Connections and the Final Day : Victoria, BC

 “You need something to open up a new door, to show you something you seen before but overlooked a hundred times or more.”

 

Bob Dylan

 

Morning Approach to Victoria BC

 
We woke early on what would be our final full day aboard Queen Elizabeth. By tomorrow morning, the ship would dock in Vancouver, and our Alaskan voyage would come to an end. As always on a journey like this, it seemed impossible that nearly two weeks had already gone by. The days had passed by quickly, and we had seen far more marine life and bird species than we ever expected to encounter from the deck of a moving ship.

 
Sometime during the night, Queen Elizabeth had left the open waters of the Pacific Ocean behind and turned eastward into the sheltered channels of the Salish Sea. By morning, we were sailing through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the long, narrow passage separating Vancouver Island from the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State.

 
This morning we awoke – not to overcast skies and dense fog but a brilliant sunrise. Bands of deep red and orange stretched across the horizon, illuminating the ship’s railings, the wet teak decks, and the waters surrounding us. Even the silhouette of a small American naval vessel trailing behind us through the strait seemed briefly caught in the glow of the morning light.

 
Beyond the railings, the mountainous landscapes of Washington State slowly emerged from the shifting layers of fog. These were likely the outer foothills of the Olympic Mountains, including the distant slopes that rise toward Mount Olympus. Along the shoreline, the land appeared and disappeared as the fog moved across the hills, revealing small stretches of forest before hiding them again.

 
As we continued eastward through the strait, we began to notice familiar signs of wildlife activity.  First came the brief appearance of a fin cutting through the surface of the water, followed by the unmistakable plume of a whale’s spout rising above the waves. Soon afterwards, we passed scattered flocks of gulls and several Marbled Murrelets bobbing quietly in the morning swells.

 
Given all of this, it was impossible to leave the deck.  As such, Sean slipped inside briefly to the Lido to get us coffees and pastries, meaning that we ate our breakfast outside, leaning against the railings while the ship continued its approach toward Victoria.  As the coastline of southern Vancouver Island drew closer, we began passing familiar sights of the region - local ferries moving between coastal communities and the distinctive white tower of Fort Rodd Hill Lighthouse standing guard at the entrance to the harbour.  It was from here that the first Canadian Arctic Expedition was launched in 1913.  

 

Near the final approach to Victoria, we passed several small rocky islets where seals rested in loose groups along the shoreline. A few kayakers paddled nearby, moving through the calm waters as our much larger vessel glided past them toward the harbour entrance and docking pier.

 
Additional birds appeared as we approached land: Common Murres, Black Guillemots, and a single Great Blue Heron flying low across the water, while at the same time a sailboat slipped out toward the open strait.
 
Soon, the breakwater at Ogden Point came into view, and Queen Elizabeth began its careful approach toward the cruise terminal.

We had arrived in Victoria – we were back at the crossroads of so many other journeys.   After days of brief port calls in small Alaskan towns, arriving here felt like a return to a much larger and more familiar urban setting - another reminder that this voyage was gradually drawing to a close.
 

Daily Program

 
Docked and having had our breakfast at the ship’s railings, we returned our used plates and cups to the lido and made our way back to our cabin to prepare to go ashore.  Before leaving the ship, we took a moment to read the day’s Notes from the Navigator, which offered a brief overview of Victoria and the activities planned for the day.

 
The program described the city as an elegant coastal capital nestled along the southern tip of Vancouver Island - a place where historic architecture, formal gardens, and dramatic coastlines combine to create one of Canada’s most recognizable urban landscapes. Passengers were encouraged to explore the city’s historic streets, visit the Royal BC Museum, or take advantage of guided tours through the Parliament Buildings. Others might choose to fly above the region by seaplane, visit the famous Butchart Gardens, or simply wander through Victoria’s parks and waterfront neighbourhoods.

 
The program also listed several organized excursions which included visits to Butchard & Butterfly Gardens, BC museums, the option of taking a Whale and Marine Wildlife Cruise, or visiting a Microbrewery with Tastings.  In addition, for those staying on board, there were other activities available,
 
10:00 AM Royal Canadian Geographical Society Fellow, David Gray  - Royal Court Theatre 
11:00 AM Cunard Insights : Naturalist, Dr. Rachel Cartwright  - Royal Court Theatre
5:15 PM Pianist Akos Somogyi - Commodore Club
7:15 PM Live Jazz Music - Garden Lounge
10:00 PM Roy G Hemmings Show - Royal Court Theatre
 

Victoria Connections

 
Seeing Victoria again carried a personal resonance for us.   The last time we had stood here was November 24th, 2022, the day we completed the first major phase of our #Hike4Birds journey across the Trans Canada Trail. After four years of walking, we had arrived in this city, having travelled roughly 14,000 kilometres from the Atlantic coast.

 
Indeed, that journey ended only a short distance from where Queen Elizabeth was now docking.
On that day, we had walked along the Ogden Breakwater - the same stretch of shoreline now visible from the ship - before continuing onward to Clover Point, where the Pacific terminus of the national pathway marked the end of the western leg of our journey.

Trans Canada Trail, Atlantic Terminus, 2019

At the time, it had felt like a surreal moment of completion.  Yet even then, we knew that the story was not truly finished. The Trans Canada Trail does not stop at the Pacific Ocean. From Victoria, those on the trail had to return to the centre of the nation, where the route turns northward again, continuing across thousands of kilometres toward the Arctic Ocean.

Trans Canada Trail, Pacific Terminus, 2022

Standing here once more, arriving this time by sea rather than on foot, we were reminded that the journey was still, for us, only partially complete. Another two years of travel still lay ahead before we would reach the northern coast.
 

A Colonial Harbour on the Pacific Coast

 
Victoria, much like St. John’s and Quebec City, has always carried a very particular character among Canadian cities.  Unlike the frontier landscapes of the Alaskan interior, this harbour city grew outward from the sea as a deliberate outpost of empire. Established first as a Hudson’s Bay Company trading post and later shaped into the capital of colonial British Columbia, the settlement was designed to anchor trade, administration, and military presence at the far western edge of Britain’s Pacific world.

 
The orientation and purpose of the city still reflect those origins. Formal architecture is spread throughout the city near the harbour. Carefully maintained gardens and public spaces reinforce a sense of order and continuity. Even the famous Fairmont Empress Hotel, opened in 1908, reflects the broader network of grand railway hotels built across Canada during the expansion of the national rail system - a chain that includes places like the Château Frontenac in Québec City, the Château Laurier in Ottawa, and the Banff Springs Hotel in Alberta.  Many of which can be seen and explored when passengers take VIA Rail’s national train services, the Ocean and the Canadian, even today.

 
Arriving by ship, Victoria exudes the atmosphere of an old British port city rather than feeling like a frontier town.  In this way, it feels as though it is part of a connected network across the Pacific and Atlantic worlds that spans the globe.
 

Disembarking and Exploring

 
Stepping ashore in Victoria felt different from our earlier ports, though it was difficult at first to say exactly why. Perhaps it was simply the familiarity of the place...or the understanding that this was our final port of call. 

 
With jackets on and daypacks over our shoulders, we scanned off Queen Elizabeth and stepped onto the dock, where she sat alongside another massive cruise ship. The result was immediate. The pier was crowded, filled with passengers moving in both directions, creating a steady current of movement through the small gateway beside the information centre.  Outside the welcome centre, local volunteers greeted arriving visitors with maps and suggestions, while others had signs pointing into downtown.

Beyond the pier and terminal, unlike the small coastal towns of Alaska, Victoria felt unmistakably like a large city. Traffic moved quickly along nearby streets, passengers and pedestrians alike marched along sidewalks, and the quiet that had defined so many of our earlier landings gave way to the bustle of a larger urban centre.

 
Rather than heading straight into the city, we wandered about Ogeden Breakwater.  The harbour here forms part of the Victoria Harbour Migratory Bird Sanctuary, and even in a short visit, there was much to observe. Seals surfaced intermittently along the rocks, their dark heads rising and disappearing again into the water, while small groups of Harlequin Ducks moved along the shoreline, their patterned plumage standing out against the water.

 
Along the breakwater, we paused – as we had two years ago – at the series of Indigenous murals that line the walkway. The paintings, vibrant and detailed, reflect the culture and history of the Lekwungen people, whose territory encompasses much of what is now Victoria.
 

Into Victoria

 
With the crowds of passengers having thinned somewhat, we turned back toward the city.  In the process, we retraced a familiar route that forms the final kilometres on the Trans Canada Trail before arriving at the Pacific terminus.

The walk into downtown took us past the harbour and toward Fisherman’s Wharf, only ten or fifteen minutes away. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Where the breakwater had felt open and exposed, the wharf was colourful and lively. Floating homes painted in bright shades lined the docks, interspersed with small shops and food stalls offering everything from fresh seafood to ice cream.

 

Continuing onward, we followed the wide waterfront causeway around the Inner Harbour. Here, sailboats rested at anchor, while the small harbour ferries moved across the waters, weaving between vessels with ease.
 
We wandered into and through the city without any particular urgency or direction.  In the process, we passed familiar landmarks along the way.  The Provincial Parliament buildings stood along the harbour, while across from them, the Fairmont Empress Hotel also predominated the waterfront with its historic grandeur.

 
There were other stops along the way - past the Emily Carr House, along Government Street, often described as the oldest street west of the Rockies - but none of it carried the same sense of discovery as earlier ports. We had been here before – both on the national pathway and on day trips from home on the Sunshine Coast. The city, while certainly very beautiful, was well known to us.

And perhaps because of that, because we had been here so often before and knew the key landmarks and tourist destinations, our focus shifted.

 

Rather than revisiting the available provincial museums we found ourselves drawn to smaller, more enjoyable tasks.  We stopped at Murchie’s Fine Tea & Coffee to pick up gifts for family, then continued on to Munro’s Books, where Sean disappeared among the shelves before emerging – an hour later - with a stack of new books.   Here in Victoria, we were not travellers trying to see and discover a place for the first time.  Instead, we fell into the sort of routines that we might have undertaken at home or in any Canadian city.  Sean’s purchases of dozens of books reflected his recent push to build more bookshelves in our apartment – in this way, his actions and thoughts - like others on QE - were those of someone already beginning to turn to home. 
 

Return to the Trans Canada Trail

 
With several bags of books in hand, and almost $400 dollars poorer, we began to make our way back toward the harbour – once again following the TCT as we returned to Queen Elizabeth.  Yet as we arrived, we felt compelled to walk on a little further.

Connecting the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans on the TCT

 
Instead of boarding, we continued past the breakwater and out toward Clover Point, following the familiar line of the Trans Canada Trail. The walk was only a few kilometres, 2.5 to be precise.  A short distance compared to the 14,000 km that we had previously trekked to get to this same point in 2022.    This was not part of the cruise itinerary, as no tour would come out to this nondescript city park.  This was about taking a few minutes to reflect and truly connect our journeys.

 
Reaching the Pacific Terminus of the national pathway, at a small medal sign once again, we stopped.
 
Beyond a few benches and this small marker, there is little to define this simple stretch of shoreline.  Yet for us, standing there, brought back so many memories and held us more than few other places could.  It was here that our cross-country journey had once met the Pacific, and it was from here that it would eventually continue north.

Completing 14,000 km of the Trans Canada Trail, 2022

 

Standing there, we could not help but think of the contrasts between our journeys.  Our most recent trip on Queen Elizabeth was a voyage at sea, filled with bird and marine life sightings.  While the trail that lay both behind and ahead of us was one of long days and months of walking, planning and uncertainty.  Yet, for a short while, the two met in this city park at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. 

Return to Queen Elizabeth

 
After some time at Clover Point, we began to retrace our steps along the Trans Canada Trail, following the same path back toward the harbour. The walk felt different in this direction. What had drawn us outward now carried us back, away from the open coastline and toward the ship waiting at the dock.

 
By the time we reached the Ogden Breakwater, the bustle of the city had returned. The pier was still busy, passengers moving between ship and shore.  Walking down the dock, we joined the slow procession toward the gangway, stepped aboard, scanned our cards, and returned to Queen Elizabeth for the last time on this voyage.  

 
With only a short time spent ashore, we found ourselves back on board in time for lunch. We made our way to the Lido and assembled a simple meal, settling on a vegetable poke bowl, which we carried out to the aft deck. Sitting there, looking out over the harbour, we felt that we had seen and done all that we needed and wanted from our time in Victoria.

 
For some, a short visit such as this might have felt like a missed opportunity. Victoria offers much to explore, and there would always be more that could have been seen. Yet for us, the simplicity of the day felt exactly right. Returning to a place we already knew meant that little was required of us. It allowed space instead to slow down, to sit, and to reflect - something that had become increasingly rare amid the hustle of the modern world and our own exhaustion after a year of near constant hiking. 
 
Throughout the afternoon, we spent time walking around the ship – pausing here and there – in places that we have come to enjoy, and in spaces that have defined the journey to Alaska.  As with our time in Victoria, there was no particular purpose or direction in our rambling about the ship.  We chatted together, talked about the journey, about what we had seen over the voyage, and of course about what comes next in our travels.
 

Sail Away and Sunset

 
With the day behind us, we returned to our cabin, refreshed, and began the process of preparing for departure. Bags were opened, clothing folded, and small items gathered together, the simple act of packing carrying with it the reality that the voyage is nearing its end. For the first time since boarding, our time on board felt directed toward leaving rather than continuing.

 
Before dinner, we stepped back outside, making our way along the outer promenade. We walked slowly, drawn once more toward the open deck. At five o’clock, the call for final boarding echoed across the harbour, and not long after, the lines were cast off. Gradually, Queen Elizabeth began to move away from Victoria as she eased back into open waters.

As the ship pulled away from Victoria, the light began to shift in a way that was impossible to ignore. What had been a soft evening glow deepened quickly, the sky stretching into long bands of colour - first pale gold, then richer tones of orange and pink, and finally deeper reds that lingered above the darkening horizon.

Along the outer decks, the structure of the ship cast long shadows across the teak flooring, the low sun catching the edges of railings and fixtures so that even the quiet walkways seemed briefly illuminated. Beyond the ship, the land receded into silhouette. Low hills and distant ridgelines formed dark layers against the sky, while a thin band of mist hovered just above the water, softening the boundary between sea and shore.

For the better part of half an hour, we remained outside, moving only occasionally along the promenade, watching as the colours shifted.  Despite the scale of the display, there were few others around us.  Regardless, we stayed on deck for some time, watching as the colours faded, reluctant to leave even as the air cooled around us.

Departure Preparations

Eventually, however, we returned to our cabin to finish packing. Waiting for us were the final account statement and the familiar luggage tags - what we had come to think of, only half jokingly, as the “tags of despair.” They marked the point at which the journey must be acknowledged as ending, when bags were prepared and left outside the cabin door.  Where the experience shifts from travel and is handed over to the planning and procedures of disembarkation.

 
Yet we didn’t feel ready to be done.  And so, rather than commit to the end of the voyage, we instead decided to stay dressed up for the evening and keep our luggage with us rather than leave it to be picked up.  We could easily carry it off in the morning.  Tonight, we opted to postpone the process of departure for as long as possible.  There would be time for that tomorrow.  For now, we chose to remain on the voyage – to hold onto it, even in the smallest ways possible.  And so, rather than turning in or completing our packing – both of which would have been practical – we instead made our way to the Commodore Club.   If the end was coming, it could wait a little longer.
 
Carpe Diem!
 

Travelling in Different Circles

 
We made our way to the Commodore Club and settled into one of the forward-facing seats, the wide windows opening out onto the darkening sea. It was a space we had returned to often throughout the voyage and loved on every Cunarder we voyaged on.
 
Around us, the room was gradually filling. Passengers arrived in small groups, some dressed formally for the evening, others more casually, each carrying with them their own version of what this final night should be. Conversations rose and fell, glasses were set gently on tables, and the soft movement of the ship continued beneath it all.  Sitting there, watching the room come to life, we found ourselves reflecting on something that had only slowly become apparent over the course of the voyage.

 
Being on a ship the size of Queen Elizabeth creates the sense that over the course of 10 days, you would gradually come to recognize most of the passengers and many of the crew. Yet the opposite often proved true. Even late in the voyage, we continued meeting people we had never seen before.
 
It slowly became clear that different groups of passengers were effectively travelling through entirely separate versions of the same ship. Some lived around the theatres and evening performances. Others built their days around the buffet, the casino, or the shopping arcade. A smaller number seemed permanently drawn to the outer decks.

 
Each group had its own routines, its own highlights, its own understanding of what the voyage was meant to be. The realization was quietly fascinating. On a ship carrying the same passengers through the same waters, people were still experiencing entirely different journeys.
 

Final Evening on Queen Elizabeth

 
The evening passed by as they each had – relaxingly, amid quiet conversations, wonderful piano music, and the movement of the ship.   We remained in the Commodore Club for most of the evening, listening as Ian Turner moved easily between pieces, his playing ranging from classical to familiar songs drawn from pop and rock. He engaged naturally with those gathered, taking requests and shaping the atmosphere of the room with a professional ease that had become, over the course of the voyage, something we had come to look forward to each night.  He and the staff here had created dozens of memorable moments throughout the journey.  We would miss these evenings.  

 
As the night drew on and the room slowly began to empty, we took a moment to thank those who had been part of our experience. We spoke with the server who had looked after us throughout the voyage, expressing our appreciation for the care and attention that had so often gone unnoticed in the flow of each day. For Ian, we left a short note of thanks on a napkin - a small gesture, but one that felt appropriate given how much his music had come to define our evenings on board.
 
Eventually, it became clear that it was time to return to our cabin.  The day was done - whether we wanted it to or not.  

 
Outside, the ship would continue its steady progress throughout the night. Having left Victoria behind, Queen Elizabeth would proceed through the Haro Strait, threading its way among the San Juan Islands along the Canadian–American border, before turning northward across the Strait of Georgia toward the mainland.
 
By morning, we would arrive in Vancouver for disembarkation. 
 
Nautical Term of the Day - Taken Aback - A sudden wind shift could blow sails flat against the mast, stopping the ship abruptly. In modern speech, it describes surprise or shock.