Commuting to Alaska

With two of my grandchildren resident in Alaska, I must endure an uncomfortable imprisonment in the middle seat of an airplane for seemingly endless hours in order to visit them.  Actually, two middle seats aboard two airplanes, first from Boston to Seattle, and then from Seattle to Anchorage.  Miss Patty occupies the window seat; a stranger sits by the aisle.  Thus confined through the long and dark night, I sleep intermittently and occasionally study the on-screen navigational map.  Despite the discomfort, I realize what a blessing it is to be able to travel so far so quickly.  More importantly, I know that the reasons for this travel, our granddaughters Miss Katie and Miss Abby, are themselves the most sublime and supernal of all blessings.  It is always an honor to visit with them.

This point became all the more clear in church one Sunday morning.  As the speaker held forth on the importance of family, the two girls took turns climbing on laps, alternating between me and their Oma.  Their sweet innocence, unfeigned affection, and complete trust spoke volumes, “for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).

Our visits to the Alaskan grandchildren often involved opportunities to visit the Alaskan coastline as well.  The majestic beauty of Nature showed forth in a grand confluence of geology and oceanography as the snow-capped Chugach and Kenai Mountains intermingled with cold North Pacific waterways.  Far-flung seaport villages dotted this sparsely settled coast.  Two of them, Seward and Whittier, lay near enough to Anchorage to make day trips feasible.

On Monday, October 4, 2021, then, we drove to Seward on the Kenai Peninsula and visited the Alaska Sea Life Center.  This marvelous facility consisted of an aquarium, an aviary, a museum, and a research laboratory.  Birds, fish, and marine mammals abounded.  One sea lion in particular took a liking to Miss Katie and Miss Abby and put on an impromptu demonstration of diving, jumping, splashing, and making faces at them through the glass wall of the tank.  Naturally, the two girls loved the attention.

The back porch of the Sea Life Center overlooked Resurrection Bay.  This view was magnificent with the snow-capped Kenai Mountains nearly surrounding an expansive and placid fjord of Pacific seawater.  Local lore held that Captain James Cook of the Royal Navy discovered Resurrection Bay on Easter Sunday and named it in honor of the occasion.  The historical record indicated otherwise, however. This showed that it was actually named by Alexander Baranov, a Russian colonist and the first governor of Russian America.  His ship took refuge in the bay during a severe North Pacific storm and then emerged in calm weather on Easter Sunday.[1]  He also founded the port of Voskresenskii, which was later renamed Seward, on the bay’s western shore in 1793.[2]

The discrepancies between fact and folklore notwithstanding, our visit to the Alaska Sea Life Center and Resurrection Bay was a fascinating and unforgettable experience filled with breathtaking natural beauty evocative of “the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep” (Ps. 107:24).

On Sunday afternoon, May 15, 2022, we drove to Whittier and visited the commercial shipping docks.  Two grand vessels were in port that day, the cruise ship Nieuw Amsterdam of the Holland America Line, and the ferry Aurora of the Alaska Marine Highway.  Both of these ships were part of our family history, and it was good to see them again.  Our family, then lacking grandchildren, had sailed aboard the Nieuw Amsterdam in the Caribbean in February of 2012, and I had seen the Aurora at her dock in Whittier on my first visit to Alaska in October of 2015.

Whittier stood on the south side of the Passage Canal, which was not a canal at all but an alcove adjoining the larger Prince William Sound.  Captain James Cook discovered this body of water in 1778, and it was subsequently named after the third son of King George III.[3]  In time, Whittier developed into a busy commercial, military, and fishing port with highway and railroad links to Anchorage.  The Nieuw Amsterdam docked there so passengers could make a convenient connection to the Alaska Railroad.  The Aurora docked there to load and discharge passengers and their private automobiles.  Surrounding both ships was a pristine oblong fjord nearly encapsulated by tall and jagged snow-covered mountains.  It was truly a view of the majesty of Creation, one that “let the beauty of the Lord be upon us” (Ps. 90:17).

The two granddaughters watched in rapt attention as the diminutive but elegant Aurora made her approach.  She passed directly in front of us as she turned and then backed down to her dock.  After the stern ramp was lowered the traffic started off the ship, and this, too, held the girls’ attention.  With her business concluded after only half an hour in port, the Aurora took in her mooring lines and got underway again.

The Nieuw Amsterdam, by comparison, was much larger and more stationary.  She would sail late in the evening, long after our return to Anchorage.  Meanwhile, she dominated the waterfront with her immense size and graceful lines, and yet she was dwarfed by the surrounding mountains that towered over her.  We found a small floating dock and attached gangway near her bow to be the best vantage point for viewing, photographing, and reminiscing.

On Thursday, May 19, 2022, I set out alone and on foot from the house during the granddaughters’ naptime.  Fifteen minutes of walking brought me away from the activity of the city to a pedestrian and bicycle trail paralleling the Cook Inlet.  This stretch of water extended from the open Pacific northeastward to the Anchorage International Airport and thence to downtown Anchorage.  The trail connected these two areas, covering a distance of several miles.  Scenic lookout spots, where one could sit quietly and imbibe the view, dotted the path.

My favorite of these lookout spots gave me unobstructed views in several directions.  To the northeast stood the modern skyscrapers of downtown with the Chugach Mountains behind them.  To the northwest and across the inlet from the city the Panamanian cargo ship Bunun Wisdom of the Wisdom Line[4] lay anchored near the opposite shore.  To southwest the airport occupied a peninsula from which every ten minutes or so an airplane took off into the northerly breeze.  Surprisingly, the distant roar of the jet engines did not seem intrusive, nor did the occasional sounds of locomotive horns from the freight trains on the nearby railroad tracks.  More quietly, though, spread out directly in front of me were the extensive low tide mud flats of the Cook Inlet backed by a much larger expanse of blue water.  It was a truly magnificent vista.  I could have stayed there all afternoon, but the granddaughters’ nap time would not last that long!

Of course, these granddaughters, along with our sons and daughters-in-law, were the reasons why Miss Patty and I had traveled to Alaska in the first place.  All the sightseeing was a nice bonus and an uplifting spiritual experience.  The family, however, was paramount.  With this family we had wonderful vacations, times that went by much too quickly, but also times that reminded us of how fortunate we were to have both children and grandchildren, as well as good children-in-law.

Two great spiritual events took place during these family reunions.  The first was Miss Katie’s baby blessing on Sunday, March 4, 2018.  Following the family tradition, she wore the christening gown which her great-great-grandparents, Robert Burns and Julia Murphy, had purchased in 1949 for their first grandson, and which has now been used by three generations of our family.

The second, and the true spiritual summit of our visits, took place in the evening of Wednesday, October 6, 2021, in the Anchorage Temple.  Miss Patty and I gathered in the sealing room with our two sons and daughters-in-law and carried out the requisite sealings for my deceased parents.  First they were sealed to their parents, then to each other, and finally to me.  Afterwards, we retired to the celestial room for an interval of quiet contemplation before leaving.

While one need not fly to Alaska in order to enjoy a happy family gathering and a meaningful religious experience, the investment of time, effort, and discomfort in traveling makes the trek seem like a pilgrimage, and thus it enhances the intensity of the occasion.  Such were my thoughts during my confinement in the awkward middle seats of the airplanes on the long nocturnal flights home.  Now, I look forward to going back and doing it all again!

Next, let’s look at some pictures:

At the Alaska Sea Life Center in Seward, a sea lion meets one of our granddaughters on Tuesday, October, 4, 2021.

 

 

 

 

 

A view of Resurrection Bay from the rear balcony of the Sea Life Center on the same day.

The ferry Aurora of the Alaska Marine Highway arrives in Whittier on Sunday, May 15, 2022.

Same day; same ship.  The Aurora discharges passengers and their vehicles at the dock in Whittier.

Same day; different ship.  The Nieuw Amsterdam reposes quietly at the main commercial dock in Whittier.  She is a large vessel, but the mountains easily outsize her.

 

A view of the Cook Inlet in Anchorage on Thursday, May 19, 2022, with the anchored cargo ship Bunun Wisdom.

"And the light shineth in darkness" (John 1:5).  The steeple of the Anchorage Temple on Wednesday, October 6, 2021, following the completion of my parents' sealing ordinances.

Some lights shine just as well in the daytime.  The steeple of the meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on West 40th Avenue in Anchorage, where my sons and their families attend church, on Sunday, May 15, 2022.

Neighbors.  Across the street stands Our Lady of Guadalupe Cathedral.  Built in the Spanish Mission Revival style, the cathedral has twin belfries, each topped with a Mediterranean-style red tile roof surmounted by a Latin cross.  A traditional symbol of Christianity, the cross reminds us of the brutality and suffering involved in the Atonement, a point we should always remember and appreciate.

---

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resurrection_Bay. 

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Andreyevich_Baranov.

[3] https://wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_William_Sound.

[4] Information from marinetraffic.com.

The Night Watch

 

Sitting in the darkness at the water’s edge at Falmouth Beach on Cape Cod on Wednesday, September 22, 2021, I gazed into the night and almost felt as if I were aboard a ship at sea.  I could have been on the bridge wing of the Rigel or the Waccamaw or the Victoria or the Bartlett.  Overhead, the full Moon shone down on the surf and sand from the west.  In the south, the constellation Orion, with its navigational stars Rigel and Betelgeuse, hung in the heavens just offshore of Martha’s Vineyard.  This great island, with its omnipresent cloud cover, loomed large but subtle on the southwest horizon, a dark gray mass on a darker sea and sky.  Additional stars interspersed with cumulus clouds dotted the sky in all directions.  A cool breeze from the south hurried across the black expanse of Vineyard Sound, and on the beach the calm rush of the wind combined with the gentle landing of the waves to produce a musical harmony capable of lulling one to sleep.

But I had not come to sleep.  Instead, I had made the twenty minutes’ walk through dark and deserted residential streets from the Mariner Motel to Falmouth Beach to look upon the sea at night, to watch the night become twilight, and to see the Sun rise out of the sea and usher in the new day.  I had witnessed this on the 4:00 to 8:00 morning watch aboard ship many times.  I had also spent many hours in the dark on the 12:00 to 4:00 night watch.  On both schedules, I always enjoyed seeing the stars in the firmament overhanging the ocean, and when sailing coastwise, seeing the navigational lights beckoning seaward.

Three such lights shared navigational duty tonight.  Two miles to the southwest, the Nobska Lighthouse flashed white every five seconds.  Four and a half miles to the southeast, the East Chop Lighthouse on Martha’s Vineyard flashed red every six seconds.  And closest to me at a half mile to the east, the breakwater light marking the entrance to Falmouth Harbor flashed green every three seconds.  Finally, a small scattering of street and window lamps contributed their soft luster.

As on a many a dark night at sea, the black canvas of this dark night at the seashore was punctuated by starlight, moonlight, shore lights, and diligently flashing navigational lights.  It was a masterpiece of both divine creation and human habitation.  The night had an ambiance that was palpable and distinct and spiritual.  It was quiet, but for the sounds of wind and wave, yet it spoke volumes at the sublime level, far above human speech.  The magnificence of the night at the seashore was ineffable.

Like any form of perishable art, however, it could not last.  Fifty minutes before sunrise, the first faint stirrings of daylight appeared on the eastern horizon.  Light gray at first, then a gradually brightening and spreading luminosity replaced the darkness of the night.  The stars faded into invisibility.  The Moon, soon to set in the west, lost some of its brilliance.  The sea and sky changed from black to several shades of blue.  Precisely at 6:30am, the upper limb of the Sun emerged in the east from below the horizon.  The night watch ended, and the day watch began.

I was no longer alone, as several other folks had come to the waterfront during the interval of twilight to watch the sunrise.  Some remained in their cars and drove away, presumably to work, after the big event.  Others stood on the beach or sat on the seawall, some in small groups and some alone.  A few stayed and continued to gaze upon the sea as the Sun rose higher in the sky and the brilliance of the daylight increased.  Seagulls, ducks, and cormorants emerged from their nocturnal hiding places and began swimming and flying in search of food.  On the water, the ferries Island Home and Katama emerged from their overnight berths in Woods Hole and Vineyard Haven.  The first voyages of the new day were beginning.

I began the business of the day by returning to the Mariner Motel through streets no longer dark and deserted but humming with activity.  Miss Patty and I had places to go and things to do, and we needed to get underway.  Whatever the day ahead would bring, it had already started in a most outstanding way.  Spending much of the night almost but not quite at sea enabled me to commune with the cosmos and experience an epiphany.  Tomorrow and the next day I would return to Falmouth Beach and stand the night watch all over again.

Now for some pictures.  Joseph Conrad once described England as a place “where men and sea interpenetrate.”[1]  The same can be said of Cape Cod.  With a centuries-long history of seafaring, the Cape in our time is home to such sea-associated learned institutions as the Marine Biological Laboratory, the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, and just across the canal, the Massachusetts Maritime Academy.  The Falmouth and Woods Hole Public Libraries offer books on maritime history and display nautical artwork created by local artists.  The Steamship Authority’s fleet connects Cape Cod with Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard.  Additionally, private ferries, recreational yachts, and fishing boats are ubiquitous.

In our first photograph, we see the Nobska Lighthouse at dusk on Tuesday, September 21.  This is the largest of the lights that “shineth in darkness” (John 1:5) over Vineyard Sound. 

On the same day but before dusk, we see the ferry Island Home plying her route between Woods Hole and Martha’s Vineyard.  Here, she is just off Nobska Point.

Next, my favorite of all the art works in the Woods Hole Public Library is this beautiful model of the iconic British clipper ship Cutty Sark.  I had discovered this treasure previously and returned on Friday, September 24, to photograph it.

Finally, on the same Friday, we visited the statue of Rachel Carson, the famous marine biologist and author of books about the sea, which graces Waterfront Park in Woods Hole.   

 

 

---

[1] Joseph Conrad, “Youth,” in Tales of Land and Sea, Garden City, NY: Hanover House, 1953, p. 7.