Today I will leave the Hilton and continue my adventures in Alaska.
It's chilly - a real Alaskan morning.
I take a taxi to the station where, because the trains are still not running, there are replacement buses laid on for passengers.
I am met by a scene of complete anarchy.
Passengers wander about aimlessly, joining any line they happen to come across. The staff of Alaska
Railroad - the railway company -are trying to inject some order into the chaos, but it is a difficult situation. The cause of the problem is that, in Alaska, we have to check in our luggage just like at the airport. This means that we can only keep our hand-baggage; everything else must be checked in.
Strong hands grab the suitcases and place them on carts which then disappear from sight.
This makes everybody tense, right from the start.
The luggage-loading platform has been moved outside the station, and rioting passengers have to be ordered to the correct check-in line or directed to the right bus.
Eventually people begin to relax, and find the right line; buses are coming and we are boarding. In America all the cars are huge, and buses don't want to be left out. Beside me the enormous engine roars. Our driver is a portly, elderly man; his Texan hat looks slightly out of place here, and - probably to compensate for the inconvenience - he gives us a running commentary as we go along. We go south along the Alaska Highway; on our right is a tidal marshland, and on the left are mountains, towering up over the road.
I began my day feeling tired, so it doesn't take long for me to doze off. I am almost fast asleep, when the driver's monotonous drone suddenly changes. "MOUNTAIN GOATS ON THE LEFT SIDE!" He yells.
I'm on the left side, staring up the mountainside, and yes, there actually are three white goats - a shortsighted Japanese man next to me shouts that they are deer - grazing on the neck-breakingly steep rock wall. There's one female, another I'm not sure about, and I can only see the rump of the third. But they are definitely mountain goats! Having seen them in the zoo, I am now seeing my quarry in the wild for the first time! Standing so high above us it would be very difficult to work out the correct angle of fire. Both of us are lucky that I wasn't carrying my gun at the time. I have to say that the female Dall sheep is easily mistaken for a mountain goat, especially at a distance, and in fog; I shall have to take care. I decide that I must ask my guides to explain how to spot the difference quickly.
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After two hours on the bus we finally arrive at Seward. The weather has not improved; it's cold and rainy. As usual I'm wearing shorts; not a good choice for my journey today.
At the final bus-stop the anarchy of Anchorage continues.
According to the original plan we are to be met by representatives from Kenai Fjords Travel who will drive us by minibus to the harbour, where we will start the day's program immediately.
Normally this goes simply and smoothly, but the damned rockfall has upset everything. Our bus arrives, not at the railway station, but at some kind of tent city, where again chaos rules. The local staff of Alaska Railroad are having an argument with the drivers of the replacement buses; the employees of Kenai Fjord Travel are quarrelling with both of them, and the passengers are falling out with everybody, especially each other. Finally, I discover which minibus to get on to take me to the harbour, but ... my checked-in suitcases are not here! It turns out that, by mistake, they have been put on another bus, but I'm not to worry as that bus should also be on its way to Seward - or not, opinions
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vary - only a little later. This is not good; it won't work . My schedule is very tight and I won't have time to spend searching for my suitcases in Alaska. I try to persuade the driver of the KFT minibus to wait for a while in case the bus carrying my cases turns up. My lobbying is successful, and we wait, while the other passengers on the minibus glare at me with undisguised hostility. Finally, the other bus arrives. I push aside the porter and pull out my huge bag - it's so heavy that I seriously consider hiring a trolley - and take it over to the minibus.
Now we can go!
And as we have time, we are going to the Van Guilder Hotel first!
It's just like a madhouse.
I reach the Van Guilder and everything's fine with the booking, though I can't move into my room as it's too early. I change in the hotel kitchen, and then, while searching for my gloves, I end up scattering my clothes all over the lounge; by the time I've found them I get the good news that my room is ready. But none of this matters anymore, as now I am on board my ship. It is a real tourist ship, with two levels; eveyone finds a place, the majority heading for the buffet counter.
We've been sailing towards Fox Island for forty minutes.
Because of all the islands nearby the sea is calm and quiet; sadly I can't say the same about my fellow passengers. Shouting is a national sport in America. Everybody has calmed down, and the turmoil of the bus station has disappeared. They're not shouting because they're angry, but because for them it's normal.
Just after setting off I head to the captain's cabin - this is the most peaceful place on the boat - as I want to find out more about Alaska. The female captain - there are so many beautiful women here! -
happily answers all my questions. There's no denying that if you want to get to know a place you needn't buy dozens of guide books, but instead you should get out and meet the locals. I even borrow her binoculars and use them to scrutinise the unfamiliar waters, islands and shorelines of the distant bay.
After arriving at Fox Harbour we are welcomed onshore with a huge buffet lunch - in America eating and drinking are integral parts of every activity - and after finishing, most of the passengers noisily return to the ship to head back to Seward. For them the trip is over, and now they can say that they have been to the Alaskan wilderness, as no-one is likely to ask them how far along its unknown paths they actually went. Apart from the staff, there are only four of us staying on the island, two brothers and a sister from Ohio, and myself.
We are getting ready to go kayaking in the sea surrounding Fox Island.
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A petite girl turns up; she will be our kayaking guide.
She greets us with a broad smile; she's the sort of person you can't help but like. Following some brief instructions we put on rubber boots and the "skirt" used by all kayakers (stretched over and around the seat, it prevents water entering the kayak) and then set off. The kayaks are two-seaters, and I get the girl from Ohio. Unlike me, who has never been in a kayak before, she does have some experience, so she takes the most responsible position, that of cox. They don't fuss about when launching the boats. The crew gets in and settles down, and then our guide gives a strong push at the back which sends us sliding over the uneven pebbles into the water.
The water is calm.
After a few minutes I can feel my muscles slowly warming up; I'm beginning to get used to the unfamiliar movements, and the rowing goes well.
The Alaskan fauna welcomes us without any signs of fear, and we stay close to the shore: not only is it safer, but we can see more. While kayaking amongst the various water birds in the bay an inquisitive seal pops its head up. It stares at us with curiosity, but absolutely no fear, and lets us get within fifty feet. Then it dives, and I can still see the blurred outline of its body in the clear water.
Meanwhile, there are some yellow jellyfish, whose name I can't remember, drifting all around us.
There are lots of them and our guide tells us that they are poisonous, but even so, I still manage to almost capsize us.
It was a very close call.
Not far from us ships are cruising by, showing the sights to tourists. Their apparently random movement is developing a pattern. They are definitely heading for a particular point, and slowly form
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into a semi-circle ..... What on earth is going on?
I'm down at water-level, which is not the best place for observation. My eyes are on stalks, but I can't make anything out ..... But something is going on over there.
There is a sharp call from our guide: There she blows!
A whale!
There's a whale in front of us!
I can already see the huge waterspout, the fountain made by those giant lungs, as it shoots up tens of feet above the sea. The whale slowly dives, flipping up its gigantic tail ......
This tail fin - it's really big. It's larger than the ships nearby, and bigger than any tail fin has a right to be.
Judging distance on the sea is very difficult - it isn't easy even on land - but I don't think it's more than two thousand feet away from us. We can get there and back in one mad dash. I tell my partner we have to try our hardest and she readily agrees. I grasp my paddle, and can tell that behind me she is also paddling furiously. We start to go faster, the kayak speeds along and we are eating up the distance.
- STOP!!!
Our guide won't let us go any closer. I put down my paddle at once, but I'm disappointed. I know we could have caught up with it. The whale surfaces again, and we can see more of its huge body; then it waves its tale, as if saying goodbye, and vanishes from our sight for good.
Slowly we float back to our base, feeling relaxed and talking about our adventure. Our group has made good speed so we have time to explore some waterfalls in the area. Meanwhile, the ship that brought us here has returned and a new group is arriving on the island: we can already hear the noise. Our kayaking is over so we join them, and all have dinner together. I'm the first to board the ship, and go forward to greet the captain again, who says nothing, but points towards the gangway.
A black bear!
I can hardly believe my eyes! Just a few feet from the rowdy tourists a black bear is foraging in the bushes for its dinner! Clutching my binoculars tightly I stare at this phenomenon. The tourists, meanwhile, are straggling up the gangplank, and soon notice the creature. I've never seen a bear in the wild before - neither black, nor any other kind - but there's now time for some silent observation.
But shouts of alarm begin to come from the crowd. It's not certain where it started, but the news is spreading: the bear might attack at any moment!
Panic has almost broken out.
Screaming mothers clutching children are running to escape; the braver fathers are filling up the memory cards of their cameras non-stop, and the remainder are just seeking shelter from the threatening monster. There are some running towards the house on the shore and others heading
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towards the ship. The people on the gangplank are in the most difficult position, as they don't know which way to go. Those nearest the ship are heading back to the island, while the ones closest to the shore are trying to get on board: they all collide.
The ship's crew tries to calm everybody down, and succeeds. Now, we can all see that the bear isn't after the children, or anybody else, but is just pottering about in the bushes, quite undisturbed.
Eventually it gets bored and wanders off into a thicket.
It's difficult for the group to relax.
Finally, after all this unexpected excitement, the boat sets off to do some whale-watching. Of course, now we don't see anything. Our whale has obviously decided only to show itself to those who have worked for the sight. Lazy cruise passengers will not be allowed to look at it! I agree with its decision, but it's a shame we had to waste two hours pointlessly cruising about searching for it. I'm tired, but, because of all the racket on board, I can't fall asleep.
At last we reach the harbour, and I'd like to mention that the captain docked the boat so expertly that I don't believe any experienced old sea-dog could have done it better!
I get a taxi and head off to the Van Guilder.
Now that I am in quiet and peaceful surroundings, I have a chance to say something about Seward.
The city was named after the statesman who, with great perspicacity, recognised Alaska's potential and strategic importance before anyone else.
William Henry Seward was Foreign Minister during Lincoln's administration, and the purchase of Alaska was entirely due to him. But no-one is a prophet in his own country, and Seward was no exception to this rule. The American public and the political elite considered it a mistake, and an unneccessary waste of money. Sadly, Seward did live not to see Alaska flourish as he died in 1872, and posterity, out of guilt, erected a statue to him four years later, in Madison Square Park, New York.
With its population of 2540, Seward is considered, within the state, to be a large city. It's the starting point of the Seward-Anchorage-Fairbanks railway line (Alaska Railroad) and the Alaska Marine HWY, the number one shipping lane, also goes there, making the city a hub of transportation.
Next to the city is found the infamous Spring Creek Correctional Center, the state's level 3, maximum security prison.
In vain did we search for this institution in our guide books. It's no summer camp: whoever ends up here is the worst of the worst.The convicts sent here are either those who have committed the most awful and cruel crimes, or who, because of their extremely violent natures, cannot be placed in a lower security prison. The tough guy's "hotel" cost the taxpayer $44 m. to build in 1988. It contains
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500 inmates, and a staff of 200 ensures they remain there until their sentence has been served. It's a strange but true fact that most of Seward's adult population has some connection with the prison.
They either work in it, or for a sub-contractor supplying it, or are themselves inmates of the "Beehive".
As I returned from Fox Island I was able to glimpse a part of the prison. The blue watchtower rises over the tree-tops, keeping an eye on the surrounding area, and the piercing searchlights are easily visible from the shore, but the buildings themselves are hidden by a swathe of trees.
My captain told me the story of the only successful escape.
At some point three gangsters decided that they had had enough of their "rest". They were going to break out. Carefully, they began to analyse the prison's security, looking for its weak points, and their success was down to a fact not considered by the prison's designers. All the sheets in the prison were white.
Just like snow ....
All they had to do was to wait for a chance, which came on a cold, snowy day. They skillfully evaded all the mechanical and electronic surveillance equipment, and hid themselves from the guards'
watchful eyes with their white sheets. The authorities would still be searching for them today, if they had not made a very banal mistake.
After their escape, they broke into a private house, and there they came across various bottles of booze. So they had a drink. To be frank, they got plastered. And when the police arrived they had no trouble in rounding them all up.
They soon found themselves back in the "Beehive".
Crime doesn't pay.
Room 306, Van Guilder Hotel
Seward