21. April 2010 - Alaska Medivac and Snowsqualls

 

Our expectations of a quiet and non-eventful crossing to Vancouver did not materialize.

We all expected lousy weather, snowsqualls, heavy seas, rolling and pitching, icy decks but not a serious medical evacuation.

We were pasing south east of Kodiak Island when the Captain announced that due to a serious medical situation concerning one of our guests, one that could not be handled aboard the ship hospital, we were changing course for Kodiak Island. A US Coast Guard helicopter, supported by a rescue airplane would meet our ship somewhat south of Kodiak. All access to forward decks and the bow were off limits to guests to make things as safe as possible.

I checked the ship's public GPS display, and sure - we were steaming flat out at almost 23 knots at a north-easterly angle from our intended Great Circle route towards Kodiak, not too far away.

Outside, one snow squall after another, wicked winds, big rollers, the ship raising and falling, being battered by the sea. This was not going to be easy...

An hour later, the Captain announced that the helicopter and aeroplane were in range. Of course I barely saw them arrive during another one of those snowsqualls with almost nil visibility, horizontally flying snow, and severe pitching and rolling of the ship. They retired from the immediate vicinity to wait for the next clear time span.

The entire bow area had been cleared (nothing beyond the basic structure of the ship, even the electrical light garlands were gone) I went first outside onto one of the 'permitted' decks - slithering through slush in my dinner shoes,  dressed kill, and protected only by a windbreaker - very cold indeed. I photographed the squall, the first hover attempt - and then realised that I was shooting blanks - no memory card inside my camera.

The back up plane kept circling the ship, and ever so often entered the line of vision and disappeared again into the sky, the helicopter hovered at a safe distance.

I went to the ship's Gym, not exposed to the raw weather outside, with glass outside walls, under cover and warm at the very bow of the ship, I watched the precarious second hovering of the helicopter above the bow. He was taking advantage of a temporary lull in the snowsquall, but of course, there were continuously heaving seas.

A woman rescue operator was lowered first, and then the recue basket followed suit - from the helicopter to the forward deck. The whole business took place so close to the Gym windows, that one could almost see the colour of the pilot's eye. I just hoped, that a sudden lurch of the ship would not slam the helicopter into the ship's superstructure - but, these guys and girls know their job extremely well...I understand that the 'action persons' on the rescue are deep sea divers as well, clothed in full diving gear....just in case the rescue basket ends up in the sea instead of the helicopter.

Ship's crew in fire-fighter outfits and rescue worker disappeared below decks with the basket to get the patient.

Meanwhile, being in the gym, the entertainment group of the ship was practising for some future show routine, jumping and singing and dancing to the grating sound of broadway hits, giving a reverse performance: the guests watching from this vantage point were packed against the windows, looking out towards the foredeck below, with their backs to the practising artistes, who seemed to be totally oblivious to their inattentive audience and the death defying actions beyond the large windows of the gym.

I retrieved my memo card from my cabin, and reclaimed my little viewing spot. another snow-squall obscured the horizon, the sun and almost the bow of the ship. We could feel the ship making a drastic course change, as suddenly the snoflakes seemed to be passing the windows from a different horizontal direction. And what we could see of the mountainous seas hit the ship from ever changing angles. Now, how long was that going to last - no helicopter would attempt a close-operation under those circumstances.

As if by magic, the pale disk of the sun re-appeared, as did the horizon. Our Captain performed another 90 degree course correction (best aspect for wind and wave for the helicopter maybe?) and - blue sky almost everwhere. But winds and swells - they blew and hit with undiminished strength.

In a short time, the Coast Guard rescue worker and ship's crew emerged onto the foredeck carrying the rescue basket, now occupied by the unfortunate patient. He was bundled up in warm clothes and blankets under his life jacket and strapped securely into the light weight basket. The helicopter approached again, hovered, lines were lowered to the deck, and the basket attached speedily. Cliff hanger tension!

Up he went without further ado - I would not want to be in that basket for anything! It took some wiggling around because of the wind, before the unwieldy load finally disappeared into the fuselage. Another line thrown towards the deck and the Coast Guard woman hooked herself up, and she as well rose into the air and quickly climbed into the helicopter.

Success...they departed without a second's delay. Headed for mainland Alaska and a hospital in Anchorage.

The patient - a young man (Russian immigrant I hear), 27 years, invited on this cruise by his God parent. Well recognized on the ship, as he as he was a permanent seriously inebriated fixture at the bars and in the Casino. Critical attack of something to do with cirrhosis of the liver and hepatitis....

The God parent is still aboard....I don't know who deserves more consolation, the patient or the generous old man.

In closing: the US Coast Guard performed admirably, executing a successful evacuation under extreme circumstances, and we all thank them for that.

The patient - last notice - is now in an Anchorage hospital - getting better we hope - and we wish him well.

20 April 2010, Umiank Pass in the Aleut Archipelago

At 8:00 p.m. lastt nigth (ship's time) we passed from the Bering Sea through Unimak Pass into the Alaska Basin in the northernmost part of the Pacific. The mountains of Fox Island (Unimak Island to one side and Ugamak Island to the other) loomed at the horizon with the obligatory snow covered Volcano to starboard.

The pass is the widest one of all the Fox Island Passes of the Aleut Chain, the only one deep enough for deep draft ships and the only one with 'Aids to Navigation', i.e. lighthouses. We are again, as in Antarctica in remote waters. However, the pass is used frequently by freighters and fishing boats.

The feel of the sea changed almost immediately south of the pass, from lumpy accompanied by freezing winds, to long rolly with silver white caps, and pretty strong winds. Luckily the swells push us along, instead of having the ship fighting head winds with the dreaded pile-driving motion. It has warmed up to around freezing point, almost tropical!

Hard to imagine that we are at about the same latitude as Burns Lake in British Columbia, North 54 degrees or thereabouts, still a lot of landmass and sea to go before the Arctic circle...

We won't see any land now until we enter Juan de Fuca Strait on the 25 April, just rolling seas, biting winds....and a heating system on the ship, that seems to konk out at various locations at the most inconvenient times - ergo people run around parts of the ship dressed in parkas.

However, have yet to hear anyone say that they are ready and happy to disembark...suddenly there is cooking, cleaning, gardening, laundry, cars, gas prices, junk mail...quite a change from our present fortunate situation.

18. April 2010, Petropavlosk, Kamchatka Peninsular, Siberia in Russia

I am tempted to say, that this may have been as case of saving the best for last...who could imagine anything but bleakness, subzero temperatures and sourly citizens when one thinks of Outer Siberia. The Gulag comes to mind, polluting factories and mines, a place where the most supposedly 'undesirables' where sent for punishment.

Kamchatka Peninsular is geographically part of Siberia, but practically cut off from the mainland. It is only accessible by air or by sea, no land,access at all.There are more than 300 volcanoes, of which about three dozen are active. Summer lasts from July to September, just like in Canadian Winnipeg, with relatively warm temperatures, lots of mosquitos and thousands of brown bears.

But, the local people in Petropavlosk apparently like it here (however some are only stationed here for a short period of time) and families live here for generations, enjoying the perfect skiing conditions, the plentiful salmon, the rich and varied berry harvest, and a life far away from hustle and bustle and urban pollution. They do however get extreme low temperatures and 12 METERS of snow during the long relentless winter, and sometimes have to dig themselves out of their houses to reach the surface (doors face inward to facilitate opening them when buried in snow) or they just exit their apartments from the second or third story windows.

The city itself is pretty ugly-utilitarian with box like five story houses (no higher because of frequent earthquakes), pretty rough roads, a few shops and museums, some foreign car distributorships, a fishing fleet, and many statues around Lenin Plaza. Lenin's is the largest, and Bering, Perouse and Clerke (sailed with James Cook) and the Monument of Glory a little smaller. Somewhere around here, the Russian Navy has a base, and Volcanic Research keeps the intelligentsia occupied.

Getting in and out of town is prohibitively expensive. But despite these constraints, Kamchatka is starting to make a mark on the map...International Cross Country Ski events, back country winter camping and International Sled Dog races.. . the world is discovering this remote corner little by little, and eco tourism and extreme sports are making pricey inroads.

We dropped anchor in Pertropavlosk Avancha Bay in a cold and frosty predawn. At breakfast time, when cloudless sky and bright sun illuminated the surrounding landscape, I went on deck to test the temperatures. Chilly, brisk with a tinge of warmth, as long as one stayed in the lee of the wind.

The scenery was splendid to say the least. A huge bay fringed by low snowcovered hills, backed by towering white mountains, which again were topped by even higher perfectly conically shaped volcanoes - all white. A blinding white rugged band of snow, ice and and faint shadows of vast dormant birchforests in the lower mountain regions, sandwiched between an azure sky and a glittering black blue sea - breathtaking!

Russian clearance processes promised to be lenthy, complicated and subject to change at a moment's notice. But, although painfully slow, we all got through with an hour or so delay. The young officials at the gang way even smiled! Tendering to shore was spotty, but again, we made it to Russian soil.

I had booked a tour into the back country to visit a remote village and Siberian sled dogs.

All Amsterdam travellers without a) Russian visas and b) official ship tours were constrained to city limits. So this tour was my ticket OUT of the collection of housing blocks.

No tour 'buses' for us, but arctic snow-vehicles on huge wheels with a small bus like cabin on top. Foot stools and ladder to climb up. This promised to be 'off-road' experience for sure! Elena, a local Petropavloskian, was our guide, and she spoke an absolute perfect idiomatic English. Bubbly and happy, she looked like a mature skibunny, and enthusiastically extolled the wonders of Siberia to us.

Once we left the somewhat dismal looking town (new onion domed Russian-Orthodox Cathedral in progress on a hilltop, a little higher than the Mosque on another mount...) we drove into the birch forests. Black and white slender trunks, still leafless branches reaching into the blue sky and casting soft blue shadows onto the endless clean snow. Not a track in sight, the bears were still asleep. HIgher and higher over winding narrow lanes into the foothills and then into a valley full of birch forest and a vista of three of the signature volcanoes of Petropavlosk, Avachinsky last eruppted in 1991, Koryaksky, and Kozelsky. They are perfectly shaped indeed, and one of them sent white plumes of steam into the cristalline sky. Georgeous!

We clambered off our monster trucks into the snow, which had begun to melt and left quite a bit of gumbo muck around. No wind, pleasantly warmish, picture perfectly clear...

A group of young girls looking strikingly similar to Canadian Haida/Innuit, dressed in traditional furs and beaded headdresses, greeted us with drumbeats, dancing and singing. Fresh-faced, smiling and wonderfully welcoming.

A few snowmobiles with little trailers pulled up (pretty nifty modern machines) and we mounted up and where whisked through hardpacked snowcovered paths around a few bends and reached a small village, or better a collection of ramshackle habitations, a community hall and dozens and dozens of wooden flat-roofed doghouses.

Again a group of dancers, this time dressed in Russian traditional garb, awaited us and danced to accordeon music, somewhat enhanced by recorded music, which was expertly broadcast by two laptop operators sitting in the sun outside the hall. A lady made the rounds offering traditional welcoming bread and salt, and after that we could go wild with liberal servings of Russian Vodka and hard black bread topped with home smoked salmon - pretty good to say the least.

The dozens of dogs all had their private little dwelling and a chain that kept them at sufficient distance from the next dog-house so they would not get into any scuffles. They were all very people friendly and nuzzled and licked the visitors hands, started a dog howling chorus, lapped up their warmed water, slept, sat on their dog houses and generally behaved exactly the same as Non Russian dogs. All were well cared for, and extremely fit (not fat) as all were well loved racing dogs, bred to run and love it. Talking about breeding...the locals sometimes tie up a Husky bitch in heat to a tree in the woods, and have her covered by any male wolf who happens along. So most of these dogs are a good part wolf. All are very attractively marked and some have the typical blue eyes of the Husky breed.

We all were drawn into the happy Russian dancing (especially yours truly), admired the dogs, the costumes of the dancers, the inside of the Community Hall filled with mementos of International Dogsled Races, samovars, whalebones, furs and skis, the sightweight sleds and most of all the absolutely stunning scenery.

Four mushers harnessed their dogs to racing sleds, to great howling, barking, tailwagging and general canine eagerness to get going. Whilst being harnessed they were so ready to run, that they had to be pegged into place not to take off before they were all ready to start. Four dog-teams...we cleared the starting line, and one by one they raced off into the woods at blinding speed, with the mushers perched on the sleds leaning into the curves to keep them from flying off propelled by gravity. They had fifteen miles to run (I got a Njet to my request to race with them, and for good reason - most of the other visitors would have wanted to as well - what mayhem that would cause). The race would take about an hour before the teams would cross the finish line.

We filled the available time with more Vodka and salmon consumption, tugs of war, sack races, dancing, weight lifting..and everyone, even the mobility challenged, absolutely enjoyed this paradisic moment. Some were happily enjoying the sun sitting on simple wooden benches, some had some private moments with the many remaining dogs, now calmed again after the excitement of seeing their buddies run off. Most of us just got into the act.

It seemed like minutes before we cleared the track again, and the competitors returned, almost still at flat out speed, crossed the finish line, braked the sleds and let the dogs rest. They nibbled at the snow to quench their thirst or just laid quietly waiting to be unharnessed.

Nobody wanted to leave, but we needed to return to port. Lots of hugging, some tears, lots of waving. Most visitors made the ride back to the 'truck' by snowmobile, I walked through the Dr.Shivago like landscape casting a last look at the magnificient volcanoes, the silent birch forests and the pristine snow. During a winterstorm things would be somewhat different, but today - a frosty Eden.

In port, I walked along the 'beach', where Russians promenaded, taking photos, watching the Amsterdam anchored in the bay, and smiling at the visitors with goldplated teeth.

A fur-hatted Russian lady started to talk to me in her language, and I responded in mine...she dragged me to a kiosk where she bought a huge can of Carlsberg beer. She motioned for me to share it with her, and we both wandered )sort of) arm in arm along some of the dirty snowbanks bordering the streets, she drinking from the can and I faking it. Her male companions/family in tow. We hugged good bye at the dock, and I boarded an Amsterdam tender for the last time on this long eventful journey.

A fitting Farewell: all the snowy mountains still shining like white diamonds slowly faded away when we finally steamed towards the opening in Avancha Bay.

Back into the North Pacific, which showed itself in winter storm mood. We passed through the western limits of the Aleut Islands into the Bering Sea (last time I looked we were 55degrees north) cruising along a great northern circle route.

We crossed the dateline resulting in two Mondays and double birthdays for a few lucky people. But although we got 24 bonus hours back, we are still losing an hour a day for a few more days...plays havoc with the internal clock.

Rather sad....only a few more days and the whole unforgettable adventure will be over by the 25th April 2010.

Genuine Siberians on Kamchatka

Here is a little gallery of a few lovely Siberians I have met near Petropavlosk, Kamchatka Peninsular, Siberia, Russia...