16 The Far North
Kate got in touch with the Alaska Marine Highway System to finalize our reservations while we ate breakfast. Whittier came up. It was closer to Fairbanks, and we would not have to cross into Canada. There would also be a lot more to see once we reached open waters. We could still get a room for two, but the agent recommended a stateroom with facilities because of my condition. Now the trip was going to cost $8000 and take four days. What the hell. In for a penny in for a pound.
They wanted us at the pier by eleven for boarding. We dropped everything and hit the road. The camper made adjustments like that easy. The trip was supposed to take four hours. But the lady has a lead foot. She got us there with time to spare.
The Bellingham Marine Terminal, where the Alaska Marine Highway ferries load and unload, sits at the south end of a sprawling city. The train terminal is across the street. Cars and RVs were already lined up and moving on to our ship when we arrived. Pedestrians were walking up a gangplank to board.
Kate drove up the ramp and into the gaping jaws of the giant vessel. As soon as we pulled into the cavernous, dimly lit hold, figures in fluorescent jackets waved flashlights directing us toward a parking spot. Kate maneuvered our camper into position. The ferry’s crew secured the vehicle while we stuffed clothes and toiletries into pillowcases because we had left the suitcases behind. We had to take all our necessities with us. The RV would be off-limits until we reached Whittier.
Our stateroom was on the third level, eight flights of stairs up from the noisy, foul-smelling parking bay. The view was great, and the room was almost sumptuous. It had four bunks, each about the size of a double bed, a round table with four chairs, and two dressers. One bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a shower was to be shared.
We would be sharing a bed, but we each got our own dresser.
A laminated folder on the table provided information about the ship and the cruise. A continental breakfast was available from 6:30 until 11:30. Dinner was served between 5 and 7. Room service could be ordered until 11 p.m.
Our ship pulled away from the pier and out into Bellingham Bay around four. It was scheduled to dock at Ketchikan at six in the morning after two nights and a day at sea.
That day was uneventful. Clear blue skies with high thin clouds. The Alaskan coast was wild and beautiful. Eagles soared overhead but whales and bears kept out of sight.
Kate and I established a routine. Exercise first thing, followed by breakfast and a stroll around the deck. We met a few more passengers headed for Whittier. Their ultimate destination was Anchorage. We talked about Lewis and Clark and moved on to US history. They had written a couple of historical novels, so they could talk all night about history. They were avid bridge players and tried to teach us the game.
A National Forest Service Ranger gave a lecture on Ketchikan, or Salmon City, in the dining area. The name seems to have come from an Indian word meaning “thundering wings of an eagle.” The first white settler opened a cannery, and the salmon industry caught on. Later timber and sawmills developed into an economic mainstay. As a frontier town, it provided bars and brothels along Creek Street. The frontier atmosphere has been cleaned up. Dolly’s house is now a museum. Other establishments have been transformed into restaurants and gift shops.
We watched the chaos as one group of passengers disembarked, and a new group came aboard. The crew didn’t seem to be in a hurry. The plan was to reach Juneau around six the next morning.
We continued north on the inner passage, a series of channels between the coastal islands. The key takeaways for Juneau are that it is a government city with no land access to the rest of the world. The towering mountains encircling the city are too rugged for roads that cars and trucks could use. The Mendenhall Glacier, which lies in those mountains a few miles from the city, was visible from our stateroom.
People and goods reach the capital of Alaska by air or by boat. Everyone living there works for the government – either state or local – or provides services to government workers.
Our ship sailed out of the inner passage around Glacier Bay National Park and into the Gulf of Alaska from Juneau. Whale sightings became common.
Yakutat, our next stop, has the largest land area among US cities, but a population of less than 1000.
The surrounding vistas are spectacular. The highest coastal range in the world, the St. Elias Mountain Range, forms a backdrop for the settlement. Gigantic glaciers like the Malaspina and the Hubbard sit atop those mountains and drain into the bay.
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We had been on the ship for five days when we reached Whittier. The couple we had met on the ferry suggested we drive straight through to Fairbanks. They were sure there was enough daylight left for the trip. Kate didn’t want to risk it. She drove to Anchorage and found a place to park overnight. That left a few hundred miles between us and Fairbanks. We could make it by mid-afternoon if we started early.
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We went back to our regular schedule of exercise and breakfast before taking on a day of driving. Alaska Route 3 follows the Sustina River along the eastern edge of the Denali National Park.
It took seven hours to reach Fairbanks and another half-hour to find Kirsten’s house. It was a modest ranch with a view of the Chena River.
Nobody was home. I called Kirstin’s cell. She directed us to University Outfitters, the outlet she owned and operated with her husband. The store, a medium-sized brick building, was on University Boulevard, a few minutes from her house. It shared a parking lot with a dozen other commercial ventures.
Kirsten met us at the door. Coming face-to-face for the first time with her crippled, almost blind cousin and his thirty-something consort must have been a shock. She was pleasant, but I sensed she was uncomfortable with the situation. I was suddenly conscious of my appearance and speech. The left side of my face curled up into a perpetual snarl. I slurred words. Talking to me was a challenge despite Kate’s therapy. Kirstin cut the pleasantries short by inviting us inside for a tour.
University Outfitters would have been a sports or outdoor adventure outlet in Maryland. It carried an impressive stock of wares — sporting goods, camping gear, clothes, and miscellaneous tech stuff. All of it designed for a younger crowd from college students to hip professors. Nothing in there interested me.
Coz turned the store over to an assistant to spend the rest of the day with us. Her husband, Bob, joined us at the house, and we set out in his Subaru Outback on a quick tour of the city.
Bob said, “I’m going to start with the university. It’s close. Besides, I work there.”
“What do you do?” Kate asked.
“I teach at the Geophysical Institute.”
“He also heads a climate change research team for the UN,” Kirstin threw in.
“Sounds exciting,” Kate said.
“It is,” Bob answered without taking his eyes off the road. “It helps me keep up to date and provides material for some of my classes.”
As we approached the campus, Bob said, “I understand you drove up from Anchorage today.”
Kate said, “Yes. We took the ferry. It got us to Whittier yesterday afternoon. I didn’t want to be driving in the dark, so I stopped outside of Anchorage. If I had realized how much daylight was left, I probably would have continued to Fairbanks.”
“It does take some getting used to,” Bob observed. “I would really love to show you around the campus. Our Museum of the North is one of the best in the world. Just give me a call if you have time for an extended tour.”
I nodded but said nothing. I had embarrassed myself enough for one day. Kate scowled at me before saying, “That sounds wonderful. We could do it tomorrow or whenever it’s most convenient for you.”
Bob drove us around the campus and took us downtown for a quick drive-by of the major tourist attractions. That was the best tour I could have hoped for. The professor was as good as any tour guide. He pointed out the sights, gave the historical background and threw in juicy bits of lore. When he was wrapping up, he offered to take some time off and show us around. Kate looked for my response then said, “That sounds great, Bob. Could we talk about it tomorrow after we have gotten some rest?”
“Sure.”
What else was the guy going to say?
We ended up at an Italian restaurant for dinner. There wasn’t much to talk about. Kirsten and I had spent decades hashing out our family history. Catching up on current events didn’t take long. Her two children had graduated from college and were working for tech companies in California. I had only a vague understanding of what my own children were up to. They weren’t talking to me, but that’s not something you discuss with strangers over dinner.
Kirstin’s husband regaled us with some stories of his field research in the Alaskan wilds. Kate reluctantly owned up to working part-time jobs. She gave out a version of our meeting at a diner where she worked nights. “Nurse” and “nursing” were never mentioned. She omitted the part about my having been shot.
The conversation got us through dinner. We rode in silence back to Bob and Kirsten’s house. Kirsten said a perfunctory good-bye and headed for the front door. Bob shrugged and shook his head. Kate said, “Mac needs to get some sleep. If it’s okay with you, we’ll just park out front for the night.”
She led me to the RV without waiting for a response.