Pacific Storms : Hubbard Glacier Deferred

“To move, to breathe, to fly, to float, to gain all while you give - this is travel.”

Hans Christian Andersen

Pacific Storms

During the night, Queen Elizabeth left the sheltered channels of the Inside Passage and returned to the open waters of the North Pacific. By morning, the ship was approaching the mouth of Yakutat Bay, the wide opening that leads inland toward one of Alaska’s most famous glaciers - Hubbard.

The change overnight in the conditions was impossible to ignore.

Sometime during the night, the sea had begun to build, and by early morning the ship was rolling noticeably in the swell. At one point, the movement was strong enough to jolt us awake as the vessel lurched gently from side to side. It was not alarming, but it was certainly different from the calm waters we had enjoyed during most of the voyage.

We had experienced similar seas before while crossing the Atlantic aboard Queen Mary 2. Yet the sensation here felt subtly different. An ocean liner like QM2 carries enormous weight and stability, and even in rough weather, she moves with a certain reassuring steadiness. Queen Elizabeth handled the conditions perfectly well, but the motion of the ocean was far more noticeable. For the first time on the voyage, we could truly feel the Pacific beneath us. As a result, the morning began earlier than expected.

Given the conditions outside, we stayed in bed and in our room longer than we typically do as the ship continued its approach to Yakutat Bay. The grey skies and rolling seas outside the porthole made the warm quiet of the room particularly appealing.

Amid this, Sean was nice enough to venture out into the ship’s corridors in search of the daily crossword puzzle and returned triumphantly with a small plate of pastries as well. Sitting comfortably on the window ledge beside our porthole - warm and dry while the Pacific roiled outside, we passed the first couple of hours working through the puzzle and watching the seas.

According to the ship’s Daily Program, today was officially listed as a sea day. Yet it was not a typical one. By late morning, Queen Elizabeth was scheduled to cruise into Yakutat Bay for a close approach to Hubbard Glacier, one of the largest tidewater glaciers in North America and a highlight many passengers had been eagerly anticipating.

For the moment, however, the weather had other ideas.

Notes from the Navigator

Eventually, curiosity pulled us away from the crossword puzzle and pastries, and we turned our attention to the ship’s Daily Program. The captain’s message for the day carried an appropriately grand title: Scenic Cruising of the Hubbard Glacier, Alaska, USA.

It was clear that this was intended to be one of the highlights of the entire voyage.

“Witness the grace and brilliance of glacial formations and towering icebergs in action as you sail by a highlight of Alaska’s many coastal waters. Learn the history its created and take in the view. The largest tidal glacier in North America, Hubbard Glacier is a rarity; an icey abyss, formed over centuries, where nature, not man, is King. Only by cruising alongside it can you appreciate the majesty of its colossal scale. It is a sight quite unlike anything else, drawing the curiosity of visitors keen to experience one of the natural world’s most humbling creations.”

Hubbard Glacier is indeed both an interesting and remarkable place. It is named after Gardiner Hubbard, the first President of the National Geographic Society, a tribute bestowed in 1890. The glacier straddles the United States and Canadian borders in Southeast Alaska, descending from the vast icefields of the St. Elias Mountains and flows southward toward the waters of Yakutat Bay.

Unlike most glaciers in the modern world, Hubbard is still advancing.

While the majority of tidewater glaciers are retreating in response to warming climates, Hubbard continues to push steadily forward, advancing an average of roughly 80 feet each year. The glacier forms part of the immense ice plateau that blankets the peaks surrounding the Kluane and St. Elias ranges. In this northern environment, temperatures remain near freezing for much of the year, and heavy snowfall feeds the glacier faster than melting can erode it.

As a result, Hubbard behaves very differently from most of the glaciers people can encounter elsewhere in Alaska.

Its enormous mass regularly pushes outward into Disenchantment Bay, where the glacier’s face meets the sea. There, the advancing ice is continually undercut by salt water and waves, regularly causing large sections of the glacier to fracture and fall away in dramatic calving events. At times, the glacier has surged so aggressively that it has temporarily blocked the entrance to nearby Russell Fjord. Such events occurred in both 1986 and again in 2002, when the advancing ice dammed the fjord for several weeks before breaking apart. Because of this unusual behaviour, Hubbard has earned a fitting nickname – “the Galloping Glacier.”

The ship’s program listed several events related to the day’s scenic cruising, including intermittent commentary from the voyage’s naturalist, Dr. Rachel Cartwright, beginning around 11:00 AM. According to the posted nature notes, our first distant views of the Wrangell–St. Elias Mountains should appear around mid-morning as Queen Elizabeth entered Yakutat Bay. From there, the ship would continue deeper into Disenchantment Bay, with the prime glacier viewing expected between 11:30 AM and early afternoon.

Despite the unsettled weather and high winds outside, the ship continued forward.

As we wandered QE throughout the morning, there was a great deal of anticipation building among passengers. Conversations in the corridors and lounges frequently returned to the same topic: Hubbard Glacier. For many people on board, this was the moment they had been most eager to experience - a chance to see one of the largest tidewater glaciers in North America and perhaps witness the dramatic calving events for which it is famous.

Regardless of the excitement on board, the winds outside continued to strengthen and was now creating a distinct whistling around the doors leading to the promenade decks.

Approaching Hubbard Glacier

The plan for the day had been simple enough. By late morning, Queen Elizabeth was scheduled to cruise deep into Yakutat Bay and approach the face of Hubbard Glacier. Yet even early on in the day, it was becoming clear that the weather might have other plans.

The waves and whitecaps in the waters around us, which had rocked the ship throughout the night, had not entirely subsided – even after we had entered Yakutat Bay and left the Pacific behind. Yet, despite the ongoing winds and rougher seas, the outside decks had not been closed.

As a result, passengers had begun gathering in the more sheltered areas on the promenade and upper decks, waiting. Cameras and binoculars appeared everywhere as people leaned against railings or huddled beneath overhangs in search of protection. The main challenge for many seemed to be less the weather than being properly dressed for the conditions. While many passengers had sweaters or down vests under rain jackets along with rain pants, there were a few that came out wearing country club dresses and high heels or husbands in dress pants with collared shirts, which are great for sitting inside but next to useless on deck amid a brewing Alaskan storm.

The weather itself created a strange atmosphere. Cold rain drifted through the air while low clouds hung heavily over the surrounding landscape. At times, it was difficult to tell whether we were looking at fog or cloud - in these northern waters, the two often seem indistinguishable. The result was both mysterious and frustrating.

Occasionally, the mist would thin just enough to expose a distant mountain slope or a patch of forest along the shoreline. Dark conifer forests clung to steep hillsides while pale streaks of lingering snow and ice appeared higher on the mountains above. Then, almost as quickly, the clouds would close again and the landscape would vanish from sight.

Wildlife sightings were equally unpredictable.

From time to time, seabirds appeared suddenly out of the fog, sweeping close past the ship before disappearing once more into the grey air. Most encounters seemed less the result of careful observation than simple luck. Among the birds riding the winds around the ship were several Black-legged Kittiwakes.

Hubbard Glacier Deferred

Just as we have missed the Captain’s daily noon hour announcements here on Queen Elizabeth, today would prove the exception. Shortly before 12 noon, an announcement came over the ship’s speakers.

The captain’s voice, calm and measured, carried through the corridors and out across the open decks. After consulting the bridge officers and reviewing the conditions inside Yakutat Bay, he explained that the winds near Hubbard Glacier had strengthened beyond safe operating limits. For the safety of the ship and its passengers, Queen Elizabeth would not proceed any further into Disenchantment Bay.

Instead, the ship would turn and begin the journey back toward open water. The decision, at least from our perspective, was entirely understandable. The safety of the passengers and the ship overrode the need for destination and spectacle.

Even from the decks, the weather had been steadily deteriorating. Increasingly, winds swept across the bay in strong gusts while low clouds and dense fog drifted across the surrounding mountains. Even if the captain had proceeded toward the glacier, I doubt that anyone would have been able to see it anyway.

Within minutes, the few small groups of passengers who had gathered outside began retreating indoors, seeking warmth in the lounges and cafés. Cameras disappeared, and conversations continued. The anticipation that had filled the decks only an hour earlier dissolved almost instantly.

Yet we stayed outside. The ship was turning, but the decks were not yet closed. There was still something remarkable about the place, even if the glacier itself remained hidden somewhere beyond the shifting curtain of mist. Few others seemed to agree with us, and we soon had the aft decks to ourselves.

Beaufort Wind Scale

As we approached the outer reaches of the bay earlier in the morning, the captain had briefly referenced the Beaufort Wind Scale, the centuries-old system mariners still rely upon to judge the force of wind and its effect on the sea. Hubbard Glacier sits at the mouth of Disenchantment Bay, a place where strong winds often pour down from the massive icefields of the St. Elias Mountains.

Cold air spilling off the glacier accelerates rapidly as it descends toward the water, and in narrow fjords these winds can intensify with surprising speed. What begins as a fresh breeze can escalate to gale or storm-force conditions within minutes. Such was clearly the case today.

On this day, winds were already registering in the upper reaches of the scale, with sustained gusts strong enough to produce high winds, breaking waves and spray streaking horizontally across the bay, which are classic indicators of Beaufort Force 5 to 6. In waters crowded with drifting ice, those conditions introduce real risks: difficulty maintaining position, unpredictable ice movement, and dangerous strain on a vessel’s thrusters and hull.

Turning back was not a disappointment so much as a reminder. The Beaufort scale exists precisely because the sea still dictates its own rules. In Alaska’s glacial fjords - where wind, ice, and mountain topography converge into forces no ship, however capable, is meant to challenge. It was a reminder that even the most carefully planned itinerary and schedule remain subject to the forces of nature.

Though admittedly, we did briefly wonder how Queen Mary 2 would have held up here in these same conditions. Regardless of the answer, however, we were both content with the fact that the crew prioritized the safety of the ship and passengers.

An hour after turning back, the wind continued to rise as the ship retraced its path back toward Yakutat Bay. Around us, mountains and landscapes continued to fade in and out of view amid the fog. After years of travel shaped by weather windows, trail closures, and shifting conditions beyond our control, the moment felt strangely familiar rather than frustrating.

Lunch at the Golden Lion

Damp from the wind and slightly chilled after lingering on deck longer than most passengers, we eventually stepped back inside the ship in search of warmth. The morning had passed almost entirely outdoors, “surviving” on only a few chocolate croissants and several cups of coffee… by this point, a proper meal was becoming increasingly appealing.

As nature had changed the day’s schedules and routines, we opted to change ours and, rather than the Lido, made our way to the Golden Lion Pub.

We have long found that the Golden Lion is one of Cunard’s more relaxed spaces. With its low ceilings, dark wood panelling, and deep, comfortable chairs, stepping in always feels like walking into a traditional British pub after a day on the trail. On many previous voyages, particularly aboard Queen Mary 2, it had become one of our favourite places for a casual meal - a welcome variation from the more formal rhythm of dining in Britannia, yet it also feels slightly more refined than the Lido.

Today the room was warm and inviting – especially after a couple of hours in cold wind and driving rain. Here, a pair of Irish singers - Dan and Steven - were playing folk songs, which completed the atmosphere. While there were a few muttered complaints around the room about “how the captain should have pushed on” we felt that it was clear that conditions were less than ideal. Regardless, an hour or so of sitting and chatting, as well as a couple of pints, made the world right again.

The food, however, proved slightly less memorable.

The Golden Lion is normally an included venue known for hearty pub classics - fish and chips, pies, and other comforting fare that often feels like a welcome treat during a long voyage. On this particular afternoon, the portions were surprisingly small and the meal somewhat underwhelming. It was not quite the indulgent pub lunch we had come to expect from previous voyages. Still, such things happen from day to day on a ship.

We filled the gap in the meal with another pint each, which went a long way to put our minds beyond the short rations.

Afternoon Birding Attempt

With the day originally intended for scenic cruising at Hubbard Glacier, the ship’s program had left much of the afternoon open. When the decision was made to turn away from the glacier due to worsening weather, passengers suddenly found themselves left to their own devices - and complaints.

For our part, warmed up from our time indoors, we set off back outside – glad that the decks had still not been closed.  Stepping outside, however, we soon discovered that the winds had only continued to strengthen, actually somewhat considerably. Strong gusts swept across the ship, and waves of rain rolled intermittently through the bay, soaking the decks and anyone, or at least the only two people daft enough to be standing on them. The sea was full of waves and whitecaps streaking across the surface as the winds drove spray – Poseidon’s mane – across the waters.

Even in these conditions, the experience was strangely exhilarating. As such, finding a sheltered spot, we opted to stay out as long as the decks remained open…or as long as we could still feel our fingers and toes. Standing at the railing, watching the shifting waves and darkening skies, reminded us how alive the North Pacific can feel when the weather begins to assert itself. From time to time, seabirds appeared briefly along the horizon, riding the wind before vanishing again into the grey air. Birding in such conditions required more patience than skill, but every sighting felt like a small reward.

Though bundled in heavy raingear, it was not long before we were soaked through. As our own resolve was beginning to waver, the crew came out and began closing the decks. We suspected that the officers watching from the bridge might have already been wondering why anyone was still outside in the first place.

As such, we retreated indoors again, dripping onto the carpets of the corridors as we made our way back to our cabin. After changing out of our wet layers and with the glacier now well behind us, it seemed like the perfect time to explore more of Queen Elizabeth herself.

Art and Design on Queen Elizabeth

With a free afternoon ahead of us, we spent some of the time wandering the interior spaces of the ship. Exploring Queen Elizabeth soon revealed that the vessel’s art has a story of its own to share.

Cunard has long treated its ships as floating galleries, and aboard Queen Elizabeth, the decorative styles seem intentionally mixed. Elements of the company’s ocean liner heritage and Art Deco designs appearing alongside more contemporary choices, creating a vessel that feels both rooted in tradition and quietly oriented toward the future. In this sense, Queen Elizabeth in her art feels something of a hybrid ship - acknowledging the legacy of the great Cunard liners while also reflecting the gradual evolution of those vessels into modern cruise ships.

The most direct expression of this heritage appears in the Grand Lobby, where a large Art Deco mural frames the forward sweep of the ship against a stylized map of the Atlantic. The composition uses stepped geometric borders and radiating lines that were hallmarks of the Art Deco era, a design style that celebrated speed, technology, and modernity during the interwar years. Surrounded by warm wood panelling, arched architectural details, and geometric lighting fixtures, the space echoes the ceremonial staircases of the great Cunard liners of the 1930s. It is here, more than anywhere else on the ship, that the visual language of the golden age of ocean travel feels most deliberately preserved.

Elsewhere on board the ship, this Art Deco influence can be found in a variety of places. Outside the Royal Court Theatre, contemporary paintings by Giancarlo Impiglia depict elegantly dressed passengers enjoying cocktails, music, and formal dinners in a stylized visual language that mirrors the travel posters and fashion illustrations of the 1920s and 1930s. The elongated figures, simplified faces, and bold blocks of colour suggest the glamour of an era when crossing the Atlantic was as much a social event as a journey. These images portray the rituals of liner life – many of which are followed today on Cunarders - cocktails before dinner, orchestras playing in evening lounges, and couples arriving for formal meals. Each reminds passengers that Cunard voyages were once stages upon which the spectacle of travel itself unfolded.

Other spaces on the ship reference the architectural world of the Art Deco era. Framed photos of mosaic floors near Britannia Restaurant incorporate geometric patterns and heraldic motifs reminiscent of the decorative lobbies of grand hotels and ocean liners built during the 1920s and 1930s. Reproductions of famous Art Deco buildings, including New York skyscrapers such as the Fuller Building, extend this visual narrative beyond the ships themselves to the cities that ocean liners once connected. These pieces, appearing as a gallery of Art Deco influences, subtly place Cunard within a broader cultural landscape in which early 20th-century architecture, transatlantic travel, and urban glamour all developed together.

Yet the decorative program aboard Queen Elizabeth does not remain confined to Art Deco alone. In the Garden Lounge and pool areas, mosaic tile work introduces a softer style inspired by botanical Art Nouveau motifs. Flowing vines and stylized leaves form delicate patterns across the walls, creating a calm and organic atmosphere that contrasts with the geometric discipline of the Art Deco spaces elsewhere on board. These mosaics feel closer to the decorative interiors of Edwardian winter gardens or Mediterranean villas than to the structural and functional style of a transatlantic liner.

The Garden Lounge also contains one of the ship’s most striking departures from tradition. Above the bar stretches a massive contemporary collage mural layered with images of historic liners, national flags, royal figures, and cultural icons from across Cunard’s history. Paint splashes and large lettering give the piece the energetic and slightly disruptive character of modern pop art and street graffiti art, transforming the company’s past into something closer to a modern visual scrapbook collage of maritime memory. The effect is striking and likely deliberately modern, standing in sharp contrast to the more restrained elegance of the ship’s Art Deco spaces.

Beyond the central well of the ship and its larger spaces are the stairwells where another artistic tradition appears. Here, as they did on Queen Mary 2, many of the hallways and stairwells feature traditional oil-style paintings depicting historic Cunard vessels such as RMS Britannia and RMS Queen Elizabeth 2. These works serve a different purpose from the decorative panels and murals elsewhere on the ship. Rather than evoking the cultural world of the Art Deco era, they anchor our present voyage as well as the ship we travel on within the longer history of Cunard itself, reminding passengers that today’s ships are part of a lineage stretching back nearly two centuries …. to Halifax, Nova Scotia, the home of Samuel Cunard. 

Taken together, the artwork aboard Queen Elizabeth reveals a ship that artistically spans two eras. It acknowledges the traditions and imagery of the ocean liner age while also incorporating contemporary interpretations of maritime travel. Rather than presenting a single unified decorative style, the ship moves between artistic traditions - Art Deco geometry, Edwardian botanical motifs, twentieth-century travel illustrations, and modern pop-art reinterpretations of Cunard’s history.

Compared with Queen Mary 2, this hybrid approach becomes even more noticeable. QM2 is far more cohesive in its visual identity, drawing consistently on the symmetry, geometry, and polished wood tones associated with the Art Deco language of classic ocean liners. Aboard Queen Elizabeth, by contrast, that heritage appears more as inspiration than strict design doctrine. In this way, the ship feels suspended between two ages - not willing to abandon the traditions of the ocean liner, yet clearly adapting those traditions for the expectations of modern cruising.

A brief apology may be required here for such a lengthy reflection on shipboard artwork. The habit comes from childhood summers spent with my grandmother, Dr. Eva Pfeil, who taught industrial design at Auburn University for decades and had worked within the Bauhaus movement. Growing up around her meant learning far more than expected about the relationship between art, architecture, and functionality. Much like travelling with Sean and his mixture of Historical and English Literary degrees, once you have been taught to notice those things (or heard about them so often), it becomes difficult not to see them everywhere.

As a somewhat related aside, wandering through Queen Elizabeth also reminded us how much we missed one particular feature aboard Queen Mary 2 - the panels associated with the Maritime Quest Trail. Those installations add another layer of narrative to that ship, guiding passengers through the long history of Cunard and ocean travel. Their absence here made Queen Elizabeth feel just slightly less tied to that deeper maritime story.

That and we were still “missing” 12 Maritime Quest panels from our exploration of QE’s sister ships – but that is another story altogether.

Meeting (or not meeting) the Captain

With the afternoon – as well as the glacier – well behind us, the ship had resumed its course, moving slowly southward. As the waves outside settled, the routines on board gradually returned.

Last night, we discovered an unexpected envelope waiting beside our cabin door when we returned to change for dinner. Inside was a formal invitation: a reception in the Queen’s Room to meet the captain and enjoy a drink with the ship’s officers. It was something we had never experienced before, which in itself was interesting.

To be honest, neither of us has ever fully understood the particular fascination many passengers have with meeting the captain or members of the bridge crew. They are, without question, impressive figures aboard the ship - professional, courteous, and striking in their crisp white uniforms whenever they pass through the corridors. Yet we have never felt a strong need to introduce ourselves or be introduced in return. Still, curiosity has its own pull…

Since the invitation had been extended, we decided we might as well see what such an event was like. After cleaning up and having a quick dinner, we made our way down to the Queen’s Room. For the first time during the voyage, the entrance to the ballroom was closed and controlled by stewards checking invitations. A short queue of passengers had already formed in the corridor outside the doors. As we waited our turn, the mood of the line became unexpectedly theatrical.

Twice, we were pushed aside by particularly determined guests eager to reach the front of the queue. One gentleman in a tuxedo swept past with great urgency, loudly informing those ahead of him that they should step aside because, as he announced rather grandly, “I have been invited to meet the Captain!” The implication seemed to be that the rest of us were clearly standing there for some lesser purpose?!?!

The steward checking invitations caught our eyes and quietly apologized with a sympathetic smile before ushering us inside. Yet within a few moments of entering the room, it became clear that this particular gathering might not be quite our scene. Clusters of guests were already positioning themselves strategically around the ballroom, watching the entrance where the captain would appear. Dramatically loud conversations were taking place around the room about how many Cunard voyages certain people had been on, or how much their homes were worth, or how many countries they had travelled to.  

The atmosphere felt less like a casual reception hosted by a cool bridge crew and more like a quiet competition for recognized self-importance. Neither of us had any real desire to compete for a handshake or a photograph, and the idea of doing so felt strangely out of place after a week spent watching storms, wandering open decks and watching for birds.

Sometimes it is good to stand out. At other times, it is simply better to move on and find the place where you would rather be. So, after only a few minutes, we quietly slipped back out of the ballroom and made our way upstairs to the Commodore Club.

Normally one of the most relaxed spaces on board, the lounge was filled with passengers discussing the events of the day. Unfortunately…though I suppose predictably, the dominant topic was the same everywhere – missing Hubbard Glacier.

Many guests were still expressing disappointment that the ship had not been able to reach the glacier earlier that afternoon. Listening to the conversations, it was difficult not to notice a subtle shift in tone. Some seemed to believe that the captain might somehow have navigated the situation differently - that perhaps the ship should have pressed forward despite the weather.

After years spent travelling through remote landscapes, we found that perspective slightly puzzling. Weather windows, changing conditions, and the limits imposed by nature are simply part of travelling in wild places. Trails close, rivers flood, forests burn, and winds rise up. The captain may well be many things, including a talented commander and navigator, but they could do nothing to change the realities of the natural world.

If anything, the decision to turn away from the fjord earlier that day had only reinforced something we already admired about the voyage: even aboard a large ship, the forces of wind, ice, and sea still command respect and determine the direction one has to take.

Nature Cannot be Scheduled

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.”

Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

Unlike the carefully arranged art displays aboard the ship - or the curated walls of a gallery such as Clarendon Fine Art - the natural world cannot be staged, scheduled, or arranged for convenient viewing. Nature reveals itself only when and how it chooses. This reality seemed strangely difficult for some passengers to accept.

Throughout the voyage, we had watched many people remain indoors, focused on phones and tablets, while whales surfaced in the distance and seabirds followed in the wake of the ship. Yet when the approach to Hubbard Glacier was cancelled because of high winds, frustration quickly replaced indifference. Some complained openly that the voyage had been “a waste” because there had been no glacier that day, while others wondered aloud why whales had not appeared when they expected them to.

The comments were revealing.

It seems that increasingly many travellers have begun to treat the natural world as though it were another scheduled activity on the daily program - something that should occur at a particular hour between lunch and high tea. Before long, we began jokingly referring to it as “whale time,” as if wildlife sightings were meant to arrive on cue. But the simple fact is that nature does not operate that way, nor should we expect it to.

Glaciers do not calve when the buffet closes. Whales do not breach on command. Eagles do not soar according to the printed schedule of a cruise ship. The natural world follows its own way - shaped by wind, tide, season, and chance. Yet the expectations of itineraries remain, and too often passengers want their experiences set to a schedule.

What surprised us most was that so many passengers had boarded a voyage explicitly marketed by Cunard as an immersion in Alaska’s wilderness. Yet many of these same passengers actively chose to spend most of their days indoors streaming movies, in line at the lido, or counting steps around the promenade deck while fjords, forests, and wildlife slipped quietly past outside. Cell phones and screens seem to predominate over nature ...even on a nature cruise. Technology, not attention to the world around us, is the focus for many. As a result, though natural wonders and whales seemed to be wonderfully common throughout the voyage, people passively ignored them….because it wasn’t “whale time”.

This stayed with us because it echoes a broader shift in how many people now experience the world - not as participants but as consumers. Perhaps the difference lies in expectations.

Many people now live within tightly structured schedules - work hours, streaming programs, Zoom appointments, pre-packaged weekend vacations, and curated experiences delivered at predictable times. The result is that over time, it becomes easy to assume that the rest of the world should operate according to similar rules. Yet the fact remains that wild places refuse to cooperate with such thinking.

After years spent walking long trails and travelling slowly through landscapes shaped by weather and season, we have frequently been reminded of an essential lesson – that nature sets the terms of the journey, not the itinerary. You cannot schedule awe. You cannot demand beauty at a set hour.

You can only place yourself in the landscape - on the deck of a ship, along a forest trail, or beside a distant shoreline - and remain open to whatever the world chooses to reveal. And when it does, the reward is often immeasurable.

One of the keys to a happy life is curiosity - if you have the opportunity to explore, to see, to experience you have to take the time to do it. You have to prioritize being willing to be out there and seize the moment. Ultimately, this voyage reinforced an old truth: you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. You can give people glaciers, whales, and the vast, wild silence of the north - but ultimately they must choose to look.

Evening Reflections

Stepping away from the debates circulating around the ship, we eventually made our way back toward our cabin.

Along the way, we paused in the Grand Lobby, where a young guitarist was quietly performing classical pieces beneath the sweeping balconies of the central atrium. His playing was remarkable – yet seemingly only a handful of passengers seemed to notice. Most people simply passed through the space without pausing, the music becoming little more than background sound drifting upward through the central well of the ship.

It was difficult not to notice the parallel.

Much like the whales that surfaced beyond the ship’s wake or the seabirds tracing the horizon earlier in the day, this small moment of beauty was unfolding quietly in plain sight - and was largely ignored.

Nearby, at the pursuer’s office, a long line of passengers had gathered. Many were clearly still upset about the missed approach to Hubbard Glacier. Snatches of conversation drifted through the hallway: some insisting that seeing the glacier had been the entire purpose of their voyage, others suggesting that something should somehow be done to compensate for the lost opportunity. We felt sympathy for the staff who were patiently listening to the complaints.

At the same time, the scene only reinforced the thought that had been forming in our minds throughout the afternoon. For us, the day had not felt disappointing at all. Standing on deck in the wind and rain, watching the restless waters of Yakutat Bay and the shifting mountains behind the fog, had been extraordinary in its own right.

What the day revealed more clearly than anything else was how differently people respond when nature declines to cooperate with expectations.

Some see only what was missed. Others notice everything that was still there.

Outside the windows of the ship, our journey continued on its long, silent passage through fog and tide - nature keeping its own schedule, as it always has.

Nautical Term of the Day - Go by the Board - Anything swept over a ship’s side - over the board - was lost. Today, plans or ideas that disappear are said to “go by the board.”