Category: North America

a non-camper’s guide to camping

My friends and I traipsed along a wooded path. Pine trees towered above our heads, and their needles and cones formed a blanket beneath our feet. Beams of sunlight darted through the sparse canopy, warming the air that was still cool even in June. Scrubbier greenery lined the path, and a bunny scampered away at the sound of our footfalls.

We reached the end of the path and surveyed the farthest campsites from the parking lot, then doubled back, favoring instead one of the first ones we had looked at. This one was bordered by a slight embankment that led to a cheerfully babbling brook down. Its gentle gurgling could have been recorded for a sleep sounds app.

This would be our home for the evening. “Isn’t it beautiful?” my friends asked me.

our home for the evening

I couldn’t deny that. But they were missing the point.

I didn’t object to being out in the woods and enjoying nature. I didn’t object to sitting around a campfire drinking wine. The part of camping that I dreaded was the part where you have to sleep on the cold, hard ground.

Let me back up. As the title of this blog (and my profile) might suggest, I am not a camper.

Don’t get me wrong, I have camped. When I was a small kid, my parents would take me tent camping in the forests of northern New Jersey (yes, the Garden State really does have forests, cue the Jersey jokes). Campfires, roasted marshmallows on sticks, ghost stories, all the fun childhood camping stereotypes.

When I was an older kid, we lived in Kentucky, and my mom declared herself too old to sleep on the ground (adult me commends my mom’s stand here), so my dad bought a crappy used tent camper. He spray-painted it forest green and towed it behind his Chevy Astro minivan on our way to campsites around the Bluegrass State. The beds in the tent camper made this a slight step up from camping in a tent, but still captured the essentials of the experience.

In college, I camped multiple times in the high desert of central-to-northern Arizona. My roommate and I bought a cheap tent at Walmart, which we may have used a couple of times. Other times, I slept in my car. Camping in college was less about the experience of camping and more about underage drinking far away from any authorities.

These college trips were my only experiences camping as “an adult.” I have some fond memories, like sitting around campfires while guys crooned ‘90s alternative songs to their guitars. (To this day, “Plush” by STP, “Elderly Woman Behind a Counter,” by Pearl Jam, and “Losing my Religion” by REM never fail to evoke these times.)

But I also have memories of freezing on the ground during cold desert nights, unable to get comfortable on the rocky ground despite being drunk enough that passing out should have been a cinch.

Like my mother before me, my problem with camping was always singular: sleeping.

In my college days, I didn’t particularly have a problem with insomnia. But I have since my mid-to-late 20s, which happened to coincide with the period in my life where I started making some money and got introduced to a nicer class of hotel than a Holiday Inn, by virtue of traveling domestically and internationally for work.

Once you’ve stayed in a virtual palace like the Ritz-Carlton in Moscow, your standards start to shift.

Once I recognized that I could now afford a 3-star hotel with clean, freshly ironed white sheets and comfortable pillows, the appeal of camping disappeared for me.

In short, this was the period in my life when my tastes started getting bougie.

Fast-forward around 15 years. I am in Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada with two camping-enthusiast friends, and I have agreed to give camping a fresh try.

Partly, this was because my friends promised me that I would get photo opportunities that would be impossible to get otherwise (this did not pan out). Partly, it was because I had recognized during previous trips to the wilderness that there are remote corners of the world that are more accessible if you’re willing to camp a night or two. And partly, it was because it had been 20 years since I’d last camped, which made it almost like a new experience. I rarely turn down a new experience.

Perhaps with better gear, because we were actual adults now, it would be more comfortable.

Still, the enthusiasm with which my friends hyped the event drew my skepticism. “You’re going to love it!” they insisted. “Maybe we’ll even spend more than one night!”

The first thing I learned about camping was that it had gotten much more complicated in the last 20 years. There’s a whole culture around it, with specialized vernacular and oh-so-much gear.

The night before we departed for Jasper, my friend took out two tubs full of camping gear and soon the living room of our AirBnB in Canmore looked like we had robbed an REI. All the camping doo-dads, wee-hookies, and thingamabobs—only some of whose functions I understood— generated a great deal of enthusiastic discussion.

They called my attention to one set of items in particular: sleeping pads. These will make all the difference for being able to get a good night’s sleep, they assured me. I had to admit, it sounded more promising than sleeping with nothing but a thin nylon tent and sleeping bag separating me from the ground.

The next 24 hours introduced me to even more new terminology.

When camping, apparently water can come in multiple colors, at minimum grey and black, and perhaps purple and orange as well for all I know. The distinction between these was apparently very important to bear attack prevention.

The spot we chose was officially designated a “walk in” spot, vice a “car camping” spot, but my friends gleefully said it may has well have been a car camping spot. (Because we didn’t have to walk far.) The food locker (again, because of bears) was right by the site as well.

It was early afternoon when we selected our campsite. Before we could enjoy the rest of our day, we had to pitch the tents to claim our spot. Pitching the two tents was, with apologies to my camping friends, an ordeal.

These nylon palaces had to be erected with great precision, with a long series of sticks that had to be assembled and bent just so, staked into the ground, clipped into place, and then there were rain flaps that also had to be clipped into place and fastened, and even when all that was done the whole thing looked a little lopsided and the doors didn’t seem to line up where they were supposed to.

And even then, we had only built our shelters, but not our beds. Putting out the sleeping bags and sleeping pads would have to wait until later, because… theft I guess?

A nice thing about hotels and AirBnBs? Your shelter for the night is already arranged when you arrive. You do not have to spend an hour building it before you can go on with your day. ‘Nuf said.

After this we ventured up to Miette Hot Springs, which I have to say was skippable. I love hot springs in almost all their forms, but this one had all the ambiance of a public pool that just happened to be hot—both in terms of the aesthetics and the behavior of its guests. A peaceful spa this was not.

But I digress.

On the way back to the campsite, we ran into three bears (and it has just now occurred to me that they may well have been Papa Bear, Momma Bear, and Baby Bear), demonstrating that I really did need to pay attention to all these rules about water color.

Papa Bear

Mama Bear and Baby Bear

Back at the campsite, we had to finish the construction of our sleeping quarters by dragging the sleeping pads and sleeping bags into the tents. (Making the beds: another thing that is already taken care of in a hotel or AirBnB.)

The rest of the evening was nice enough. We ate food from the cooler that really did not amount to a proper meal but sufficed.

We built a fire in a poorly constructed fire pit that was sunk a little too deep into the ground to properly oxygenate. But this was the one challenge of camping that I was entirely up for, as I do love a campfire. And we drank wine around our little gimpy fire, which was really the one part of camping that I was looking forward to.

Then came the part I was dreading. Sleeping.

Though it was June, it was still chilly in the Canadian Rockies. When it was sunny during the day, we could shed our layers down to a long-sleeve t-shirt. But as the sun went down, it got cool then cold. Even with the campfire weakly blazing, I had on my Paka hoodie, mid-weight Patagonia winter coat, cashmere hat, and gloves.

In the tent, under my sleeping bag, I still struggled to warm up. My SmartWool socks were doing nothing to warm my toes, and (upon my friends’ advice) I had taken off my coat to serve as a poor facsimile of a pillow.

I couldn’t get warm, and I couldn’t get comfortable. All night I shivered, burying my head under the sleeping bag. And the sleeping pad that my friends had so touted did not solve the fundamental challenge of sleeping on a hard, cold ground.

I must have slept some. At least my FitBit told me I did. But it was not a happy sleep.

I do get the appeal. I awoke in the morning in a beautiful place. I inhaled the scent of pine needles and the leftover musk of campfire smoke. The chirps of birds and the gurgle of the brook greeted me good morning.

But in my book, no amount of pleasant outdoorsy things can compensate for a good night’s sleep.

Verdict? Still not a camper.

2024-09-22
photoessay: the colorful lakes of the canadian rockies

A big part of visiting the Canadian Rockies parks of Banff, Jasper, and Yoho is exploring their various lakes, famed for the array of colors you’ll find among their sundry waters. Lakes in the Rockies come from glacial melt. Glaciers erode rocks, which turn into finely ground particles that suspend in the lake water. The rocky sediments in the water reflect the sunlight, making the water appear striking shades of aqua, turquoise, blue, and green.

Most famous of these is Lake Louise. The Lonely Planet lauds its beauty: “there ought to be a rule in life that no one should depart this mortal coil without first visiting Lake Louise” (p. 102). Compared to the typical iconic shots of the lake, this is taken from the opposite shore, coming the Plain of Six Glaciers. We accessed this side of the lake by first hiking up the Lake Agnes trail, stopping for a bit of tea and scones at the Lake Agnes Tea House, and descending past the Beehives to the glacial plain. Here in the distance, you can see the famous Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise, originally constructed in the 1890s.

Lake Louise, seen across the glacial plain

For a slightly different, but no less beautiful hue, Yoho National Park boasts Emerald Lake. Red canoes dot the water, making for a picturesque contrast with the jade waters. We circumnavigated Emerald Lake on our first day in Canada. It was a easy, flat walk, perfect for adjusting to the elevation of 4000-5000 feet.

Emerald Lake, with red canoes

Peyto Lake is an even purer shade of azure. It can be reached by a short but steep hike up from the Icefields Parkway, which links Banff and Jasper National Parks.

Peyto Lake

Bow Lake doesn’t require a hike at all, just a quick stop on the Icefields Parkway. Here it is in the morning light, serving as an almost perfect mirror for Crowfoot Mountain and Bow Peak.

Bow Lake, a smooth mirror

We hiked around Lake Edith in Jasper National Park early one morning. Here it is reflecting three different hues: the fluffy clouds of the sky, the deep blue of the mountains, and the evergreen of the pines.

Lake Edith, reflecting sky, mountains, and trees

Early 20^th century explorer Mary Schaffer, the first white woman to ever see Lake Maligne, declared it, “the finest view…in the Rockies.” We found it a little bit of a letdown after that kind of advertising, perhaps only because its waters were a bit more muted that day.

Maligne Lake

But waters need not always be blue to have a sort of feral beauty. Here is shallow Lake Jasper, its muddy bed tossed by strong winds before a coming storm.

Jasper Lake, tossed by an approaching storm

2024-09-08
chasing wildlife through the canadian rockies

My friends and I were driving south down Rt 16 toward Jasper. I was sitting in the driver’s side backseat, peering into the distance toward the Athabasca River, looking for wildlife drinking by the riverside.

Nearer to the road, I glimpsed pale shapes moving. They were whitish, or perhaps tan or grey. My brain frantically tried to identify the shapes as we sped closer. Were they mountain goats or bighorn sheep? No. Dogs? No.

As our car drew almost even with them, I looked one directly in the eyes. It was a wolf.

They roamed in a pack of four, heading from the river back towards the mountains.

Our car sped past, and the moment was over. The whole encounter lasted perhaps a couple of seconds, but I will remember it for the rest of my life.

“Those were motherfucking wolves!” We were shouting in the car. “Holy shit!”

We were still moving quickly down a busy highway, and there was nowhere to pull off. But as soon as we could, the driver whipped the car around and returned the way we’d come, hoping to find the pack of wolves again.

It was a fruitless hunt. By the time we made it back, the wolves had already evaporated into their elusive mountain abodes.

Still, the fact that there was no question that we would turn the car around and try to find those wolves again was a friendship-affirming moment, a reminder that I had found my tribe in life.

I was in Canada for a friend’s 40^th birthday. She had decided to spend the whole month of June hiking, camping, and photographing her way through the Canadian Rockies national parks of Banff, Jasper, Yoho, and Kootenay, which span Alberta and British Columbia. I flew from DC to Calgary with another friend to join her for a week toward the end of the month, when she already had a good sense of bearings.

In theory, we were there to hike and see all the sights—the mountains, the lakes, the rivers, the waterfalls. As the wolf story highlights, extraordinary as all of those things were, the wildlife really excited us the most.

On the first day, we went to Yoho National Park and, among other things, hiked around Emerald Lake, with its vibrant waters dotted with red canoes and rimmed by mountains that were still snow-covered in June.

Emerald Lake

By the end of the day, we were disappointed to have seen no wildlife, so the birthday girl (by this time attuned to the movements of the local creatures) drove out toward Lake Minnewanka, where got our first glimpse of elk, grazing in the middle of a field dotted with yellow flowers.

elk near Lake Minnewanka

On day 2, we headed north to Jasper National Park. Less touristed than the more southern parks, Jasper was by far the most fruitful for wildlife viewing. As we drove out of the town of Jasper, we encountered mountain goats on the side of the road. At one point I sighted this guy on top of a rocky crag and cried, “Goat, goat, goat!” to get my friend to pull over for photos.

mountain goat near Jasper, Alberta

That night, when driving back to our campsite near Miette, we saw three black bears, including one tiny little baby foraging by the roadside. (Warning: Photos taken from the safety of a vehicle. Bears are dangerous, do not try to take photos like this if you are in the open.)

black bear near Miette, Alberta

The next day, it was a small herd of bighorn sheep, wading through some tall grasses outside of Jasper and snacking.

bighorn sheep near Jasper, Alberta

Later some more goats, including this little baby, as we drove south down the Icefields Parkway back toward Banff.

a baby and adult mountain goat on Icefields Parkway, Alberta

The next two days were disappointing, wildlife-wise (and only wildlife-wise… an entire post on Lake Louise is coming.) So the last day of our trip, we drove out to Kootenay National Park, in hopes of catching some last glimpses of creatures… maybe a moose? Or a grizzly? Alas, we drove for hours and only managed to see a few more goats.

a baby and adult mountain goat in Kootenay National Park, British Columbia

There were plenty of things we could have done with our last day. Surrounded by so many natural wonders, what was it that drew us to seek out the wildlife above all else? Why do animals so captivate us?

One could say it’s because we’re city gals, unaccustomed to seeing wildlife on the daily. Maybe people who live out in the wilderness no longer get excited when they see an elk or a bear.

I’m not sure about that explanation. My neighborhood is crawling with squirrels and chipmunks and I suppose they don’t excite me too much. But I also have a family of rabbits that lives in the vicinity of my building and I never fail to get excited when I see them.

Certainly rarity breeds fascination. No matter where you live, encounters with wolves are pretty fucking rare. And if you live in the suburbs of Washington DC, you’re very unlikely to encounter a mountain goat or a bighorn sheep. Still, I sometimes see deer when I’m hiking locally, or visiting friends who live in the country, and I still loved seeing these guys.

a doe and fawn in Jasper National Park, Alberta

Does the fascination come from the danger? The wolves, bears, and even moose are dangerous and engender a healthy sense of fear, even when you’re safely in your vehicle as we were. Is seeking out wild creatures then a form of thrill-seeking, the same as riding a roller-coaster?

Perhaps all of these provide a partial explanation, and they certainly are not mutually exclusive.

I think it’s deeper than that though. I think we seek out our wild animal brethren not because they are exotic, but out of recognition of distant kinship. We dearly love and have even co-evolved with our domesticated pets.

But we are not so distant on the tree of life from our mammalian kin who still roam free in the world’s jungles, forests, plains, savannas, and deserts. It was not so long ago that our ancestors lived among them, hunting prey and avoiding predators as a matter of life and death.

I love photographing wild creatures with my 100-400mm telephoto lens because it lets me get shots like this one.

a lone bighorn sheep near Jasper, Alberta

Look at this guy. He knows things. Maybe not the things that you and I know. Who knows what wisdom is of value to a sheep? But he is certainly not some dumb beast. He is alive and canny and as interested in me as I am in him.

When we see these guys across a field and they see us, we feel the excitement that we feel in spotting an old friend (or enemy) we haven’t seen in ages across a crowded room. “Oh hey there, fancy meeting you here. It’s been a while.”

Maybe for some of us, those of us who live most distant from the wild, it’s been longer than for those of you who live in cabins in the woods. But I still feel a thrill of kinship when I see my local bunnies.

That is why, as awe-inspiring as mountains and waterfalls are, there is some special excitement to seeking out wild creatures. At least for me. And for my well-chosen friends.

2024-09-01
5 things to do in new orleans other than eating and drinking

The city of New Orleans conjures for most people images of drunken debauchery. Drinking monstrously large hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. Waltzing down Bourbon Street with open beers in hand. Women flashing their boobs in exchange for Mardi Gras beads. Of course, there’s also the gluttony—oysters, fried fish, shrimp, jambalaya, gumbo, étouffée, beignets, po-boys. The list of New Orleans decadences is seemingly endless.

Don’t get me wrong—I support all of those things. But for my third trip to New Orleans last weekend, I decided it was time to branch out a little bit and explore the city’s other offerings. The beautiful thing about New Orleans? You don’t actually have to choose: most of this can be done in conjunction with the eating and drinking. You can be culturally enriched and debauched at the same time.

1. Cemeteries

New Orleans is famous for its aboveground cemeteries, necessitated by the high water-table in the flood- and hurricane-prone city. As one tour guide put it, “you don’t want to see Grandma floating down the street.” Gross.

Over time, the practical necessity of aboveground burial evolved into a cultural and architectural tradition, reflecting the changing cultural influences on the city as it passed from French to Spanish to French to American hands. Wandering through the old tombs, you can find engravings in all three tongues, with dates ranging back to the 18^th century. Some tombs are kept lively with (often fake) flower arrangements. Many stand proud and stately their white marble tarnished with black mold. Others grow decrepit with age.

St Louis Cemetery No 3

If you’re up for a moody afternoon (we went on a cloudy day), you have a few options. St Louis Cemetery No 1 is the oldest (established 1789) and easiest to reach from the French Quarter. It also hosts the tomb of Marie Laveau. But, the guard helpfully informed us, it’s also the only one to charge an entrance fee. Instead we followed his recommendation and took a Lyft up to St Louis Cemetery No 3, established in 1854. For a $10, 10 min Lyft ride, we got free entry to a much larger (if less tightly packed) cemetery. (No 2 is apparently closed due to “vandalism and other concerns,” according to the Catholic church).

2. Architecture

If you’re sober enough to appreciate it, New Orleans is full of architectural delights. Sure there are some dramatic constructions like St Louis Cathedral, but for me the beauty of New Orleans lies in the smallest of architectural detail. Every house in the French Quarter seems to boast some special flare—detailed metalwork on the balcony, cheerful plantation shutters, daintily carved corbels.

grandiose balconies on Royal Street

tucked away on Dauphine Street

a more modest house down Royal Street with baby blue plantation shutters

decorative corbels on Royal Street

This was the first trip that I ventured outside the French Quarter. After taking a Lyft to St Louis Cemetery No 3, we walked back to the Quarter along Esplanade Ave and through Tremé, admiring the old Victorian mansions and Caribbean bungalows that lived side-by-side.

trees lining Esplanade Ave

For a future visit: the Garden District.

3. Shops and Galleries

Every time I go to the French Quarter I feel a little lost. In part, because of alcohol. In part, because I always seem to stay in a different part of the quarter and start off the trip with my bearings at a 90 degree angle. But I always seem to find my bearings, not by Bourbon Street, but by Royal Street, one block over. Royal Street is a little classier; here Bourbon’s bars are replaced with shops and galleries, some far beyond my price range, but delightful to browse.

Each time I revisit shops and galleries from previous trips, and stumble upon new ones. In my first trip in 2012, I bought a black metal Mardi Gras mask with red detailing. I found that shop again on this trip, but not on the last one. On my second trip in 2022, I didn’t buy anything of note, but fell in love with multiple galleries and artists whose work cost thousands. This time I fell in love with a jewelry store called Fleur d’Orleans, whose proprietor makes jewelry inspired by New Orleans architecture. (I bought a pair of earrings inspired by her neighbor’s window.) I also bought a mask carved out of hibiscus wood. This shop seems absent from Google, but that’s all part of the mysterious fun of shopping in New Orleans.

4. Swamp Tours

For something totally different, this time I ventured outside of the French Quarter entirely. Outside of New Orleans. North of Lake Pontchartrain. Into the swamp. We booked the trip through Cajun Encounters, who helpfully picked us up in a coach (for an additional fee) not far from our hotel, and took us to the Honey Island Swamp. I can’t recommend the company highly enough. Everything ran extremely efficiently, and our coach driver and captain (Bam-Bam and Everett, respectively) were excellent tour guides. (Expect some prison-related humor from the captains.)

One thing I did not consider was that the things I associated with a Louisiana swamp—namely alligators—were cold-blooded reptiles, and therefore not likely to be active on a chilly, cloudy day in late January. Indeed, the alligators and snakes were nowhere to be seen. That made the trip a bit more low-key, but the boat tour among the partially submerged cypress trees hung with Spanish moss made for a scenic if eldritch morning.

honey island swamp

While there were no reptiles in sight, we did see a lot of racoons, including this blond one.

a blonde racoon hiding in the cypress trees

5. Live Music

You don’t actually have to go anywhere special to find live music in New Orleans. Musicians play on the street corners, like this saxophonist outside of Cafe du Monde.

a street saxophonist outside Cafe du Monde

Of course there are plenty of live bands on Bourbon Street, mostly catering to the popular tastes. I’m personally a fan of Famous Door, where cover bands play crowd-pleasing numbers from the 70s, 80s, and 90s. (But beware the jello shots.)

the mural on the side of the Spotted Cat, one of Frenchman Streets many live music venues

This time I ventured a little outside of the French Quarter to the famous Frenchman Street. Here you can find some more authentic New Orleans live music—jazz, blues, funk. We plopped ourselves down at the bar of Snug Harbor Jazz Bistro for hours one evening, chatting with the impossibly young bartender and waitstaff, while listening to the jazz from the concert hall piped in through the speakers. Then we ended up at La Maison, where we listened to a jazz quartet while the bartender in the back made us custom cocktails, then the Blue Nile for some blues, before going back for one last drink at Snug Harbor. Did I mention you don’t really have to pick between the culturally enriching activities and the boozing? Ah New Orleans, laissez le bons temps roulez!

2024-02-04
the amazing life of humpback whales
Prior to my Alaskan cruise, the only whales I’d seen on whale-watching excursions had been orca, which I’d seen on two separate excursions in the Salish Sea, courtesy the highly recommended Puget Sound Express. In Alaska, I desperately wanted to see some other varieties of whales.

As I mentioned in my first Alaska post, I caught a glimpse of a humpback on the morning of my first day at sea, and I feared this first sighting would be my last. I needn’t have feared. Later that same day, my mom and I were passing through Cellar Masters wine bar. People seated by the windows began gasping and pointing, and we looked out the porthole to see a humpback whale breaching—again, and again, and again.

There are multiple theories on why whales breach. They may be communicating to other whales across long distances, showing off their physical prowess, or just playing. As best I can tell, the scientific consensus has swung behind the former theory, but I swear this particular whale seemed to be performing for us.

icy strait point

In Icy Strait Point, we took a dedicated whale watching excursion that we booked through the cruise line. (Whale watching was basically the only game in town at this port call, aside from eating crab and some shops.)

The guide on our double-deck boat told us that the waters around Hoonah are particularly attractive to humpbacks because it is situated at the confluence of multiple bodies of water, including the outlet of Glacier Bay, making the waters nutrient-rich and full of fish.

It was about a 30 min trip out to the feeding grounds. As we breezed through jade green waters bordered by evergreen-cloaked islands, we passed by a few orca and humpbacks languidly swimming along, sleek backs arching above the water in a curve before a final flick of their tail. I wished the captain would stop for photo opportunities, but he wisely blazed onward to where the real action was.

Once we got to the feeding grounds, the whales multiplied. We lingered for a long time among a herd of about 10 humpbacks, arching and flipping their tails at us.

We also got to witness a phenomenon known as bubble-net feeding, which is a coordinated hunting activity where the whales swim around in a circular motion deep underwater, blowing bubbles. As the bubbles create a “net” that the fish can’t escape from, the whales spiral up until they reach the surface. By now, their nets have created a dense concentration of fish, then suddenly—gulp.

The thing I find most intriguing about this behavior is that it’s not an instinctive behavior. It’s a learned behavior that’s culturally transmitted.

We’re so used to the anthropocentric worldview that describes animals as having “instinct” and humans as having “culture”. If I may adapt my own definition of culture as being “the social behaviors, norms, knowledge, customs, and habits of a group,” then whales totally have culture.

This concept has appeared in some podcasts and documentaries I’ve watched since then—not just about humpbacks, but other marine mammals too—and I’m now officially fascinated by the concept of animals having culture.

After the bubble-net feeding herd dispersed or dove, we lingered for a bit longer, watching a few loner whales, one of whom breached for us. (Sadly, my camera didn’t focus quickly enough, so I ended up with blurry photos of the breach, and a clear shot of the plume of water that erupted as he crashed back into the water.)

kenai fjords national park

Our second opportunity to witness the whales came after we had disembarked in Seward. We squeezed in one last boat excursion to Kenai Fjords National Park (courtesy Kenai Fjords Tours) where we saw more glaciers and lots of wildlife, including sea lions, harbor seals, puffins, murres, seagulls, one bald eagle… and lots more humpbacks and orcas.

If the whale-watching in Icy Strait Point was spectacular, in Kenai Fjords it was something even beyond that. It was a mostly sunny, placid day, and the waters were smooth. It was almost as if the whales relished the opportunity to soak up some sun rays, because they just kept appearing, and we witnessed bubble net after bubble net.

After a while we got a sense of the rhythm. When the whales begin making their bubble nets deep underwater, they make an intense sound. Unfortunately, those sound waves don’t seem to transmit above water in a way that is audible to the human ear (at least, I couldn’t hear anything). But the seagulls apparently can see or hear something, because in the minute or two before the whales emerged above the surface, the seagulls started going nuts, squawking and swooping, waiting to capitalize on the rush of fish that was about to emerge to the surface. Link to a video here.

Then the whales would appear, skins gleaming pewter grey in the sun, baleen throats stretching out as they engulfed their prey.

Oh yes, and more breaches, enough that I even caught them on camera this time, although still not that perfect shot at the apex of their arc through the air.

Even the captain remarked that he could have watched this all day, but we had other things to get on to.

Like a herd of sea lions, squabbling angrily on the rocks.

Like a pod of harbor seals, lounging on a bed of seaweed.

Like puffins bobbing on the waves.

Like orcas, gliding through the waters on their own hunting expeditions.

Like murres, the “penguins of the north”, huddling in a rocky crevasse.

But seriously, the whales. I couldn’t get enough.

previous posts on alaska
2023-11-30
all about alaska’s glaciers
When people ask me how my trip to Alaska was, my quick, flippant response is, “a lot of glaciers and whales.” Which may sound as if I’m being dismissive of the experience, but the truth is, the glaciers and whales were both amazing. More to follow on the whales in my next post. Today, we’re talking about glaciers.

Over the course of my seven-day journey, I saw a total of five glaciers (probably more if you count some fleeting glimpses): Mendenhall, Herbert, Hubbard, Holgate, and Bear. Honestly, I could not get enough of them. We got to see them from a few different vantage points: from the air (Mendenhall), standing on top (Herbert), and from the sea (Hubbard, Holgate, and Bear).

I got some amazing photos, but pictures cannot do justice to the experience of being up close to these massive walls of snow and ice—the radiating cold, the aqua gleam in the sun, the groaning and cracking when they calve.

According to the National Park Service, glaciers cover 23,000 square miles of Alaska. Only some of these are tidewater glaciers, which terminate at the sea, and from a boat, you’re only seeing a small part of the total mass the glacier. Behind the sea terminus and out of view from the water, the glacier may stretch for miles—in the case of the Hubbard Glacier, 76 miles, all the way to Mt Logan in Canada’s Yukon Territory.

Prior to this trip, I had thought of glaciers as massive but stationary hunks of ice, because I’d previously seen only tiny remains of glaciers in places like the Alps and Montana’s Glacier National Park. I learned on this trip how much glaciers move. Snow falls in the mountains, compacts and compacts under its own weight, and begins a sometimes centuries-long journey from mountaintop to sea.

Mendenhall and Herbert Glaciers

Mendenhall Glacier is easily accessible from Juneau, and is 13 miles long, terminating at Mendenhall Lake. We didn’t actually visit this one, but we saw it from the helicopter en route to a lesser-known glacier in the Juneau Ice Field, Herbert Glacier.

Mendenhall Glacier, seen from the air

Glaciers are formed when the amount of annual snowfall exceeds the amount of annual snowmelt. Due to climate change, many glaciers are in retreat, which happens when the melting exceeds the snowfall. This is the case for most of Alaska’s glaciers.

Both glaciers are retreating and melting quickly. In the case of Mendenhall, the melt has proven so rapid that Juneau has seen devastating floods in recent years known as glacial outburst floods (or, more colorfully jokulhlaup, in Icelandic). These happen when icemelt pools under the glacier until the pressure suddenly becomes too much and actually lifts the glacier up, providing a release for the water.

In July 2011, an estimated 10 billion gallons of water burst from the glacier over the course of three days. The phenomenon has repeated 30 times since then. In July 2023, shortly after we were there, it released its most devastating flood yet.

Herbert Glacier is retreating with far less drama, and I have to say it was still an impressive hunk of ice to fly over and land on in a helicopter.

Herbert Glacier, on approach

Up close the glacier’s surface is rough and riddled with pockmarks and electric blue crevasses.

a boulder balances atop a crevasse on Herbert Glacier

In places, it is even dirty, laden with hunks of rock ranging from gravel to boulders picked up from the mountains it carved on its journey.

my mom at Herbert Glacier, surrounded by boulders

flying to the top of the mountain at Herbert Glacier

Hubbard Glacier

Hubbard Glacier was another experience altogether. Hubbard was a stop on our cruise—not a port call, because there was nowhere to make port. But overnight on our last full day at sea, our ship made a turn north into Yakutat Bay, then proceeded further down the ominously named Disenchantment Bay. I awoke that morning to the sight of chunks of ice drifting by. By the time we had gotten our morning coffee, the ship was pulling in viewing range of the mighty glacier.

Hubbard Glacier is nearly 7 miles wide and 350 feet tall at its terminus in Disenchantment Bay. It extends 76 miles inland to Mt Logan in Canada’s Yukon Territory—an icefield larger than the state of Rhode Island.

Hubbard Glacier from afar

You know all those glacier videos you see online or in National Geographic documentaries from Greenland or Antarctica? The ones where large icebergs break off of glaciers, demonstrating the unrelenting damage wrought by climate change? Perfectly true in those cases—glacier mass is shrinking worldwide, including in Alaska. But Hubbard is defying climate change and advancing rather than retreating.

Which means that there was no reason to feel sorrow as the sun came up and the glacier began to grunt and groan, a sign that she was about to calve!

Hubbard Glacier calving

“Calving” is the name of the process by which masses of glacier detach themselves and float away as icebergs, or smaller chunks, known as “bergy bits” or “growlers.” The ceaseless movement of marine-terminating glaciers from mountain to sea means that even an advancing glacier drops calves.

We were fortunate in the weather conditions, which allowed our ship to approach within half a mile of the glacier—the closest larger ships can get—before the captain set the ship on a slow turn to the starboard, allowing the ship to spin so that all side of the ship could get a good view. Or you could do what we did, and run back and forth between port and starboard sides so that for the couple of hours we were there, Hubbard was never out of our view.

ice litters the water beside Hubbard Glacier

We saw dozens of calvings that day, mostly little ones. I’ve had a lot of amazing days in my two decades of traveling the world, and the only day that topped this one was my safari in Maasi Mara in 2013. The overwhelming scale of Hubbard was phenomenal enough up close, and it became even more so when your realized that the ice you were seeing break off into the ocean was completing a journey that began in the Yukon about 500 years before.

Holgate and Bear Glaciers

After we disembarked in Seward, we squeezed in one last excursion to Kenai Fjords National Park through Kenai Fjord Tours. I’ll have a lot more to say about this excursion in my wildlife post, but today I’ll focus on the two glaciers.

I hesitate to say that Holgate and Bear were a bit of a let-down after Hubbard. We were in a much smaller boat after all, which let us get a lot closer to Holgate. (Bear we just passed by without stopping.)

Bear Glacier

They were smaller and not actively calving like Hubbard had been. But if Holgate had been the only glacier I’d seen on the trip, it would still have been a spectacular experience.

a small boat is dwarfed by Holgate Glacier, a “small glacier”

spears of ice crown Holgate Glacier

Holgate too is advancing glacier that does calve; unlike Hubbard, it’s only 5 miles long. Not far to the east, Bear Glacier is retreating. Weird how that works, isn’t it?

Such was my glacier experience in Alaska, and to be honest, it has left me craving more travel to frigid climes! I loved my trip north of the Arctic Circle in Norway in 2019, and now with a second spectacular northern adventure under my belt, I’m contemplating Greenland and Antarctica. And Svalbard, Norway. And Tierra del Fuego. These trips would probably not be very bougie, unless taken from the safety of a cruise ship (which Antarctica have to be), but there is something so spectacular in the unspoiled ruggedness of these places.

me and mom at Holgate Glacier

previous posts on alaska
- alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers
- the towns of southeast alaska
still to come
- all about the wildlife (especially whales!)
2023-11-12
the towns of southeast alaska
Our seven-day northbound Alaska cruise on the Celebrity Millennium made four port calls: in Ketchikan, Icy Strait Point, Juneau, and Skagway. Each one boasted its own culture and history, although sometimes we had to work to find it amid all the kitchy cruise ship shopping. Personally I avoided all the duty-free jewelry shops that seem to be a fixture in every cruise ship port around the world, and opted instead for the art and the food.

Traditional native art, mostly from the Tlingit and Haida peoples, was also on offer at every port. The art included masks, weapons, paintings, carvings, and scrimshaw. Much of the more authentic work was rather pricey, but also quite breathtaking for those with the budget. Personally, I came home with two paintings, a circular woodcarving of an eagle with a dreamcatcher at its heart, and a pair of earrings and matching necklace made of abalone.

Salmon and other local seafoods were also on offer in most ports. Ever wondered what the real difference is between sockeye, coho, and chinook salmon? Salmon shops will let you sample all the varieties to see for yourself which one you like best.

Aside from those commonalities, each of our port calls had different vibes.

ketchikan

Ketchikan was my favorite of the towns we stopped in. The town hosted an interesting blend of the native Tlingit culture and frontier culture. It hosts Alaska’s largest collection of totem poles, some of which are recarvings of older poles.

one of ketchikan’s many totem poles

The town’s most enjoyable portion was the historic Creek Street, which is a mélange of colorful frontier-style shops built on stilts over a stream that conveys spawning salmon upstream.

Creek Street, Ketchikan

The town is also the gateway to Misty Fjords National Monument, which we ventured into via seaplane, courtesy of Seawind Aviation. Misty Fjords is a vast wilderness, speckled with mountains, fjords, and lakes.

our landing spot in Misty Fjords

This excursion gave me one of my favorite photos of the trip, of two baby seagulls, whose mother was decidedly displeased with our presence.

two baby seagulls in misty fjords national monument

icy strait point

Icy Strait Point, adjacent to Hoonah, was really all about the whale watching (much more to follow about the whales in a subsequent post). There is a small town there with shops, all of which is 100 percent owned and operated by Native Alaskans. (The aforementioned abalone earrings and necklace that I bought were purchased here, made by the girl who checked us out!) Another of my favorite photos was of the fishing gear in town, a testament to the local economy.

fishing nets in icy strait point

juneau

Alaska’s capital was honestly the least interesting of the towns we visited. Here, more than anywhere else, the part of the town we visited was just a succession of kitchy cruise port shops, with many of the same offerings, but little of the charm of Ketchikan’s Creek Street. The main thing to do in Juneau seemed to be to get out of Juneau and enjoy the surrounding wilderness. Two major glaciers lay just outside of the city: Mendenhall, whose sudden melting caused a major flood that wiped out houses in Juneau shortly after our visit, and Herbert Glacier, which we landed directly on top of in a helicopter! I’ll have a whole post on Alaska’s glaciers to follow.

me and my mother on herbert glacier

While I have slightly pooh-poohed Juneau as a town, I do have to acknowledge the excellence of Tracy’s King Crab Shack. After days of disappointing meals aboard the Celebrity Millennium, we were really craving some real Alaskan seafood, in particular crab. We ordered a combo meal that came with a crab bisque, crab cakes (inferior to the Chesapeake variety, but I’m biased), and your choice of two varieties of king crab (red was better than golden). Best meal of the trip by far.

skagway

Our time in Skagway was disappointing, although this was not entirely Skagway’s fault. The most popular excursion out of Skagway is the White Pass and Yukon Route Railway, which we booked… and unfortunately, the weather was truly terrible, spoiling the views. Most disappointing of all, we did not actually get to go into the Yukon, but stopped right at the border between British Columbia and the Yukon.

a rare sunny moment on our journey through British Columbia

The town of Skagway really embraced the old-timey frontier vibe, befitting its role as the gateway of the Yukon Gold Rush starting in 1897. The town probably would have been enjoyable to walk around for longer and take in more of the well-maintained historical buildings, but by the time we returned from the disappointing train voyage, we didn’t have much time or energy to do so.

previous posts on alaska

alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers

still to come
- all about the glaciers
- all about the wildlife (especially whales!)
2023-11-11
alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers

I awoke on our first morning at sea and snuck out onto the chilly balcony. The sun rising behind spotty clouds gilded the sea in ribbons, while further in the distance, a mountainous landscape drifted by.

sunrise on our first morning at sea

Up on the tenth deck, I got distracted on my quest for coffee and joined other bundled passengers at the stern. Speaking in hushed morning tones, we watched the smooth water ripple in our wake and wash up against the islands that dot the narrow straits of the passage north from Vancouver.

smooth waters early the first morning

“Look!” I whispered loudly, pointing to a spot where I’d seen a puff of water and a sleek back arch. “I think that was a whale!” The other early birds clustered around me to see the tail of a humpback whale (I would later learn) flick up as it dove deeper down into the icy sea.

The glimpse came so quickly, I was disappointed. I hadn’t even had my camera with me. I needn’t have feared. Over the course of the next seven days, I would capture literally thousands of pictures of whales (or in many cases, water where whales had been just seconds before).

An Alaska cruise is a bucket list item for many people, and so it was for my mother. For years, she had been declaring Alaska her plan for her 70^th birthday. At times, it almost seemed impossible that it would happen, due to obligations at home. It took intensive planning, but through sheer force of will she made it happen. She landed in Vancouver on the day after her birthday, and we set sail the next day on the Celebrity Millennium.

Booking an Alaskan cruise can be bewildering. More than a half dozen cruise lines offer sailings throughout the summer, ranging from 7 to 14 days, each a subtle variation on the same itinerary. We selected a northbound only 7-day sailing because my mother could only spare 7 days from home, and we figured we would see more of the coastline if we sailed in only one direction.

I am an experienced traveler, but somewhat of a novice cruiser, so I had only the vaguest concept of the vibes of the different lines. This post from The Points Guy was helpful in narrowing down which lines had the right vibe for us, and from there we chose the Celebrity Millennium based mostly on a good sailing date and a good deal. We sailed out of Vancouver on 21 July, and made port calls in Ketchikan, Icy Strait Point, Juneau, and Skagway, before disembarking in Seward on 28 July.

More to follow on our adventures in Alaska in subsequent posts, for today, I will review our experience on the Celebrity Millennium.

Celebrity Millennium

The Millennium is the oldest ship in the Celebrity fleet, the first of the Millennium class ships launched in 2000. We liked Celebrity when we were booking in part because its ships were somewhat smaller than other lines, with a capacity of just over 2100. The environment was accordingly fairly cozy for a mid-priced cruise.

the celebrity millennium

lodgings

We stayed in a veranda room on the 7^th deck—crucially, on the starboard side of the ship, which was important to us when booking since we’d only be transiting northbound. I appreciated having the veranda, because it allowed me to pop out and take pictures when we were passing by something particularly scenic first thing in the morning. But truthfully, we spent little time in the room and could have saved ourselves some money by booking a room on a lower deck with a porthole, which we were told by other passengers were large. Our room was comfortable and well-equipped enough by cruise ship standards.

amenities

In true bougie style, the amenities I took most advantage of were the spa, the hot tubs, and the pool. The spa area also hosted a gym, of which I did not avail myself at all. I greatly admire the dedication of those who work out while on vacation, but I am not one of them.

As one would expect, the spa was expensive, so I only went for one treatment—a seaweed wrap massage, in which one is wrapped up like a burrito in a green, muddy, soothing goo. It’s messy, but a delight for sore muscles and a perfect way to warm up after a cold day whale watching in Alaska.

Speaking of great ways to warm up, we made a fair number of trips to the solarium, which is an enclosed area with four hot tubs and a pool of sorts. I say “of sorts” because this was not the type of pool you swim laps in. It was more like a massive hot tub, only a couple degrees cooler than the hot tubs. On either side were submerged lounging couches that bubbled, each large enough for 3-4 people. We spent a good many hours laying in the bubbles, staring up at the day or night sky.

There were also hot tubs and a pool in the open air, but we did not visit them. Alaska is chilly, even in July, y’all.

food and drinks

The food was the biggest disappointment on the ship. We dined in the Metropolitan dining room each night, and did not explore the specialty restaurants. Perhaps we would have been more satisfied if we had spent the extra money on dining, but I think we kept hoping that Metropolitan would improve, and that we’d just had bad luck the previous nights.

Every night we were offered three courses: appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Every day half the menu changed, half stayed the same throughout the cruise. All of the entrées I had sounded fancy enough—prime rib, duck a l’orange, barramundi—but they were all really just so-so. Meat was often overcooked, and the vegetable sides were boring, potatoes and carrots and such. Even one of my favorites, french onion soup, was oversalted. I do recommend the escargot, which compared favorably to the real thing in France.

formal night on the celebrity millennium

Booking the dining room was also an issue. I had requested an early fixed dining time when I booked (traveling with a 70-year-old), and Celebrity had never bothered to inform me that the fixed dining times were all booked up. This led to a lot of confusion, and tense exchanges with the hostesses, who simply could not guarantee us a table. Eventually we agreed on a fixed reservation at 5:45 after a couple of frustrating days.

The bars were much better. We explored most of them, but the two I will make special note of are the Martini Bar, Cellar Masters, and the Sky Lounge. My mother discovered a love of martinis on this trip, after we shared a martini flight on the second day. We returned to this spot repeatedly over the trip.

martini flight

One deck up, Cellar Masters was a nice wine bar that offered a quiet spot for a day drink, quiet lounge music in the evenings, and a round-the-world wine tasting with our sommelier from the Metropolitan on our final afternoon.

The Sky Lounge I recommend for its views alone. Situated at the fore of the 11^th deck, it was the perfect spot to come relax and enjoy the view as the ship set sail in the evenings—as long as you didn’t too much mind the trivia games taking place on the stage (which I kind of did).

entertainment

We didn’t go to too many of the shows. There was a pair of acrobatic Ukrainians who were very good (Slava Ukraina!), and a Broadway hits show that gave my mother vertigo, so we didn’t make it through the whole thing. I will say that for daytime fare, I adored the ship’s naturalist, Celia Garland, who offered lectures on whales, otters, seals, and bears during the days. She also narrated our encounter with the Hubbard Glacier from the bridge. She was incredibly informative and engaging, and I’m officially obsessed with her Instagram account.

Speaking and whales and glaciers, they were truly the twin highlights of the trip, and I’m going to have whole posts on each of them in weeks to come. Next up though, the towns of southern Alaska. More to follow!

2023-11-04
wandering vancouver

“It’s the perfect drink for a hot day like this,” said the server at the Fairmont Waterfront of the Harborside Spritz, helping me decide which cocktail to order. We both laughed when I observed, “I love that this is considered a hot day in Vancouver.” The entire day had been sunny while barely topping 70 degrees.

a harborside spritz at the Fairmont Waterfront

It was mid-July, and I was less than 24 hours from embarking on a 7-day northbound Alaska cruise departing out of Vancouver—a bucket list item for my mother, who had just turned 70 the day before. I arrived on Wednesday night on a direct evening flight from Dulles to Vancouver and had the better part of a day to kill before my mother arrived Thursday afternoon.

With a 3-hour time change, I awoke early, and did what I always do in a new city: I walked. A lot. I took some pictures. I walked some more.

My starting place was the Fairmont Waterfront Hotel, which was located just across the street from Canada Place, a convention center that doubles as the cruise ship terminal. I picked up my go-to Starbucks order (latte with almond milk) and started working my way west along the waterfront.

The north shore of the peninsula on which downtown Vancouver is situated is lined with running trails and dotted with seaplanes and marinas. I squinted into the glare of the morning sun off the crystalline waters of Vancouver Harbor and watched the seaplanes take off and land for a while, trying to capture the perfect shot. I did not succeed. Buggers move fast.

a seaplane on vancouver harbor in the early morning light

a marina on vancouver harbor

stanley park

Stanley Park occupies a 400-hectare Brazil-shaped spit of land, awkwardly sticking out the end of the peninsula. Given more time, I would have explored much more of this urban forest. Even as it was, I spent several hours of my morning photographing pondside cattails, bees on flowers, and a blue heron feeding.

a cattail in Stanley Park

a blue heron feeds in Stanley Park

flora and fauna of Stanley Park

Rather than delving deeper into Stanley Park, I looped around to the south side of the peninsula and walked along the seawall and beaches that line English Bay. All the time my eyes were cast towards the bridges that crossed over the mainland, and more importantly, Granville Island, which was one of my must-visit destinations in Vancouver. How do I get to those bridges, I wondered.

granville island

I pulled out my phone had one of those rare moments of travel kismet—ferries! Of course in a maritime city like this there would be ferries. And just my luck, there was a ferry stop located just a few hundred feet away.

Perhaps I had not thought of ferries because, unlike Seattle’s massive ferryboats, Vancouver’s are adorably tiny. The False Creek Ferries, of which I became a patron that day, look like the little toy boats you give toddlers to play with in the bathtub. I do not say this to disparage—they were cute, convenient, and efficient.

No more than 20 min after I discovered the existence of the ferries, I found myself on Granville Island. This is precisely the type of place I’m drawn to everywhere I go. Like Pike’s Place in Seattle, Eastern Market in DC, Reading Terminal Market in Philly, or Spitalfields Market in London, it’s a place where raw fish, art, artisanal chocolates, jewelry, cured meats, and fresh cut flowers are all sold side-by-side with no apparent contradiction. I can and have wandered these sorts of places for hours, wanting to buy everything but ultimately buying little to nothing, overwhelmed by choice.

In this case, I had lunch at a little German place and bought my mom some birthday chocolates then ventured back to the False Creek ferry terminal. I took the scenic route, all the way to the other side of the narrow inlet that bisects Vancouver, and disembarked at the Plaza of Nations.

From here I meandered back through Chinatown (which did not have terribly authentic vibes, though I’m sure it must have been a real Chinatown at one time), and the Gaslight District, where I would have liked to spend more time perusing the shops, restaurants, and bars. But by this point I had been walking for at least 7 hours, and my mother was supposed to be arriving sometime soon (after several flight delays).

I sat in the outside patio of the bar, I ordered my Harborside Spritz, and I rested my aching legs.

That night I treated my mom to a seafood feast at Riley’s Fish and Steak. All I had really wanted for my mother’s birthday was a fancy seafood restaurant (but not so fancy that the portions were pretentiously small), with a view of the water that we have to walk too far to. We ordered The Deluxe seafood tower, plus an add-on of scallops, a side of brussels sprouts, and a bottle of white. For my seafood-, wine-, and water-loving but unpretentious mother, Riley’s checked all of the blocks except the view of the water.

the deluxe seafood platter

Believe it or not, this was actually my first time in Canada. I’m starting to get why all the Americans in a Handmaid’s Tale who managed to get out fled to Canada (geography aside). I found Vancouver to be a very picturesque, livable city, with lots of nature and greenery inside the city, lots of biking and running paths, seemingly fun neighborhoods like the Gaslight District. And did I mention that locals consider 70 degrees to be a “hot” day? Vancouver, you are on my list of cities to flee to if the US turns into Gilead. O Canada!

the sun sets over vancouver harbor

Up next: about that Alaskan Cruise!

2023-10-22