Passage to Alaska
Page 5
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A veil of morning fog and low-lying clouds. A quiet sail along the coastal range. Muted, diffused light eased into high overcast skies as Mt. Fairweather came into view. The ship turned to port into Icy Strait and shortly thereafter rounded Pt. Adolphus into Glacier Bay.
As they veered toward Bartlett Cove a skiff motored out from the dock. A park service naturalist boarded the ship to provide onboard narration for the day. The vegetation around Bartlett Cove looked like any other cove in Southeast Alaska with spruce-hemlock forests. However, every mile from the cove towards the glaciers brought a vivid, visual change in vegetation. A virtual classroom showing the effects of glacial retreat and plant succession.
In Captain Vancouver’s time a wall of glacial ice reached right out to Icy Strait with no discernable evidence of what is now Glacier Bay. With 200 years the expansive glaciers retreated about 65 miles. This World Heritage Site is a huge complex of glaciers flowing from a massive coastal mountain range, the southern extension of the Wrangell-St. Elias Range—the largest non-polar ice field in the world.
This portal into earth’s ancient processes intrigued Sam causing him to again wonder why it had taken him so long to make this voyage. Why he didn’t break away from all the trappings he’d opposed as a youth. A lot of things weren’t making sense to him any longer.
“This is amazing, really amazing,” Sam told Maura. “Only a couple of miles and it’s as if we’re on another planet. I almost feel as though we shouldn’t be here. Not on a comfortable cruise ship, anyway.”
They spent the entire day on deck. Sam brought out sandwiches and hot cups of tea and they lunched in the company of glaciers and ice fields. “I wouldn’t want to be stranded here unprepared,” said Maura. “Not much room for error.”
“I was just thinking about that,” said Sam. “Imagining what it might be like to kayak and camp around here. Have to take a lot of gear. Probably a bit easier to sail a small boat. You know my father was a sailor and we had a small sailboat when I was a kid. Learned a little about sailing. But he got too busy and sold it. I’d be a challenge to sail up here. Of course, the lodge back at the cove isn’t that far away. For emergencies. I’d have loved this kind of adventure. Seems I’ve wasted a lot of time. At least I’m here now and I’m glad to be enjoying with you.” Sam was surprised at his comment. He found himself saying things he’d otherwise keep to himself.
“Last night,” Sam confessed, “I was in a melancholy mood. Had this crazy idea and as usual, thought only of myself. I apologize.”
Maura took his hand and smiled. “Accepted. When you move here, I’ll visit. I keep my promises.”
“Never doubted that,” said Sam. “Did you know there’s a small town right next to the park? Gustavus. Only about ten miles from the park. A virtual ice land in your backyard. Cool, in every sense,” laughed Sam. “Less than 500 people live there year round. Original name was Strawberry Point. I like that better. They shouldn’t have changed it. Homesteaders grew strawberries on the flats. Aren’t many large flat areas for growing crops up here.”
“You sound serious. Have you looked into real estate yet?” Maura laughed. “Now you have a decision—Gustavus or Sitka.”
As the ship retraced its path back to Bartlett Cove a mist floated into the mouth of the bay from the strait. During the mellow sail back Sam spent time talking to the Park Service naturalist about Gustavus.
After the naturalist’s departure the Explorer North left the park for the last leg of its journey. It was late afternoon when they rounded Point Alolphus and Captain Antonsen announced from the bridge that they’d just spotted humpback whales.
Sam had remained on the aft deck after leaving the park. Maura joined him when the captain made the announcement about seeing whales. Nothing could have ended these last couple of days more perfectly.
The entire evening was enchanted. Misty. Strands of clouds like long ribbons suspended above the waterways. Water thick and viscous, smooth like honey. Barely a breath of air. A magical time with humpbacks everywhere. The ship slowed then lingered longer than usual as passengers watched and photographed. Time stood still. Sam could not believe this was real, that he could witness such a stunning event. He and Maura were spellbound watching the whales as they flapped their flippers on the water’s surface or the graceful curve of their flukes in the air when they dove deeply. They witnessed the humpback’s amazing feeding called bubble netting. That he could feel the thrill and excitement of discovery through the lens of such innocence. A surge of energy rushed through his body as if a dam broke and water once again flowed free. A sensation he couldn’t ever recall or explain.
Sam stood alone at the rail long after the ship sailed away leaving the whales and Glacier Bay behind. Trees, mountains, land eased away changing colors with distance. Soon a thin, dark band and nothing but the sea. Again, his mind snarled in deep thoughts.
A light drizzle changed to rain and the wind increased rapidly as another storm approached. They’d be at sea now till Vancouver Island and Victoria.
After a quiet dinner Sam retired to his cabin with a bottle of whiskey and began to write the letters he'd thought about for months. He struggled not quite finding the words he needed. The last and most difficult was a letter to Maura. Even before finishing he let his thoughts wander into imagined possibilities.
He recalled an earlier time in his life when he was passionate about writing and directing documentaries. He’d dismissed it all as idealistic and followed another path. Now, I’ve the money and time, he thought. Alaska strips away all the facades I’ve burdened myself with. Strips me naked. Brings me back to where I belong. Breathes new life into me. The wildness, the contrasts, the sea. Bold, real. Threatening. Where you cast your fate to nature every day. Life beyond human control. Where survival isn't a game on a screen.
If I had the energy, maybe…mused Sam. No, too late, too late. Too many things I don’t want to deal with. I’m through. Through competing where I don’t belong anymore. What else would I do? At my age and this cancer thing—impossible to start over. Nobody knows, not even Mike. Enough. The script is already written and I’m merely acting it out.
It was 3 am when Sam grabbed the letters and bottle of whiskey and left his cabin, walked down the steps to the deck below and over to Maura’s cabin. After hesitating a long few minutes he slipped the letters under the door, turned and made his way to the aft deck where he and Maura spent much of their time together. No one was around. Quickly he walked over to the narrow ladder to port, slipped under the chain with a crew-members-only sign and made his way down the ladder to a lower deck. He’d been here before, late at night. Crew used the small deck for smoking during the day since passengers from above couldn’t see them. Sam had observed this area for days and knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. It was perfect. Not a lot of room here, he thought, but he didn’t need space.
Rough, stormy seas. Sam looked out into the black void of the sea at night. The edge of the earth invisible. Engulfed by darkness. Just as he had imagined, angry, turbulent waters. He spoke out loud to the open sea. “The wild seas beckon as only they can. Wind fights current painting white caps on this vast water wilderness. Seas tumble and roll the ship about. Who knows the fate of man when given to the likes of an angry sea?”
Abruptly Sam grabbed the whiskey bottle—“To my destiny—my way.” He took a long swig then tapped the bottle on the rail—“Thanks, Mike. I know you'll understand. My grand finale.” Surprised by his agility he climbed over the rail with one leg then straddled for a few moments still holding onto the bottle in one hand. As he was about to take another swig something in the darkness caught his eye.