The journey continued in this vein - we saw mother and child humpback wales sleeping - yes, sleeping - as they bobbed along, we visited the Chiswell Islands, and pulled within 10 feet of a giant cliff face covered with puffins, kittyhawks and cormorants nesting and wheeling in huge crowds above us. The high point for me was our arrival at Aialik Glacier. Captain Mark pulled the boat up to within 1/4 mile of the giant blue wall of ice, and silenced the engines, while we stood in the icy rain listening. The glacier is literally alive. It creaks and groans as the huge mass slowly slides down the mountain till it reaches the waters edge. There it cracks, and calves - huge chunks of ice, the size of houses, tumble into the water with the awesome roar of a thunderstorm. The anticipation of this event is electric. The glacier is a mile from side to side, and 200 metres high, and dwarfed us in our relatively large boat. Quite simply one of the most awe-inspiring sights I have ever seen in my life.
As we turned and picked our way back through the miniature icebergs, remnants of previous ice falls, the rain seemed to turn colder and the wind stronger. We felt for the kayakers, who had set up camp close to the glacier and were out in the middle of the water in front of the face - at least we could go inside. The deteriorating weather kept most people in the cabin out of the rain, and reduced the opportunities for photographs. In fact, as we reached the end of the fjord and entered open water, some people started to reach for sickbags as the waves grew, along with our sense of unease. This weather was not forecast, but the crew worked calmly to reassure passengers, and to hand out ginger ale and napkins to those in need.
As more and more passengers turned green (including both Linda and Thomas) Captain Mark apologised yet again for the unexpected weather, but added that there were other mariners in difficulty, and we were going to assist. So instead of heading to the safety of port, we headed out into the Gulf, looking for a small fishing boat. After about 25 minutes of roller-coaster waves, we found the boat. Our large pleasure cruiser left a smooth path in it's wake, which allowed the little boat to turn safely and follow us slowly to the shelter of a nearby island. In the calmer waters, we transferred supplies and left it moored, waiting for the weather to abate, while we headed for our salmon dinner at Fox Island. As well as a marvelous wildlife cruise, we got a huge adventure into the bargain, even at the expense of a few upset stomachs.
We did get our pictures...
Leaving the boat, we had the familiar but more tricky job of finding something for Tom to eat. His limited food vocabulary means that there is no way he will get a meaningful meal out of grilled salmon, wild rice, salad and sweet corn, and as often happens, we end up looking for chicken tenders or pizza for him before he can settle for sleep. In our quest, we got an idea of what kind of town Seward might be. The diner Tom wanted to go to closed at 7.30, just as the town was filling with evening revelers for the pre-July 4th festivities. The next restaurant had a 45 minute wait for a table. The next did Greek and Italian food (no chance), the next fish restaurant was closed for the evening. Meanwhile, we had walked past at least four 'redneck' bars, with buzzcut adolescents drinking beer and spilling out onto the pavement. Bob told us that the town of Seward has laid on extra security for tomorrow, since a similar annual July 4th festival up the road has been canceled this year, since last year it descended into drunken violence. Many of those revelers are expected here tomorrow....watch this space...
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