Authors: Kristi Lynn Davis
Our fourth stop was Valdez—one of Alaska’s principal ports and an oil terminal loading site for the Trans-Alaska pipeline (famous for the unfortunate 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill). When the weather permitted, I enjoyed hoofing it into town, which was 3.3 miles from where the ship docked. On the way, I found a salmon-spawning area with hundreds squirming around laying eggs and hundreds of others dead in the water. It was spooky to think they were all swimming to their deaths. Sometimes an otter would poke its head out of the water and playfully surprise me. Once the wonderful, unique little health food store closed, I didn’t have much to do in this small town of less than 4,000 residents. But my friends and I did make the effort to visit the Valdez Museum, which highlighted the 1964 Good Friday Earthquake that wiped out the waterfront and 32 people along with it. (God bless their souls.) Turns out Californians weren’t the only ones living on shaky ground. I thought I was on this cruise to
escape
earthquakes. Should have done my research.
Seward, our final port, had the lowest population of all (not quite 3,000) but got the highest marks for incredible hiking opportunities. Mt. Marathon was the most treacherous and difficult hike Ron and I had ever attempted. It began with a terrifying vertical rock-climbing expedition. I had never rock climbed before, and partway up I got scared of heights and decided to go back down. Much to my dismay, reversing looked more dangerous than continuing upwards. (Was this what was meant by being “stuck between a rock and a hard place?”) I took deep breaths, didn’t dare look down, and kept climbing until I made it to the trees and could pull myself up by their exposed roots. The rest of the trail was terribly steep, too. Ron’s calves were burning, and my heart rate increased so fast I got lightheaded and had to stop for a while to keep from fainting. It was the clearest day yet in Seward. We saw mountains we never knew existed. The views were spectacular.
Unfortunately, at the halfway mark, we didn’t veer left, as we were supposed to do. Instead we remained on the most obvious trail—exactly the route the ranger warned us NOT to take. Soon we were past the tree line and into loose gravel with little to hold onto, confronting wind that was trying to knock us off the mountain. I was on all fours searching for a stable pile of gravel to hoist me up. About every twenty feet we could find a new pile and rest for a few seconds before venturing upward, but the gravel offered no traction, so our legs kept sliding right out from underneath us. I nearly wet my pants from fear and, once again, wanted to go back down, but Ron was determined to make it to the top. I kept yelling at him to stay by me in case I was about to fall. Finally, we reached a massive rock that was nearly impossible for us to climb, and we admitted defeat. Little did we know, the top was just over that big boulder. The trip down was like skiing on gravel. Ron was like a five-year-old jumping and sliding.
Back at the halfway point, we found the right trail and headed back up. This path was no simple stroll in the park either. I whined like a three-year-old the entire journey, once again crawling but with more solid rock to grab this time. The top was unbelievable! It was all soft grass spotted with purple wild flowers. We could see mountains everywhere and the city and the islands and the entire bay. We ate power bars, took pictures, and patted ourselves on the back for our accomplishment.
On our return trip, we had fun sliding down the gravel chute until we reached a fairly dry waterfall. When the waterfall was filled with snow, you could sled down to the bottom of the mountain on your butt. Since it was snowless, that wasn’t an option. We also wanted to avoid having to shimmy down the sheer rocks that had scared me so much at the start of the trek up. Instead we found an alternative route where you descended by dangling from tree roots for dear life. We shouted with joy at the end. Hundreds of kamikaze 5K runners race to the top and back every July 4th, some returning muddy, bloody, or wounded. Maybe next year. NOT! With dirt and dust embedded in our skin, nails, and clothing, we trotted off to the Breeze Inn Bar to reward ourselves with beer, nachos, and fried mushrooms.
Mt. Marathon was certainly a memorable and noteworthy achievement, but my greatest day in Seward was the day Ron and I hiked to the Harding Ice Field. We began our day at the Breeze Inn (fondly dubbed “Grumpy Grandma’s”) for a hearty breakfast of big, fluffy biscuits with sausage gravy. After a quick stop at the Seamen’s Mission to make phone calls to loved ones, we took a $20 cab ride to Exit Glacier where the Harding Ice Field trail begins. What a wonderful opportunity to gaze at the magnificent light-blue glacier from a distance so close you could scoop off a chunk and make a dirty, pale-blue snow cone. My awe at nature’s beauty was overshadowed by the sign at the entrance that warned us of bears. Ron hoped to see one, but I was scared. What were we supposed to do if we came upon a bear? Seasoned hikers told us just to make a lot of noise while hiking, because coming upon a bear unannounced was apparently a great way to get yourself mauled. Some people carried a little bell with them that jingled while they walked. I thought pepper spray or a Taser stun gun or a rifle-bearing army would have offered better protection. The fact that all we had was our voices didn’t comfort me in the least.
According to guide books, the forest ranger, and friends, the hike was difficult, steep, and would take six to eight hours round trip. We didn’t have that much time, so we decided to just see how far we could get in a couple hours and then come back down.
The ascent was tiring, but I was on a mission to get as far as possible. Ron admitted that he could hardly keep up with me and almost asked me to slow down. The first part of the trail consisted of creeks with lovely, magenta fireweed and lush vegetation and trees. There were some semi-steep rocky areas, too, but they weren’t steep at all compared to Mt. Marathon. Then the trail opened up into fields of white, yellow, purple, and red wildflowers. We even saw fat, wobbly marmots (fuzzy mole-like creatures) perched on rocks and scampering across the path.
After only 1 hour and 45 minutes, we reached our destination, the Harding Ice Field, which consisted of snow, miles of solid ice, and a few rocks to break the white monotony and help lead us back down. It was spectacular! We ran through the snow and over mountain peaks and finally came upon a little log hut. A middle-aged attorney from Anchorage had camped out on the snow the previous night and was hanging out at the mini, one-man cottage. Fortuitously, we had brought three bananas, so we each ate one. Then Ron and I walked for ten minutes more to get a better look at the ice field. The path to it appeared too dangerous to follow, so we made a small snowman and went back to the cabin to warm up. We munched down our chocolate bars, took some crazy photos lying in the snow, and headed back down RUNNING. It only took us 1 hour and 2 minutes to get back down. I felt so healthy and alive! Between the hiking and performing in the shows, I had never been in such great shape with such amazing stamina.
Afterwards, we cabbed back to town, and I treated Ron to his first chile rellenos, with chips and salsa and Corona beer at Niko’s restaurant. We were so proud of our accomplishment. Having not brought enough cash to take a cab back to the ship, we power walked the trek in 20 minutes and made it just in time for my rehearsal. I was sore for two days afterwards, mostly from the side of the ankles up the outsides of the legs. But it was worth it, because I loved that hike. I was becoming addicted. I did have to remember to pace myself, however, and take care to make sure I still had the energy and injury-free body to do my job.
*******
In August I celebrated my 29th birthday! (I actually remember when my parents turned 29; they joked with their friends about staying that age forever.) Ron took me to Juneau to buy me a birthday present. It was 83 degrees, one of the few days in Alaska that were hot enough for me to wear a tank top and running shorts. I was in heaven. We fortified ourselves for our mission with a cup of java and a flaky blueberry scone from Heritage Coffee Shop. Then we began visiting souvenir shops and art studios. After an extensive search, I finally found an Alaskan artist who made silver whistle necklaces with designs including bears, whales, ravens, frogs, eagles, and other Alaskan animals. My favorite was a bear design, which cost a whopping $140. I didn’t think Ron should spend that much, but he wanted the first gift he bought me to be extra special and something I loved. What a wonderful souvenir!
For lunch, we went to Rainbow Foods health store and got two slices of whole wheat veggie pizza, a muffin, and our addiction—dried mango. Then we headed up to a park past the 1913 Governor’s Mansion where we had our little picnic by a stream and got bothered by flies. The water was clear but so cold that Ron could barely stand in it. We found a swing set and had to swing a while before traversing a little trail through the woods, across a small bridge, up a dry waterfall, and back to the park entrance. We lay in the soft grass of the cemetery and soaked up the sun’s glorious rays. On the way back to the ship, we decided to search for ice cream. It wasn’t easy. Apparently there isn’t a big market for ice cream in Alaska. We finally found soft serve vanilla.
August was also the month when everyone got sick. It was hard to contain illness in the closed ship environment. I was paranoid that the germs were migrating through the air conditioning’s recycled air and infecting the entire vessel. Dana, our lead female singer, got bronchitis and so did Kathy from cruise staff. Craig, our lead male singer, was so sick he couldn’t sing, and we had to postpone “Let’s Dance!” for a few days. Ron felt awful, too, and a couple days later, I got terribly ill with an upper respiratory infection (perhaps even pneumonia). I woke up with a headache and couldn’t get out of bed. It reminded me of when I got mono in high school, and all I could do was sleep. The weather in Sitka was gorgeous that day, and I had hoped to go kayaking. I went into town but was so sick I had to go back to my room to lie down. I hated missing an opportunity to be in port and off the ship, especially on such a sunny day. For most of us, being young and relatively healthy, the worst of it was over within a week or so. Thank goodness! It was a miserable time.
Also miserable was the night I entered costume hell. First, my spandex crop-top that I wore as a bra under my ’50s/’60s costume didn't make it back from the ship’s laundry service, so I did not have nearly the support I needed up top. (You think you lose a lot of socks in your wash? The ship’s numerous professional machines cleaned masses of aprons, uniforms, towels, and sundry items, in addition to all of our costume washables. Talk about the black hole of laundry.) Second, as soon as I stepped on stage for the Fred Astaire number, the top snap of my dress popped open. I danced extra cautiously hoping the dress wouldn’t fall down. Third, my skirt came unzipped in the tropical Latin section. Fourth, the hook on the neck of my opening number red dress broke right before second show. What a nightmare! How odd all these mishaps occurred on the very same evening. Coincidence? Or was I the victim of a poorly executed voodoo curse—not bad enough to make me end up naked on stage but enough to keep me uncomfortable, worried, and irritated? Whatever the case, the next day I pulled out the cast sewing kit and fixed my costumes. My seventh-grade home economics class came in handy after all.
The positive aspect of that night’s performance was my discovery that if I ate the mic I could hear myself better through the monitors. Not being able to hear myself singing always threw me off. Nevertheless, I could tell I was improving. Hooray for small victories!
A bigger victory than my better vocals was that Ron and I had fallen in love. We had even
said
the “L” word. Out loud. To each other. What was the deal? Was this for real? We spent hours snuggled in bed in his cabin laughing and talking and teasing each other. (Making fun of his accent was a favorite amusement of mine.) But everyone knew that cruise ship romances didn’t last. When your contract was up, you went your separate ways, back to your respective countries. My logical mind argued that I was being unrealistic, but being a hopeful romantic, my heart told me Ron might be
The One
.
Come September, the seas got rough. The water splashed over the windows of the crow’s nest lounge at the tippy top of the ship. Time to batten down the hatches! We weren’t allowed to go outside on deck due to water flooding over. I found it best to stay put in my room anyway, because walking around the ship proved to be dangerous and made me feel even more seasick. The ship lurched so much, I had to hold the handrail in the hall to keep from falling over. My head ached with what felt like a terrible hangover. Moaning in my bunk bed was all I could do to help myself feel better. I could hear (and feel) the ship's belly smacking down onto the sea. We were stuck and simply had to wait out the horrible storm. I felt so helpless.
What a relief when the storm abated and we were safely docked in Ketchikan. Ron and I ran up and down Deer Mountain again, but in the rain this time (idiots!), and I slipped on a mossy, wet rock, and fell on my knee. By evening, that knee was twice its normal size. Luckily I had 2 ½ days before our next big show. Ron played doctor and kept my knee iced but I was bedridden and could barely walk. The ship’s real doctor wondered if I’d need to have the fluid from my knee drained. No thanks! I was able to fake all but one number in the show (Candy took over my role in “Porgy and Bess”) but still couldn’t bend or straighten my leg much. Having to perform with an injury was nerve racking and painful. I didn’t know what would happen or if I’d end up crippled on stage and someone would have to come and carry me off like an injured football player much to the dismay of the audience. How embarrassing. Miraculously, when our next show came four days later, I was almost completely healed.