Sailing Into Silence
The Inside Passage
By Karina Castrillo
At first, it seemed like we were off-boarding onto a desolate coastline, but soon our sights were set on a quaint little fishing town. Also known as the salmon capital of the world, Ketchikan looked every bit as charming as you’d expect. A boardwalk on stilts, colourful wooden houses, and restaurants dotting the otherwise forested hills. My brother and I packed our backpacks and decided to saunter off to find less crowded spaces.
When we finally reached the Tongass, we took the Deer Mountain Trail. Though the trail was well-carved, it was strenuous. There was a slowness here, amidst the pines and the wet dirt, that I was beginning to appreciate. There was no ringing of incoming notifications from emails or Slack, no pressure, no office politics, only the physical task of climbing the next hill. The frigid air had its charm, that of recalibrating my nervous system.
When we arrived in Juneau, we found snow — a first for both of us. I cupped it in my hands and marvelled.
All of a sudden, as we sailed on the ship towards Skagway and watched the whales swimming alongside us, I turned to my brother and jokingly said, “Why don’t we leave it all behind and move here permanently?”
Alaska had never been on my bucket list. I was not one for the great outdoors, but when my family invited me on a trip to the remote state, I was burnt out and in need of an escape, so I said yes.
We flew in from Miami to Seattle to take a Norwegian cruise that would take us along the Inside Passage to Ketchikan, Juneau, Skagway, and later Victoria, Canada.
I awoke with the dawn as the ship sailed quietly through the frigid waters, and beyond the fog stood a dramatic landscape — a forest of majestic pine trees, snowcapped mountains, ice floating in the murky water, and a silence that accompanied this, what they called the Last Frontier. We had arrived in Alaska.
As I descended towards the second-to-last stop, I weighed the pros and cons of forgoing modern comfort in exchange for what I was witnessing now. I arrived at the Meade glacier, where I walked with my cleated boots and giant waterproof jacket. Trudging through the ice, I found many open streams where I bent down to drink the cleanest water. The glacier was melting.
Back at Skagway’s little village, I wandered off. Close to the paved road, there was untouched nature, and the sun beamed through this little creek and illuminated the soft grass and the trees like I had never seen. A moment of peace was easily accessible.
In the end, we didn’t move to Alaska, but I did quit my job. I finally made the career switch I was yearning for and began freelancing. It’s the souvenir I never thought Alaska would give me — perspective.
