After a blessed lie-in this morning, we cruised into Ketchikan on yet
another blue and sunny day, hanging over the rail spying on the captain as he
manoeuvred us – skilfully - towards our berth. He was focused, but we were
shamefully distracted by humpback whales spouting and diving between us and the shore, amazingly barely 10 metres from land. And then there were the float planes and
helicopters bustling in and out of the inlet, and the fishing and crab boats,
and the other cruise ships (big and ugly compared with Silver Shadow’s svelte form).
The town is known for its rain: if it’s not actually raining, it will in
half an hour – but not today. The multi-colours of the houses and town
buildings were bright in the sunshine against a backdrop of Sitka spruce and
western hemlock trees, with white peaks beyond. There was time for a quick trot
around the prettiest bit, Creek Street, lined with little wooden houses perched
above the creek: from the beginning, offering services. Now it’s sheer tourism,
but back in the early 1900s it was a place where, as they say, both the salmon
and the town’s menfolk came to spawn.
My excursion today was out of town, past the totem poles and moored fishing
boats, in Herring Bay where the salmon have just started their run, though the
bears were AWOL today because it was so warm. I was there for the ziplining:
eight runs high in the forest from excitingly (and unexpectedly) un-guard-railed
platforms built around the tree trunks. It was a lot of fun, with added eagles,
and we girls were much better at it than the blokes, who swivelled and got stuck
and earned no points at all for style. We all enjoyed ourselves, though, and it
made a nice change from what’s been up till now quite a sedate experience. Not
that there’s anything wrong with that.
Then it was dinner on the pool deck, filet mignon self-cooked on a hot rock
at the table, rugs over our knees and a serviette round our necks, while the
sun slipped down with far less drama than last night, and there was, finally, as the BBC
shipping forecast has it, ‘precipitation within sight’. It makes no odds with
us, though – we’ve had the sun where it counted. Then a Motown concert, and bed
again, rocked to sleep like a baby.
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