The Matanuska taken from port at Petersburg, AK. We had thirty minutes to get off then back on the boat.

The ferry taking you from Prince Rupert to Alaska leaves at 3:30 AM. Because you must clear customs prior to boarding the ship, it is recommended that you arrive at the terminal no later than 12:30 AM. You do not know what it is like to kill time before having to do so in Prince Rupert, especially after having already spent the day hanging out and then finishing dinner a little after 7. But we did so with a little shopping, a silly movie, and an extended late night snack at Tim Hortons. At midnight we threw in the towel and headed toward the terminal.

By 12:30 AM we were lined up ready to get on the ferry. A scant two and a half hours later we finally boarded the Matanuska. BC Ferries Northern Expedition is less than a decade old. The Matanuska was built in 1963. A workhorse if there ever was one, the ship is much smaller and more matter of fact than its Canadian cousin. The views though are just as amazing and the passage through the Wrangell narrows was especially thrilling with the captain deftly weaving his way through a maze of buoys. At one point we passed a fishing resort and saw maybe fifty bald eagles perched on the trees and hanging out at the beach. The resort set off a firework and a dozen eagles then flew just in front of the boat.

We booked a cabin and it was clean but incredibly small with an even tinier bathroom (one where you can take a shower or turn around but not both). Before falling asleep I looked out the window to say goodbye to Prince Rupert. When I woke up a few hours later we were still in port. Due to a mechanical issue the boat did not actually leave Prince Rupert until around 6 AM. Besides being a couple hours off schedule, a planned extended stay in Ketchikan which would allow us to explore the place for a bit was changed to a thirty minute lay over. Over French pressed coffee, fruit and oatmeal (made possible by our cooler and free hot water), Corey and I discussed our itinerary.

Our second night we slept in the much roomier solarium. Three tents were pitched on deck but we found the recliner chairs with sleeping pads a lot more comfortable. Most fun night camping so far on our trip.

Our original plan involved a short stay in Wrangell followed by a 48-hour ferry ride to Sitka. But a quick study of the ship’s schedule revealed an alternative option that traded Wrangell, and the long voyage, in return for extra time in Sitka. Thanks to the extraordinary help from the purser (whom I later tipped out with fresh blueberries) and a ticket agent named Heather (Trader Joe’s pita chips for her) the deal was made. Trip karma is real and for evidence I offer the fact that later while making a purchase of fries at the cafeteria the chef dropped a few Korean barbeque ribs on my plate free of charge.

During the short turn around at Ketchikan, the boat picked up not one but two groups of kids; a Ketchikan all-star little league team and a teenage girl softball team headed back home to Juneau. I learned later from one of the coaches that the Alaskan Marine Highway (AMH) is South East Alaska’s school bus for all the traveling sports teams. He recalled once taking a trip with about 200 students that included a marching band and not enough chaperones. On our voyage the boys were a bit more active than the girls and after an hour or two of settling in they began a game of tag that seemed to cheat death at every turn.

After a week in Canada it was fun to step back in the states even before we reached land.

I also met a young couple and their incredibly cute little boy returning home to Ketchikan after a disappointing move to South Dakota. Although I only saw Ketchikan from the boat, that couple’s description of the place (as well as comments made by Heather, the now pita chip rich ticket agent) gave me a bit of insight into a community flooded each summer by thousands of cruise ship passengers. It is a lot more quite, however, in the winter time with most of the stores shut down, their owners setting up shop in the Caribbean. Back home he was hoping to resume his job as a case manager in a hospital servicing youth with behavior disorders.

Other conversations turned to the price of oil. Alaska has no state income or sales tax but resembles Sweden in the level of provided services. Home schoolers for example are reimbursed for on-line classes, computers, and even things like a karate class. Not only do Alaskans not pay many taxes, they also receive a bonus (every man, woman, and child) from the Alaskan Permanent Fund (which is derived from oil money). Supposedly this is all possible so long as the price of oil is around $95 a barrel. The actual price today though is under $50 a barrel which has meant serious cut backs to a lot of these services including the AMH. Our ship, for example, no longer has a gift shop or bar. More serious are the cut backs along the service line with some communities going from weekly to now monthly ship visits. These tiny towns are absolutely dependent on the AMH and their very survival is at risk. I also talked to a crew member, someone who had worked over five years with AMH, who was quitting once he made his way to Bellingham (crew members are allowed free passage on any ship) due to his hours being drastically cut last winter. The man was planning on going back to his family in Gillette, WY, an oil industry town, to build houses with his dad ahead of the housing boom. He anticipated this boom occurring once the price of oil reached $60 a barrel.

Waking up

Harbor at Prince Rupert

After our all day most of the night ferry ride from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert we woke to an overcast sky. A trip to the car found a conversation with a middle aged man. He told me that if we went to Dawson City to look up his friend Mitch to tell him that Stan says hi. Told him I would do just that.

We shopped at Safeway. Old men pushed carts and loaded up volumes and volumes of food. One pair got mad at the checkout when their form of payment was rejected. A manager cooled them down. Did laundry and finished my article about ferry ride. Will post when it publishes. Also met a couple from Yellow Knife who spent almost 6 years in Rogers Park. They might still be living in Chicago but she could not get a job due to her immigration status and could not right her immigration status due to not having a job. Similar story for the man working the laundromat who once lived in San Diego. Born in Tehran he has also lived in Tokyo and Vancouver. He greatly misses living in a city.

At the Cowpucino in Prince Rupert. Waterfront is called Cow Bay due to someone once transporting cows here.

Am now drinking good dark coffee at Cowpucino. Great place with lousy 80s music. Owner told me his way of scrambling eggs via an espresso wand. Cannot wait to try it at home. 

I like Prince Rupert. So does Henna. Corey is maybe less of a fan and thinks the place is mighty scrappy. If Monterey, California kept a few canning factories open and the housing prices (and visitors) low, it might look like here. Or if Prince Rupert relocated an hour south of San Francisco it would look a whole lot less worn. But you can’t just go around moving cities as easily as you can people.

Taken from the ferry

Right now we are happy to be exactly where we are. Even the music is growing on me. Later tonight (really early tomorrow morning) we take another ferry. And then we are in Alaska, a step closer and also further from home.

The “before” picture

Just like last year, we visited family and are treated to a royal feast. This time it was salmon caught by Corey’s second cousin Phillip (who we’ve never met) and grilled up by his brother David who, along with his daughter Mariah, we are lucky to know quite well. As amazing as the seafood was, so were the potato and kale salads brought by Pam, Dan, Susan, and Mike. Our Ladysmith cousins sure do know how to make us feel at home.

The next day we wolfed down the leftovers right before exploring Strathcona Provincial Park with David and Mariah. Located a few hours north of Victoria, Strathcona offers up some of the most rugged landscape on Vancouver Island. After four and a half hours of hiking through a fern draped wonderland that included an impressive beaver dam and a whole lot of hanging moss, we set up camp a few kilometers shy of Landslide Lake. We then spent the next day contemplating the lake while Mariah caught two good sized trout with cheddar flavored meal worms (a souvenir from Victoria’s Bug Zoo and they actually do not taste half bad). The first we fried up on a small skillet with Mariah letting the second one go. Day three was a long hike back to the car and then a hauntingly desolate ride up to Port Hardy. Three showers later we are toasty and maybe a bit nervous about the road ahead. A lot of people asked us before we left how long it would take to get to Alaska. Well, we almost have an answer. Tomorrow we land in Prince Rupert, B.C. and then the next day we cross into Alaska. So far it has been one heck of a trip.

Noel and Henna struggle to land a fish.

Mariah shows us how it’s done.

At Landslide Lake. 10 KM hike; 600 meter elevation gain but only a few switch backs. Trail a little difficult to follow the final kilometer. 2 campsite, one at 6 KM and the other at 9 KM. The second one is worth the longer hike.

The Badlands Motel. I really wish we were staying there. Or at least that was what I was thinking as we fled the outdoor Medora Musical (a show cut short due to the swirling lightning and dark, dark overhead skies). The road back to the campground was a winding five miles in the dark with massive elk (their shape illuminated by lightning) grazing in a meadow. At the campground entrance a bison stood by the side of the road as if to greet us.

Once at our site we waited out the coming storm. Henna read in the front seat and I fiddled with the stove to boil up some hotdogs. Corey and I moved the camp chairs next to the car and watched the northern sky explode, a constant flicker whose flame was only intermittently heard. The southern sky was not much better and also maybe closer as the thunder was much louder. A few drops, a lot of wind, but the storm never quite reached us. Neither did the bison. As we set up camp the host told us that they often wander through the campground, especially at night. He said just don’t bother them and they won’t bother you. I heard, a bison will stomp on your tent while you lay sleeping. On an earlier hike to the Little Missouri River we were surprised by a dozen or so of those big suckers grazing a few feet from our car. Corey and Henna took pictures from the car while I frantically begged Corey to drive away. Looking back, I think that may have been the first time that I longed for the motel.

It was hot too. Like mid 90s unrelenting hot with nowhere near enough cotton woods to offer shade. We found ourselves post-ice cream with two hours to kill before the musical. So we made dinner in a picnic area, strolled a western-themed book store, and played in the park which was almost as nice as taking a late afternoon nap in AC cooled motel room while Henna surfed the channel for cooking shows.

When I took my nightly stroll to the bathroom the half-moon shone as bright as the sun.  The world was silent and the cold wind was constant. But yet the ground still felt warm on my bare feet. As I crawled back into my sleeping bag I was startled by the riotous call of a thousand birds. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.