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Mike Davis

Age: Retired
Occupation: Newspaperman
Number of Cruises: 5
Cruise Line: NCL
Ship: Norwegian Sun
Sailing Date: June 6th, 2004
Itinerary: Inside Passage/Alaska

Embarkation: From the time we first arrive at Canada Place it takes some one and a half hours to make it on board. NCL’s documentation procedures work well and their security checks are good, but, as we are visiting Alaska, the longest delay incurred was our wait for U.S. immigration officers to complete ‘entry formalities’. Thorough they obviously are; quick they certainly ‘aint. We are given numbered tickets and told to await the call for our ‘batch number’. These are made by a diminutive oriental girl with a megaphone that doesn’t function any too well: “Number 36”, she pipes in high-pitched tones throughout the hall causing yet another group of tired and frustrated passengers to join the slow shuffle towards the half dozen or so stony-faced officials. (Where do they recruit these people, I ask myself? The Donald Rumsfeld Charm School, perhaps? Or have they to constantly scour the country in search of people with the ‘Mount Rushmore’ syndrome? We will never know.).However, there are sufficient seats available in the vast hall for us as we wait, and fortunately it has clean toilet facilities, but this whole waiting business grates on the nerves. Our number is 43. Eventually we are called. If you are not an American citizen do make sure your completed ‘visa waiver’ form is correct in every single detail, for even the smallest clerical error will find you returned to the back of the queue to try your luck again. On this occasion we’ve been good little form-fillers. We, and our documents, are scrutinized – with care. Our passports are stamped and – after being pestered, ‘Smile please’ by the ship’s official ‘snapper’. (We favour him with rictus grins) - finally make it to our cabin: ‘8242 Aft’.

Accommodation: Our ‘Stateroom’ is clean and welcoming. The luggage has preceded us. We find adequate (just) cupboard and wardrobe space. There is an electric kettle with packets of coffee, tea and sugar provided. An ice bucket is filled. The ‘en-suite’ is small but well-equipped with bath towels, hand towels, face-cloths, soap and shampoo dispensers and a hairdryer. The shower is cylindrical in shape with plain white curtain. There’s hardly room in here for two at once, but if ‘fun and games’ are what’s uppermost in your mind then the ship’s ‘newspaper’ does offer a comprehensive - albeit, alternative - ‘entertainment’ programme.

The cabin (‘stateroom’ is a euphemism too far in this instance) is good-sized, with a bed large enough to accommodate a couple of hippos. ‘Hippos? Well, already we’ve encountered fellow passengers whose combined weight will probably depress the ship a couple of plimsoll marks further below the waterline, and whose principle reason for coming aboard, we are soon to discover, seems to involve systematically masticating their way through a frighteningly large volume of the round-the-clock availability of victuals.

The cabin is well provided with lighting including bed head lamps, a wardrobe light and, reassuringly, smoke-alarms and sprinkler system are in evidence. We find a refrigerator but it’s a tight squeeze to open the door in its confined location. There is a solid looking safe in another cupboard with foolproof - though, inevitably for some folk (is your name, ‘Simpson’?) probably not ‘dummy-proof’ - operating instructions; my wife gets her priorities properly in order by placing her multi-various assortment of pills in there for safe keeping.

The bed has a pleasant green coverlet decorated with sailors’ knots (each is identified) against white-lined squares. (I just wished I’d brought a piece of string along for practice purposes). We find extra pillows in the wardrobe. The carpet is mottled blue and black weave, marked in a diamond pattern picked out in a gold and blue rope design overlaid in alternate diamonds with a ship’s wheel motif. There is a large mirror on the wall above the bed-head and another over the desk-cum-dressing table with individual lighting, below which are placed 110 and 220 volt sockets.

There is a television with various shipboard channels along with a news channel from CNN. A detailed safety information notice is posted on the back of the cabin door with clear identification of which lifeboat station to attend in case of emergency – there are four lifebelts stored on the upper shelf of the wardrobe). There is a ‘controller’ for the heating/ventilation system, and on the wall by the door is a convenient holder in which to store our identity-cum-door-entry cards. Our balcony has two plastic chairs and a table with blue non-slip plastic flooring.

We lean over the rail and watch a fuel barge arrive alongside. Seaplanes fly in and out of the harbour, and the views across to north Vancouver are quite delightful. The weather is clear, sunny and calm; the prospects for our voyage northwards look good. An ‘oiler’ on the barge far below responds to our waving. Sadly, it appears the poor chap’s hand has, at some point in the past, suffered a nasty accident as I can only discern a single finger (middle, I think) raised skywards in salute. Ah, what it is to enjoy the universal comradeship of seafarers, I think to myself.

General detail: Following obligatory lifeboat drill (we are at Station ‘L’ to starboard) we look around the ship.

It is modern and exudes an air of solidity, efficiency and order – but then the vessel was built in Bremerhaven, or Wilhemshaven, or some German ‘haven’ or other. Its corridors run for miles. Muzak issues from from innumerable speakers making me want to run ‘that extra mile’ to escape its cloying embrace.

The central area of the ship features an attractive atrium which begins on Deck 5. It is served by two pairs of glass-fronted elevators which – when viewed from below – glide up and down somewhat disconcertingly like four huge, independently-hinged, unblinking eyes. Reception is here along with a ‘Shore Excursion’ desk. Opposite is a piano bar (The Java Café), and close by is the entrance to the Four Seasons dining room. After a stroll around the promenade on Deck 6, we mooch further around the ship to acquaint ourselves with the location of the various restaurants, lounges and bars before heading back to the cabin to shower before dinner.

The ship’s ‘newspaper’ (‘Freestyle Daily’) details where, what and when events are to take place on board. It’s all fascinating stuff for the uninformed. I note, for instance, that tonight at 7pm in Dazzles Disco on Deck 6, ‘Einschiffungsinformationen auf Deutsch, mit Betreuerin Anja’ will take place – Ouch!. . . you’ll need a few stiff drinks before making a stab at pronouncing that one, buddy. (Oh, yes, and am I alone, I ask myself, in wondering why Germans are so fond of very long words? And are they, I further speculate, unduly prone to writers’ cramp halfway through these?).

We set sail about 6pm. Ship’s Master Trygve Vorren is in charge. Considering the name of the ship it’s comforting to me to find there’s at least one authentic Norwegian sailor aboard, but for all my wife cares the rest of the crew could be a swarthy assemblage of piratical thieves, cutthroats and despoilers of the fair sex. (“Ha-har, me little dearie. And which of those, pray, will you be a-choosin’ for this evening, eh?”). My wife’s sharp nudge brings me back from my reverie, and we head for dinner.

Dining: There is a varied choice of where to eat with NCL’s new(ish) ‘Freestyle’ dining policy. Should we opt for one of the clutch of small and intimate, specialist restaurants: Le Bistro, Il Adagio, or East meets West then we will be surcharged 15 US dollars each. Ginza (for Teppanyaki and Sushi lovers) has a varying surcharge dependent upon what you eat. (And, probably, how hard it’s still wriggling…..not for us, thank you).

The main dining rooms on Deck 5, and a smaller one, Pacific Heights up on Deck 11 – whose menu is specifically designed for weight-conscious passengers - are surcharge-free as are The Garden Café and The Great Outdoor Café also on Deck 11. We gave Le Bistro a try one night, and although the ambience was very pleasant and the food excellent, we didn’t think it especially merited any kind of surcharge….it’s really all down to a question of personal choice: some people just like variety, whereas others might want to cough up 15 bucks apiece just to put some distance between themselves and the hoi-polloi.

Earlier in the day we had looked in at the two main dining rooms: The Four Seasons is a large, bright, airy and pillared room with well-spaced tables freshly dressed with pristine white linen, sparkling cutlery and glassware. Behind the Four Seasons is located the Seven Seas (our preference for most evenings) which is similarly featured. However, this dining room can be accessed only by the elevators and staircases towards the rear of the ship, which possibly explains why - for the first couple of nights at least - it was only moderately patronized. The kitchens are placed centrally between these restaurants and so their menus are identical. Service is normally very good, from an international, pleasant staff, though if you like to share company at a large table do prepare to be a little more patient for your meal. If you are less willing to wait then, as we soon discovered, tables just for two do seem to enjoy far speedier service. (One morning, at a table for eight, we suffered a delay of 45 minutes before breakfast appeared). But, if you follow my advice, you can choose how long to wait – just state your table size preference when arriving at the restaurant’s reception desk.

The food was invariably of a high standard. An added bonus is that these dining rooms come with views that test all the superlatives. Never before have we enjoyed meals with backdrops as spectacular as on this voyage through the Inside Passage. Blessed with fine weather – as we were - the scenery can so easily overwhelm the senses. At times it takes a genuine effort to turn away in order to concentrate on the food in front of you. (“Careful, my love, you almost had a nostril-full of spaghetti there!”).

Fresh, iced water is provided with regular refills (don’t opt for the bottled variety unless you have a positive urge to throw money around). A comprehensive wine list offers very drinkable wines. They are not particularly cheap though, and attract an automatic 15 percent surcharge for gratuities. And I was singularly unimpressed by the invitation on the bill to add a further gratuity - but on reflection which decent restaurant did you last visit where wine was modestly and fairly priced?

The one annoying feature of this restaurant was that the same, short selection of trite melodies was played over and over each evening, and though, initially, I thought it quirkily amusing to hear the theme tune from the movie, ‘Titanic’ among the selections, somewhere between the 3rd and the 300th hearing the novelty had faded.

We spend the evening in full relaxed mode: my wife sits in the cabin reading a book whilst I enjoy the evening out on our balcony taking photographs and marvelling at the grandeur of British Columbia’s coastal scenery. Now and then our ship overtakes stubby-nosed tugboats shouldering their way patiently northwards hauling huge barges loaded with heavy metal containers, usually a single barge, sometimes two. Quite a number of sawn logs float by on the calm sea - clear evidence of one of the principal industries of B.C. Small fishing boats, mostly long-lining, probably for halibut and salmon, work their way to and fro between the numerous tree-covered islands dotting the coastline. Occasionally, I spot a tiny picturesque community on a far shoreline – usually just a huddle of brightly-painted houses, with wooden jetties for their boats. The sunset this evening is especially beautiful and seems to last for a long time We turn in about 10.30pm, and enjoy a deep, contented sleep.

Day Two (at sea): We rise at the crack of nine. This must be as a result of the food, sea air and gentle motion of the ship. We take breakfast at the 7-Seas in company with couples from various countries: Perth, Western Australia; Kansas City, Missouri, and Calgary, Alberta. There’s plenty of time for conversation as breakfast takes three-quarters of an hour to arrive (as mentioned earlier) but we find the Aussies, Americans and Canucks to be engaging and diverting company, and they all say they like the ship. We spend the morning in various ways: walking around the promenade deck, (3-1/2 times around equals one mile); looking in at the library (good selection) and the shops, (Perfume, jewellery, liquor and ‘Souvenirs-R-Us’, is our overwhelming impression). Before you can say, ‘Jack Robinson’, we are beyond midday. My, how time flies when you’re having fun, eh? We see - in the ever-helpful ship’s newspaper - that in the Conference Centre on Deck 6, there’s to be a ‘Lifestyle seminar’ at 1pm, entitled: ‘What’s in a name?’, presented by John M Kitzmiller II. We reach the speedy conclusion that, at least where Mr K-II is concerned, the answer has to be eleven consonants, four vowels, and a Roman numeral, so we plump instead for lunch at the Garden Café.

We are impressed with the hygiene here. Diners are obliged to ‘sanitize’ their hands before meals using special dispensers which provide a pearl of fluid which you rub into your hands and which dries very rapidly. (This mandatory provision also applies each time you board the ship). There is a plentiful and attractive variety of dishes on offer, and though it’s busy in here the tables are speedily and efficiently cleared, and we have no difficulty in finding seats.

In the afternoon we look in at the ‘Grand Gala Art Auction’ underway in Dazzles Disco. The auctioneer is experiencing some difficulty in persuading a desultory scattering of voyagers to exchange some of their hard-earned cash for - what appear to my rheumy old eyes – to be little more than a procession of overblown daubs and prints, and which have probably been around the circuit more times than Michael Schumacher. That most of those present look to be somewhat less than ‘dazzled’ – indeed, some appear positively comatose - is possibly due to the auctioneer’s remorseless harangue. This is desperate stuff to witness. As each ‘unrepeatable offer’ is rejected, our auctioneer’s mouth moves from high gear into overdrive and beyond. I think this man knows a thing or two about rejection and failure. Perhaps – earlier in his career – he’s tried selling dictionaries in the Ozarks? Does he ever make a sale, we wonder? It doesn’t much matter. We don’t stay long enough to find out.

However, at 4.30pm, we find an oasis of sweet reason and calm at a lecture in Dazzles given by Dr John Bindernagel, a Canadian biologist and wild-life expert, who tells us about the glaciers, mountains, shorelines and forests we will encounter on the voyage. He is a quiet-spoken, gentle man, slightly reticent - even shy - in character, yet someone who is clearly in love with his subject. It shows, and so it’s a pleasure to listen to what he has to say. It’s a great pity that just a mere handful of passengers have bothered to attend. He is a thoroughly engaging and interesting speaker. Had he been the auctioneer at the earlier event in here, I might almost have been tempted to buy a picture.

The weather stays clear and sunny until mid-evening when a thick sea mist rolls in. After dinner we decide to watch a movie in our cabin. I’m fortunate, when going briefly for a breath of air on to our balcony, to find a sleek, modern Canadian pilot boat gliding out of the mist to position alongside our ship for the pilot’s transfer. It’s quite a sight, and I get off a couple of shots with my camera.

Ports of call: We rise early on Tuesday morning, going out on the balcony just after 6.15am to find we have already docked at Ketchikan. The mist still swirls and it’s difficult to see far, but the sun is filtering through the murk and the weather looks set fair for later in the morning. Ketchikan’s unimpressive dockside is fronted with a parade of clapboarded shops – jewelry and souvenirs seem to feature prominently. .I see there’s a ‘Fish & Chip’ stall on the quay, but I bet they don’t serve that essential British accompaniment: ‘mushy peas’. Down below by the gangplank, a couple of the crew, dressed in bald eagle costumes are waiting, together with the ship’s photographer, for the first ‘marketing opportunity’ of the day. We hurry to breakfast and then we’re off to ‘debark’ (it appears Americans have junked the word, ‘disembark’) between the welcoming pair of ‘eagles’ (faintly sinister in appearance) just after 7.45am, and set off to explore the delights of Alaska’s first city.

We arrive at historic Creek Street, built over wooden pilings, just as the shops begin to open for business and before the general horde of fellow tourists from the trio of cruise-liners at the dock have arrived. We meander in and out of shops; buy a couple of tins of locally-caught smoked salmon (and, yes, it was as delicious as we’d hoped it would be) and a couple of stuffed toy bears (‘Made in China’, wouldn’t you guess!) before we pay five dollars to take the tour at Dolly’s House – one of the great local attractions.. This proves to be one of the day’s highlights. Ms Dolly Arthur – who was herself in times past something of a premier attraction in old Ketchikan - had , long ago, ‘entertained’ gentlemen at her house, now beautifully preserved replete with all of her furniture, fittings and most of Dolly’s personal possessions, including some rare condoms woven from silk (very tightly, I trust) in Paris. These had a dual role, for Dolly was quite a seamstress, and had incorporated some of the condoms (dyed in various colours) into the decoration of a quilt. This multi-talented lady was also something of a bootlegger. Rowing boats would come up the creek at dead of night to moor under her house before transferring the illicit hooch upstairs, and Dolly must have supplemented her more traditionally-earned income quite handsomely with sales of the moonshine. In a room downstairs there hangs an old photograph of the famous lady holding a pet dog. When I looked closely at her face you could have knocked me down with a feather. For I could have sworn it was a still picture of Jack Lemmon – acting in drag - in the Billy Wilder movie, ‘Some Like it Hot’ with Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe. You’ll have to go look for yourself to see what I mean. There is also – on a desk in one room - an old Remington ‘steam’ typewriter, which still looks useable. Perhaps Dolly’s memoirs as a ‘Belle D’Nuit’ are lying in a yellowing bundle tied with pink lace, somewhere beneath the floorboards just waiting for discovery? Let’s hope

I’m right; I’d buy the book without hesitation. ’The tour is well worth the modest price of admission.

Afterwards we drop into the New York Café on Stedman Street for coffee. It’s a homely place and not a bit touristy. It’s worth visiting just to take a peek at the toilets here: as fine a set of antique ceramic fittings as you could wish to actively enjoy.

We then walk up Deermount to visit the Totem Heritage Centre and the Salmon Hatchery. The latter is an exercise in the conservation of fish stocks that is no less than impressive, and great credit is due to all concerned with this enterprise. I was also impressed with the polite and friendly young man on the photographic counter at Schallerer’s Photo & Gift Stores on Front Street, who transfers my digital pictures on to a CD in just over 30 minutes, and at reasonable cost. We’re back on board for a late lunch. My wife then takes a rest while I photograph seaplanes landing on the beautiful Tongass Straits.

Wednesday morning we’re up early to watch the ship gliding in to dock at Juneau. Breakfast at the Garden Café is very popular this morning. There simply isn’t room for everyone in here for this particular ‘rush-hour’, so many people overspill out to The Great Outdoor Café. We have a whale-watching tour booked for 7.30am.

On the dock we soon find our tour bus whose driver is a native Tlingit by the name of Katherine. She drives us through light rain on the 12 mile trip out to Auke Bay (pronounce it, ‘Aaach’). There we are met by Joe – a wildlife expert – who takes us along to our jetboat, ‘Big Blue’, piloted by Captain Greg. Joe is a bright young fellow, and a relaxed and fluent guide, who reassures the nervous among us by telling us they are fully licensed and carry all the necessary safety equipment on board. Captain Greg - a tough-looking salt, who sports a gunfighter moustache, and whose permanent ‘five-o-clock shadow’, sprouting like a million iron-filings on an already grizzled face, and which is plainly impervious to the best efforts of the Gillette company’s products - eases Big Blue out over the bar at low speed before opening her up for a somewhat bumpy but exhilarating dash out into the bay.

It’s just a matter of minutes before we spot our first humpback whale about a thousand yards distant, – and what a huge thrill it is to witness this gentle leviathan in it’s summer feeding grounds. There’s a rush to get out on the small rear deck to get some pictures. We are happy ‘snappers’ because there are at least two – possibly three – whales feeding here and we have a number of good sightings – ‘blows’, ‘humps’ and ‘flukes’, but no leaps. After some 20 minutes, The skipper tells us he’s going to head out to the Saginaw Channel. He says there’s a buoy out there on to which sea-lions like to haul themselves. We’re there in a few minutes and, sure enough, there are three or four of these huge creatures noisily disputing the prime spots. It’s a great sight to witness. But, best of all, atop the buoy sits a fine bald eagle, seemingly indifferent to the approach of our boat. Needless to say, he’s the most photographed bald eagle we see that day.

We skirt around Hump Island and Shelter Island. Joe tells us one of these islands has a bear population of some 1500. We politely decline his invitation to stop off for a picnic. We watch two more humpback’s before heading back to Auke Bay on a more easterly course due to rough conditions. It’s still very much a switch-back ride though, with the boat smacking loudly into each wave– very noisy, but huge fun.

On our return bus trip, Katherine entertains us by telling us something of the Tlingit culture. She tells us about the Eagle and the Raven moieties, (she was a ‘Raven’) and how, when her grandmother died, she was told gently – in the tradition of her people - “Grandma’s gone for a ‘walk in the woods’.”

She teaches us the Tlingit word for ‘thank you’ – and here, I’m uncertain of the actual spelling, but it’s pronounced - ‘Aah-nach-sheesh’ (with a heavy emphasis on the ‘nach’). Her birthplace was Hoonah, and she drives the tour bus only as a summer job. Her main occupation is as a teacher on the ‘Head Start’ programme in Haines. She tells us her mother knew only Tlingit until school when she was compelled to learn and speak English – forbidden thereafter to speak her native tongue. She has the most wonderful head of hair, but then beautiful hair seems to be a common feature of these native Americans. We leave the bus saying, ‘Aah-nach-sheesh’ to Katherine. What a nice lady.

We take a look at the town of Juneau and are distinctly underwhelmed. The majority of main street shops offer a mix of jewellery and tacky souvenirs, and although the surrounding scenery is unremittingly stunning, there’s been precious little of aesthetic value added hereabouts by human endeavour. In an art shop, we buy a small picture by the celebrated Alaskan artist, Rie Munoz, (now in her eighties, and still painting pictures full of sweet liveliness and guileless charm) whose work I discovered on the internet a couple of years ago.

Then we reboard, or - and here I’ll tease our American cousins who have such a love of neologisms -‘re-bark’ the Sun through the security cordon of Ghurkas. (A word of caution to the unwise and unwary: These gentlemen from Nepal may appear to be mild-looking and relatively harmless, but in fact have gained worldwide respect as some of the fiercest and toughest men of action anywhere. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to cross them)

Easing our way out of Juneau at 1pm, we head down the coast towards Tracy Arm for our visit to the Sawyer Glacier. We are told – by Dr Bindernagel, over a ship’s TV channel – that the overcast skies will provide ideal conditions for glacier viewing.

Tracy Arm proves to be a place of almost tangible magic and mystery, full of secretive, misty valleys and majestic, slender waterfalls falling like wisps of sparkling silvery thread down almost vertical sided, granite-grey cliffs; trees and foliage shaded in rich, dark greens clad the lower slopes of the fjord; icebergs are now in evidence, usually white in colour, but now and then an opalescent blue iceberg drifts into view looking almost as though it were lit with subdued internal lighting; a myriad number of ‘bittyberg’s’ (tiny white bergs) now surround the ship; just occasionally, small craggy islets rise out of waters of ever-changing colour, appearing like Lorelei sirens calling wordlessly to the foolish and unwary.

The ship is down to its slowest speed now, nosing its way delicately down the very narrow channel. The quiet, stillness and beauty of this wondrous fjord is almost a taste on the lips. And then, finally, the tidal glacier comes into view. We gaze in jaw-dropped wonderment at this great marvel of nature. It stretches far back towards snow-clad peaks. It appears to be formed like a massive series of densely packed, irregularly shaped ramparts of light blue ice, topped at intervals with a pepper- brown dusting of crushed rocks. Where it meets the sea it has disgorged a huge jumbled armada of icebergs of all shapes and sizes.

As the ship comes to a halt about half a mile from the glacier, the sheer scale of this natural phenomenon is both hypnotic and awe-inspiring. And though I take a whole series of photographs I am already aware that none of these can ever hope to capture the true magnificence of the scene. We stay for an hour or so, although time really does seem to have lost meaning today. A large catamaran arrives back from the foot of the glacier to return those passengers fortunate enough to have had the foresight to pay 150 dollars for an up-close-and-personal visit – lucky people.

Away on a small berg, a seal and its newly-born pup slide off their icy platform into the chill waters. The pup is immediately at home, swimming effortlessly alongside its mother off into the depths. A bald eagle arrives to feed on the afterbirth and is soon displaced by the challenge of a second, larger eagle. Nature red in tooth and claw, I think to myself. Yet another thrilling sight to add to this afternoon’s wonderful catalogue; truly these are indelible memories to take away, and to savour and treasure. Thanks are due to Dr John Bindernagel for his carefully chosen, restrained, and informative commentary during our visit here.

Thursday morning and we are at Skagway. The Tlingit name for this place is Skagua. As we step on to the quayside, I tell my wife the name translates as: ‘Where the north wind blows’. Her tart reply has that sort of off-the-wall feminine logic which is utterly unanswerable: “And no place for short skirts and frilly undies”. As it so happens, she is wrapped in more layers than a large onion.

We board one of the splendid, reproduction coaches of the White Pass & Yukon Railway for the 8.20am departure to the summit of White Pass. This is a journey we have eagerly anticipated, and it does not disappoint.

The morning is cold but clear as we move off at a gentle pace. The train’s conductors are smartly dressed in old-style railway company uniforms complete with waistcoats, (American’s would say, ‘vests’) all fastened with bright, brass buttons, and topped with shiny peaked hats decorated with fine, gold braid. Commentary for the journey is provided by train ‘guide’, Kate - who relates the story of its construction. She advises to watch out for the track-side ‘mile markers’ – each of which has its own unusual tale to tell, for there is absolutely nothing along this route that can ever be described as, ‘ordinary’. No, sir! For this was railway engineering of an altogether different order, where thirty-five thousand men, using four hundred and fifty tons of explosive, risking – and often, losing - life and limb, expended their blood, sweat and tears to drive these narrow-gauge rails up from sea-level at Skagway to the summit 20 miles distant, at an altitude of three thousand feet. And, astonishingly - in overcoming some of the most hostile terrain and weather conditions ever faced by railway constructors - they did all this in just twenty six months. We can but pay thoughtful homage to their fortitude, tenacity and courage as we ride these hard won rails on this crisp June morning.

This is not a journey for the faint-hearted, and certainly not one for those with a morbid fear of heights. To say, that for the greater part of the ride, the track clings to the mountain sides by its ‘finger nails’ is hardly to exaggerate. Indeed, at times, the views looking down can reasonably be described - on a verbal scale, at least - as beginning round about, ‘Good grief, that’s steep’, and ending somewhere just about at the point of, ‘Aaaaaaargh!’ And what’s the best bit? Well, that comes at the summit where the three giant, green and yellow diesel engines are unhooked from the front and re-connected at the rear, because then you get to go all the way back down again. To ensure equality of viewing opportunity, all passengers are obliged at the summit to do ‘The White Pass Shuffle’ – whereby all the hinged seat backs are swung into reverse, and passengers swap sides from right to left and vice-versa, before the return journey. Some folks might describe this as ‘Socialism in Action’ – but this is no place for politics and so I’ll move swiftly on.

The snow and ice still lie deep up here, but Kate warms us with a string of very funny tales about the old days when gold fever was the principal infection in these parts. She relates how some innocent, newly-arrived prospectors in Skagway, were sold bicycles by unscrupulous salesmen, “So’s you can take a leisurely ride up to the gold fields.” Or, better yet, a few of the more gullible were actually persuaded to buy gopher’s which had – according to the sales pitch - “been trained to sniff out gold”. So is this where the catchphrase, “Go-pher Gold” originated?

On the way back into town, we pass Skagway’s Gold Rush cemetery in which lie the remains of some immortal frontier characters, chief among whom was Jefferson ‘Soapy’ Smith, who must rank as one of history’s most admirable swindlers. Were he alive today he’d probably be CEO of a major American corporation. Soapy’s demise is celebrated with an annual commemorative wake by the townsfolk. (And if it isn’t celebrated in riotous style, then it darned well ought to be). Here too lies Frank Reid, who shot Soapy dead in a gunfight, and who also died as a result of the event. The inscription on Reid’s tomb declares: “He gave his life for the honour of Skagway” Just a few short steps away is the grave of another, less celebrated contemporary: one of Skagway’s good-time girls. Her inscription is not as worthy as Reid’s, but far more treasurable as, with a neat twist, it proclaims: “She gave her honour for the life of Skagway”.

Also interred here are the unnamed - but somewhat less than complete - remains of a man who entered the local bank armed with a pistol, and with sticks of dynamite strapped under his coat. As he made his bold demand for an immediate withdrawal, the lady clerk panicked and ran screaming towards a back door. Our bank robber pulled his pistol in a vain attempt to shoot her. Unfortunately, he pulled the trigger just a little prematurely and thus blew himself, firstly into an unanticipated deposit all over the walls of the building, and secondly, straight into the golden pages of this legendary town’s history.

We liked Skagway – very much as it happens. Yes, it’s a tourist trap – and deservedly so, because its townsfolk have had the good sense to steer clear of a surfeit of Las Vegas-style glitz and glamour in favour of allowing the natural, unvarnished pleasantness of the place to surprise and delight the visitor. In truth, I for one think Skagway could stake a reasonable claim to be declared a World Heritage Site. Not least for its magnificent setting, but more especially for the manner in which so many of its unpretentious, but lovely old clapboard-fronted buildings have been nurtured and preserved. This place breathes living history. Its fine boardwalks are a pleasure to tread, and its citizens have every right to be proud of their manifest determination to preserve its splendid character and charm.

The W.P. & Y.R. is a brilliant peacock feather in its hat, and were it possible to bottle atmosphere, then Skagway would have a sure-fire winning export on its hands. The only disappointment I suffered here was when the battery on my digital camera expired, and I was unable to take as many photographs as I wanted to, but then as I had taken so many shots on the rail trip, I have no right to whinge.

We depart Skagway and move off down the Lynn Canal. The weather is beautiful and the sun gradually sinks to a multi-hued, golden radiance behind snow-covered peaks to provide a lovely ending to the day. We join a large audience in the Stardust Lounge to listen to US comedian, Steve Patient. He does an excellent piece of Bill Clinton mimicry, and plays the guitar very well, but he struggles to get laughs. Cruise Director, Colin Kerr – from Scotland - also pitches in with a couple of jokes, but he has a predilection for interminable ‘shaggy-dog’ stories with vapid punchlines, and we return to our cabin feeling somewhat less than entertained.

Wrangell is not as yet one of Alaska’s most visited tourist venues and relatively few cruise ships call , but NCL have chosen to add it to the Sun’s schedule and so we are here at midday on Friday together with the stern-wheeled, paddle-steamer cruise ship, ‘Empress of the North’, making our final visit to Alaskan shores.

The afternoon is pleasant and the sun peeks through. We walk the mile or so out to Petroglyph beach, which is easy to find. Here the State authorities have kindly provided a wooden walkway and steps leading down to the beach, together with helpful information displays for visitors. We spend an enjoyable hour or so trawling the beach looking for as many of the 8,000-year-old rock carvings as we can find and photograph. A couple of derelict fishing boats also offer useful photographic opportunities. Later we go shopping in Wrangell.

In Gold Rush days this was must have been quite a lively place because – for a brief spell - the famed Wyatt Earp was employed to keep the peace in town. Earp’s replacement was the equally feared lawman, Bat Masterson. Nowadays though, Wrangell lays claims to be, ‘the friendliest town in Alaska’ and although the time we spent here was relatively brief we can confirm that we met nothing but politeness and pleasantness. Wrangell’s charm has probably much to do with its unpretentious ordinariness and its homeliness.

To date, this place remains happily free of those accretions that some other Alaskan ports-of-call, (most notably, Juneau and Ketchikan) seem to regard as essential: jewellery and souvenir stores replete with overly prominent advertising. And though many of the shops and stores here stock souvenirs and gifts, it is clear their primary function is to serve the local community - all year round The only tourist ‘traps’ at Wrangell’s quayside are a few rudimentary stalls manned by a number of cheerful school kids selling ammonites they must have painstakingly gathered in their spare time. They are an open-faced and likeable bunch, and we enjoy chatting with them.

Back aboard the Sun, this evening is the ‘Captain’s Farewell Dinner’. We dine on lamb and rice starter; fruit sunrise with cassis; blueberry and kiwi fruit soup. I opt for the lobster tails; my wife goes for the chicken supreme. It all goes down a treat.

In the morning the sea mists have closed in, and it’s difficult to see very much through the endless grey blankets of mist. The seas are moderately rough now but the ship ploughs through the waves at top speed heading back to Vancouver. The crew are busy polishing, vacuuming, dusting, keeping the ship in pristine condition – as always.. They seem happy in their work, unlike a few of the passengers who seem determined to complain about simply anything – just for the sake of being obnoxious. My wife overhears one rather unpleasantly loud American lady – who has lost something – demanding of a ship’s officer, that ‘this ship be scoured from stem to stern until you find it!’ As my wife tells me later: “I’m sure even if they did as she requested, it could take weeks to find a brain that small”.

The Cruise Director (Colin) has arranged a whole raft of activities for bored passengers on this final day including a tour of the ship’s engine room, water treatment plant, the bridge, galley, etc. It’s tempting, but we decide to miss these little treats (and just how interesting can a 40,000-gallon bubbling tank of raw ship’s sewage be, I ponder?) in favour of a good brisk walk around the deck for an hour or so. We also pass on the opportunity to watch a reprise of the merry-go-round at the Grand Finale Champagne Art Auction…..too much like Groundhog Day, methinks. Why can’t the Cruise Director come up with a few more traditional ships’ activities to involve those passengers who have done their level best to annoy their fellow passenger’s and crew, you know, the sort of old-time stuff like, keelhauling, walking the plank, yardarm hanging and marooning. Now that would be fun, wouldn’t it?

The weather is quite glorious the following day as we disembark in Vancouver. The disembarkation procedures are efficient and easy, and we leave the ship light in heart – if just a little heavier in body. We have four days ahead of us in which to explore this great city.
Summary: The Inside Passage is a wonderful journey, and we felt privileged to have been able to enjoy such marvellous vistas. Whether you choose to enjoy it in the Norwegian Sun or some other cruise liner is just a matter of choice. In our opinion the Sun is a beautiful ship with an efficient crew, superb cuisine and service, and the modest price we paid was worth every penny. We did not feel the need to be ‘entertained’ as the entertainment we were looking for was all around and never failed to enthrall. This surely is as much as any visitor to the Inside Passage can hope to find.

© Mike Davis, Manana Publications, England 2004.

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