Seward, Alaska Wraps up Summer

Ok, it's about time for my last post. It's the day before school starts and we've been home for several weeks. We got right back into the business of life: volleyball tryouts, errands, birthdays, college bound parties, and doctor's appointments. Time slipped away from me. You know how that goes. I'm doing my best to remember it all before it slips away.

Seward, Alaska is a picturesque small town on the edge of the Kenai Peninsula, where the rugged mountains meet the sparkling waters of Resurrection Bay before making its way to the Pacific Ocean. This is one of those moments when I truly wish this blog could offer more than just words and images, allowing you to experience Seward's charm with all your senses. I wish you could feel the crisp sea breeze and the warm sun on your face, hear the rhythm of waves gently lapping against the shore, smell the brine, or listen to the distant calls of seabirds. These would all contribute to a sensory experience that brings Seward to life in a way that words can only hint at. I guess you'll just have to visit yourself.

As we explored Seward's shops and restaurants, we meandered in and out of souvenir stores, experiencing the town’s unique character. We strolled along the picturesque waterfront, a vibrant blend of quaint charm and outdoor adventure. At the water's edge, we skipped stones and basked in the glorious weather, soaking up every moment of quiet. For me, there's really nothing more relaxing than being on the water. Afterward, we walked back to our cozy VRBO, just two blocks away, where we would settle in for the next three days of exploration and relaxation.

Our first outing in Seward was an 8-hour boat ride around the Kenai peninsula with a kayak tour of Aialik glacier. Approaching the Seward harbor, it's a hub of activity, with fishing boats, kayaks, and cruise ships all contributing to the town's maritime atmosphere. I must admit that my relationship with boating is a bit unpredictable. My stomach tends to dictate my enjoyment of the sea, so I came armed with Dramamine, hoping it would prevent me from spending the next eight hours hunched over the boat’s stern. I wasn't entirely sure if any amount of Dramamine could guarantee smooth sailing, but I was ready to face the wind and waves head-on.

Meanwhile, Onora was grappling with a different kind of worry. Despite the fact that she's been on many boats in her 7 years of life, she still struggles with a sense of discomfort on them. Her fear isn't rooted in seasickness but a deep-seated worry about the boat capsizing, and in this case, capsizing in the icy waters. Kip took some time to calm her nerves, reassuring her that the boat was sturdy and the occasional bumps were part of the adventure. We hope that in time, and with positive experiences, she will learn to love the water and all of its "bumps."

We left for our adventure, the chilly wind at our faces, and the sun peeking through the clouds as we pulled farther from land. Our guide gave us a preview of what was to come. "The water right now is pretty smooth. As we head out to sea, it will become a bit more choppy. And, by the time we round the bend and head out into the open water, it can get pretty rough. That's because there's no land between here and Hawaii out there. (That's 2,793 miles of open water if you're wondering) So, if you need a ginger gummy, come see me. Oh, and let me know if you want your lunch, hot chocolate, or scones." Wow. Not helpful. Rough seas and the BLT I ordered ahead of time might not be a great combo. I gulped and snuck a look at Onora whose eyes had become rather enlarged. I knew this talk was seared into her brain as she calculated how quickly she would be able to disembark and get the heck off this contraption. Meanwhile, the rest of my crew exclaims, "The bigger the better." Oh, where did they come from?

If there's anything that can take your mind off the possibility of imminent nausea, it's the scenery we encountered along the route. Lime green lichen climbing the walls of the wind-formed rock formations, snow-capped peaks, puffins, and green craggy cliffs were just par for the course on this cruise. Seaspray, sun, and wind are fuel for the soul.

And the wind blew and blew. Meanwhile, Liam and Quinn braved the elements, spending the entire journey outdoors.

Quinn, initially undeterred, tried to stay outside in short sleeves, but that adventure was cut short as the chill soon had him reaching for warmer layers.

As Aialik Glacier came into view, our guide and captain quickly assessed the conditions to determine if we could safely kayak. Their decision was clear: "No." The Katabatic Winds had intensified, causing the water around the glacier to become increasingly choppy. From our vantage point high on the boat the waves appeared deceptively small. However, the captain shook his head and said, "These waves are capable of swamping a kayak with ease." With the icy water temperatures, any potential rescue would need to be swift and coordinated. "The issue," the captain explained, "is that this wind can push everyone in different directions almost instantly. If something goes wrong, we'd face the daunting task of rescuing multiple people at once with only one boat. The risks just aren't worth it today."

As we bundled up in our jackets, the brisk wind off the glacier sharply dropped the temperatures, but we were more than content to enjoy the stunning views from the warmth and safety of the boat. Aialik Glacier, much like the waves, is full of surprises. Spanning a mile in width and soaring 600 feet tall, the glacier presents a majestic yet deceptive facade.

Take the large triangular rock visible at the glacier's base—it measures an impressive 200 feet tall. From our vantage point, it seems almost embedded within the glacier, but in reality, it's situated a quarter-mile away from the ice shelf. The glacier is steadily advancing at a rate of 6 feet per day, and in time, it will completely envelop that rock.

As the glacier shifts and moves, it calves, sending massive chunks of ice crashing into the water below. The thunderous roar of the ice breaking off is so dramatic that Kip, while in the midst of posing for a family photo, was compelled to turn around to witness the spectacle in real-time. (see photo below) The sound is both eerie and awe-inspiring. It's a deep, rolling rumble that reverberates through the air, reminiscent of prolonged thunder, making the calving event a truly unforgettable experience.

The captain turned off the motor, giving us a time to fully absorb the glacier and its stunning surroundings. We observed small icebergs drifting lazily by and seals playfully darting in and out of the water near the frozen islands. Puffins flitted about with their distinctive, somewhat awkward flight pattern as if they were still perfecting their skills in mid-air.

With a long net, the guide reached down and went "fishing" for a small iceberg. Passengers took turns, passing it around before Quinn eventually hurled it back into the water.

With half the day under our belts, Onora and I were feeling great and ready to take on the next four hours. Then, the boat stopped: Orcas and Humpbacks!

Orcas, often dubbed the "wolves of the sea," are elusive and can appear unexpectedly. There were moments when their presence would suddenly hush the boat, as we watched them glide through the water with their sleek fins slicing through the surface, only to vanish just as quickly.

In contrast, spotting humpback whales involves a bit of strategy. We quickly discovered that the key to finding them is to follow the seabirds. These opportunistic birds hover above, waiting for humpbacks to surface from their deep dives. As the whales exhale and the surface ripples with their return, the seabirds swoop in to snatch up the fish scraps left behind.

Seals, orcas, humpbacks, oh my. We were surrounded in the middle of the choppy seas. The captain and crew, relishing our unbelievable luck to be encountering these animals all at once, were happy to sit and watch....Not for too long, I prayed, as the boat pitched and rolled in the swells, lest my Dramamine wears off. Even Quinn, my stalwart boatman, yawned a bit too often, an early telltale sign of some tummy unease.

But the show continued, the sights and sounds a smorgasbord for the senses. Using an underwater recording device, they even captured the song of the Humpback - one of the most haunting sounds you'll ever hear. Take a listen.

Humpback Whale SingingRecorded by Amy Digges

0:00

Just when we thought the show was over, we caught this beautiful Humpback breach. I could go home utterly satisfied.

 The motor cranked back up and we were off in the direction of Seward. The remaining few hours back to the dock, left us to just sit and enjoy the surroundings. Our captain took a brief respite, letting the kids take the helm for a bit, fulfilling Gaelan's wish. He later claimed that he'd either like to be a paleontologist or a boat captain.

As for me, that BLT sandwich was looking mighty tasty. I seized the opportunity to sit quietly and enjoy my lunch before the extra precautionary dose of Dramamine knocked me out for the final hour of the trip. I woke up just as we were pulling into the harbor and counted that day as one of the most successful boat outings I could remember. And Onora? She was a true champ. She navigated the rough waters with the grace of a surfer and emerged from the experience a more confident and joyful boater. It was a resounding success!

After spending eight hours on a rocking boat, solid ground can feel a bit unsteady. By the time we sat down for dinner at the local Thai restaurant, we were all still feeling the boat's sway. We found ourselves gripping the tables for support, as if that would help steady our sea-battered equilibrium.

The next day, we ventured out of town to Exit Glacier for a tour of Mitch Seavey's Iditarod Sled Dog operation. Mitch Seavey, a three-time Iditarod champion, trains his sled dogs in Seward during the summer, carefully selecting the teams that will compete in the grueling 1,000-mile race from Anchorage to Nome—a race that typically takes about ten days to complete.

While the more serious competitors are training atop a glacier in the summer, fourteen dogs, with names like Dirt, Mud, and Mac pulled our 2-3,000-pound sled for two miles along a forest trail, a crucial part of their training to stay in peak condition and to ensure they respond obediently to the musher's commands if their time to be "called up the big leagues" comes.

The sled they use for the Iditarod race is a mere 300 lbs. compared to their training sled and comes packed with only the necessities: Food for the dogs and the musher and hay for BOTH species to sleep on. There are 27 checkpoints where mushers must sign in, have each dog examined for injuries or illness, collect supplies for the next leg of the race, and take a brief rest before continuing on the trail.

We were delighted to have the chance to meet the newest Iditarod puppies. One litter was adorably tiny, just three weeks old. Gaelan struggled to keep one from his incessant crying, prompting him to get up and try his hand at comforting another one.

The other group was a litter of 6 week old sweet things. No matter their age, it would have been all too tempting to sneak one of those precious pups into my pocket.

Leaving the puppies, we were in for yet another treat. We passed by the famous Creperie that I had learned about in our travel book: Le Barn Apetit. Well, isn't that convenient!? Janet, the owner, couldn't have been more welcoming OR more of a storyteller. Her café was a treasure trove of fascinating artifacts—everything from alligator skins and bear claws to moose antlers, turtle shells, sculptures, and photographs. Every inch of wall space was filled with these curiosities, each with its own captivating story, all expertly recounted by Janet. Though her husband passed away last year, she keeps his memory alive through the vivid tales of his adventures and his famous crepe recipes.

Ah, but Seward was not complete. My dear friend Shannon has a brother who is the fire chief of Seward, and as luck would have it, his station was just a short three-minute walk from our cottage. What a wonderful coincidence to have a Seward connection! We decided to drop by the fire station to introduce ourselves, expecting a brief greeting. Instead, our visit blossomed into a delightful afternoon spent at Clinton’s home, where we met his warm family, their adorable pups, and their two Japanese exchange students. Clinton and his wife Julie make the most of every moment of their day. In addition to running Seward Coffee Company after their day jobs are done, they also own the Drunken Mermaid Inn, a stunningly beautiful and impeccably maintained gem and tiny home. If you're a couple headed to Seward, you're going to want to jump on this one. We enjoyed every moment with them, sitting in their backyard in swings made from recycled skiis, and cozying up with a fire and some s'mores.

For Quinn, this visit held special significance. His fascination with Japanese culture, language, and food runs deep. Over the past two years, he’s been self-studying Japanese through Duolingo, and he’s developed quite a passion for it. So, when he learned that Clinton and Julie had two Japanese exchange students visiting, his ears perked up. While interested in having a conversation with them, Quinn was understandably anxious about interacting in a language in which he knows only simple words and phrases. He confessed, “Mom, I don't know if I can do this. This isn’t just a stretch zone; it’s bordering on snapping my panic zone.” I reminded him that sometimes the most uncomfortable things can be the most rewarding. I added that letting fear get in the way of opportunity can lead to regret. So, he immediately set to work crafting a short introduction and preparing questions using Google Translate.

After arriving, for about 15 minutes Quinn sat with my phone in his hand, opened to Google Translate. I could see him processing how to tackle this conversation and mustering the courage to engage. Finally, he stood up and walked over to the girls. For the next hour, with phones in hand for translation, they talked, gestured, and laughed. I watched his nerves begin to ease as he successfully navigated a conversation about all things Japan.

As we were preparing to leave, the two girls suddenly stood up and said, “Wait here.” They returned with an assortment of Japanese treats, candy, ramen, and snacks, which they eagerly presented to Quinn. With a broad smile, Quinn accepted their generous gifts. When we arrived home to finish our last-minute packing for our departure the next morning, Quinn wrapped me in an unexpected hug. He said, "Thank you for pushing me to do things outside my comfort zone. That was one of the best experiences ever and I was really proud of myself."

He got home and tried a snack of unknown origin and oddly enough, unknown taste. Personally, I think it was fish jerky.

Reluctantly, we packed our bags, drove the three hours back to Anchorage, and caught a flight home to 98 degree temperatures and sticky humidity. We immediately fell into a long air-conditioned sleep. It's good to be home but it's always better to be traveling.

Thank you for joining us on our 2024 travels. Each year, I create a hard copy book of our blog as a cherished keepsake. So, this blog is a labor of love, crafted so that Kip, the kids, and I can always remember the places we've visited, the people we've met, and the experiences that are shaping who we are. There is so much to explore on this planet. Here's to more in the future. Next summer: London, Nottingham, Athens, Naxos, Santorini, and Crete.