Brrrrr!

Well! It was quite a rough night – literally. It’s unusual here, apparently, even crossing the open waters of the Gulf of Alaska, since there was no wind; but the good old Scopaderm patch did the trick and I rather enjoyed the rocking and rolling in my cosy bed. Last time I sailed with Silversea I was faintly insulted to be offered a waiter’s elbow as I was shown to my table for breakfast (though it’s not age-related: all the ladies get this service) – but I was glad of it this morning as I staggered through the door into a sparsely-peopled restaurant.

We’re on the starboard side and so far that means only horizon to look at – on the other side is a continuous line of pristine white peaks, some of them really high and cloud-capped. Today’s focus was the Hubbard Glacier, at 76 miles the world’s longest tidewater glacier, and very active, ripping up and down the fiord with great haste, glacier-wise, and continuously calving.

As we approached it, gliding up the inlet, we saw more and more icebergs, bigger and bigger, some dirty black and others pure white, even blue against the light. We’re not talking Titanic, they were small compared with the Silver Shadow, but plenty big enough to support sea lion mothers and cubs, which we saw several times. Distances were deceptive, and though the glacier looked big, we were still actually 3 miles away from the terminus. Everyone gathered on deck, shivering and glad of the offered hot chocolate or gluhwein, but eventually they all went away and it was possible to hear the ice below clinking as the ship gently stirred the water, and a low growling roar from the distant glaciers. As I watched, a little (up close, big) section of ice calved off, falling in slow motion from the face and splashed into the water.

And then we turned to leave the inlet, and the water in Desolation Bay was blue and silky smooth, and the sun was hot through the glass doors of the suite; and ahead are cocktails and a dress-up dinner at the Captain’s table. Oh, and an Abba show.

Silversea sail away

And so we bade a fond farewell to little Seward today, home of the Iditarod, to good-hearted Shelley who cooked and served our breakfasts, to helpful Wes, Alaska’s sharpest fisherman, to the ladies at Nellie’s who serve the best-ever seafood chowder… But first, Wes’s attempts to get me out on a trail ride on this perfect day sadly (oh, so sadly) coming to nothing, he took us to see the salmon weir out of town, where clusters of sockeye salmon were hanging in the water until the urge took them to head further upstream.

There, waiting for them, was a sneaky mesh fence and a fish ladder with a girl poised above it to count them as they passed. The lucky 3000, paired-off, would get to wait in the pond to be inoculated – yes, injected individually – against a kidney disease, before heading up to spawn, their eggs to be collected and raised in the fishery. The others would meet their maker, one way or another (including via bear), quick smart.


Did I think of that when I tucked into a share of a whole roast salmon in the Panorama restaurant tonight? Er, no. I was just enjoying being back aboard a Silversea ship, our clothes unpacked by our butler, our cupboard stocked with our own choice of drinks (all included), our toiletries selected, ditto the pillows… And here I am in our little sitting room, the sky outside fading from pale pink to silver, the sea from pale turquoise to silver, the motion restful, the wake breaking rhythmically outside the veranda, the room creaking quietly, a faint hum from the engines barely perceptible, more of a vibration. I expect to sleep very well tonight.

Anchorage afoot

I'm glad I've been in training for this trip. All those brisk morning constitutionals have stood me in good stead for days like today, when I've been on my feet from the beginning with only brief respites: hard streets, stairs, museum corridors, footpaths... It's been tiring, even so, although very enjoyable and productive. Remember, this is not a holiday. I'm working, gathering material and images for stories, and looking for angles and ideas all the time. But it's also fun, of course, and interesting.

The first bit was actually seated, and fun, and interesting: the trolley tour of the town with Jaden who was local, bright and funny. He took us into the suburbs to Earthquake Park where 77 houses disappeared on Good Friday 1964 - we saw one of the owners describing her amazing experience yesterday at the Visitor Centre - and then to Lakes Hood and Spenard that were thickly edged with parked Cessnas, Beavers and Cub floatplanes. You can get a pilot's licence at age 14 here, you know; but have to wait until 16 to drive a car.

Then we went out to the Native Heritage Centre and were shown around typical homes of some of the native tribes, many of which were dug into the ground, as there were no trees where some tribes lived, and the winds were fierce. Imagine: no wood, so no fires, no cooking, no hot water. Just bodyheat. Me, I'd have lit out for another sort of territory, something less hostile, but then I'm soft. And I did have to hand it to the Indians - they knew what to do with a ground squirrel skin and a few lengths of seal intestine. Very impressive. They had a great display of those sorts of artefacts at the very flash museum back in town.

There was an excellent display of Alaskan Aviation there, too: boy, those bush pilots were a tough breed, I decided at the Snow City Cafe as I worked through my stuffed French toast and gallons of maple syrup. Then it was out to the Alaska Zoo for some just-in-case animal spotting: wolves, foxes, a surprisingly solid lynx, a lazy polar bear hardly stirring, some brown bears ditto, and a couple of very active black bears climbing up the fence to hook out some bits of grass someone had thrown there. Lots of good views of teeth and claws there, and I was finally glad of the belt-and-braces fencing that had frustrated me up till then. Best animal of the day though was the snow leopard from Central Asia - fabulous beast, big, beautiful and so much a cat.

Then dinner at Ginger: 5-spice duck breast and crabby jasmine rice, and fireweed honey icecream. Yum! And to bed with the sun again still high in the sky, and the brain protesting. But the feet happy at last.

Rhamphotheca

That's today's new word: it means a fancy protective sheath that grows over the base of the bill of a puffin during mating season. And that's a new fact, too: that puffins for most of the year don't look at all like the classic clown-faced birds they're always portrayed as. No, they're rather dull and black in eclipse plumage, nowhere near as cute and colourful. So we were lucky that our meeting with the puffins in Seward this afternoon took place at the right time of year. Even that little line over their eyes goes, you know: it's an actual crest that grows, not coloured feathers - and then it falls off.

I learned all this during our Puffin Encounter at the Alaska SeaLife Centre. It's a flash, modern place that doesn't fit very well with the rest of the town's slightly ramshackle appearance, but it was funded by Exxon reparations, and does a good job displaying often rehabilitated animals like an absolutely massive Steller sea lion bull called Woody - just the 770kg - and harbour seals, octopus, salmon, and the birds in roomy and natural-looking enclosures where we could watch them diving and flying underwater like penguins.

We got here today by spending 4 hours on the Coastal Classic train that brought us to Seward from Anchorage, along Cook Inlet and over a mountain pass via an impressive series of S-bends to Resurrection Bay. We were so lucky to have a clear day, and there was plenty of snow around to make the mountains pop, especially reflected in unusually still water. And for us to speculate about what made all the tracks through the snow that we could see - bear country, you know. And we saw 3 moose. It's a lovely train, and Gold Star class gave us the upper level with the glass ceiling as well as an outside area, so we really did well.

And now we're in little Seward, colourful and cheerful, in a setting even Queenstown would envy: mountains all around, high and snowy, the bay big and - well, not actually as blue as they promised, but perhaps tomorrow. The museum was good, especially about the tsunami in 1964 that swept away half the town (one story, about a family in a truck racing up the road with the wave right behind them "roaring like an express train" - and then their engine died was especially riveting); and the Seward Brewing Company was excellent: raspberry wheat beer, crab cakes and a huge wedge of triple-layer carrot cake that would challenge anyone.

The sun's still high, spotlighting snow-streaked peaks, there's a bird singing in the tree outside the window, it'll be light till 11.30pm and then not really dark, but it's time to sleep after our early start this morning. I'll just try to forget about the frozen roars from the golden grizzly and the black bear down in the foyer, the monster moose head with 7-foot wide antlers, the lynx, the flattened mountain goat, the weasel and stoat, the stuffed musk ox, and mounted reindeer head... the Hotel Seward is a distinctive (but comfortable) place.

Gone north

And now we're in Anchorage, Alaska, with the sun still high in the sky at 9.30pm, not due to set till 11pm, which is something we haven't experienced since Oslo in 1980. It's a disorientating business, on top of jet lag, so thank goodness for melatonin tablets, which seem to do the trick.

We didn't arrive till 2pm, so we've only had the afternoon so far, but first impressions are that this is a plain, hunkered-down sort of place with a frontier feel to it, where everybody drives big trucks and there's not much of a dress code. It reminds me of Darwin (whereas Vancouver's a bit like Perth). There are a few rough-looking types around, but the people we've encountered have been really friendly and welcoming, like the man at the Captain Cook statue who pointed out Mt McKinley to us and was quietly thrilled that we'd come so far. Less appealing was the rigmarole we had to go through to get into the Alaska Public Lands Information Centre which we went to thinking it was the visitor centre and had to do the whole photo ID, scanner and Xray thing to enter.

It was good inside, though, with some excellent short films (we saw the Klondike one - amazing - and another about the 1964 9.2 earthquake, which was a bit chilling) and big stuffed animals. Even better for that though was the Antique Gallery store we wandered into that was crammed with all sorts of CITES-unfriendly items, such as scrimshawed whale jawbones, carved walrus tusks, all sorts of mounted heads including polar bear, bison and moose, mink coats, plus real moccasins, Winchester rifles and Purdey shotguns, fossils, jewellery... it was fascinating. As was the fur shop with its thick, soft beaver pelts, fox furs, lynx and mink. "Trapped!" the lady said cheerfully. "But the foxes are farmed." Fox farms, eh? Now there's a concept.

Then we found a theatre showing a movie of wonderful footage and photos of the Northern Lights, which was a colourful and restful way to spend half an hour before crossing the road to the lively chatter of Humpy's Alaskan Alehouse with its dozens of beers on tap (Alaskan White recommended if you like wheat beer), cheerful waitress and very filling smoked salmon chowder.

Now we're back at the Copper Whale Inn, which is a sweet little clapboard place on the corner, cosy and comfortable and very welcoming (and gay friendly, according to Lonely Planet, if that's important to you!) to try to sleep despite the broad daylight and the haunting train whistles from down by the sea.

Bienvenue a Canada

So here I am in Vancouver, remembering why I like it so much. It helps that it's a beautiful warm sunny day and everyone is in relaxed and cheerful Sunday afternoon mode - but the city is so clean and the air so fresh, and walking along Robson Street, at every intersection there's a glimpse of water and forest, mountains and snow, close and accessible. It also helps that everyone we've met so far has been so friendly and nice.

Flying in over Vancouver Island, I was surprised all over again at how big it is, though we won't be going there this time; and beyond were the Rockies, which we will be getting a much closer look at: in, up and amongst them. Though it's so warm, there's still plenty of snow on the tops, even if it's "Indian snow" (old and pre-PC coach-driver's joke: "Apache here and Apache there"). Today is just a flying visit - we'll be back later for a proper nose around.

We're staying at the Listel Hotel in Robson St, "Vancouver's most art-full hotel" - we haven't had much chance to explore yet, but there certainly is art everywhere - paintings and sculpture (notably a fraternity of red squatting men) both in the public areas and in the rooms, which are comfortable and elegant. We ate here at Forage with Sue, who guided us through a very tasty menu of BC dishes including crab-stuffed morel mushrooms, halibut cheeks, juicy spot prawns and insane prawn oil popcorn mixed with super-crackling that our bubbly waitress Karen poetically - and accurately - described as "crunchy clouds". Plus a golden pinot gris that's on tap at the bar. All this, and sustainable too!

And I finished the day with a long walk along the waterfront into Stanley Park, where the paths were humming with cyclists, roller bladers and skateboarders, and with walkers and runners and photographers, everyone ready with a smile and enjoying the beautiful warm, still evening. It was a perfect way to end the day - shame I ruined it by tripping over a kerb and twisting my ankle and grazing my knee, tch.

Planes and boat and trains

Yes, things have gone a bit quiet around here lately, sorry about that - but it's all going to get a lot more lively and interesting from tomorrow onwards. Only one more sleep before the Big Trip: first leg Air NZ to Vancouver, just the 13+ hours, but overnight; and then we're into it. Vancouver, Anchorage, Seward, then fabulous Silversea along the *ahem* Inside Passage back down to Vancouver. There we reluctantly disembark from the Silver Cloud's seductive luxury... and consign ourselves to 5-star Fairmont hotels and Gold Leaf class on the Rocky Mountaineer over the Rockies to Banff. Then more hotels, trains and indulgences including Jasper, Lake Louise and Whistler - and finally, after 3 weeks, back home where, hopefully, the cat and hens will still be alive and well, the Firstborn having remembered to feed them all.

Though it's a very busy itinerary, all the hard stuff has been done by first Silversea and then, more admirably, by the super-efficient Kim at World Journeys, who had to contact all the suppliers for the post-cruise fortnight and fit it all together. It was a massive job that I began but soon found hopelessly complicated, so I was both delighted and relieved to have her take it over for me.

So ahead will be lots and lots of lovely rooms and beds and thoughtful touches and yummy breakfasts and dinners; and spectacular scenery of mountains and glaciers and forests; and colourful fishing towns and pretty mountain resorts and interesting cities; and - I do hope so - bears and sea otters and orca and whales and moose and other novelty mammals. Can't wait!