Ferry, Haines to Prince Rupert, Malaspina, Alaskan Marine Highway

A voyage in dreamland... ..

That rest on the ferry was really the best part.

So, were you expecting a little tugboat looking thing? -- Ferry 1st sight --- I was. Wow, I saw this huge ship steaming down the channel, and kept looking behind it for the ferry. That's IT. The Malaspina, over 400' long and can take 500 passengers. It's part of the Alaska Marine Highway System, and that's where the nice lady works.

And the lady DID say, "we can always get another biker on" --- Ferry bike 'tiedown' --- didn't she?

NO, there is no gas in that red jug. I swear. That is my sorry one next to the red gas can. I also swear the duffel bag was hung like that on purpose. It did not fall off when I went over a little bump.

My front fender is really black, painted that way from the factory. Notice the other guys all have windshields and clean bikes. ‘Wish I had class. This is the bike area at the front (bow) of the parking lot, and my heels are at the very edge of the lower deck. The huge doors close where I'm standing, and as you see I'm on the wrong side of the safety rope. Dean and Loren, though, can attest that I'm an experienced foredeck man, and never get in trouble there, just ask them. I ask the lady if there will be any salt spray getting in? She gave me a dirty look and said if we get any, your bike may be your last worry. I guess ferry operators get nervous when you question whether water comes aboard.

The Alaskan Marine Highway guidebook gives stern instructions that all motorcycles must be tied down, and no access will be permitted while under way. I can attest that they never let me down to check on my bike more than once while under way. Although I was one of the few bikers who carried a length of stout rope, neither I nor anyone else in this group tied their bike to anything. Nada, nothing, just park it, athwartship, please, and leave it in gear. Mine is not the lightest color, it is just covered with so much gray mud that it looks that way.

At least they gave me my own personalized, stenciled parking space. None of the Gold Wings got such courtesy, did they, Virginia?

We got under way at 2:30. It is sunny, crowded. All passengers seem to be out and about, some are rubbernecking like yours truly, some intently settling in for favored positions, the choice of which is unfathomable to me. Kids are playing kickbag. The guy with the best sunshine position on the after deck, with the outstanding panoramic view of the fantail, proceeds to unroll the most expensive sleeping bag. Now, not to be catty, but I watched him fight the zipper for 25 timed minutes, give up, and go to sleep on top of it.
The coastline views are hypnotic, scrolling past quietly like a diorama ride in old Disneyland.

It starts to rain, nobody cares. We stop at Juneau, but the bustle and crowd surges don't fit my mood, I'm feeling contemplative, and there is no time on the stopover to sightsee.
Beaver on Ferry!

We get a wing waggle from a friendly Beaver. He's looking our way, and so are his passengers. The rain is streaming under his hood, I bet that is doing his motor good... .

The couple to my right start a friendly conversation. They are going home to Juneau, with their six daughters. This young man, friendly enough, looks just older than my son Jeff. While I'm trying to sort out what emotion this evokes in me, BANG! comes the worst instant of the trip so far.

[Maybe for you too, since here comes another story.]

The announcer, never before heard, blares over the P.A. system that everybody should ... .
(Please, pause with me for a moment.

I have to tell you I'm a long way from Indiana, feeling a little guilty for spending hard-earned money on an effete cruise when I should be the iron-butt Harley driver blazing down the highway. I'm also homesick, I miss Judy.
When I envisage home, the flashbacks in my image-rendering head are first Judy, then my backyard. I promised you a picture, and it is coming (trust me), but that backyard is on a beautiful lake. The shoreline is home to not only me but... .

Now, back to that announcer):
... look to Starboard! -- he shouts.

Everybody in the crowd looks in random directions, including up and down. I swivel instantly to starboard -- and I could be home! There, floating gently on huge wings, is a Great Blue Heron! -- the twin of the one who rests and hunts from my dock and the stern of my little boat.

I'm flummoxed. No excuse, but I had the 21mm wide angle lens mounted, after all this is landscape country, and it never occurred to me to even try for the 70-200 long shooter. There he was, all eight feet of wingspan, on the same level as the handrail, ghosting along looking absolutely paleolithic. Every feather perfect, time standing still, beak and eyes gleaming in the sun, and not moving a muscle, just gently gliding and soaring and taking my heart back home.
You tattooed hard guys with chains for belts can look away, there are tears coming out my eyes, and my beard is wet. I miss home, Judy's face is better than the best view on the planet. That damned bird.

The ferry is going dead upwind, which works out well for the enclosed afterdeck. The observation platform is semi enclosed. I jump up every once in a while and shoot glaciers in my stocking feet, then get back to relaxing on the lounge chair.

Half way between Haines and Juneau, the fog socks in and we can see only one mile.
The one humpback whale was out about ½ mile and then the fog did really hit. Damn. All (or most) of the passengers get off at Juneau. After that, the observation deck went from about 125 people to being usually deserted. Now there are six of us. One guy, the only smoker, is telling all who will listen about cutthroat competition in the tour bus business. I am writing this in part to pointedly ignore him. As soon as the two German girls start talking to themselves in German, he leaves. It is now steady, pouring rain. The fog and cold wind change the mood of the ship. Although I have totally lost the scenic views, I am grateful that I am not driving my bike in it. The crewman assures me that I would have these conditions if I were on the road. I want to believe it. He knowingly looks from side to side in the channel and nods approvingly.

Time for an anecdote?
After all, this is not just a travelogue. Between Haines Junction and Haines, I stopped at the 33 mile outpost (bar). Gas-and-two-beers is my plan. This guy asks to join me. He looks rough as can be, but I guess so do I, so we sit out on the front porch. He gives me a Rainier Ale and says he just got out of 18 months for DUI. Now I’m in trouble. He says, for example, you can live up here and never go to the store. Moose, bear right outside of the bus window. I say nothing and he says, "sure, look right over there." Yup, there is an old yellow bus on a dirt path leading up the hillside. He says he gets plenty of salmon within 100 yards.

I start rubbernecking around, so as not to be too involved with this conversation, and the lady at the next picnic table answers when I ask, “Having a good trip?” Now this is the most common greeting there is on the road. Her answer is “The fishing is closed for ‘Silvers” (salmon) and she goes on and on. I then realize she is actually addressing the guy to my left. He says “No, its not” and so starts an argument that continues for some time, while I’m drinking his beer. After a while, he gives her one and I’m off the hook. I’m ready to leave; they are talking about knowing the same DNR guy and she up and calls him. She wins the bet on the fish, and we both get another beer, because she said I started it. I accept, no need to be rude. Then they start discussing some third party: Here goes the anecdote.

The only woman on an Alaskan crab boat survives on an island for two weeks, after a shipwreck.
She lives with the memory that her boyfriend and the rest of the crew drowned. She sues the company, because of poor maintenance and management (dead captain's) mistakes for which she is a witness. They settle, she gets rich and buys a big house. I say wow. The guy then says that’s not the story. It hasn't yet started.

The woman comes to realize that some of the company guys now hate her, for damaging the business. One of them, convicted twice for violent crimes, comes to rape her in the big new house. She belts him with a firewood stick and dazes him. She went and got her gun, when he still kept coming, with a knife. She shot him in the leg, twice. He is down and she calls the cops. The guy admitted everything when the police came. The cops keep the knife. In the hospital, however, he changes his story. They both got drunk in her house and she misinterpreted him, and she just shot him. She of course denies this and then and there takes a blood alcohol test (sober). He then sues for all her money and wins; he's a cripple you know. He was never prosecuted for the attack. After years go by, they move to take her house, land, new business that she had started, etc.. When they came in force to seize the holdings, she burns down the business, the barn, and the guest A-frame house. Then she goes into her big house and breaks the big propane line. When the house fills to the top, she blows it and herself to hell.

These two people I’m talking to don’t seem to know each other. But each of them adds parts of the story. They seem to agree on all of it. The guy next claims to be the former fiancé of the deceased. The school bus actually used to belong to her, and was tendered in trade for handiwork done. Agreed. The woman to my right then claims to have organized a ‘memorial’ at her house, to which many of the town came. The guy present did not attend, although he heard of it. The rapist is long gone. The detective who did not investigate or charge the rapist is gone. “If either one of them comes back, - there is a lot of silt in the river” seems to summarize the plan of several of the town’s more honorable men. He thought about what he had just said. His eyes got so cold the chill froze my kidneys. I turned back to the woman and she had a distant look, a gaze up to the tree tops, and her face got sharply chiseled with stress. I left about that time. These two were getting along fine, and I look forward to a research mission one of these days to check out the story. Want to help?

Back on board, I look up from my little green spiral bound notebook, and the tour bus guy is checking bearings on his hand held GPS. I wish I had that when I took the wrong turn in the forest. Ach. Later, the vaunted solarium roof leaks badly, the winds blow the spray and it swirls to every corner. Judy, I refuse to book a stateroom, even though most are now empty. They are locked, I checked, so I can't just borrow one. It is cold. A German ceramics engineer and I discuss valves, nozzles, and the latest fibered structures. She gives me some schnapps and now I'm tired. Its raining steadily, and the fog cuts visibility to less than 500 feet. Nothing to see at all, I wander in to the theater, and find the carpet is cushy, the heat is up strong, and my jacket still makes the best pillow. Ah. Twelve hours sleep in the aisle. Lost my little black pocket knife. Morning finds steady rain, fog, several humpbacks and some dolphins. We are out of the glaciers, and visibility is dismal. Ferry Ride MAP

We must have stopped at Petersburg during the night, but I must have missed it. Damn.

I go in and check out the cafeteria, but again, it didn't strike my fancy. Somehow, don't tell, I got to my bike and broke out my last handful of Fancy Mixed Nuts, and just a little sip from the warm-juice flask. It is still raining you know. Then I'm up on deck and looking innocent. This is just before the mighty Vehicle Access Call. The real way to do it, I find, is to take the elevator (rather than an unmarked ladder behind an unlocked hatch over by the... .oops, one of these days, ask me about how Jerry and some other fool got into the gun turrets on the Missouri, just like Steven Segal, but years before Viet Nam).
Do you know why there is a Vehicle Access Call? Swarms of otherwise normal looking (for these climes) people go and let their DOGS out so they can crap on the nice clean deck! I'm forced to go through the big old ropes again, and take a pull on the pull flask, just to settle my nerves. Next, here sidles up this skinny guy, with a gun on his hip, watching me redo the ropes and cinch them down tight so nothing falls off. He asks me some noncommittal questions and keeps hanging around. I finally mention that I do appreciate the time to mind my bike before the big doors open. He says "Your time has been up over 15 minutes ago, you can't take your bike ashore until you debark at your destination, and I have to escort you out of here!" and his voice is rising in pitch. I finish the knots in one minute. I'm up the elevator and he disappears. Up walks the nice lady, blonde hair all done up freshly, to meet me about five steps from the elevator. She is the one who told me to park the bike athwartship, just as natural as can be. I suddenly realize I left the Nikon under the engine. She smiles knowingly, and says she will escort me back, I can't be down there by myself. After I get the camera, she deposits me back in the passenger area personally, firmly.

Soon, we're putting in to Ketchikan. Now, I'm ready to stretch my legs and try shoreside. Slightly short of leisure time, I'm heading away from the waterfront bars and tourist magnets, and a few streets back I find an antipasto salad. Just past the Best Western Fine Dining and Lounge, see the 'Ocean View' Italian restaurant. Very small, absolutely no view of any water except the rain, but clean as a pin and friendly, even to the galoot stumbling in out of that rain; who might just have slept in his clothes again. We discuss the fine points of antipasto, and not wanting the artiste to be rushed, I drop the eating part of my shore leave and order it to go. Wise move, I make it back just in time and settle in for an open air feast on the fantail. This is the life. As my favorite uncle Tony says, I'll just sit in the back and criticize.

On to Prince Rupert.
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