Date: Sunday, August 17, 2025
Location: At Sea → Port at Juneau, Alaska (arrived 1:00 p.m.)
After two days of open water, we finally reached the edge of Alaska. This is the moment everyone onboard had been waiting for.
The air felt different: crisp, sharp, alive. Even before land came into view, you could sense it — the quiet shift from ocean to wilderness, from travel to arrival.
🌅 Morning: First Glimpse of Land
Woke up to a chilly 58°, grey skies, and calm seas — a welcome change after yesterday’s swells. The ship reported we were cruising over 400 meters of water that looked more like a lake than the open ocean.
By mid-morning, we could see land: green forests climbing into misty mountains. It’s hard to tell how far away they are without a sense of scale, but the sight alone was thrilling after two days at sea.
On Deck 4 — just above the waterline, the ship has a café area with a slightly retro, 1950s feel. Two large porthole windows look straight out onto the ocean, and the open room is filled with scattered tables and chairs where people gather for coffee and conversation.
That’s where we grabbed coffee from the ship’s version of Starbucks with Scott, Sue, and HP. Suddenly someone shouted, “Whale!” and the entire café rushed to the windows. Phones came out, shutters clicked, and for a few minutes everyone was united in pure excitement.
There’s something heartwarming about watching people light up at the first glimpse of wildlife.
Breakfast followed in the main dining room, also on Deck 4 — eggs, potatoes, and a formal sit-down service. The food was… fine. Scott and HP had eggs benedict; Sue went for oatmeal with raw brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon. My plate held two over-medium eggs and a hash brown that tasted like McDonald’s had reinvented breakfast wedges — and honestly, it was the best part.
The setting is beautiful — fancy plates, polished silverware, and attentive staff moving easily between tables. The food itself is solid, though not quite as impressive as the surroundings suggest. Still, watching a crew feed nearly 4,000 people at once makes it hard not to respect the effort.
The choppy seas and “drunken sailor” walking from the day before had left a few people feeling a little under the weather. Eric skipped breakfast, taking advantage of the calmer morning to catch up on some rest.
After breakfast, HP decided to take a mid-morning nap and told me to wake her if anything exciting happened.
“Like if a whale jumps onto the deck,” she joked.
There’s something surprisingly relaxing about a mid-morning nap on a ship. It feels a little decadent somehow — like you’ve stepped outside the normal rhythm of the day and given yourself the quiet gift of peace.
I stepped outside to take a few photos of the passing coastline — our first glimpse of land since leaving port.
🐋 Afternoon: Juneau & Whale Watching
By 1:00 p.m., we docked in Juneau under light rain and cloudy skies. Our excursion combined a visit to Mendenhall Glacier with a whale-watching trip.
The glacier itself was sobering — small, retreating, melting rapidly. I couldn’t shake the feeling this might be the last time in my life I’ll see it in person. A sad reminder of how fast global warming is changing the landscape.
(If you want to know about Romeo, I’ll gladly tell you that story.)
Whale watching followed. The crew shared history, environmental facts, and a bit of humor on the way out. It was interesting enough, but everyone on board felt the growing anticipation of why we were really there.
And sure enough, once we reached the straits, the whales appeared — graceful, massive, breaking the surface with sprays of mist.
No matter how much you expect it, the moment still feels magical.
As the afternoon light began to fade, we turned back toward port. Seeing sea lions, seals, and whales in the wild is something you never quite forget.
🍽️ Evening: Shipboard Comforts
We arrived back at the ship just in time for dinner service. Saif and Francis were there to greet us, immediately asking about our excursions. I was surprised by how tired I felt — maybe it was the exposure to the elements, or just the excitement of the day catching up with me in the middle of Alaska. Either way, I was ready to turn in early.
Dinner was simple but satisfying. The service continues to shine — the crew never fails to greet us warmly and make sure everyone feels taken care of.
Afterward, HP and I retreated to our balcony as the ship quietly slipped back out to sea.
When night finally settles over the horizon and the stars begin to show, there’s a unique quietness to the ocean. You don’t hear engines — just the soft whisper of wind and the steady hiss of water sliding past the hull. The cool night air and the gentle sway of the ship make it easy to relax.
It’s soothing, almost like the ocean is whispering you to sleep.
We even left the balcony door cracked overnight, letting that sound become our white-noise machine.
⭐ Quick Ratings (1–5 stars)
- Food: ★★★☆☆
- Service: ★★★★★
- Cleanliness: ★★★★★
- Activities: ★★★★★
- Excursion Value: ★★★★★
📝 End-of-Day Reflection
Best part of today: Watching whales break the surface near Juneau. The sight was incredible.
Something unexpected: The Mendenhall Glacier — breathtaking, but bittersweet knowing it may not last much longer.
Tip for future travelers: Spend time on your balcony. The hiss of the water, the chill in the air, and the rhythm of the waves are worth every penny of the upgrade.
Also: pro tip — the drink package covers soda and coffee. There’s nothing like a Diet Coke on a chilly Alaskan afternoon.
Alaska has a way of reminding you what’s fleeting and what lasts. The glaciers melt, the whales move on, but the wonder stays with you. Somewhere out there, whales are still surfacing, the glacier is still breathing out its cold mist, and Juneau’s lights are fading behind us. Tomorrow will bring new ports and new skies — but the hush of water and the hum of the ship might be the moment I remember most.
At the Forge
Day 3 was a reminder that beauty and loss often share the same horizon. The glacier, the whales, the endless hush of the sea—they all spoke of things too vast to hold onto, yet impossible to forget.
Maybe that’s Alaska’s real gift: not the sights themselves, but the stillness they leave behind. A quiet reminder that wonder doesn’t ask us to own it—only to notice.
— Dennis D. Montoya
Stories Forged in Ink and Ash
Dennis D Montoya 