Glacier Bay National Park

On Thursday, we cruised through Glacier Bay National Park. It was pretty mind-blowing. First of all, glaciers. Big, blue, jagged glaciers making spooky creaking noises and sending showers of ice down into the water now and then. That's Margerie Glacier, above, behind me, and below, in all her glory. She puts Mendenhall -- or at least the view of him I had -- to shame.

Second of all, the air smelled amazing -- the way it smells when you've just walked outside after a big snow. I guess I miss that smell! New Englanders probably got sick of it this winter, but I'm deprived.

There were snow-capped mountains everywhere, dark clouds and light breaking through dramatically. Ice floating in the water, just in case you forgot where you were. The best part? Since we had balcony rooms on the ship, we could see everything drift by from the comfort of our bed, if so desired. Laziness without missing a single scenic view. Perfect!

Skagway, Alaska

Our next port was Skagway, Alaska (pop. 850, I think I heard).  Supposedly the little town hasn't changed much since the Gold Rush.  It might look the same on the outside, but the shops in Skagway are mostly tourist junk: Eskimo ornaments, t-shirts, knick-knacks, fudge.  I might have enjoyed it more had it not been pouring rain.  Or maybe not.

However, it was in Skagway that we boarded the White Pass & Yukon Route Railroad, which climbs almost 3,000 feet to the border of British Columbia, along the same route thousands of gold-seekers traveled on foot in the 1890's (the tracks would eventually lead you into the Yukon).  I was a little worried that the train trip would be lame.  I was wrong.

Photographs (my photographs, anyway) cannot quite capture the experience of being in a train on the side of a mountain, with the Class 6 rapids of the Skagway River churning in the bottom of the ravine far below you and an even taller mountain rising out of the fog on the either side of the chasm.  It was beautiful.

At one point, we could see the actual trail on which the miners walked.  It was probably not more than two feet wide. 

Becky spent most of the train ride out in the platform, taking pictures.  Hers are better than mine -- oh well.  

Juneau, Alaska

After sailing out of Seattle, we spent the first full day of our cruise at sea, occupying ourselves with spa treatments, cocktails, hot tubs, bowling, naps, and, of course, food (it was also Stacey's and my one-year anniversary!).  It was nice to offset our outdoorsy plans and the rainy forecast with some total relaxation.

Our ship pulled into Juneau on Tuesday afternoon.  It was a little surreal -- for almost two days, we'd seen nothing but open ocean and distant islands, and then suddenly we opened the door to our balcony and we were in a little harbor.  The mountains rise right up out of the ocean, and since the weather in southeastern Alaska is usually very rainy, everything was misty and foggy.  But we could smell pine trees and rain, which we miss after almost a year in dry, sunny California.

Susy disembarked for her Mendenhall Glacier hike, and Becky for her photography tour.  Stacey and I had booked a sea kayak trip, but it was cancelled due to white caps.  Instead, we went to Mendenhall Lake for a raft trip down the Mendenhall River.  Although it was a pretty tame raft trip, we had a good time.  It was particularly exciting because Mendenhall Lake is home to -- you guessed it -- Mendenhall Glacier, and at this point we had never seen a glacier before (more on that later).  You can see Mendenhall Glacier below -- it's the blue thing to the left of the big mountain.  The blue color has something to do with the ice reflecting every color except blue -- or something like that.

Below, the view from the raft looking back toward the glacier.

Further down the Mendenhall River:

We saw a bald eagle in a tree and a few Arctic terns, but other than that, not much in the way of wildlife.  The trip down the river confirmed the fact that Alaska smells amazing!  Maybe an affinity for crisp weather and pine forests (not to mention 37 degree water, which is VERY cold when it splashes into the raft and onto your hand) is ingrained in me by my New England childhood, but it felt somehow familiar -- something like Maine, writ very, very large.

Seattle

Stacey and I met our sisters in Seattle today.  We'll only be here about a day before our cruise leaves for Alaska.  Stacey and I were able to meet my friends Courtney and Tracy for lunch at Etta's, where we had a delicious Dungeness crab cocktail with green papaya and mint.  We tried to spend some time in Pike's Place Market, but it was hideously crowded.  I will be happy as long as I make it to Piroshky Piroshky before we leave.  It's a favorite from my last trip to Seattle -- even Anthony Bourdain stopped there for a sausage piroshky on a recent episode of No Reservations.  I don't know if it is authentic, but I know it is tasty.

Tonight we have dinner reservations at Brasa.  Tomorrow, after brunch at our hotel, we're off to the ship!

Tourist In My Own Town: Winchester Mystery House

Our dear friend Emily reported recently that she and some friends had begun making an effort to visit new places and see new things close to home, an initiative known as TIMOT, or Tourist In My Own Town.  Stacey and I, as relatively new transplants to this area, have made plenty of pilgrimages to San Francisco and points north, but have spent very little time sampling tourist destinations in San Jose itself.  One of the most famous is the Winchester Mystery House, which is less than four miles from our home.  We drive past it often when we go shopping, but neither of us had ever visited it until today.  With a clean apartment, a clear schedule, and a two-for-one coupon, we decided to go check it out.

Though I do not think I would have gladly paid full price for admission, the house is admittedly sort of fascinating.  The story is bizarre: Sarah Winchester, wealthy widow and Winchester Rifle heiress, began building the house in 1884 and did not stop until she died thirty-eight years later.  This means that the house is enormous, but also that rooms were constantly renovated (over 600 times, according to our tour guide).  It's a convoluted warren of staircases (the most famous of which leads straight into a ceiling), hallways, strange nooks and closets, and doors -- some of which open into walls, or into open air (see first picture above).  Supposedly Sarah Winchester consulted a psychic in Boston who told her that the spirits of those killed by Winchester rifles would seek vengeance, and her strange building plans were intended to keep them at bay, confuse them, or appease them, depending on what you read.  It's basically a 160-room testimony to mental illness.

It's also rumored to be haunted, but we neither saw nor felt anything.  Our tour guide told us a story about his cell phone dialing the number 13 (Sarah Winchester's favorite number, repeated superstitiously throughout the house in ceiling panels, drain holes, coat hooks, and windows) by itself, but it sounded pretty bogus to me.

New England Adventures

As many of you know, we spent the last nine days in New England, visiting friends and family.  Despite the often oppressive humidity, to which we are no longer accustomed, and a pretty intense schedule, we had a wonderful time.

First stop: a visit with our friends Rebecca and Dan and their baby boys, Chase (first picture below) and Austin (second picture), who are adorable.

On Saturday, June 28th, my dear friends Lisa and Daniel were married in a beautiful ceremony in a beautiful Italian garden at the Codman Estate in Lincoln, Massachusetts.  Excellent food (including a fantastic cake from Flour Bakery in Boston) and a chance to see some of my favorite people.  Here's Lisa and Daniel, below -- the zoom on my camera isn't very good, so they are a bit small...

While we were waiting to go into the reception, four goats from a farm down the road decided to pay us a visit.  This was amusing until they tried to storm the tent.  Somehow, we managed to keep them out, but I did have the opportunity to get a few pictures.

On Sunday we threw my father a surprise 60th birthday brunch at The Blue Room, one of our favorite Boston-area restaurants (of course, we are a bit biased -- Stacey used to be the sous chef there).  The food was fantastic as usual, and as usual we ate way too much.  We also got the chance to see some old friends there, including our friend and wedding photographer Wayne, who was our server, and whose photographs are currently on display in the restaurant.  And my father was definitely surprised.

On Sunday evening, the three lovely Pearl Street Princesses (Emily, Leah and Julie) took us to dinner at TW Food in Cambridge.  We are still trying to decide which of the eight courses (and two amuse bouches) we liked the best -- right now, I think the buttery garlic scape soup with parmigiano reggiano is our front-runner.  I really, really wanted seconds.

Monday brought lunch with the ladies of the Boston library at Nixon Peabody and dinner with Brendan, Melodie and Wayne.

On Tuesday, we drove up to Maine to spend the rest of the week at my father's new summer house in Denmark.  Stacey and I made a slight detour to Ogunquit for massages at the Cliff House Spa and lunch at MC Perkins Cove.  We have wanted to eat at MCPC ever since it opened a few years ago, because the owners are known for running Arrows Restaurant, the local-food mecca of Maine (Bostonians, take note -- they have also recently opened a restaurant called Summer Winter, in the Burlington Marriott).  The food is great, and the view, below, is just as good, if not better.

My father's house in Denmark is every bit as relaxing as we had hoped, and we spent days doing nothing more than cooking, chatting, sleeping and drinking (with the exception of one very taxing game of miniature golf).  The weather was amazing -- mostly sunny, warm, and breezy.  It was pretty rough.  Here's the view of Hancock Pond from the lawn.

And here is the all-important hammock.

My father and Bernice used the proceeds from a yard sale last year to buy a little sailboat (aptly named Yard Sail) and this was the week to put it in the water.  Below, Susy and our friend Rick tie it to the dock after Susy gave it a test-row.  The mast and sail are obviously not yet in place.

Yard Sail at twilight.

The next day, it was time for its maiden voyage.  Bernice and our friends Rule and Elayne hoisted the sail...

...prepared for take-off...

...and sailed away!

Dad and Lucy (and I) watched from the dock.

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

In the fall, native and veteran Californians warned me that, although Bay Area winters may not be as cold as I'm used to, and although I would never see snow or ice in San Jose, I should prepare for frequent and unpleasant winter rains.  We had a few intense rain storms -- you may remember that we spent one of those in Sonoma -- but overall, it didn't seem that rainy.  Turns out it was a dry and mild winter, and now Northern California is paying the price.  East Bay communities, facing a dwindling water supply, started water rationing over a month ago.  And everything is so dry that fire has become a serious threat in many parts of the state.  According to the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection, there are currently fires burning in Amador, Butte, Santa Cruz, Tehama, and Monterey Counties.  Fires in Sonoma, Tuolumne, Sacramento, Madera, El Dorado, and Kern Counties have been contained within the last week.

Last night, as my train headed south from San Francisco, I noticed that what had been a sunny day was turning dark earlier than normal.  It appeared that we were driving toward a very dense, very large storm cloud.  This may not seem strange to those of you in other parts of the country.  In fact, it looked a lot like one of those summer thunderstorms that can blacken the sky in a matter of minutes, particularly common in upstate New York.  However, it does not rain in California after March or so.  Certainly not in June.  Not ever.  I had read online about some new fires in Santa Cruz county, south of San Jose, but I didn't think they could produce that amount of smoke.  The effect was creepy -- the picture above, taken from our patio at about 8:00 PM last night, gives you an idea, but it doesn't really do it justice.

According to the San Jose Mercury-News, the cloud was smoke from the fire in the Ventana Wilderness of the Los Padres National Forest in Monterey County, about 90 miles south of here.  This is the largest fire burning now, covering 23,575 acres -- approximately the size of Worcester, Massachusetts.

I don't think we'll ever be in any danger here, near downtown San Jose -- there's hardly enough vegetation to sustain that kind of fire.  But it's sobering to step outside and smell the fire, or see a sky of smoke.