Reflecting on Queen Elizabeth’s Alaskan Cruise

 “No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)

It's the cussedest land that I know,

From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it

To the deep, deathlike valleys below.

 

Some say God was tired when He made it;

Some say it's a fine land to shun;

Maybe; but there's some as would trade it

For no land on earth - and I'm one.”

 

Robert Service, The Spell of the Yukon

 

Call of the North

 

By the end of our voyage aboard Queen Elizabeth, what stayed with me most was not a single port, moment, or species. It was the feeling of having been drawn once more to the north.

 

That is not easy to explain, though I have now spent years trying to write about our love of northern landscapes. We have hiked in northern British Columbia. Sean has lived in the Yukon. We have walked across Canada from the Atlantic to the Pacific and then kept going northward toward the Arctic. Even so, the coastlines, the mountains, the wildlife, and the weather of this region continue to resist neat description. They are too vast, too diverse, and too wondrous to be reduced to a tidy travel summary. Yet they are equally impossible to forget. Some places impress you while you are in them. Others continue shaping how you move through the world long after you have left. Alaska and Canada’s north belong to that second category.

 

That was part of what made this voyage so compelling for us – the inability to summarize it easily.  That was and is part of the beauty of being on Queen Elizabeth and voyaging to Alaska. It did not feel like a conventional cruise in the way that they are commonly thought of. We did not go north looking primarily for shipboard entertainment, shopping, or a floating resort experience.  It was never a vacation in the traditional sense either, it was never meant to be.  We came because after so many years of travelling slowly by foot, rail, and sea, the line of our journeys had reached another point defined by the call of the north.

 

Boarding Queen Elizabeth in Vancouver felt less like stepping away from a life of slow travel than continuing it by different means. As I wrote at the beginning of the voyage, we were bone tired and physically exhausted after years of long-distance walking and recent months of sustained travel, yet the fact remained: the north was calling.   As Robert  Service observed about the Arctic, noting that the rugged Northern environment binds people to it, making them "worse than the worst" in their devotion to the region and its wilderness. Beyond that, it is unexplainable.

 

In this way, this voyage felt remarkably aligned with the kind of slow travel we value. It was not hiking, of course. We were no longer figuring out how much water we needed, where we might wild camp, or how much distance we had to walk each day.  And we no longer had to carry everything we needed for the next day…week…or months in our backpacks.  Yet the deliberate choice not to simply get to our destination by the quickest means was intentional.  The goal was to voyage as immersively as possible while also finding space to be comfortable and relax – all of which we were able to do on Queen Elizabeth.

 

A Different Kind of Slow Travel

 

As we have experienced over the years on our transatlantic voyages on Queen Mary 2, as we have learned on pilgrimages and hikes in Europe, the decision to take the slower route matters. 

 

In the modern world, the choice to go slower, and to leave space for walking on deck, watching the waves without a specific goal, and living at the behest of nature rather than in accord with a schedule… is restorative.  Perhaps in this day and age, it is also essential, as the unhurried lifestyle it offers gives way to new opportunities and different routines on board.  Time on a ship means that your days are determined by nature – the movement of fog, forested coastlines, seas teeming  with marine life, flocks of bird species and stunning sunrises as well as memorable sunsets.  

 

There is a tendency, in the modern world defined by efficiency and digital apps, to move from one defined highlight to another – to tick off moments as though they were scheduled events or a list to be completed.  Time on board a vessel like Queen Mary 2 or Queen Elizabeth resists that sort of approach entirely. Which is something that is both rare and highly appealing.

 

For us, the most meaningful experiences rarely appeared in the daily program – they happened beyond the railing of the decks.  A whale surfacing in the distance, seabirds following the ship’s wake, a rainstorm that makes entire forests come alive, and the moment the light breaks through the cloud cover and fog to illuminate a path of the ocean for a few minutes.  It is in these sorts of moments that the ship recedes and the experience takes precedence. 

 

Journey, not the Destination

 

These types of moments certainly shaped how we experienced Queen Elizabeth.  On previous Cunard voyages - particularly aboard Queen Mary 2 - we had embraced the full life of the ship: insight talks, the formal gala evenings, High Tea in the Queen’s Room, the carefully structured days at sea. Those elements and traditions were still present here on QE, and beautifully executed, but the ocean, the north and Alaska continually pulled our attention outward.

 

On this voyage, we skipped dinners in Britannia because whales were surfacing off the coast. We left meals early when the light began to change. Even on gala evenings, I found myself slipping back out onto the deck, binoculars in hand, unwilling to let the outside world pass unseen. 

 

It became a pattern to our days on board.  We would begin inside - coffee, a quick breakfast, a glance at the daily program - and then, almost inevitably, we would drift outward again. The pull of the sea and the experience on deck were constant.  That is not a criticism of Cunard. In fact, it may be one of the strongest compliments I can offer this itinerary and this ship.  Queen Elizabeth and her crew, elegant and composed as always, became something slightly different than expected.  Not the centre of the experience, but the frame through which it was viewed.

 

I wrote in the early days that Queen Elizabeth felt like a vessel that encouraged passengers to look outward rather than inward, and that impression only deepened over time.  With all of its traditions and elegance, Queen Elizabeth became the comfortable and stately means by which we could explore the north.

 

White Star Service in Practice

 

Within that framework of comfort and tradition, the experience of the ship itself remained both wonderfully and quietly consistent.  Cunard’s White Star Service is described through four qualities - refined, thoughtful, charismatic, and proud - and over the course of the voyage, those ideas revealed themselves not in grand gestures, but in small, thoughtful, and refined moments.

Embarkation was smooth and unhurried. Our cabin steward, Al, introduced himself early and maintained a professional and reliable presence throughout the voyage.   The staff in the Golden Lion were welcoming and attentive without being intrusive.  The bartenders on the aft deck – regardless of the weather – were always there with a word of encouragement, kindness, and a bowl of snacks when stepping inside to eat was something we increasingly forgot to do. 

 

Elsewhere on the ship, similar patterns emerged. At the gangway, the crew managed the flow of passengers calmly and efficiently. On tender back to the ship, instructions were clear, and the trips were quick. In the lounges - particularly the Commodore Club - staff were consistently warm, friendly and unassuming, gracious, allowing the environment each night to remain relaxed and exactly what we needed after a day, a week and almost half a month on deck watching the skies and the seas.  In particular, Eden and Dennis stood out in their care for us at the Commodore Club - and we thank them for all they did each and every day on board.

 

None of the service on Queen Elizabeth drew attention to itself, and that is precisely the point.  Good service, particularly at sea, often operates in the background. It supports the experience without overtaking it. It allows you to remain focused on where you are, rather than on how you are being cared for.  This fact, however, does not, of course, mean that such service does not matter or that it goes unnoticed or unacknowledged.  The staff on board, especially on Cunard vessels, are in our experience, constantly working hard to keep things in order and in pristine condition.   And on this voyage, they did so remarkably well – for which we are extremely thankful.

 

Nature Cannot Be Scheduled

 

For all of the comfort, care and hard work, there are things that the crew could not control – nature.    And, if there was a single lesson that defined this journey, it was one we had encountered many times before, but rarely seen so clearly reflected in others.  The fact that nature does not operate on a timetable. 

 

There were moments during the voyage - particularly when conditions changed, or plans shifted - when that reality became unexpectedly difficult for some passengers. The cancellation of Hubbard Glacier due to high winds and the need to prioritize ship and passenger safety prompted visible frustration.  Some passengers reacted as though an on-board performance had failed to take place.  There were conversations about missed opportunities, about expectations not being met, about experiences that had somehow failed to materialize as promised.  But nothing had been promised – not by the company, not by the ship, and certainly not by nature. 

 

Some seemed to expect whales, birds, and glaciers to appear at convenient moments, as though the natural world should conform to a set schedule.  But that is not how this landscape works.  The glacier had not disappeared. Neither the whales nor the seabirds had chosen not to appear.  They were all still there – and on most days they were there in extraordinary abundance.  For a brief period, the natural world had simply continued to operate according to its own rules.

 

For us, this was not a disappointment. It was the experience.  The reminder that you cannot demand awe at a set hour. You can only put yourself in the right place - in this case, out on deck, attentive, patient, willing to miss other things if necessary - and remain open to what the world chooses to reveal.

 

The most meaningful moments of the voyage were not the ones that aligned neatly with expectations and schedules. They were the ones who arrived unannounced. A sudden breach in the distance.  A seal wrapped in a bed of kelp beside the ship.  A line of seabirds is moving across the wake of the ship.  And streaks of fog that transformed the entire coastline for a few minutes. 

 

These were not scheduled events. They were encounters with nature.  And like all encounters with the natural world, they required patience, attention, and a willingness to accept uncertainty.  And perhaps that is why this voyage lingers so strongly with me now. It was not a journey of constant spectacle. It was a journey that asked for - and rewarded - presence.

 

Ports and Expectation

 

The same principle applied to the ports themselves.

 

Many of the places we visited were small, beautiful, both culturally and historically rich, and situated within extraordinary landscapes, but small nonetheless. Juneau, despite its status as a capital, felt compact and closely tied to the surrounding wilderness. Skagway retained the feel of a place shaped by a particular moment in history, still carrying echoes and the legacy of the gold rush. Ketchikan’s waterfront was active and colourful, but again, defined as much by its setting as by its size.

 

For us, this was part of the appeal.

 

We did not approach these ports as destinations to be consumed or completed. They were points of access - places where we could step briefly into the landscape before returning to the ship and continuing the journey. In Juneau, a quick bus ride to Mendenhall Glacier provided more than enough context for the day. In other ports, walking through a forest, visiting a raptor rehabilitation centre, or spending a couple of hours at a touch tank were each amazing experiences. 

 

But, as with time in nature, it is worth noting that expectations matter.  Those seeking constant activity or large, urban centres may find parts of this itinerary quieter than anticipated.   If you are someone who wants guaranteed highlights and curated entertainment, then you need to accept that Alaska does not work that way.  To expect otherwise is to miss what is there. 

 

Alternatively, passengers willing to move at a slower pace - to observe rather than rush - will likely find that the experience deepens accordingly and that each place offers amazing opportunities.  An Alaskan journey is, above all, about nature.  That is the point.  The landscapes and wildlife are not background scenery for the ship – they are the focus and reason to be there.  In this, the north offers a great deal. 

 

Naturally Wonderful, Definitely Repeatable

 

In many ways, as we have noted before, our time aboard Queen Elizabeth felt less like a conventional cruise and more like a nature expedition - one that happened to be framed within the traditions of the golden age of ocean liner travel.

 

Perhaps oddly for a series of reflections, what remains, in the end, is what we highlighted at the outset – a lack of words to adequately describe this amazing experience. While there were certainly highlights - wondrous, amazing, stunning highlights - this was more a journey that produced impressions and memories that will stay with us long after we have left the decks of the ship or the shores of Alaska. 

 

The sounds of the waves against the hull at night.  The sound of a whale spouting or slapping their tail in the water.  The feel of cool air on deck in the early morning.  The reflective look of the wet wooden decks after the rain.  The hours of peacefulness spent watching the horizon and the seas.  The quick flash of a bird between waves in the wake.  The talks with the onboard naturalist around the ship and the wonderful piano playing at night in the Commodore Club. Each are terrific memories, and to suggest one was a highlight over the others would be wrong, they were each impressions that together made the experience extraordinary.

 

This voyage reminded us, even after years of travel, that certain landscapes and the natural world still have the ability to reset perspective entirely and be more memorable than anything that can be seen on a screen.

 

Would I do it again? Would we step on board Queen Elizabeth and voyage to Alaska again?  I think that may be the clearest measure of its success. I do not generally repeat trails or journeys unless they are truly exceptional. Yet this is one I could easily imagine doing again.    But not because we would want or even get the same experience.  We would return because, invariably, it would be different.  Not, of course, in terms of the level of care, or elegance of comfort on board.  But because there would be different weather, different wildlife, different opportunities, and each of these would give way to different memories.  And that is precisely the appeal of coming back to Queen Elizabeth and voyaging to Alaska.

 

Such is the time spent in nature.  It, like the north, does not repeat itself.  It can never offer you the same journey twice.  It can only offer you the opportunities and possibilities to get out into the world and remain open to new and wonderful experiences.

 

“You hate it like hell for a season,

And then you are worse than the worst.”

 

Robert Service, The Spell of the Yukon

 

See you on board!

 

Nautical Term of the Day - “All Fast” - A classic term meaning the ship is securely moored.  - denoting that the vessel has arrived, and is safe.