CRUISING
Vacationers head north to Alaska — by sea and land.
ALASKA’S NAME comes from the Aleut word Alyeska, meaning “great land,” but when the U.S. purchased Alaska from Russia in 1867, it was described as a folly, the “Great Ice Box.” However, its natural riches were soon revealed – glacier-fed bays, vast wilderness, wildlife and sea life. Alaska is also home to more than 100,000 glaciers, but 95 per cent are currently thinning, stagnating or retreating due to climate change, which is so much more visible in the North. I’d always wanted to experience glaciers – ancient nature on its grandest scale — so I decided sooner was better than later. Plus, I wanted to see whether modern Alaska truly lived up to its name. In early June 2013, my husband and I travelled the Voyage of the Glaciers, a seven-day cruise from Vancouver to Whittier, Alaska — our first cruise. We’d always preferred to be on solid ground when >>
>> exploring, but cruising along the Inside Passage (protected from turbulence of open waters) proved the best way to view Alaska’s pristine beauty, including forests, mountains, waterfalls, islands and inlets along the coastline and, finally, spectacular glaciers.
It was easy to enjoy the ship’s countless amenities, such as fine dining and hot tubs facing the alpenglow of mountains – Alaska’s true gold. Unexpectedly, while mingling with about 3,000 passengers and crew, tranquility was possible during the 2,740-kilometre trip. Whether strolling on the mid-ship promenade, standing at the bow, or sitting on our private balcony, I could find a niche to breathe the cool, misty air or view snow-capped peaks.
Ketchikan: By day three, the ship had passed the Canadian border and docked at the first port, Ketchikan, a quaint island town known for red-cedar totem poles.
Although too early to see salmon spawning in the creek, we walked along historic Creek Street, a former Klondike red light district. Of course we bought smoked salmon in the “the Salmon Capital of the World” — and also successfully smuggled Alaskan beer back to the ship.
Juneau: On day four, we stopped at Juneau, the state capital, in the heart of the Tongass National Forest (a temperate rainforest) where tall Sitka spruce dominate and eagles soar.
Rather unceremoniously, a bus took us nearby to our first glacier, the Mendenhall Glacier, nicknamed the “drive-up glacier” because of its convenient location. However, the guide declared we only had one hour before she’d leave. >>
>> Like a first crush, that 510-metre-wide glacier was less dramatic than ones to come, but its icy sheen contrasted with rugged peaks and calm Mendenhall Lake. Formed about 3,000 years ago during the Little Ice Age, Mendenhall has been slowly retreating since the mid-1700s — losing ice in the lake faster than gaining in the ice field above.
After hiking to the inviting falls adjacent to the glacier, we rushed back. Late, we faced stares from more-compliant passengers and semi-scolding from the guide. (Ahh, but it was worth it.) Skagway: Our next port, Skagway, was a starting point for miners en route to the Yukon after gold was discovered in 1896. Steeped in Gold Rush history, the colourful, restored town included a vintage railroad to the White Pass summit – paralleling the treacherous trail forged by stampeders.
Glaciers: On day six, the authentic Voyage of the Glaciers finally began. Early morning, the ship navigated through Glacier Bay, part of the 3.3 million acres of a national park and preserve and of a 25-million-acre World Heritage Site, one of the world’s largest natural protected areas.
Because of light rain and crisp temperatures (7 C), I donned layers and a poncho to watch from the bow of the upper deck.
Park rangers had joined the ship and one ranger narrated live from the captain’s bridge for an onboard TV channel and the outdoor decks. She described the glacial landscape with due respect — a journey through time; a lesson in resilience.
In 1750, Glacier Bay was all glacier and no bay, according to drawings by Tlingits (the area’s first Natives). When conservationalist John Muir travelled there in 1879, the glacier had already melted 72 kilometres up the bay; he first described that “picture of icy wilderness unspeakably pure and sublime,” inspiring the earliest tourists.
Today, two ships per day can travel 105 kilometres to view the seven tidewater glaciers there; the bay is still growing slowly as glaciers keep retreating.
Another onboard presentation on glaciers was by naturalist Thomas Ryan. With a
rambling but entertaining style, he finished with prizes (books, DVDs) to those who’d correctly answered questions and who hadn’t dozed in the plush theatre seats.
Fascinated, I’d learned that a glacier is heavy, compacted snow that eventually slides down the mountain by gravitational force. A river of ice in motion. Powerfully, it scrapes the bedrock, reducing debris to silt that accumulates in dark stripes around the glacier called moraines. Silt also deposits into the sea, providing essential nutrients like nitrogen. However, nothing compared to the real thing — the scale and magnificence of that jagged ice wall. The ship passed incredibly close to the 76-metre-high face of Margerie Glacier, one of the prettiest and most photographed, partly due to its unique blue hues (caused by the light’s wavelengths through highly compacted ice).
Margerie, a hanging glacier (overtop of a protective shoal with a base 31 metres below sea level), also had one of the most active glacial faces; saltwater seeped underneath, causing rapid melting. I hadn’t expected the thunderous roar of “calving” as large shards of ice fell. Those freshwater icebergs, mottled with silt, floated away like jewels in the calm green tidewater. Margerie’s calving – frequent in springtime – occurred several times as the ship turned 180 degrees. Adjacent was the dirtier-looking Grand Pacific Glacier, once joined to Margerie before receding (ongoing). There was encouraging news – due to heavy snowfall from surrounding mountains, other Glacier Bay glaciers such as John Hopkins and south Margerie were defying the trend and advancing.
Witnessing them up close and personal had special meaning, reinforcing the connectedness of nature, the fragility of ecosystems and the importance of conservation.
Heading back through Icy Strait, an Oz-like voice from the ship’s bridge pointed out sightings of sea mammals. Using binoculars, we were mesmerized by the tails of humpback whales —14 species of whales swim in Alaskan waters — plus sea otters and harbour seals, resting on ice floes.
Instead of the round trip to Vancouver, our ship crossed the Gulf of Alaska and entered Prince William Sound for the final glacier cruising — the 32 kilometre-long College Fjord. On our last evening – warmer, drier, but typically overcast — we found unobstructed viewing on a lower deck.
The first landmark, Point Pakenham, contained a ghost forest – a sombre reminder of the 1964 Good Friday earthquake that actually tilted the fjord, drowning trees along the shoreline.
College Fjord boasted an impressive number of large glaciers (five tidewater, five valley glaciers) and dozens of smaller ones.
Portside, a row of six passed, all with names of East Coast American colleges – Wellesley, Vassar, Smith, etc. (chosen by two of the expedition’s professors when the fjord was discovered in 1899). Each displayed a different glacial feature — lateral moraine, terminal moraine (debris at its snout indicating rapid retreat), deep crevices….
At the fjord’s head towered Harvard Glacier — the massive, currently advancing glacier of 27 tributary glaciers that once created the U-shaped channel. So why could some advance, while others nearby retreated? That’s a question better answered by experts due to the complexities of glacial dynamics.
Protected from ocean swells, College >>
>> Fjord’s melt waters (containing millions of silt particles) sat as a highly reflective lens atop the salt waters below. Consequently, the glaciers were perfectly mirrored on the surface waters, dotted with ice confetti. A peaceful, fitting finale to the glacial voyage.
Denali: After continuing northward to Whittier, we disembarked for a four-day tour into the heartland of the largest state (twice the size of Texas). Aboard a comfortable train, the 10-hour trip flew by with such breathtaking views as Hurricane Gulch from domed windows or outdoor platforms.
We stayed two nights at a rustic lodge, close to our destination, Denali National Park and Preserve – six million acres of true wilderness between the Arctic Circle and Anchorage. Although a “designated wilderness” area had such people-friendly facilities as exhibits, tours, hiking, camping and sled-dog kennels, preservation of its landscape and wildlife has been paramount.
Hundreds of thousands of visitors travel the 148-kilometre park road every summer. However, since 1972, private vehicles have been restricted beyond the 24-kilometre point; limited bus and shuttle service continued along the rest to reduce roadside disturbances of wildlife.
Our six-hour “natural history tour” meandered through a changing tapestry of low-elevation taiga forest to high alpine tundra. We stopped at rustic Savage Cabin, built in 1924 and still used to shelter rangers during harsh winters.
Our bus then travelled to Primrose Ridge — a panoramic valley that stretched to the Alaska Range. Denali’s first hunters, the Athabascans, likely stood on that lookout. I was awed to be standing in such historical footsteps.
According to our ranger guide – burly, bearded, in khaki-coloured uniform and wide-brimmed hat — artifacts discovered nearby revealed activities from 3,500 years ago. Like most seasonal Alaskan guides from other states or countries, he kept returning, sharing his expertise and enthusiasm.
Denali has a “big five” checklist of large animals in the wild. From the bus, we crossed off three: moose and caribou grazing in fields, and Dall sheep climbing distant slopes. We didn’t see wolves or grizzlies.
Anyone who glimpsed a contender (from the thousands roaming freely) would yell the exact location. “At nine o’clock!” And we would rush to the left – somewhat comically — as the bus halted for the requisite photos.
The Mountain: Denali Park’s centrepiece was Mount McKinley (known to Alaskans and climbers as Denali, “the High One” in Athabascan). At 6,194 metres, North America’s highest summit also boasted a vertical rise much higher than Mount Everest’s (measured from their lowlands). These are formidable stats.
However, only about 30 per cent of visitors actually see the coy mountain, usually obscured by clouds. On our return journey to Anchorage, by motorcoach, we stayed at a lodge near Talkeetna. After putting our names on a call list should the mountain appear, we were awoken at 1:30 a.m. Groggily we headed out. The mighty mountain loomed eerily, bluish-white in the northern twilight where darkness never really fell. Everyone was subdued, as if in the presence of a great god.
Later, the sun shone, blessing us with more opportunities to view majestic McKinley/Denali etched against a clear sky. Smaller, adjacent peaks also demanded attention, including Mount Foraker (a.k.a. Denali’s wife) and Mount Hunter (Denali’s child).
Officially we became members of the exclusive 30 per cent club.
Adventurous souls can even try Denali flightseeing or glacier landings via plane or helicopter.
Annually about 1,200 people choose to climb the mountain despite the extreme conditions; about half reach the top. Walter Harper, an Athabascan, was credited with the first successful ascent of the main summit in 1913, followed by two partners. Their descendants completed the same gruelling climb in June 2013 during the 100th anniversary celebration.
My Alaskan adventure by sea and land was less arduous, but I’d experienced the vast frontier in many forms — imposing glaciers, fickle mountains, nonchalant wildlife. Somehow Alaska’s untamed essence brought me into touch with my own essence.
Despite climate change, tourism and urban progress, (Wasilla was the world’s 2002 duct tape capital!), Alaska has retained its reputation as a true wilderness. Certainly a Great Land.
Lauren and Larry Bauman live in Kitchener.
IF YOU GO
Many cruise lines travel to Alaska from Vancouver or other ports (i.e. Seattle, San Francisco). We chose Princess (www.princess.com), particularly because of its own railroad and lodges for the land tour. Various land tour packages, (before or after the cruise, of varying lengths), are available.