Misty Fjords, Alaska

This morning's news reported a tragic crash in Misty Fjords of 2 of the bush planes (float) so common for transportation in a state where water abounds but roads don't. My memories of the location came rushing back, a particular high point in a cruise trip which my late mother-in-law brought me on many years ago.

This was the trip where, among other things, I hauled along my Pentax K1000 camera, still my favorite ever, with a supply of 36 rolls of 36 exposure film, Kodak Ektar for its very fine grain, and shot every single frame of them. This was despite my very modest budget and having to pay to develop each into prints. Yeah, people thought I was nutty. However, as a thank-you to her, that X-mas I presented her with a large photo album with a representative half of those photos. It was returned to me upon her death. I treasure all of them. I trust she knew how much I appreciated the opportunity, if she hadn't earlier.

It was incredible to her that, upon receiving her invitation to join her since two tickets had been purchased and her planned trip-mate was unable to come, I had to consider whether I could afford to take the time off of work in order to accept her incredible gift. Yes, that's how modest my budget was. I'm sure she was offended that I didn't immediately jump on her offer - which emotionally I did - but perhaps years later came to understand my economics, raising three children without benefit of child support payments. It took me years before I was willing to admit to her some of the flaws of her son.

We flew from MSP up to Fairbanks, looking down on some fantastic scenery along the way. This started as a land trip: river rides, gold panning, viewing examples even then of the issues with building a house over permafrost.  Waking in the wee hours, I found out just how absent dark skies were at that longitude in early July. I also was impressed by how the light levels managed to grow humongous cabbages in nearly every garden. I think two would fill a pickup bed. Maybe three.

My first ever train ride took us down to Denali, where the group toured the park by bus and were pointed in the direction of where the peak was (always) hiding behind clouds. Braided rivers fascinated me, along with the blonde grizzly bears. A little garden tour introduced me to monk's hood, along with stern warnings of how deadly it was, even just to touch without washing.

All meals were taken care of during the trip, except for Denali. I was shocked at lunch to find a modest sandwich, banana and (Coke?) totaled over $21. I had thought I was hungry but definitely not enough to eat (spend) more than that.

Our train was a double decker, the top of each car sporting a glass dome where we could see at eye level abundant bald eagles in the pines lining the tracks. Mountains, meadows, streams were also in view. On the way downstairs to have lunch, we could step out to the platform between cars, hang onto a railing, lean over and watch fishermen taking advantage of the seemingly endless red salmon swimming upstream when the rivers meandered close to the tracks.

From Anchorage we bused to Seward where our cruise ship awaited. I can't recall its exact name, but Holland America's ships all bear names like Amsterdam and Rotterdam, or as our captain would say, "all those other Dam Ships." It was a lovely ship, fantastic food, great staff, and a sweet little cabin with twin beds, a mini living room, and bathroom with tub/shower facilities. We also had a window to the outside with no balcony deck outside on our level, affording us open drapes with complete privacy.

The ship also offered evening entertainment, useful as a time-killer, a casino which neither of us bothered to enter, a bar, ditto, and swimming pools which my body image prevented me from entering and joining all those hardbodies in bikinis. In other words, the best part of the cruise was getting off the ship. Fortunately, those trips were well worth going on.

We flew over glaciers, whale watched in a boat that had to call the ship to report us arriving back late so they wouldn't leave port without us because there had been too many whales worth watching, particularly the humpbacks busy bubble-net feeding. We hiked through a Sitka rain forest sampling ripe salmonberries which are a poor imitation of raspberries, toured old Russian churches, enjoyed a meal where we watched sturdy young men with hefty poles chase bears away from the huge outdoor salmon grill which was attracting them from miles away, and had melted glacier water to wash the food down.  When a flight was grounded by fog, a boat took us around the waterways for close up views of grizzly and black bears, moose, foxes, sea lions and seals, eagles, and whatever else might be around. Which it was. Reliably. On a walk along a dock returning from a trip, we looked down into a swarm of moon jellies, some quarter size, some hand size. A canning factory dumping fish waste in the ocean supported a huge number of eagles fighting over the pieces, with the occasional gutsy gull sneaking its own turn at the feast.

Misty Fjords stood out, even after all of that. Ketchikan itself was not awe inspiring. The city is on the edge of an island at the southern part of the Inside Passage, separated from its airport on another island, the only transportation between being by ferry. The "Bridge to Nowhere" was proposed to replace the ferrys, but never built. It was our launching place to our true destination, Misty Fjords National Monument Wilderness.

This was a two-fer journey. One either flies out in a bush plane to a dock, transferring to a small boat which brings you back along the shore, or boats out and flies back. Each plane or boat takes a different set of passengers each way, never deadheading. We flew low enough that we missed the true picture of how high we were climbing on the way, missing the true impact of mountainous terrain. It was the return trip which resides in memory.

Our captain gave us plenty of warning to get our cameras out before we came around the bend. He promised a sight we would likely never see again. A whale had beached and died, or perhaps died and washed up, several days earlier. We'd all never know, and it didn't matter. Most of the carcass lay up out of the water. Busy taking advantage of their feast were both bears and eagles, enough of a feast spread that they weren't doing any more than a token claiming of territory for their meal. Luckily, we were upwind, particularly as the boat was maneuvered in as closely as safety allowed. This was to be the only time in our lives when we would be able to see a whale, bears, and eagles in the very same picture. We all soaked in the view for almost a half hour, imprinting the scene in our collective brains.

While today's plane crash arouses sorrow, the lingering connection in my heart will always be to that pause in our trip back.