The Ferry Trip And The First Night In Alaska

In deciding to take the Port Townsend ferry to Whidbey Island, it afforded me the opportunity to cover ground where I had never been before, but after touching down on the island and setting off, I realized that it might end up being the least scenic of all the areas I had covered in the Pacific Northwest up to that point; flat with little view of either water or mountains. The ride was pleasant enough, though, and I was getting excited at the prospect of seeing the ferry docked in port, ready to receive its passengers and begin the adventure northward. After an amazing crossing over the Deception Pass Bridge that joins Whidbey Island to the mainland, I chugged along Route 20 north, closing in on Bellingham.

The view from on top of the bridge.

When I reached Bellingham, I headed straight for the ferry terminal, knowing that they insisted that you sign in several hours in advance of the departure time. I stood in line, picked up my tickets, and hustled back to my bike. It was almost 2:30, and even thought the boat wouldn't sail until six, they would be preparing to board vehicles by three.

After a quick stop at the grocery store (as if I wasn't carrying enough already), I pulled into the port, and at 3:02, parked my bike next to a row of ten or so motorcycles, all with the same intention; making the trip to Alaska. I swapped stories with some of the riders, discovering that many of them had made the trek before, so I tried to glean as much information as I could from them; which roads to take, which roads to avoid, and anything else that would minimize problems. When the crew finally ushered us on, a wave of adrenalin rushed through my body as I pulled the bike up on to the ship ; the reality of what I was doing had set in.

My first look at the Columbia in dock.

By the looks of it, I had more stuff on my bike than pretty much everyone else combined... Be prepared, right?

The bikes, strapped down in the lower car deck of the ship.

Yup, that's me right in the middle. I paved the way for a bunch of other backpackers to get the courage to pitch their tents on the other side of the railing, as well. Always a trend setter...

The view from the aft deck before we set out.

I made my way to the aft decks as soon as I was parked and the bike was secured with tie down straps on the lower deck of the ship. The backpackers had already taken most of the prime spots, the upper deck levels now covered with tents of every shape, size and color. I finally threw caution to the wind and pitched mine in the foremost section of the lower aft deck, in front of most of the other tents but hopefully not so much in the way of foot traffic that the crew would ask me to move it. Until someone said otherwise, for the next two and a half days, it was going to be home.

Within the first hour of breaking free of the dock, I caught sight of both killers whales and seals, and it set the bar high for everyone's expectations as to how much wildlife we were going to see on our journey. The killer whales, according to the ship's captain, were more animated than usual, surfacing head-first out of the water as well as the trademark appearance of their dorsal fin. The sun eased into the horizon, and we were on our way.

The next two days moved at the same leisurely pace as the ship itself. Gliding through the waters of the Inside Passage, the views of the Tongass National Forest, although sometimes obstructed my cloud cover, were amazing.  The duration of the journey gave me a chance to experience every part of the ship, from the "movie lounge" (two flat panel TVs playing documentaries about Alaska and obscure, family-friendly movies from a VCR), to the port viewing decks, perfect places to read, write, stare at the scenery, or just take a nap. The ship even had shower and laundry facilities, which, for someone who was still getting reacquainted with the difficulties the road makes with keeping up on hygiene, was a welcome sight.

The setting of the sun the evening of the first day on the ship. This would be the last time we would see the sun for the rest of the trip.

Home sweet home. I've owned this tent for almost twenty years, and it's still a thrill to pitch it everywhere I go...

Even though it was rainy and cloudy for much of the trip, the landscape was still absolutely beautiful.

On the second day, we had to cross through an extremely narrow part of the Inside Passage, which can only be navigated by steering the ship between these concrete markers.

You can see from this picture just how close we were getting to the shore while in the most narrow section of the Inside Passage. Pretty tight for such a big ship.

Cool fishing boats.

The dock in Petersburg, Alaska.

Artsy pics while docked in Petersburg. Diagonals, photo students, it's all about the diagonals...

Sea lions chilling out on a buoy.

Drying out my tent on the morning before arriving in Haines.

I got some pretty good looks at some glaciers on the last morning of the trip.

The morning of our docking in Haines brought even more rain, but I was able to break down the tent and, with the help of the heated solarium on the upper deck, dry everything out before packing it away. The adrenalin rush was back, and when they finally announced that the car deck was open to passengers and I started to load the bags back on the bike, sweat began pouring down my forehead, and I felt a little light headed. I told myself that it was because the car deck was so hot and I was wearing all of my layers of gear, but something inside of me knew better; the adventure was beginning, and my body was just sending me a reminder. The drive off the ship felt surreal, as if I were part of a spacecraft's landing party, setting foot on some new planet for the first time. One small step for art teachers...

Yeah, THAT"S how we do it from Jersey!

With the aid of my Lonely Planet guidebook, I easily found the Haines hostel, a series of small cabins tucked off in the woods a mile or so outside of town. At first it looked like I was all alone for the night, the hostel owner heading back to his property in the woods across the road after collecting my money, and no other travelers having checked in at that point. I had an uneasy feeling inside as I walked around the grounds, alone in the woods in a part of the world I had never been before. I phoned a friend to hear a familiar voice, when a man in his late 70s appeared in the kitchen area I had been sitting.

The kitchen cabin at the Bear Creek Hostel. Rustic.

My dorm cabin was the second from the right. Unfortunately, it wasn't decorated with moose antlers like some of the others...

His name was Dallas, and he had driven from Montana, as curious as I was to see this part of the world. He was almost completely bald with a round, cartoonish face that crinkled often as he spoke, and a stuttery affect when he spoke that was as animated as his features. He spoke quickly and often, and it was a delight to sit down with him and hear his stories.

Dallas retired early, but more guests arrived, this time a young Israeli couple in their early 20s. We ended up talking for much of the night, laughing and sharing stories of our travels. They reminded me so much of myself at that age, eager to see as much as possible, ready to do whatever they had to to accomplish that, even if resources were limited. I laughed to myself that, after twenty years, I suppose I was still doing the same thing; and loving every minute of it.  I went to bed well fed and ready for sleep, excited to spend my first full day exploring Haines in the morning.