Exploring the North : Endicott Arm Scenic Cruising

“It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,

It’s the forests where silence has lease;

It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,

It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.”

Robert W. Service, The Spell of the Yukon

Approaching Endicott Arm

During the night, after leaving Ketchikan, Queen Elizabeth briefly turned south to navigate the maze of islands that guard the Alaskan coastline. Passing around Gravina Island and the long outer reaches of Prince of Wales Island, the ship then resumed its northerly course, gradually making its way toward Holkham Bay - the broad inlet that marks the entrance to the twin fjords of Tracy Arm and Endicott Arm.

Long before most passengers were awake, the day on board had already begun.

Life on a ship never truly pauses – the crew are always hard at work. Even in the quiet hours before sunrise, crews move steadily through the decks and corridors, preparing the vessel for another day at sea. Railings are wiped free of salt spray and mist, decks are scrubbed, chairs carefully arranged along the promenades, and lounges quietly reset after the previous evening’s activity. What appears effortless to those who later step outside to enjoy the morning is the result of hours of quiet work carried out while the ship and most of its passengers still sleep.

Watching these routines take place daily brought a deeper appreciation for the remarkable scale of regular effort required to keep a ship like Queen Elizabeth both seaworthy and comfortable. Behind the scenes, hundreds of crew members perform a complex choreography of maintenance, preparation, and service that allows life on board to feel calm and effortless.

In many ways, it reminded us of the natural world surrounding the ship. Just as ecosystems depend on countless unseen but essential choreography - tides shifting beneath the surface, plankton drifting through cold waters, forests quietly renewing themselves - so too does a voyage like this rely on work that most passengers rarely notice. Yet without that quiet, constant effort, none of what unfolds on deck would be possible.

Morning on Queen Elizabeth

When we stepped out onto the promenade deck this morning, the world around us was still wrapped in dense fog.

The mountains and islands of Southeast Alaska appeared only as shifting silhouettes in the mist. Dark shapes rose briefly through the grey light before dissolving again as the ship moved slowly forward toward Endicott Arm. Long, narrow spits of land slipped past on either side of the vessel, while small tree-covered islands seemed to materialize out of the fog and disappear again just as quickly behind us.

Around us, the ship itself was quietly coming to life. Crew members moved steadily across the decks, preparing the vessel for the day ahead - drying the railings, straightening chairs along the promenade, checking the pools and hot tubs, and ensuring that everything was in perfect order before most passengers had even begun their morning.

Yet, perhaps unsurprisingly, it was the ocean that held our attention.

Despite the thick banks of mist, the first colours of sunrise were beginning to break through. Bands of soft pink and pale oranges slowly filtered across the sky, illuminating the fog and revealing new layers of coastline with every passing minute. The mountains and islands seemed to appear and disappear in response to the shifting light.

I think we must have spent two hours this morning, before stepping back inside to grab a muffin for breakfast, just watching the world around us shift and change. I know that I spent most of the time standing at the side railing of the promenade deck simply trying to take it all in – these are the sorts of moments that will only look this way once.

Eventually, simply to warm up, we stepped into the Lido for a couple of cups of coffee and a muffin – anything else would have taken too long and meant that we might have missed something outside.

Daily Program and Nature Notes

While eating, we checked over the daily program, titled today - Scenic Cruising of the Endicott Arm, Alaska, USA. Accordingly,

“This pristine fjord is located in Alaska’s south-eastern strip, a region sometimes referred to as The Panhandle, and certainly known for its photogenic landscape. Sparkling still waters. Majestic mountains. Soaring eagles. All these and more are sights that await at this 30-mile stretch of glasslike water, at the end of the Tracy Arm-Fjords Terror Wilderness. As a cruise-by port, there is no port to call in at and explore as such. Instead, treasure time spent simply soaking up the surroundings, in this part of the world that is truly like no other.”

As today was a sea day, the notes from the navigator also listed the potential on-board activities for the day, which included:

6:00 AM Good Morning Queen Elizabeth - Stateroom TV
12:15 PM Ballroom Dance Class : Beginners Rumba
3:30 PM Cunard Insights : Naturalist Dr. Rachel Cartwright - Royal Court Theatre
8:45 PM Guistarist Leo William John - Grand Lobby

In addition, according to the posted nature notes, throughout the morning, we will cruise through the waters of Frederick Sound, which is a hot spot for humpback whales, then later pass through Holkham Bay into Endicott Arm. The estimate being that the peak scenic highlights will be between 11.30 PM and 2 PM!

Notes from the Naturalist

Along with the ship’s daily program, we were also provided with a short “Note from the Naturalist,” written by Dr. Rachel Cartwright. Throughout the voyage, she regularly shared brief observations about the wildlife and ecosystems of the regions we were travelling through, helping passengers better understand the landscapes and marine life in the region we were voyaging.

That morning’s note focused on the remarkable wilderness ahead.

Endicott Arm, she explained, is one of two sister fjords that together form the Tracy Arm–Ford’s Terror Wilderness, a protected landscape encompassing more than 650,000 acres of rugged coastline, glaciated mountains, and remote inlets. Carved deeply into the Coast Mountains by ancient glacial ice, Endicott Arm stretches more than thirty miles inland, reaching into some of the most isolated corners of Southeast Alaska.

As the glaciers receded, the result was the emergence of the lush old-growth forests that cover the hillsides and water lines today. Because the fjord remains connected directly to the mainland, wildlife often travels along its shores. Both black bears and brown bears are known to forage along the rocky coastlines and forested slopes, particularly in spring and early summer when food becomes more abundant.

At the far head of the fjord lies Dawes Glacier, a massive tidewater glacier that slowly advances toward the sea. Here, the immense wall of ice regularly calves, sending great fragments of brilliant blue ice crashing into the water below. Driven by wind, currents, and the steady motion of ocean tides, these floating icebergs drift gradually down the fjord, creating an ever-changing landscape of ice that also serves as resting platforms for seals and seabirds.

Reading the naturalist’s notes only heightened our excitement for the day. Somewhere ahead of us, beyond the winding fjord and the scattered ice drifting across the water, lay one of Alaska’s great tidewater glaciers. And we were sailing directly toward it!

Alone on Deck

With our quick breakfast finished and Queen Elizabeth beginning her gradual approach toward the entrance of Endicott Arm, we stepped back outside onto the open decks.

The morning was undeniably grey and wrapped in fog, yet it was also breathtakingly beautiful. The day’s soft light was beginning to light up landscapes that were obscured by low clouds drifting through the valley. Even from the outer edge of the fjord, the scale of the landscape was overwhelming. Forests climbed steeply from the water’s edge, disappearing into distant ridgelines that seemed to dissolve into banks of fog and the low cloud cover.

We have spent years exploring wild landscapes - walking through the towering forests of British Columbia, standing beneath the ancient trees of Cathedral Grove, and hiking deep into Ontario’s provincial parks. Yet the wilderness unfolding around us here felt somehow larger and wilder.

Strangely, amid this wonder, we often found ourselves almost alone on deck.

On any journey, we always hope to encounter moments that remain with us long after we return home - those quiet experiences that stay with us in memory while sitting later at a desk trying to translate travel into words. Sometimes those moments arrive through small discoveries: spotting a new bird species, watching an unfamiliar insect, or stumbling upon a landscape that takes our breath away. At other times, they come through conversations and chance meetings with people whose stories become part of the journey itself.

This voyage had been different, however. Despite the fact that there were almost 2000 people on board – presumably to see the landscapes, seascapes and wildlife of Alaska – the outer decks were often surprisingly empty. Even today, as the ship moved deeper into Endicott Arm, voyaging past immense forests, cascading ribbon waterfalls and to a glacier, the railings remained largely unoccupied.

We had expected the opposite. A voyage into Alaska, after all, is fundamentally a journey into nature. Even many of the shore excursions revolve around the region’s wildlife and landscapes - glacier visits, eagle sanctuaries, whale watching tours, and wilderness cruises. It seemed only natural that the decks would be crowded with passengers eager to witness these surroundings.

Instead, the opposite often seemed true. Inside the ship, the lounges and buffet remained lively, and many passengers appeared absorbed in their phones or tablets, seemingly untouched and uninterested in the landscapes, seascapes, seals and birds not far beyond the railings. From our perspective, it felt like a missed opportunity that so few seemed willing to look up.

Travel, we have learned, rewards those who are willing to pay attention. The most meaningful experiences rarely appear on a schedule or inside a daily program. They reveal themselves to those who are present - who step outside, who look carefully, and who remain curious about the world unfolding around them.

If there is one lesson that years of walking long trails have taught us, it is that curiosity is one of the essential ingredients of a happy life. When the opportunity exists to explore—to see something new, to witness a wild place, to experience a landscape unlike anything you have known before - it is worth making the effort to be there fully. Moments like these are fleeting.

And in a place like Endicott Arm, surrounded by mountains, waterfalls, and drifting ice, it felt important to seize them while we could.

Exploring Endicott Arm

As Queen Elizabeth slowly turned into the narrow waterway of Endicott Arm, we stood bundled in layers of sweaters, down jackets and watched. Around us, from the heights of the mountains, waterfalls cascaded down hillsides and wove their way through forests. They appeared and disappeared through the layers of fog and cloud – eventually merging with the ocean waters below.

Despite the fact that the sun was up, the landscapes around us remained in muted blues and greys. Clouds remained low, covering the peaks of most mountains, and the fog was now a band of mist across the hillsides. Amid it all, the dark mountains and mist were perfectly reflected in the waters.

Long spits of low-lying land occasionally stretched out from the shoreline, dividing the waters into quiet channels as the ship threaded its way deeper inland.

Gradually, another change became visible in the water itself.

As we entered further into Endicott Arm, the colour of the sea shifted from the familiar deep blues of the open passage to a striking glacial green. The transformation was subtle at first, but soon unmistakable. This unusual colour comes from what scientists call glacial flour or rock flour - microscopic particles of rock created as glaciers grind slowly across the bedrock beneath them. These fine sediments remain suspended in the meltwater and reflect sunlight in shades of turquoise and pale green, giving glacial fjords their distinctive colour.

As the water shifted in tones, we began to notice pieces of drifting ice. Then, flocks of birds and wildlife also become more prevalent. Small flocks of scoters and other seabirds skimmed across the water, occasionally settling in sheltered coves along the shoreline. Harbour seals lounged lazily atop floating pieces of ice, their dark eyes following the slow passage of the ship with what seemed like mild curiosity.

At first, the ice drifted past only in small fragments - tiny shards and scattered chips of white floating across the water’s surface. As we continued deeper into the fjord, the pieces grew larger and more sculpted, their surfaces smoothed. Some glowed faintly blue beneath the morning light, their pale colours standing out vividly against the increasingly turquoise waters.

According to the naturalist's announcement, each of these were calved pieces of ice from the glacier ahead. Somewhere at the head of the fjord, hidden beyond the narrowing valley, lay the glacier itself - the immense source from which all of this ice had broken away. Even from this distance, its presence could already be felt as the air on deck got distinctly cooler

Throughout the morning, Sean occasionally slipped inside the ship and returned a few minutes later carrying fresh cups of hot coffee and small plates piled with chocolate chip cookies or brownies from the Lido buffet. Standing together along the railings with warm drinks in our hands, we watched the changing landscape slowly move past while the ship continued its patient approach toward the glacier.

At one point, two much smaller vessels appeared in the distance. A National Geographic expedition ship and the American Constellation from American Cruise Lines moved steadily along the fjord ahead of us. Their smaller size allowed them to venture closer to the glacier and navigate more easily among the drifting ice. For a moment, I felt a small twinge of envy imagining how extraordinary the view must be from those lower decks closer to the waterline.

And yet aboard those ships, something puzzled us – even their decks seemed to be nearly empty. In a place as extraordinary as Endicott Arm, surrounded by glaciers, waterfalls, wildlife, and towering mountains, it felt almost impossible not to want to remain outside watching every moment unfold. For our part, we could not imagine being anywhere else.

Noon Hour Reflections

One small detail we had always enjoyed on our voyages aboard Queen Mary 2 was the captain’s noon announcement. Each day, the captain would give an update over the ship’s public address system to provide a brief note on the voyage - our position, weather conditions, the distance travelled overnight, and the course ahead. The announcement was practical, of course, but it also carried a certain maritime charm. Hearing the captain’s voice echo quietly through the ship always reinforced the feeling that we were truly travelling somewhere across the sea.

On board Queen Elizabeth, however, the familiar ritual seemed oddly absent.

Perhaps the announcements were simply timed differently than we expected, or perhaps we happened to miss them while we were off the ship in port. Yet even on sea days, we never seemed to hear that daily update from the bridge. Instead, the announcements that most often reached the decks came from the ship’s naturalist. Dr. Rachel Cartwright regularly shared observations about the wildlife around us, pointing out whale sightings, seabird activity, or notable features of the surrounding coastline. Her commentary was always fascinating.

It was possible, of course, that the captain’s announcements were happening somewhere within the ship, and we simply never noticed them. More likely, however, we were missing them because our attention was almost always directed beyond the ship.

Afternoon in Endicott Arm

As the afternoon began, the skies continued to clear, and the fog that had lingered all morning slowly burned off. Patches of blue sky began to appear above the mountains while sunlight lit up sections of hillside forests.

     

The waters around the ship had now deepened to a rich, dark green, reflecting the surrounding mountains and the increasing presence of glacial sediment in the fjord.

What remained most mesmerizing was the constant interplay of light and shadow across the landscape. A single break in the clouds could suddenly illuminate the face of a distant mountain, transforming its shape and colour in a matter of moments. One hillside would brighten while another slipped into darkness, and the entire scene seemed to rearrange itself again and again as the light shifted overhead.

By early afternoon, Queen Elizabeth had travelled as far into Endicott Arm as the ship safely could. Ahead of us, filling the narrowing valley at the head of the fjord, the glacier finally came into view.

Dawes Glacier

At the far end of Endicott Arm lies the defining feature of the entire fjord - Dawes Glacier.

Fed by the immense Stikine Icefield, the glacier stretches roughly twenty-five miles or forty kilometres inland through the mountains before descending to meet the sea at the head of the fjord. It is one of the last remaining tidewater glaciers in North America - a glacier that flows directly into the ocean and releases its ice through the dramatic process known as calving.

From the deck, we could clearly see the glacier’s leading edge where the immense wall of ice met the water. The front face of Dawes Glacier spans the width of the narrow valley, rising nearly two hundred feet above the fjord while extending far deeper beneath the surface. Its towering face appeared streaked with bands of dirt and rock carried down from the mountains as the glacier slowly advances toward the sea.

Even under overcast skies and despite the fact that it was lined with dirt and rocks, the ice seemed to glow. The dense, compressed layers of ancient snow reflected a soft luminescent blue, giving the glacier an almost otherworldly presence against the darker mountains surrounding it. At its base, the water had taken on a deep turquoise colour, rich with glacial silt carried down from the icefield above.

Floating nearby were scattered pieces of ice that had broken away from the glacier’s face. Some drifted past as opaque white chunks that looked almost like compacted snow, while others were astonishingly clear - crystalline fragments that glowed pale blue beneath the surface like submerged glass sculptures.

Among these drifting ice flows we soon noticed movement.

Harbour seals had claimed several of the floating pieces as temporary resting platforms. Draped lazily across the ice, they appeared entirely unconcerned by the presence of the ship, occasionally lifting their heads to observe us before settling back into the cold stillness of the fjord.

As Queen Elizabeth reached the closest point, she would approach the glacier, and the air changed noticeably. A sharp wind flowed down from the icefield above, carrying with it the unmistakable chill of snow and ancient ice. The temperature dropped quickly, and the damp cold began to creep through our jackets and gloves. Even our hats and mittens struggled to keep the cold at bay.

The solution, somewhat to my surprise, turned out to be a pair of waterproof insulated construction gloves Sean had insisted on buying before the voyage - something I had teased him about at the time. Once pulled on, however, they proved remarkably effective, keeping our hands warm even as the icy wind swept down the fjord.

The rest of me was warmed by something else entirely. From time to time, Sean slipped inside and returned carrying fresh cups of coffee – occasionally improved with a splash of Baileys - from the nearby bar. The crew working on deck had quickly noticed how many hours we were spending outside and periodically stopped by to check on us, offering warm drinks or small snacks to help take the edge off the cold.

It was a small gesture, but one we deeply appreciated.

Standing there on deck, surrounded by floating ice, distant seals, and the towering wall of Dawes Glacier rising before us, it felt as though the ship had carried us directly into the heart of Alaska’s wild landscape.

Reactions to Wilderness and Wonder

Standing on deck near the glacier, it was interesting to watch how differently people responded to the landscape around us. Some passengers had remained outside for hours, watching the mountains, ice, and wildlife pass by before them. A few others had focused on photographing every moment, determined to capture the experience through their lenses.

There were also those who appeared only briefly - rushing out when an announcement from the bridge or the ship’s naturalist drew attention to a particular sight, taking a few quick photographs before retreating back inside.

At times, the decks would suddenly fill with people as word spread about something worth seeing. For a few minutes, the railings became crowded, binoculars were passed between strangers, and voices called out to point toward seals resting on ice or shifting patterns in the glacier or in the fjord’s landscape.

Moments like these revealed the small, temporary communities that form aboard a ship. Surrounded by wilderness, hundreds of strangers respond to the same wonders and wilderness in their own ways - some lingering on deck with it, others only passing through the moment before moving on.

Missed Insight Lectures

Today we had hoped to attend the pair of afternoon enrichment lectures. One was presented by fellow Royal Canadian Geographical Society member David Gray, speaking about his lifelong passion for wild spaces and Pacific wildlife. The other, delivered by the ship’s naturalist Dr. Rachel Cartwright, explored Alaska’s humpback whales - Alaska’s Gentle Giants. Both talks sounded fascinating, yet as the afternoon continued on we found ourselves unwilling to leave the decks while exploring Endicott Arm. In the end, we made the difficult choice to remain outside, hoping we might catch the recordings later on the cabin television - perhaps late at night when darkness would hide the surrounding landscape anyway. Such are the small dilemmas of travel days filled with wonder: sometimes there is simply too much happening at once, and choices have to be made.

A Pint in Endicott Arm

Throughout the day - and in fact throughout much of the voyage -the crew had taken a caring interest in those of us who seemed determined to spend long hours out on deck. As we stood once again at the aft railings of Queen Elizabeth watching the sights, one of the bartenders stepped outside to ask if we might like to try a local Alaskan beer from the Haines Brewing Company.

The suggestion seemed impossible to refuse. It would make for a relaxed approach to nature, or at the very least a well-lubricated one.

Soon we found ourselves holding a pair of pints - Captain Cook’s Spruce Tip Ale and the darker Lookout Stout – both were very good and well appreciated. As we enjoyed our drinks, the crew returned a few minutes later with a generous bowl of crisps and, later, some small bar snacks, thoughtful touches that were deeply appreciated after hours spent on deck.

Standing at the back of the Lido Deck watching a glacier not far away from us, the vantage point felt perfect. Queen Elizabeth’s decks sat close enough to the water to make us feel as though we were in the landscape rather than simply watching it. In addition, the pace the ship had taken had allowed us to take in every detail of the passing scenery.

It was, we both agreed, not a bad way at all to spend a day at sea.

By mid-afternoon, the ship had lingered as long as it could at the head of the fjord. Gradually, the engines stirred again, and Queen Elizabeth began the slow process of turning within the narrow valley.

Returning Down Endicott Arm

There is something strangely mesmerizing about approaching a glacier by ship. After hours spent moving steadily toward the immense wall of ice, the vessel eventually pauses, pivots quietly within the fjord, and then begins the slow process of sailing away again. The landscape that had seemed to close around us now gradually opened back up as we began the journey back toward open sea waters.

Around us, the weather began to shift once more. A fresh layer of mist drifted across the fjord, softening the mountains and altering the entire character of the landscape yet again. The dark slopes of Endicott Arm returned to overlapping shapes of forest and stone, their outlines fading gently into the fog. Waterfalls continued to thread their way down the mountainsides, occasionally disappearing behind drifting bands of cloud before reappearing again farther below. Low clouds clung to the dark green forests that blanketed the hillsides, while the highest mountain peaks appeared and disappeared in the shifting mist.

Amid this, the ship began to retrace the same waters that we had travelled earlier in the day.

Glaciers in the Sky

One of the most remarkable sights during our return journey appeared high above the water line. Suspended far up on the mountainside was what appeared to be a glacier hanging improbably in the sky. Our best guess was that we were seeing the aptly named Hanging Glacier near the mouth of Endicott Arm, associated with the larger Sumdum Glacier farther inland. The name Sumdum itself comes from the Tlingit word Sumsun, which refers to the booming sound created when icebergs break away, or calve from the glacier’s face and crash into the water below.

In the waters below, along the shoreline, we watched as bands of seabirds and migratory birds moved back and forth. Many remained just far enough away that even with binoculars, we could not confidently identify them. They were clearly there several small flocks skimming the surface and gathering briefly along the shoreline - but their identities would remain (frustratingly) a mystery to us.

Slow Down, Look up

After passing the hanging glacier, the waters around us continued to carry scattered ice floes of varying sizes. Some drifted quietly past the ship, several occupied by harbour seals resting lazily on the floating platforms. Some were covered in flocks of gulls – an odd sight for me as someone used to seeing them on beaches and piers in cities.

From time to time, the ship’s naturalist wandered along the outer decks, encouraging passengers to scan the steep cliffs above us for mountain goats. Their pale coats often blend remarkably well into the granite slopes, she explained, making them difficult to spot even when they are standing in plain sight. Despite careful searching with binoculars, however, we never managed to find any that afternoon.

She also pointed out that the coastal flats and low-lying shorelines near the mouth of the fjord were excellent places to watch for larger wildlife. Brown bears and even wolves are occasionally seen moving along these quiet edges of the landscape. Naturally, we watched carefully. From the railings, we scanned the forests and open shoreline again and again, hopeful for a glimpse of movement somewhere along the water’s edge. In the end, however, no such luck came our way that day.

As the afternoon wore on, the light began to change again. The sky deepened to darker shades of blue, and the mountains once again layered themselves into bands of forest, mist, and stone. In the widening waters near the fjord’s mouth, Queen Elizabeth threaded her way carefully between long spits of land and small islands scattered across the passage.

Standing there, it felt impossible not to absorb the character of the place on every level. Everything about Endicott Arm seemed to encourage a slower pace. The shifting fog moving through the trees. The seals are resting on drifting ice. Seabirds and gulls are gliding past.

Even the landscapes around us seemed to reflect the power of going slow. Glaciers that advanced and retreated, rivers thawing each spring and carving away at the land, mountains shaped through centuries of ice ages, erosion and weather. Everything here, from the land to life, seemed shaped by slow movement. And so in a place defined by such patient processes it somehow felt right to simply stand and watch.

Evening on Queen Elizabeth

As the afternoon slowly faded into evening and the chill of the long day finally caught up with us, we retreated to our cabin to warm up. Even there, however, the outside world continued to call. I found myself sitting for a while by the window, watching the last light of the day slip across the water while the ever-darkening coastline slowly drifted past in the distance.

Eventually, we freshened up and changed for the evening. Rather than heading straight to dinner, we passed briefly through the Lido and gathered a few small pastries before stepping back outside for a few final minutes on deck. Even as the light faded, it was difficult to abandon the landscape completely after spending so many hours immersed in it.

Having snacked all day, we only had a quick and small plate of food in the buffet before heading to one of our favourite spaces on the ship – the Commodore Club.

Settling into the deep lounge chairs beside the large windows, we chatted briefly with the server before ordering a glass of wine and looking out into the gathering darkness. One of the qualities we appreciate most about Cunard ships, and Queen Elizabeth in particular, is the absence of the high-energy nightlife that dominates so many modern cruise vessels. The evenings here tend to unfold at a gentler pace, allowing us to enjoy quiet conversation, chat about the day and listen to great live music. On QE, the piano player in the Commodore Club was particularly wonderful each night.

Though utterly comfortable, it was not long, however, before the long day began to catch up with us.

Exhaustion

Though only a few days into the voyage, we both found ourselves feeling utterly exhausted. It seemed almost absurd, considering that our days aboard ship consisted largely of standing on deck watching the world pass by, strolling through small port towns, and enjoying excellent food. Yet the combination of long hours in the fresh air and the slow unwinding that often comes with time at sea had clearly taken its toll.

More likely, we suspected, it was the accumulation of the entire year behind us finally beginning to surface. Travel often carries its own momentum, and the past months had been full – crossing the Atlantic Ocean twice on Queen Mary 2, hiking across England, then Scotland and then England again, all before trekking more than 2000 km on the Trans Canada Trail. It had indeed been a full year.

Thankfully, time at sea is a chance to recover and relax.

By the time we returned to our cabin, we discovered that Al, our attentive cabin steward, had already completed the evening turn-down service - complete with chocolates waiting neatly on the pillows. Grateful for the quiet comfort of the room after such a full day, we turned in early, ready to let sleep catch up with us before the next morning’s adventures began.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day - Growlers - Small, dense chunks of glacial ice, often blue and barely visible above the surface. A hazard to propellers and hulls even in calm water.