In a Ghost Ship Across the Gulf

Juneau, the place of Alaska’s first documented serial killer (though I’m sure some indigenous did it first; there’s always someone else who did it first). And on the subject of death, the “Titanic of Alaska”, the Princess Sophia, had grounded herself on a reef just a bit north up the channel from here. For 40 harrowing hours she teetered in gale-force winds beyond the reach of rescue boats, until the rising tide forced her from safety and dragged 353 souls down with her. It’s a horror story that no one seems to know about since news of its sinking was overshadowed by the end of WW1 and Spanish Influenza epidemic. But in the countless bays and channels along Alaska’s coasts there’s probably a horror story for each one. The sweeping tides and islands that funnel winds are treacherous, and any seaman probably has a dozen horror stories they can tell you.

Safe on dry land, I drove south to a tiny collection of houses that makes up the town of Douglas. Picturesque in itself but not as much for a natural landscape guy, I continued south down the Glacier Highway and along the Gastineau Channel. I pulled off on the side of the road to take a few shots of the water while a bald eagle cried out overhead from its evergreen nest. It's calls echoed across the channel. From there I continued to the end of the road and then turned around and hit up the Rain Forest Trail, where I made a short hike out to the beach and set up the tripod to take a few long exposures. I've never done long exposures of water, and the little waves lapping gently at the bay came out great on the Canon's LCD screen. I’ll have to see how the finished product looks in post-processing though.

Headed back into the capital at 4:45pm and it's dark-dark out. Juneau is such an interesting place of tall buildings crammed into a tiny strip of land with political powers and oily fishermen about. It’s weird to me to see Alaska license plates amid these almost-skyscrapers. For the complete experience, I drove out to the community of Thane at the end of the other road, and now I can say I've been the farthest I could go in all 3 directions. If I lived here I might start to feel trapped, like how I did for that month on Maui when I was trying to find a job after college. And this place is a fraction of the size.

At night I walked across the hotel’s parking lot to the comically-small airport to drop off the rental car and then walked back to the hotel. Total time it took = ten minutes. I crashed out at 8:45pm in preparation for the early early ferry departure. I woke up shortly later in the witching hour and cabbed it to the ferry terminal, when black magic was surely at it’s strongest. The cabby dropped me off in the empty lot. Weird, it’s super quiet at the terminal. Did I miss the ferry? There’s one ship at dock but not a soul is stirring and I can’t tell if it’s been there for awhile or not. Is this the right ship? Well, there’s nothing else here so I guess I’m walking towards it.

I walked past a gate into a fenced area and emerged from the dark at the dock. There’s another person here! Like Charon ferrying souls across the river Acheron, I submitted my fair to them and they let me board. Once aboard I realized my ticket didn't include a place to sleep so I shelled out another $180 for a roommette, of which someone left a copy of the holy bible on the shelf in it. Brrr, it’s chilly in the little roommette and blankets cost extra so I tried to tough it out. I spent the rest of the night huddling under my jacket tossing and turning since I couldn’t sleep. The next morning I got up at 7:30 and the first thing I noticed was a thermostat on the wall. Doh. I found breakfast in the ship’s mess and then went to the forward observation room and set up both laptops to work. I feel like I'm in command sitting behind the bow.

Hmmm, where’s the WiFi? After trying my devices for a signal a crewman appeared and informed me that they didn’t have it. FUCK. I ended up having to call a coworker and walking them through the technical steps from memory to create a report due that day. Poor thing, although I'm annoyed by the situation too. I had just assumed the 500-passenger ship would have WiFi since I’ve seen 30ft catamarans on YouTube with it. Relived from work and now on unplanned PTO, I sat back in the observation room and watched the bow sway up and down over the horizon. It feels like I'm in the ultimate Cadillac as shadows sway back and forth while the ship bounces along the waves. After lunch I watched the mountains get smaller and smaller as we ventured farther out in the gulf. With each passing minute the waves became larger and larger, shadows moving from side to side, again and again, longer and longer.

Oh gawd, I think I feel nauseous.

I started to feel queasy so I made my way to the stern observation deck, thinking that it would be like sitting in the front seat of a car when motion sickness starts to make it's ugly presence known. This was a mistake. Now I feel REALLY nauseous! After a short while we entered an open plain of high winds across the ocean that would pick the stern up and point it towards the clouds. In these moments it was like being at the top of a roller coaster, sitting precariously skyward until we slowly started to descend, quickly gathering momentum so that the stern would come tearing down and dive under the horizon. A dark blue wall would form in front of us, reborn darker in the next dive as the stern descended deeper, turning the moments to hours until a legitimate "BOOM!' erupted from below as the keel slapped the waters surface at the lowest point of the wave. A geyser of water erupted overhead a moment later and the wind picked it up and tossed it sideways onto the slanted windows of the observation deck. Water and sea spray cascaded down the decking so that it was like standing under the edge of a waterfall. “BOOM!” it sounded again, and a fresh geyser sprang again and the face of death appeared and peered at us through the windows.

I hadn't yet totally lost my composure so I nauseously stumbled towards the bathroom, thinking it would be good medicine to sit on the can. But then the wretched wind started to come at us from starboard, rolling and heaving the ship in all directions. I held the handrails like a horizontal game of monkey ladder and the floor kept moving out from under me. By the time I sat on the throne I was thoroughly thrashed. I couldn't sit upright so I lowered my head onto the toilet paper housing and grabbed on to it with both hands. Boat rocking, pants around my ankles, eyes closed shut, hanging onto the toilet paper housing for dear life I was probably as close to finding religion as I’ve ever been. No amount of money would have been out of consideration if I could have bought my way out of the situation. Then I felt the vomit come and lost myself to the nausea. Luckily, I had enough space in the stall to move my feet to the side before I lost my composure. But after this I couldn't do anything - I couldn't lift my head, I couldn’t let go of the toilet paper housing, I couldn’t even open my damn eyes. All I could do was wait for the next wave to hit and the ship to roll. As I laid there with my head down my mask fell off and into the vomit and I think I even passed out for a few times when the waves hit.

I must have held on to that toilet paper for an hour and a half until a 2nd wind hit me and I was able to pull myself together. Luckily, again, no one came into the bathroom the whole time (or maybe they did and I couldn't notice). I washed the vomit off my mask and stumbled back to my room. I do feel bad leaving such a mess for the crew to clean up, but I could barely walk back to the little roommette on my own. Once lying down in the dark it felt like a night and day difference and I felt a hundred times better. This ship is a stretcher now, carrying me from the waves. Maybe I will read that holy bible and find Jesus tonight, if I can pull myself together to stand again.

For solid 13 hours I slept and woke the next morning feeling just 100%. OMFG, I hope that never happens again. Shaved and put myself together and returned to the mess to get breakfast. Fuck, I’m ashamed to show my face here after the crew mopped up the mess I left last night. I talked with another passenger who’s been on board for a while and she said she almost puked yesterday. I replied that I did, thrice. It was more than that of course but that’s what I lost count at. We arrived at Whittier at 1pm and I was all geared up and ready to explore the little town, but as I was about to exit I was informed that passengers who have another final destination have to stay on the ship due to Covid. I watched a steady stream of passengers disembark at Whittier as the last of the sunlight disappeared beyond the mountains. Damn, I’m trapped aboard.

The good captain passed through the observation room and visited with me, saying we'll arrive in Kodiak early tomorrow. While a crewman carrying a Ghostbusters-like backpack sprayed disinfectant nearby, the captain explained that the barge that supplies Kodiak broke down, so the ferry is loading 12 trailers full of food aboard. He’s never carried this many before, but they have straps to keep it all contained and they expect smooth sailing tomorrow, otherwise they wouldn't do it. His favorite activity is giving bridge tours but those have been stopped due to Covid, and he asked if there was anything the crew could do to make things better. I said no and that I was having a great time with my camera, though yesterday was a bit rough. He replied that he probably shouldn't say it, but he was feeling nauseous too. They had altered course on to plan B to get to smoother waters, and the curious little town I saw yesterday but didn’t recognize was Yakutat.

The captain left and I watched the dark sweep over little Whittier. Almost the entire town lives in a single tower of 13 stories, one of two massive buildings that were built during WWII. The other? It watches ominously over the industrial yard and the few other shops that make up the rest of town.

Another happy day.

The forward observation area where I’ve been left alone is eerily quiet. Really quiet. I haven't seen anyone in an hour where previously it had been full of people. The sun sets and an epiphany hits me. Holy shit, am I…

Am I alone now?

This is a ghost ship.

Maybe it’s the empty creaking ship, maybe it’s all the reading about the Mary Celeste and other doomed ships, maybe it’s the hours playing Dead Space, maybe it’s the monster I’m sure is aboard with me and I just saw crawl on to deck, but this place is scary. I quietly crept back to the little roommette, shut the door and made sure it was latched shut, and kept the light on. It’s unsettling knowing there’s nothing but a dark empty ship outside the thin door. I closed my eyes again and slept and waited for dawn’s light.

Whew, woke up to an open ocean in front of us. I worked on pictures in the predawn hours as the sun came up and realized that I do love this life, editing travel pictures on a boat in the ocean. If I ever write another survival story though, it’ll include this empty ship and the treacherous waters. We made Kodiak’s port a bit after noon, where in the light of day I found a friend waiting for me at the dock. I ended this chapter of The Shining on the seas.