money and prohibition liquor.
The memorabilia on offer includes a photograph of the well-built, no-nonsense proprietor lounging in her satin and lace bedroom.
We then joined a short flight on a seaplane to Misty Fjords, where the aerial perspective revealed isolated villages tucked under towering mountains, huge waterfalls tumbling into crystalline lakes and vast forests of fir trees.
Our next stop was at Juneau, a gold rush city. After a short cab ride from the harbour, we visited the spectacular Mendenhall Glacier, which overlooks the city.
About 10 of us then honoured a pact made in one of the ship’s bars; boarding a raft on nearby Mendenhall river which took us on an awesome and bumpy ride over the rapids.
And to warm our souls, we returned downtown and made a grand entry through the swing doors of the raucous, Wild West-style Red-Dog Saloon.
This is the place of legends, where Wyatt Earp’s pistol is on the wall and many would-be gold prospectors plotted their paths to prosperity on beer coasters.
Sitting next to us at the Red Dog Saloon was an Alaskan, complete with a desperado-type moustache and a cowboy-style hat hanging from his hip.
“Like many people here, I followed my dreams from ‘down south’ and slept in my car for months. My first job was on a tiny crab fishing boat that operated in the Bering Sea. We often worked during huge storms in freezing temperatures hauling heavy crab traps from the ocean floor. But the money was good and it enabled me to build a log cabin and move out of my car.
“I was later able to buy a commercial fishing boat, which brought in a good income. When I had enough of storms at sea, I became a guide and a trapper. I got my bush pilot’s licence and now I fly a seaplane which take tourists on fishing trips.”
We sailed towards the highlight of the cruise - Glacier Bay, about 50km from Juneau. After a journey lasting thousands of years, the glacier has finally arrived at its journey’s end.
Huge blocks of ice plunge into the ocean with the speed of an express train and a reverberating cannon-like sound; a process which the native peoples of Alaska call “White Thunder”.
Everyone was on deck transfixed, stunned into silence. Seen from up close, approximately 200 metres from our ship, the ice weaved into a tapestry of cascading crystalline waves, its sheer ice wall totally overshadowed our ship, which slowly zigzagged its way through newly born iceberg fields.
The wildlife is spectacular - a brown bear is spotted catching a salmon, a lazy seal gently slips into the icy sea, a humpback whale suddenly emerges from the icy depths. Overhead a bald eagle patrols the skies.
Two days later we are off Vancouver Island.This article was originally published on page 18 of The Star on November 13, 2004
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