Cruising the Inside Passage

Position: 58°25’37.8″N 134°32’14.8″W

Our feet had fully dried out, and an excess of lubberliness filled in around our waistlines. Our respective conditions had grown serious enough that only a spell at sea would ameliorate our symptoms, if not the underlying causes. Carol had never been to Alaska, and we were both curious about what sailing the inside passage would be like in Aleta. There is no practical way to answer that question from the land, and the costs of taking BC Ferries or the Alaska Marine Highway to Juneau from Seattle are more than a fully catered cruise line. Never ones to do much with a great deal of pre-planning, we first attempted to book a last-minute berth on a Holland America ship. When that fell through due to a bit of dilly-dallying, Carol zeroed in on an 11-day cruise aboard Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth as a first alternative.

Having written at length about the history of Cunard several years ago (q.v.), there is no need to repeat the details of this storied shipping company’s history. Today only Cunard’s timeless logo bears any relation to the ships my parents took us on as children as we criss-crossed the Atlantic for several sailings in the late 1950s and early 1960s. It was the autumn of the sailing industry and the best ships, the original Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth I, still ran regular services between New York and Southampton. For a five-year-old given free rein of the ship it was an encapsulated adventure playground sans pareil. Even then I appreciated the fine handwork of the ship’s appointments, its woodwork and brass polished and gleaming. The ever-patient staff took on their role of impromptu baby-sitters with white-gloved equanimity.

SaltY Sailors

Several of our friends commented that we ‘didn’t seem the types’ to go cruising. But sea salt is in our bloodstreams, and what better way to see the islands of Alaska’s inside passage than in the hands of a skilled crew bolstered by endless entertainment and a set of sophisticated boozers constrained only by the limits of our credit cards? As a captain, I’m perfectly at ease letting other, more qualified, merchant navy officers drive me around. Especially in something as big as this, the third iteration of the Queen Elizabeth.

Even with three bow thrusters, it is not my ambition to dock a ship this big. With just over 2,000 passengers and 950 crew, captaining the QE combines every facet of nautical know-how with the necessary leadership skills and charm required to run a medium-sized resort. At a reception we complimented Captain Jonathan Ward on his service and, having earlier spoken with several of his officers, how much his team enjoyed working with him. The service was truly spot-on. After a few days, the kitchen seemed to find its stride, too.

Ketchikan

The islands and isthmuses of the inside passage, like those in the San Juan Islands, rise straight out of the water and head straight up into the sky. Densely forested and precipitous, hiking is slow and tough on one’s knees. It is part of what has kept the population of the region manageable. After a couple of nights at sea, we were more than ready for some exercise so we could rub shoulders with nature.

Ketchikan sits on the east side of a narrow passage about 1,500 feet wide. Because the mountains drop straight into the sea, there is plenty of depth for the big ships that visit endlessly. In 2018, 40 different ships made 500 stops during the summer season. With a year-round population of just over 8,100, three ships moored at once easily double the size of the town.

Ketchikan was built on fishing and declares itself the “Salmon Capital of the World”. Salmon fishing in Southeast Alaska isn’t what it once was. Over fishing in the 1930s led, ultimately, to restrictions on who could catch how much and still keep the orcas happy. Three canneries and a cold storage facility are all that’s left. There used to be a dozen in the 1950s. College kids from all over America would spend their summers in Ketchikan and make enough to pay for their tuition. Given the extortionate cost of university these days, such sepia-toned adventures are a thing of the past. Besides, cannery work is hard and unforgiving and cynically misaligned with the TikTok generation’s idea of work.

Tourism has broadly replaced fishing as an economic engine for this region. With over 1.5 million visitors arriving on cruise ships annually, it is easy to understand why. Today fifty different charter companies are available to take you salmon fishing.

Rainforest

Our goal was to hike the hills and soak in the joys of the inside passage’s maritime rainforest. The weather in June hovers around 50-61F (10-16C) with humidity in the 90s and higher. That makes it near impossible to choose what to wear. Shorts and a t-shirt may be too cool heading out, but just right as you’re staggering uphill trying to catch your breath. Break a sweat and you’re clammy for the rest of the day. Evaporation is not an option.

Deer Mountain trailhead stood about a mile and a half uphill from our mooring. Many people take a taxi, we hoofed it. At the trailhead a useful sign points out that there are no toilets along the trail, but a helpful sign suggested that women can use the bushes to the right and men the bushes to the left. And to watch out for bears! Mostly brown bears, but some coastal black bears, too.

The trail went straight up the hill via a series of steps anywhere from 6” to 24” high. All we knew going up was how much harder it would be going down. After an hour and 450m of climbing we reached the first viewpoint. Examining the map, the rest of the hike rose another 500m in about a mile. Given the grade and knowing the descent was already difficult enough, we instead took a few pics and headed back down for lunch and a bit of retail exploration. Of course, I had broken a sweat and looked like I’d done some real exercise for a change.

Juneau

Alaska’s state capital city, Juneau is unique in that there are no roads connecting the city to the rest of the state. Blame the rugged territory surrounding the place, but everything going in or out comes by sea or air. The state-run Alaska Marine Highway system was primarily designed for moving people around the Inside Passage and the Aleutian Islands. The Marine Highway’s main hub is in Juneau, while its administrative offices lie in Ketchikan. It is part of the federal highway system and receives federal funding. Routes reach as far south as Bellingham, WA, allowing Alaskans to move their cars to the lower 48 without customs or immigration controls. It isn’t cheap, mind you. A one-way ticket with a car costs more than $2,000. Small wonder cruising is so popular.

One of Juneau’s big attractions is the Mendenhall Glacier. The glacier is about 12 miles out of town. For $2.00 a city bus gets you about 10.5 miles of the way there. Walking completes your trip. The surrounding area is part of the protected Mendenhall Glacier Recreation Area. A big visitor’s centre sits on the lake and serves as the park’s main gathering point.

Romeo and Patsy Ann

Since 1929 the glacier has retreated 1.75 miles, exposing both the lake and a bathtub ring of new growth forest. Inside the visitor’s centre you’ll find the taxidermied remains of Romeo, a wolf. At a lecture on board the previous day, Nick Jans, a local author, told us the story of Romeo, a wild wolf that wanted to be friends with dogs and people. Romeo was killed by two out-of-town ‘sociopaths’ in his sixth year. The city was heartbroken and raised funds for an appropriate memorial for him. You can read all about Romeo in Jans’ book, A Wolf Called Romeo.

From the visitor’s centre, most people walk out a half mile to Nugget Falls and take in the view. The glacier has retreated far enough that it is now almost a mile from the falls. Some of the older photos show how impressively huge it was 100 years ago. With global warming, the glacier is expected to continue to recede, although a wetter climate might bring enough snow to slow things down a bit.

Back in town, along the boardwalk, stop by the bronze statue of Patsy Ann and rub her nose for luck. Patsy Ann, an English Bull Terrier, was brought to Juneau as a pup from Portland, Oregon in 1929. Born completely deaf, she was the official greeter for ships coming to dock. She never missed a boat. When she wasn’t seeing ships to their docks, Patsy Ann was a fixture in local beer parlours and hotels. With no permanent address, she was the town’s dog.