Day 18: Fit and healthy (north-east of Hokkaido, Japan)

Staying fit and healthy on a cruise can be challenging. Endless conveyor belts of food, too many excuses not to do much of anything.

In one small step against excess we skipped breakfast, striking a blow against expanding waistlines.

We do get quite of bit of incidental exercise walking, aided by the fact that after two weeks onboard the ship we still get lost, adding dozens of extra kilometres to our daily routine.

On a less-active note, I had a second spa treatment today. 

The first part was a seaweed wrap. Never having done one before I had no idea what to expect. I pictured myself being wrapped in sheets of seaweed, looking like a giant sushi. 

It turns out the seaweed is mixed into some sort of muddy paste. After that was smeared over me I was wrapped up in plastic sheets and dunked into a bath of hot water.

So, not sushi. Tempura.

The second part was another massage. The first one had knocked out the worst kinks, so this one was more relaxing. I could get used to this sort of thing.

I caught another science lecture by Dr Ray, this one on "Weird Science", like the Higg's Boson and clathrates (frozen methane hydrates at the bottom of the ocean), and a discussion on the differences between real science,  pseudoscience and fake science. Not bad, but my favourite lecture is still the one on bad science in movies.

Which sort of segues to another scientific/medical/health fact. We found out so far this cruise three people have had heart attacks, two of them fatal. That's what happens when you combine people past their prime with too much food and alcohol.

Being fitness conscious we did something sporty. We watched part of the AFL Grand Final on the giant screen on the top deck (which looked to be a real clunker until the Hawks decided to make it look competitive). With drinks, French champagne for Emma, and Alaskan Ale for me.

I told you staying fit and healthy was challenging. 

Needing more Danger! and Adventure! We undertook a harsh wilderness experience where only one person was expected to survive. Watching "The Hunger Games" in the open air. Of course the "only one will survive" thing was from the movie, but we felt the main characters plight so keenly it was like being at risk ourselves.

I lie. The movie was a bit "meh". Not to mention there's something faintly obscene about a ship full of overfed people watching The Hunger Games, but I don't pick the movies.

Tomorrow we would see real wilderness, after we reached Hokkaido. Then we'd see how our love of adventure would up stand up against our love of sake and Japanese food.

Day 17: How can indolence be so tiring? (south of the Kurile Islands)

Yesterday we had sun. Today the morning had rocketed up to a blistering 15 degrees C/ 60F, only 5 knots of wind, and humidity down to 50%. Positively sub-tropical bliss, inspiring me to insanely rush onto the balcony, nothing between my bare-ass naked butt and the all glories of nature. Adventure! And Danger!

Yeah, too much information. I was intensely glad our balcony can't be seen from adjacent cabins.

Today we did: pretty much nothing. 

Coffee on Deck 5, chatting to Colleen and Larry, a couple of retired teachers from Southern California with a 6 acre property outside of Los Angeles. 

Dinner with Carol and Wayne, a couple of retired teachers from British Columbia, with a 16 acre property about outside of Vancouver.

What is it with us and retired teachers with massive landholdings? 

Between coffee and dinner we managed another science lecture in the Princess Theatre by Dr Ray, this one on tsunamis, a hot dog for lunch near our much-loved covered pool area, quite a bit of reading (Emma is well and truly into "The Girl Who Played With Fire", book two of the "Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" trilogy, and Emma had a pedicure. 

Of course Emma saw more dolphins. Her animal-fu is strong.

Still, we didn't really do much of anything. I guess this might be our personal best for "doing nothing", and despite our near-total inertia once again we stumbled into bed, exhausted, around 10pm.

In fairness we were assisted by a couple bottles of red wine between four people. And a fairly hefty dinner. 

We joined Carol and Wayne in their cabin (easily spotted by the Canadian flag and pencil outside their cabin) for a pre-dinner drink, and chatted away. Emma and Carol had met on the first morning of our cruise, and found out they'd also been on the same Sun Princess cruise we took five years ago. We need to check out old photos and see if we can spot them.

I've never seen such organised travellers. I hadn't realised the cabin bulkheads were metal; a few fridge magnets = instant bulletin board. Clever.

And Carol showed us some whizz-bang plastic organising thingy that holds all their cosmetics, toiletries and drugs.

(The latter is something Emma and I notice is increasingly important; this trip we've brought enough antihistamines, pain killers, Mylanta antacid tablets, and so on, enough to stock a small drug store. Getting older sucks.)

We chatted like old friends over a bottle of Aussie red, and at dinner over an Italian red. It's not hard to talk to people on a cruise ship, but some people you click with even more than others. They were in that category.

Dinner was in the Santa Fe room (faux New Mexican decor, a design decision I won't even pretend to understand), and the pate, chicken fajitas and neapolitan ice cream in puff pastry took my "I've eaten too much" total to something like 17 meals since boarding the ship.

Which gave me more Danger! and Adventure! This time seeing if I could survive the night on only one Mylanta. What a daredevil.

Day 16: Pampered (South of the Aleutian Islands - at last)

A strange, bright light appeared in the sky. Some call it the "sun".

It was still cold and windy, but at least we could see blue sky. Plus a wonderful cloud that looked like Laputa, the floating city in Miyazaki's film of the same name.

(Emma and I are huge Miyazaki fans. As are all imaginative, people with excellent aesthetic tastes.)

Over breakfast we met a couple from Nevada, two elderly ladies from Edinburgh, and two middle-aged women from Southern California. One of the Southern Californian women was Sue, the highly-suggestible volunteer from last night's hypnotism show. She confirmed that she wasn't a plant, and really did perceive the various suggestions Steve Bayner planted.

We crossed the International Date Line at 10.45am, wiping out the rest of our Wednesday and most of Thursday morning. I love watching the confusion on the faces of people who try to figure out where the day "went". 

Today's highlight was a spa treatment in the Lotus Spa. Emma had a facial, I had a 75 minute deep tissue massage. 

The laws of physics work differently on a cruise ship. Somehow Mary Grace, a 50 kg Filipina, was able to apply something on the order of 150 kg of pressure to my back, shoulders and legs.

I now understand why the spa is on Deck 15. A tiny bit more pressure and she would have punched me through the massage table, and at least two or three decks. If the spa was on Deck 1 or 2 a tiny slip and I'd puncture the hull.

It was exactly what I needed. I was able to sleep with many of the aches and tension I've had since popping a few disks out of whack in my spine a couple months ago.

Back in our stateroom we risked sitting on our balcony. It was too cold to stay there for long, but it was long enough to spot another whale. It's hard to gauge sizes, but given the size of the spout, and the length of the whale as it half-breeched, it appeared to be a big one.

In the afternoon I finally persuaded Emma to join me in the hot tub. She'd barely slipped into the water before she exclaimed, "this is great! Why didn't you talk me into these earlier?"

"I tried," I answered. "But you just didn't listen."

While soaking the officer of the watch announced we were passing a pod of dolphins on the port side. We popped out of the tub, and I suggested we take the short cut across the pool area. She grabbed her towel, and then went the long way around.

I arrived at the window in time to see the dolphins, but Emma didn't. When I explained how I arrived so quickly she asked why I didn't tell her about the short cut.

"I did," I said. "But you just didn't listen."

At dinner we ran into a Canadian couple, Carol and Wayne, who invited us to their cabin the following night for a glass or two of wine, and then to join them for dinner. Should be fun.

We caught a bit of the music trivia, Emma knowing pretty much every '50s and '60s band and song title (I managed to pick one she didn't know), and we had a nightcap in the Wheelhouse Bar. We met a very entertaining couple from LA who had a passion for dancing, and heard all about the knock-down drag-out fights they had several years ago before he finally agreed to take the lessons.

Pretty much it, really. I don't think we're anywhere near our target on the Adventure! scale, to say nothing of Danger! Need to lift our game tomorrow.

Day 15: Busted (Aleutian Islands)

The gloomy weather continues: cold, windy, and grey. The perfect excuse for staying indoors.

Squillions of activities: putting competitions, trivia, bingo, bridge, lectures, food carving demonstrations, wine tasting. And poker.

The casino has a computerised Texas Hold 'em table, that automatically handles the dealing, chip management, and determining the winner. I  bought into a $60 ten-handed tournament that started at 11am.

People with little to no interest in poker can skip the next five paragraphs...

I won two decent pots in a row, the first because people didn't believe my bet meant I had a good hand, the second because people believed my bet meant I had a good hand when I didn't. 

This gave me the chip lead for about 15 minutes, during which time I was dealt hand after hand of utter dreck.

About 15 minutes later three players had busted out (which was good) and the blinds were getting very high (which wasn't so good). I finally had a half decent hand and put a short-stacked player all-in. We turned our cards over and I was a two-to-one favourite. And lost, dropping me down to third. Still in with a chance.

Another player went broke, and I tried to make a move with king-ten suited with only two players to act, and one of them called me with ace-eight, hitting an eight on the flop.

Thus ended my part of the tournament. Mid-field isn't tragically bad, but it meant I won the same amount of money as the guy who went broke first: none.

Then I joined Emma on Deck 14 for pizza and an afternoon of highly vigorous reading.

The seas were getting choppier, with more and more shuddering THUNKS!!! rumbling through the ship. The whale population was getting thinner and thinner. 

After dinner we set out for a stroll around the promenade on Deck 7. This inspiration faded before we even opened the doors, when we saw the deck covered with rain and sea spray.

Even the crew found the decks horrific. Emma caught one of the crew swearing in unrepeatable Polish after opening the door to Deck 7.

Time to check out the on-board entertainment: two pianists playing in different parts of the ship, a singer (Lovena B Fox, actually not that bad a singer), a dance-band in the Wheelhouse Bar, a truly tragic karaoke room (full marks for bravery, zero for hitting the right notes), and in the Princess Theatre a hypnotist, Steve Bayner.

I don't always feel comfortable with hypnotists as some of the things they have the volunteers do can be embarrassing, but this show didn't stray too far in that direction. Mainly it was telling the volunteers/subjects/victims they were freezing in -40 temperatures, or in overheating in the blistering hot Arizona sun. It was a bit more awkward toward the end, with the hypnotees howling like wolves or dancing like Chippendales. But I've seen worse, and most of it was pretty funny.

One of the passengers on stage, a women named Sue, was particularly receptive, and the hypnotist commented "I'm going to have fun with her". Which he did, suggesting that when he said the word "hypnotist" his pants would seem to disappear. 

So he said the word "hypnotist", and she averted her eyes, and started giggling. Lots. It doesn't sound like much, but it was very, very funny.

At the end of the show Emma asked if I thought it was real, or if they were plants. "Real," I said, "definitely real."

We actually had confirmation on that the following morning.

Day 14: Entropy (Aleutian Islands)

As the ship is passing east to west at 22 knots, we lose one hour each night. When I woke up I looked at my watch, did a few quick calculations, and worked out I'd slept nine hours.

Oh, wait. I need to add an hour, not subtract one, so... ELEVEN HOURS?!?!

Is that possible? How can doing nothing be so exhausting?

Once again I left Emma in the room while I fetched coffee - it must be the five flights of stairs wearing me out - and frittered away time until the next lecture by Dr Ray the geo-physicist/seismologist, this one titled "why is there water?" It was about the origin of the earth, and where the oceans came from.

(Summary: mainly from icy asteroids nudged in our direction by Jupiter's gravity.)

Then reading on Deck 7, with a string quartet playing, followed by a jazz trio. Thankfully, no freaking pan pipes.

For the first time this trip we finally managed not to screw up opening hours and made it to the International Dining Room for lunch. One American, four Aussies from Western Australia. There's a group of 70 or so Western Australians that did some sort of combined package, and it's next to impossible to walk the deck without running into one of them.

Then back to our beloved Deck 14 for more reading, hot drinks and snacks. Especially the peanut butter cookies. Great for reading, as they make the things you read more likely to stick.

One of the interesting things I've noticed is that passengers are more likely to have e-readers and tablet computers than hard-copy books. At a rough guess I'd say the ratio was 1:1:1. There are a few factors at play: e-readers and tablets are easier to lug around, they're increasing affordable (especially for the cruising set), a slightly younger age profile, and because consumer tech is so widespread these days.

The afternoon snoozies hit, and rather than have a nap we went off to the gym. While we were on the walking machine the ship hit something with an almight WHUMMMMP!!!

Emma and I looked at each other and had exactly the same thought. I joked to another passenger that maybe we'd hit a fishing boat, but we knew the truth:

Goodbye, Mr Whale.

(OK, it was probably just a large swell. But there was a cruise ship several years ago that hit what they thought was a large swell, until they arrived in port and had to remove what was left of the whale from the bow of the ship.)

Newly-energised we decided we needed Adventure!

So we rugged up with every layer of thermal clothing we could find, and headed for the top deck to watch a movie. In the open air!!!

Crazy stuff, I know.

If we got too cold we could always leap over the side. It was 7 degrees C/ 55 F on deck, but the water in the Bering Strait was a full degree C warmer.

The crew was freezing, especially  the ones from places like Indonesia, the Philippines and Thailand. It meant we didn't have to queue for our burgers, at the bar, or when picking up our bags of popcorn, and we had our choice of recliners for the movie (Pixar's "Brave" - not a bad film).

Strangely enough, between the open-air bar, pizzeria, and hamburger grill, the place that did the most business was the ice cream sundae shop. Adventure! is one thing, but Stupid! is another.

We were heading in a southerly direction, but still far enough north that we hoped we might see a trace of the Aurora Borealis. If it was out there it was hidden by cloud. 

Oh, well. Guess that's another reason to come back to Alaska.

Day 13: Up, down, sideways, and nowhere (Gulf of Alaska)

The ship finally set sail around 7am, almost 15 hours late. The conditions were marginally better than the night before, although nobody would consider the weather to be "good".

I was bounding with energy, Emma less so, so I volunteered for coffee duty. Down five flights of stairs, no problem. Up five flights of stairs, and I'm puffed. It's going to take a more stairs t0 offset the last fortnight's overeating.

We're going to be spending the next six days at sea. Our adventuring is temporarily grinding to a halt. I might be forced to - gulp - relax.

Since it was too foul on the open decks we propped indoors and read, wrote, and drank coffee until 11am, when I went to see a scientist give a lecture on bad science in movies, especially disaster movies. 

I love this kind of stuff. Sometimes Emma has to hit me during movies when I start complaining after seeing something egregiously stupid in a movie.

The guy giving the lecture was a seismologist (earth-quake dude), so there was quite a bit on earthquakes, although tsunamis, volcanoes, astrophysics, climate change and tornados all popped up as well. 

Some of the blunders are hysterical, like trains outrunning earthquake faultlines (in the real world earthquakes "travel" at 8,000 mph), or scientists enduring thousands of atmospheres of pressure at temperatures of 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit by putting on rubber suits. According to NASA scientists "2012" is the standout failure, the movie they voted "The worst science in a movie. Ever."

This was the first day I really missed not having my ukelele with me. It was the perfect day for finding a quiet nook and plinking away, trying to master Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" and AC/DC's "Back in Black".

We lounged at our favourite spot on the recliners near the covered pool on Deck 14, which affords great views of the ocean, and handy access to the hot drinks and buffet. Emma finished her book (The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo), while I read my science fiction novel and comics on my iPad. 

We had a belated birthday dinner at Sabatini's, the Italian restaurant on ship. The meal was reasonable, although I was surprised that they didn't have any Italian beers or prosecco on the wine menu. I bet Scott of the Antarctic didn't suffer deprivations like this.

After dinner we set out for a walk around deck. I was surprised to find the door was locked. It took me a moment to realise it wasn't actually locked. The 40 knot winds were simply holding it shut.

We decided to pass on the after-dinner stroll.

Tonight we'll be passing between the Alaskan Peninsula and Kodiak Island, where Kodiak bears come from. It's too dark and too far to spot from the ship, but how cool would it be to see bears with cameras?

Day 12: Wind (Whittier, Alaska)

Strictly speaking our Whittier adventures began when we arrived in Whittier 8pm the night before. The captain advised bad weather was on the way, and he was keen to arrive before it hit us in open water.

So we spent the night moored in Whittier, which is smaller than this sentence. It's essentially a port connected by rail and road to Anchorage 100 km/60 miles to the north-west, with 4 km/2.5 miles of this trip via a seriously long tunnel. The town only has two large buildings, one contains 80% of the population, and the other one is abandoned.

So Whittier proper isn't exactly a tourist mecca, although it is a staging point for fishing and sailing tours through the area. 

The storm hit that night, with winds over 48 knots. The gusts hit the ship with enough force to make it shudder and sway. Enough that when I woke up around 2.30am I thought we were back at sea. 

Morning came, and the winds still hadn't dropped. Visibility was only a few hundred meters, only this time due to sleeting rain, not fog.

And we were booked for a four-hour cruise. Oboy.

We went to the tour desk, hoping against hope that the cruise had been cancelled. Nobody there, no signs. So far so bad.

Around 10.15am we went down the laughably inadequately covered walkway, entered the port's main building, and queued up with the others, all of us hoping the tour was cancelled.

It wasn't. 

They gave us our tour stickers and sent us out again into the freezing largely-horizontal rain to board the ship.

The ship had fixed seating, and we were part of a group of six seated by the window.  The rain obscured 90% of the view, and the other 10% was lost due to the windows heating up. 

"Maybe they'll clear when we're underway," I thought, "once most of the other passengers leave the room to hurl over the side".

Then the winds picked up. This is just getting better and better...

After 15 minutes or so the captain came on over the loudspeaker to say that a squall had come in, and he expected it to clear in about 15 minutes. He assured us that, because our ship was a catamaran, once we were out of the narrow passage at the harbour's entrance we wouldn't notice the weather at all.

Yeah. Sure. Why not?

Another 15 minutes passed, accompanied by another "the squall should pass soon" announcement. Emma and I did a rough count of the passengers, and the costs of tickets, and figured there was around $60,000 worth of revenue sitting there. If there was any chance of getting us out the captain was going to take it.

Glumly we rejoined the conversation with the other four (all Aussies, as it turns out).

About 15 minutes after this the captain came back on the intercom again, saying he was weighing up whether to cancel. What a wimp.

Finally, an hour after boarding, he announced he was cancelling the tour.

"Awwww," said one passenger, in a tone of voice without a hint of disappointment. 

They had prepared lunch already, so they allowed us to have that free-of-charge, which was a nice gesture. But a note to Americans: when the English invented fish 'n chips the chips they were referring to was what you call "french fries". I appreciate that the US and England are different cultures and all that, but using potato crisps is tragically, horribly, insanely wrong.

I thought we might do a quick tour of what little there is to see of Whittier, but one 40 knot blast of frozen rain convinced that was a stupid idea, so we re-boarded the Diamond Princess (but not before one member of our group slipped and tripped in the wet, fortunately avoiding serious injury).

So we parked on deck, hot drinks to hand, and read. Unadventurous, perhaps, but it beats the hell out of a four hour spewfest.

We were due to sail at 4.30pm, but the alleged 15 minute squall still hadn't lifted. The Captain announced he was delaying our departure until the winds lessened, probably around 7.30pm.

Emma looked out the window. She watched as sheets of rain fell, were swept sideways, and from time to time whipped back up into the air by the most severe gusts. 

Not-so-incredibly, when we went to the Pacific Moon dining room for dinner at 7.30pm we were still moored. We had a fabulous meal and evening with three Canadian couples at our table, one from Vancouver, one from Montreal, and one from near Winnipeg, and had a marvellous time chatting while waiting for the ship not-to-move.

By 10pm we returned to our cabin , by this stage throughly obsessed with wind speeds. We tuned into the channel showing the ship's position and distance travelled from Whittier (0.0 km/ 0.0 miles), ship's speed (0.0 knots), temperature (around 10 degrees centigrade/50 degrees Fahrenheit), and wind speed (now down to 30 knots).

Yay. Soon we'll leave this bitter desolate ice-hole of a place. We kept watching... no change... watching... no change... watching... no change... until around 11pm wind speeds kicked back up to 45km.

Screw it. We're going to sleep.

Day 11: College, without the exams

This was almost a sea day. We didn't reach College Fjord until after 5pm. 

We ambled up to the atrium, and settled on Deck 7 for a coffee at mid-morning. Turns out the bar doesn't serve coffee, but would be quite happy to get us alcohol. Now I may not actually have much to do, being on holiday, but even so getting hammered at 10am isn't the way I like to relax.

Didn't stop some of the table around us picking up the slack. 

The atrium is one of the key public areas, and often has musicians playing. Today was a soloist playing the pan pipes. While I have very broad musical tastes, but they aren't broad enough to include pan pipes. I can endure them for short periods of time, at the cost considerable teeth grinding that will require a substantial dentist bill to fix.

I was off to get coffee from deck five, having just cracked my second molar, and passed the piper as he was finishing his set. Relief.

Then the audience called out "MORE!"

The next musicians on the schedule were standing by he didn't play an encore.  So I put the knife down and proceeded to order my coffees.

Lunch was another burger from the Trident Bar on Deck 14. We've found the quality of the burgers is much higher than for our first cruise on Princess, and for that matter is generally higher in the restaurants and buffet. 

This isn't necessarily a good thing. I'm eating more-or-less moderately, with a higher percentage of "more" days than I've had on our previous cruises. 

And that's why we finally made our way to the gym.

The gym is about the same size as I remember on the Sun Princess. The difference is that this gym was close to packed, partly due to more passengers on the Diamond Princess, and partly because the median age on  cruise ships seems ten years lower than on our first one.

We returned to our cabin around the time we were entering College Fjord, so Emma welded herself to the balcony. The weather wasn't as kind as it had been in Glacier Bay, with a low mist through most of the fjord. Not enough to prevent us from seeing the closest glaciers, but enough to mute the lighting and give the landscape a subtle monochromatic quality.

Which is very much part of the Alaska experience. And very pretty in its own right.

There was also a slight drizzle, so when I joined Emma she said, "I'd recommend getting something dry to sit on. And the bottle of red."

So I did. 

Which was followed by the bottle of white (hey, I'm allowed a little decadence. I did pass on booze for breakfast.)

Once again I left Emma outside when the cold started freezing my toes together. She refused to leave, vigilantly scouring the seas for signs of life. She kept spotting otters, "popping up like little balloons, lying on their backs, then vanishing again, but the orcas continued to evade her.

They will pay. Someday, somehow, they will pay.

The next day was our last day in Alaska. We were booked on a "26 Glacier tour" on a catamaran. The rain was getting heavier, and we weren't sure what to expect weather-wise.

Certainly not what we got. 

Day 10: Cool. Cooler. Coolest. Cold. (Glacier Bay)

This was the day we were glad we had a cabin with a balcony. We spent most of the day in  Glacier Bay, and most of that time on the balcony.

It was magnificent.

We entered Glacier Bay from Icy Strait (Alaskan geographical labels may not always be poetic, but they're certainly accurate) around 7.30am and, true to form, it was foggy.

Fortunately it cleared shortly after breakfast, without a trace of mist. We heard later from Roger, the National Parks Ranger providing commentary on the ship intercom, that this was the clearest day for weeks.

A mere 218 years ago, when George Vancouver sailed up the coastline Glacier Bay didn't exist. It was a single glacier hundreds of miles long. It rapidly retreated, at a truly blistering pace as measured in geological time, leaving a number of smaller glaciers behind.

Just for the tourists, no doubt. 

So we rugged up with every layer of thermal gear we owned, and

propped ourselves on our balcony, both sets of binoculars and camera ready-to-hand. 

By purest accident we also had the good fortune to be on the port side. That gave us the perfect viewing spot for Reid Glacier, and for glimpses of Lampugh Glacier, as we slowly sailed up Tart Inlet towards Margerie Glacier.

We were able to see quite a bit of detail in the glaciers: crevices, caves, trickling waterfalls, and a considerable amount of the deep blue ice produced by glaciers.

Margerie Glacier was the best of the bunch. The captain brought the ship to a stop a short distance, and after 20 minutes or so slowly began to turn the ship. This was our cue to go to the top deck on the aft of the ship, which gave us a broader panorama. 

The  whole setting was stunning, but Margerie was still the star.

While we propped on the railing we heard an almighty KRAAAAAAAK!!! from the glacier. It sounded like a whip cracking, with that same sharpness, but much bigger and longer. We hoped this meant we'd see a large part of the face fall into the water, but this particular crack came from further up the glacier. 

We heard a number of other cracks while we were there, but that was the one I'll always remember.

Although we didn't see any dramatic falls, we did catch a number of smaller ones. Probably "only" a tonne of ice, still capable of producing a suitably impressive splash.

After Margerie we sailed back south, and then up Johns Hopkins Inlet for a better look at Lampugh Glacier. While watching frozen ice may not sound like the kind of thing that would hold a person's attention for six hours or so, we were so absorbed we forgot to have lunch. 

Mind you, it wasn't just the glaciers. We also spotted several bald eagles, a seal, and a whale between us and Margerie Glacier.

After Lampugh we set off towards the mouth of Icy Strait 100 km/60 miles to the south. We may have left the glaciers behind, but the wildlife show was just beginning. We spotted various sea birds, more eagles, mountain goats, seals, a sea lion, several pods of what could have been porpoises or minke whales, and so many sea otters we lost count.

By late afternoon the temperature was dropping, and I was starting to get cold. Very cold. Very "this is all fabulous but I'm going into the cabin before I lose another finger to frostbite" cold. 

Emma wouldn't budge until we were well beyond the mouth of the bay. She might miss something - after all, where were the orcas?

Eventually darkness overcame even Emma's fortitude, so we went upstairs for a highly nutritious pizza and Alaskan Amber Ale, and watched a movie (The Artist) in the open air cinema. 

Then, being the intrepid explorers we are, we read until we passed out around midnight.

Day 9: Up the creek without a paddle (Skagway)

The weather gods are becoming all to predictable: foggy in the morning, then perfectly clear. Which was a good thing as today we were walking two miles up the Chilkoot Trail, and rafting back down the river. 

Last time we were here we did the White Pass Railway ride up to the Yukon border, one of the two routes into the Yukon during the Klondike Gold Rush. That was marvellous (I do like my train trips), but today was a chance to do something new, and more active.

Our guide, Sam, was like most Alaskans we've met: from somewhere else. In his case, Missouri, having come up here two years ago, with no intention of moving back anytime soon.

We drove up the coast road, and then alongside the tidal flats, which went a long, looong way up the valley. Being a glacial valley the land was compressed for centuries under hundreds of meters of ice. Now that the glaciers have retreated the land is rebounding ("glacial uplift") about 1.5cm/three-quarters of an inch per year, which has the effect of flattening out valley.

Apparently many a prospective gold digger discovered the effect of this the hard way. They landed at low tide, dumped their gear on the shore, took the first load up the valley, and returned to find the rest of their equipment floating out to sea on the high tide.

During the gold rush the Canadian government, tired of watching dumbass hopefuls from the lower 48 coming north and starving to death, required every miner to bring in two tonnes of supplies. Once the White Pass rail opened the city of Dyae at the start of the Chilkoot trail disappeared within days.

But before that many a miner carted their gear 30 miles up the trail we set out on. 

It's not the most difficult trail I've ever walked. It was difficult enough that I would have gone no more than 1 mile before deciding that doing this trip, 30 miles each way, several dozen times just to reach the border, was a Very Bad Idea.

Carrying a back pack and a camera was a breeze.

The forest was quite different from others we've been to. Most of the rocks on the upper path were covered with various types of lichen, and numerous types of mushroom. We had the good fortune of having an amateur mycologist (mushroom expert) from Vancouver in our group, and she was pointing out some of the more interesting species to our guide.

Wildlife was scarce, apart from two red squirrels. The first one put on an unintentionally hilarious display, chattering madly as he tried to drive us out of his territory. So much energy. So little effect.

After walking two miles into the forest we climbed into the raft for the ride back. This was the easiest thing I've done this trip, sitting on the inflated edge and watching Sam do all the work.

The trip down was an absolute delight, and Emma's favourite "wow-I've-never-done-that-before-can-we-do-it-again?" moment of the trip. 

Breathtaking views of the river, forest, and mountains, as well as perhaps half a dozen bald eagles along the banks and flying over the river (pictures to come, once I have extended access to the Internet), and just a hint of Danger - if you consider a tiny bit of white water in an area the size of a bathtub dangerous. 

Still cool, though, sitting on a raft spinning and dipping through that part of the river. And we can always pick a more intense river next time...

Sam drove us back to Skagway (wearing sandals. In Alaska. They go a bit nutty up here), and we walked through the township. This doesn't take long, given the permanent population is only 800, with another 1200 during the tourist season. With four cruise ships in port we probably outnumbered the the locals about 4:1.

We skipped the tourist shops, and passed on the tour of the Red Dog, the town's brothel during the gold rush (a tour Sam described as "fifteen dollars for five minutes"), but did pop into a shop selling local foodstuffs. We picked up fresh hot-smoked salmon, two types of moosetard (mustard with a picture of a moose on the jar; the mustard was excellent, but we'd probably buy one just for the packaging), and a small pack of almond brittle. We passed on the caribous salami; I liked it, too gamey for Emma.

Our final stop was a small restaurant/cafe near the docks, which wasn't overly touristy. I had an Alaskan beer and a "mermaid sandwich" (halibut fillet), Emma went for the salmon patty, both plates overflowing with several kilos of very nice hot chips ("french fries" for US readers). Alaskan portion sizes are like those in the lower 48: huge.

We decided to skip the live show, a ventriloquist (I deal with enough dummies when I'm not on holiday) and the movies under the stars (it just seems wrong to stuff yourself four times a day for a week, then go to watch The Hunger Games).

So another quiet finish, and a good thing, because the next day was going to be a long one. 

Day 8: Glacial progress (Juneau)

And I thought yesterday's fog was bad. Today's was so bad I couldn't see the end of my nose, and I hadn't even left our cabin.

OK, maybe not quite that bad - but it was bad enough I feared we were going to have our helicopter/glacier trek tour cancelled. Considering we had this same tour cancelled on our first Alaskan tour due to bad weather, and that it was the one must-do tour this time around, I was preparing myself for another round of disappointment.

We hoped that the weather might lift, and checked with the desk. Not cancelled - yet - but check again in 15 minutes.  

Fortune smiled. It was on.

We piled on the bus, still surrounded by fog, and had barely left the docks when the fog began to lift. By the time we made it to the airport the weather was glorious. Looking back towards the ship, the area was still shrouded in fog. 

I guess they like to park cruise ships in a semi-permanent fog-bank. Maybe this is deliberate to hide them from the locals.

There were seven of us in our tour group, all from the Diamond Princess, and they kitted us up in preparation for the glacier: waterproof jacket and pants, snow boots, gaiters, harness and a small pack with a few essentials. I felt like Erik the Ice Explorer. On a day tour.

Both Emma and I were assigned to window seats, giving us flawless views as the helicopter set off for Mendenhall Glacier. We flew up the valley south of Mendenhall, only a few hundred meters from the peaks, and close enough to easily spot several clumps of mountain goats.

(For the pedants: whatever the proper collective noun is for a group of mountain goats, it's almost certainly not "clumps". Nonetheless these mountain goats demonstrated clear clump-like behaviour. Descriptive accuracy trumps lexical accuracy, so I'm sticking with clumps.)

As the helicopter arced over the mountain towards Mendenhall I could see the Mendenhall Visitors' Center we went to on our previous visit, on the far side of the lake at the base of the glacier. 

We were going to be a lot closer today...

After another five minutes flying over the glacier we landed near a dome-like tent. Our guides, Ben and Sarah, fitted us up with the rest of our gear, a helmet, ice pick and crampons. Now I was Erik The Ice Explorer, out for at least a week.

First thing I have to say: I love crampons. Ice magnets. 

Crampons are basically removable triangular spikes, about half a dozen point down, two sticking out to the front.. A kickboxer with crampons would be a fearsome sight. 

Having walked on snow I wasn't sure how tiring it might be, but with crampons it wasn't much more effort than regular walking. Only I normally can't walk up 45 degree sloped by slamming my toes into the ground. Now I was Erik the Ice Explorer with Spider-Man wall-climbing powers.

There is something about glaciers that is just awe-inspiring. A mile-wide river of ice carving a valley out of granite mountains. Mendenhall moves something like four inches a day, which means it's always changing. Our guides showed us small streams carving through the glacier that weren't there at the beginning of the season, and flows that had begun as mere trickles several months ago and have since grown into waterfalls.

We had ropes to secure us as we worked our way down to small caves, or to look over the edge of crevices with 80 meter drops, so I felt perfectly safe. And the guides were fantastic, keeping a pace that matched the group's fitness and comfort levels. They did a brilliant job of calming some of the less adventurous members, and building their confidence.

At one point we had the option of crossing a small stream, walking about 15 meters up the cleft, and rounding a corner to look into a small crevice to get a close look at a waterfall. It wasn't particularly difficult, but it looked tricky, and a few members held back. Emma was one, but the guides provided reassurance and assisted her to the end, and she made it easily.

Five minutes after that she was one of the first to tromp up to the edge of the 80 meter drop I mentioned earlier, absolutely fearless. 

I was so proud of her. My own little Erika the Ice Explorer. 

At the start of the trek Ben and Sarah told us the two hours would fly. They were right. The experience was amazing, one that is impossible to capture in words. 

I loved it.

I love the deep blue you see in glaciers, caused by ice so dense it absorbs every hue except that magical, luminescent arctic blue. I love seeing the tiny bits of rock and leaves embedded in the ice,  along with massive twenty-tonne boulders "floating" on the top of the glacier. I love walking under 100 meter walls of ice, breaking over the edge of a cliff like waves, that are dwarfed in turn by mountain peaks hundreds of meters taller still.

Emma says it was one of the peak experiences of her life. She could beat it by walking on the moon, or climbing Mount Everest, but figures both of these are unlikely.

We were euphoric for the rest of the day. 

After returning to Juneau International Airport, we walked through the main town, which takes less time than it,does to write about it. Juneau, capitol of Alaska, is home to a mere 40,000 people. Alaskan cities simply aren't very dense. Unlike their former governor.

Then, in our never-ending quest for good coffee, we tracked down the coffee shop we hit last time in Juneau, the Heritage Coffee Company. Good, but not as good as we remembered. Perhaps the blend was different, or maybe last time it tasted better in contrast to the excreble muck we were served on the ship.

We finished our touring by taking the gondola/tramway to the top of Mount Roberts, overlooking the harbour and township. Not sure how high up, but the ride took four to five minutes at a top speed of "hauling-ass".

There were several nature walks to chose from. I wanted to take the big loop, but we decided against it after we passed a pair of exhausted mud-splattered Aussies dragging themselves to the top of the trail. The smaller loop at the top still gave us a kilometer or two of decent scenery, so there was still plenty to see.

We returned to the ship, had dinner, and capped the day off by becoming Jedi knights: we had drinks in Skywalkers, a nightclub/bar on deck 16 that overhangs the water.

To our delight it was virtually empty, surprising given there are 2,600+ passengers on the ship, so we were able to pick a table next to window.

Then we went back to our cabin and collapsed. I figure we earned an early night this time.

Day 7: Unbearably Neet's (Ketchikan, Alaska)

We woke up in Ketchikan this morning, visibility at approximately crap meters.As we were booked to take a seaplane to Neets Bay this wasn't the best possible news.

Fortunately it cleared up very quickly, and by the time our seaplane took off there were only low-lying pockets of cloud. So low-lying we actually flew over them, giving us breathtaking views of the islands around Ketchikan, their peaks jutting out of lakes made of cloud.

There was one patch of cloud we had to descend through to land in Neets Bay. Now one of the downsides of small planes is that turbulence is much more noticeable, especially when the rear of the plane begins to yaw towards the front. 

I have no idea if these planes can go into a flat spin, and have no desire to find out. Judging by the amount of bone-crushing pressure Emma put on my right hand she found the turbulence even less enjoyable than I did.

We passed through and landed without incident into a beautiful mist-shrouded setting, where we were met by our guide, Puck.

Seriously, Puck, as in "hockey puck". He looked like a wild Alaskan woodsmen, with a long grey beard and a tattoo on the side of his neck.

Neet's Bay was established as a salmon hatchery, now the largest in the world. Something like 12 million a year - not sure about that.

The salmon come in to spawn, and the hatchery take the eggs and the sperm from the salmon (if you're squeamish you may not want to know how. Hint: it involves knives), fertilise the eggs, and dump them into tanks. The "parents" are used as fish meal, while the "children" are managed through various stages until they're around 6-8 cm long (3 inches) and released into the ocean.

Not all at once, our guide pointed out. That tends to attract killer whales. Scratch one year's hatching.

Interesting as all that is, it wasn't why we came to Neet's Bay. 

Walking along the path from the dock to the river the guide told us we should remember to look up into the trees. We looked up, and there about 10 meters/30 feet up was a black bear.

That's why we were in Neet's Bay. 

The bear took no notice of us. Black bears generally aren't interested in people, so there was no danger he'd climb down and make trouble. Brown bears (AKA grizzlies) do like a bit of trouble. 

He took us to the river, and we waited in a light drizzle hoping another bear would show up to feed at the river.

We didn't get another bear.

We got two.

The first one ambled down around  lazily swept a salmon out of the river, and started chomping away. After a few minutes he popped it in his mouth, wandered halfway back to the woods before round two of the chomping.

Several minutes later a second bear showed up, and headed towards the river. So now we had two to watch, maybe 15 meters/50 feet away.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay cool.

As I said to Puck as I was getting back on the plane, "best animatronics I've ever seen."

"Should be," he said, "we spent a fortune on 'em."

Jokes aside it was freaking AWESOME. Many shades of awesome. Love it.

Back in Ketchikan we carefully avoided the jewellery shop were we encountered Joe on our first visit (we still awake in cold sweats at the memory of that; details in our first travel blog), and wandered around the historic section of town for a while. This time the tide was up, sparing us the sight and smell of dying salmon.

Worn out, Emma collapsed around 9.30, while I caught anothe movie on the top deck. It was freezing, and we had another early night, so I should have simply gone to bed.

But it was The Avengers, and I've only seen it three times.  I can sleep on the next sea day.

Day 6: Dolphins for coffee, whales for dinner

Finally a day to do - nothing.

Apart from wandering through the ship, 

The most difficult part of the day was sorting out my Internet connection. Which proved to be more painful than I could have ever have imagined.

We did our first round of the ship via the promenade deck, and tried to work out the layout of the ship. Every time we thought we had it worked out we'd find ourselves on the wrong deck/wrong side/wrong end of the ship.  

That was pretty much it. We sat down for coffee around 11am, ordered a latte and a cappuccino, and we're delighted to find that the quality had improved by an order of magnitude. 

Topping off the coffee experience was the appearance of several dolphins. We saw three of them jumping through the waves perhaps one hundred meters off the port bow. The buzz rippled through the coffee lounge, and soon there were a few of us gathered at the windows. 

One of the dolphins enhanced the moment by popping up just below our window, doing dolphin tricks. This is the kind of stuff that I love about cruising.

Then I slept. Watching dolphins is hard work.

At dinner, not wanting to be overshadowed by their smaller cousins, a pod of whales showed up off the port bow (always the port bow - go figure). There, we're a dozen possibly more, pacing the ship for 15-20 minutes or so.

As with the dolphins, one their members took centre stage and did a rather spectacular breech. I only caught the end of it, and it was still phenomenal to watch.

We ended the evening watching "Snow White and the Huntsman" on the big open-air screen on the top deck. Not a bad film, despite starring the "Twilight" chick, and would it have been better if it was bloody freezing. Kind of like watching an outdoor movie in Alaska, oddly enough.

It was good we had a quiet day. We had to be rested for our next adventure, which was so exciting it was almost more than we could - bear.

Day 5: Boarding. Like pirates.

I like midday checkouts. They're so much more civilised than the 10am "hit the streets, vermin scum" checkouts we get at home.

We had to board the ship sometime between 1 and 3pm, so we took our time. In the lift on the way out a couple got in with two King Charles Spaniels. It seems the Westin has several pet-friend rooms. Also civilised (Aussie hoteliers take note).

We asked what their names were, and the woman answered "Molly" and "G'niece".

"G'niece?" 

"Yes, like G'niece the bear."

"We're from Australia. Is this some Canadian children's character?"

"No, G'niece like the bear from Ireland."

"The bear from - wait, do you mean *Guinness* the *beer*?"

And she did. First complete total accent derailment I've had for a long time.

Before heading to the port we stopped in to Tim Horton's. On our first visit to Canada we loved Tim Horton's It was fast foodish, but good fast food, with baguettes, french onion soup, panini, and similar items, well-priced and decent quality.

These days, not so good. I don't know if the Tim Horton's we had in Quebec were simply better, of if quality has been downgraded since they were bought out by the people who own the Wendy's hamburger restaurants, but they've now been struck off our list.

When we got to the docks the processing happened at record speed. I thought we'd be on the ship in fifteen minutes.

 And then US Homeland Security got involved. 

It isn't entirely clear why customs in a Canadian port is being handled by the US Government. My best guess is that the US Government made access to Alaskan ports via Vancouver conditional on Homeland Security handling the processing. I guess it's not a job to be left to a terrorist enclave like Canada.

Travellers on US and Canadian passports were allowed to proceed straight through. Everybody else was shunted to a holding pen and allowed to enter the queue in dribs and drabs. I elected to stay with Emma, and we had to wait over an hour before we were allowed to queue up. 

During this time we were forbidden to use any device with the capacity to take photos. The room was essentially a featureless box with crappy black folding chairs. I suppose it's possible that al Qaeda operatives are desperately trying to find out the exact specifications of the walls and chairs for some deeply nefarious purpose, but I'm skeptical.

I shouldn't complain too much. It does provide a wonderful piece of political theatre that is much easier than implementing more effective security measures that aren't as visible to US voters, and it does give ex-criminals a source of semi-legitimate employment.

Once we were past that charade the day improved. Our cabin on the Dawn Princess is outstanding. It's roomy, heaps of storage and hanging space, and the balcony is big enough to throw a party on. The only minor quibble is the lack of a bathtub. Overall no real complaints.

For the sail-out we sat at the back of the ship with a bottle of Italian pinot gris. Worse ways to pass the time.

After dinner we went to our first live show, a combination of dance numbers, a quick meet-the-crew spiel, and a rather entertaining magician comedian. The show had a touch of typical cruise-ship cheesiness, but it was better than I usually expect.

Oh, and it was my birthday. Emma remembered while we were waiting in customs, turning suddenly and saying "I almost forgot. Happy Birthday."

"That's OK," I replied. "I had forgotten."

Who cares about birthdays when there are Adventures to be had?

Day 4: Victorious!

Best day yet. We made sure we were on time for our 9am flight to Victoria, Vancouver Island.

By sea plane.

Flying is always cool, but doing it from the water adds an additional factor of cool. I was surprised how smooth the takeoff was. Barely noticed.

Then, as is the case with small aircraft,  we were able to enjoy the trip from low altitude. The view at 2,500 feet on a clear day from Vancouver to Victoria is amazing. We had excellent views of the islands dotting the river, and right up the coastline of the mainland and Victoria Island.

On the flight over I struck up a conversation with Bill, who turned out to be the manager of Magnolia, a boutique hotel in Victoria. It also turned out that he was an excellent impromptu tour guide. Bill grew up in Victoria and still loved it. The population is around 500,000 - large enough to offer most facilities and services associated with major cities, small enough to avoid most of their vices.

It also has a more temperate climate and less rain. Days were typically no colder than 5-10 degrees centigrade in the winter, in the mid-high 20s in summer, and with 1/3rd the rain of Vancouver. Basically the rain-bearing clouds pass over Victoria, hit the mountains east of Vancouver, and shed bucketloads.

After landing we asked for directions. Bill pointed us in the right direction, and then offered us a complementary breakfast at the Magnolia. It's a beautiful hotel, with a late 19th century aesthetic in keeping with that part of the city, but actually only 12 years old.

We wandered, admiring the architecture most of which has a delightful old-world feel in this part of Victoria, before stumbling across several shops where Emma bought three new dresses. Emma's pre-trip planning included selecting, washing, and ironing four dresses, but glitched at the packing stage. It worked out for the best as all three of her purchases were fabulous, especially the last one we picked up on special from the designer. 

As hoped to find Rebar, the coffee shop we stopped in on our last all-too-brief visit to Victoria. Cake tins along the eaves, plastic dinosaurs on the ledges, an Elvis mosaic and good coffee - what's not to like?

Our major stop for the day was 30 minutes north at the Butchart Gardens. Originally a limestone quarry for a cement-maker, Mrs Butchart, a keen gardener, was challenged by a friend to rehabilitate the landscape in the 1920s.

So she did.

The Sunken Garden in the old quarry is brilliant. With little more than the remnants of the limestone cliffs and a lump of rock sitting in the middle she transformed the setting with magnificently coloured beds of flowers, vines creeping up the walls, trees, ponds, and a spectacular fountain at the far end.

Being a bit of a mad gardener herself, Emma loved it, stealing the camera from me and snapping away.

There are other themed gardens as well, a rose garden, a wonderfully serene Japanese garden designed by a Japanese master gardener and with trees donated by the Emperor of Japan (my personal favourite), a classic Italian garden which Emma adored due to its aesthetic richness and elegance.

We spent over two hours walking the gardens, and could have spent more. It was stunning. One woman who passed by credited the beauty to God's handiwork. I was more inclined to attribute the beauty to 3.5 billion years of evolution and a century of dedicated gardeners, but at least we agree that it was beautiful.

The ultimate highlight for the day was the flight home. I got to sit in the co-pilot's seat.

This was my first time in the cockpit of a flying plane, and I loved it. The pilot offered a passenger to sit up front, and as Emma had the seat in the front of our last helicopter ride she told me to take it. I considered graciously declining for perhaps all of two seconds, then bolted up the front.

I had the full co-pilot experience, short of taking the controls (which would have been a bad, bad idea), looking all pilot-like with my sunnies, cap and wearing the headset. I ruined the look by snapping photographs like a novice tourist, but who cares?

Another extraordinary flight, this time with the setting sun. Bliss vs elation.

After landing (and I can't get enough of landing on water) I turned to the pilot and said, "that was six kinds of awesome". 

Seriously, seriously buzzing for the rest of the night.