For me, the highlight was a tour of the vessel’s engine room. At 418 feet and 7,745 long tons, the M/V Columbia is the largest vessel on the Alaska Marine Highway System. She’s powered by twin Enterprises, massive 16-cylinder diesels with pistons the size of beer kegs, each the size of a locomotive and pushing out a combined 12,800 horsepower at 335rpms. That’s more than 50 Porsche 911s. Each mill sucks down 155 gallons of diesel per hour, which, when combined with the ship’s 12-cylinder generators, puts fuel consumption around 360 gallons every 60 minutes- that’s about 18 gallons per mile when she’s running all ahead full at 17 knots. The Honda Element weighs 4100lbs with our gear aboard, and we’re seeing about 23mpg, so the M/V Columbia gets about 26 times better gas mileage than we do on a kilogram-miles-per-hour basis.
We stopped in several small ports along the voyage, including Juneau, Sitka, Wrangell, and Ketchikan. Sitka and Ketchikan were the only daytime stops. At the former, we went for a hike and picked bright red salmonberries growing by the road- they were tangy and delicious. In Ketchikan, the purser pointed us in the direction of the town’s historic district, and recommended we walk down Creek Street. Ketchikan had been the seedy underbelly of the inside passage, and because of its remoteness had remained a near-lawless frontier settlement well into the 1950s. It was a center of prohibition-era smuggling, and the houses and saloons on Creek Street were built on stilts to allow boats to coast right up underneath. They would then transfer loads of booze into the houses and saloons through trapdoors in the floor. Prostitution, far from criminalized, was merely corralled into a designated area- that’s right, Creek Street. Outside the Ketchikan Prostitution Museum (on Creek Street, of course), a woman in the costume of a turn-of-the-century whore beckoned us inside. “Come on in, lads! There’s plenty of fun to be had in Dolly’s house!” Madison told her that we had to catch the boat. “So it’d just be a quickie then!” she giggled. We politely declined and hurried away.
On Friday we arrived in Bellingham and took the 90 minute drive to Nick’s house. He wouldn’t be home for a few more hours, but one of his roommates, Grant, invited us in and fixed us up with a cold beer and the laundry machine. Nick came home and fired up the grill for some tender BBQ chicken and baked beans. We met Dave, another of Nick’s roommates, and went to a nearby bar neighborhood called Freemont. Tiffany, Trevor, and Hayden joined us. One bar served 40s. We tore up the dance floor at another.
On Saturday Nick and I ran a few errands while Madison slept in. Ian Paeth and his friend Colleen came by the house to hang out for the afternoon. We cleaned and decked the house with American flags in preparation for the 4th, then went back to the Freemont bars when it got dark. Nick got tired and the rest of the boys were ready to go home, but Madbus, Paeth, Colleen and I were still full of energy and Saturday-night enthusiasm. We shepherded Griot into a cab and then grabbed our own taxi to a club in Belltown (a neighborhood of downtown Seattle). They officially observed the 2am “last call,” but there were sneaky waitresses disguised as patrons serving stealth-drinks.
July 4th dawned sunny, but quickly turned overcast and it rained most of the day. That didn’t stop us from BBQing, playing the Star Spangled Banner, and having a party at the house. Nick had been working on the place for a while, and it looks awesome- tastefully fratty yet adult, freshly painted, sheet rocked, and even vacuumed! We celebrated America’s awesomeness as hard as possible. Nick kindly re-buzzed my hair back down to a spiky #2. Tomorrow (Tuesday) we leave for Oregon to camp on the beaches Lizzy Cooke always talked about in college. Next we’ll head down to Sonoma to tube down the Russian River Valley with Madison’s cousin Emily and visit some wineries- most notably the prestigious Charles Shaw Vineyards.
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