Page 247 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

Steaming up the Alaska Panhandle was therefore interesting and not a little
intimidating. The ship’s culture was quite different from my experience; the
officers were mere technicians designed to get the ship from one port to the
next. There was no Captain’s cocktail party in which officers were required to
participate, there was no idea of officers’ tables, and far from a wine allowance,
we were prohibited from drinking, though the Captain, on occasion, did have the
more important passengers in his cabin (a by no means exotic accommodation)
for small parties.

The route, however, was invariable. We sailed from Vancouver to Ketchikan,
then to Juneau (the state capital), then to Skagway, over to Glacier Bay (not a port,
but the mouth of a glacial inlet), to Sitka and then to Prince Rupert, a Canadian
port. Apart from Sitka, which, because of its past and very visible Russian heritage,
was really quite interesting, the ports were of very little note. All of them featured
numerous vendors of ‘gold’ trinkets, displays of gold panning, and a large number
of under-lit and smelly bars. The passengers loved it all, most of them coming
from the US mid-west, where the largest body of water that most had seen was
their bath, and ‘Culture’ was C and W. There was no doubt that Chuck West, the
founder of West Tours, knew his market; each trip was full. And I did not dislike
it; there was a lot of organisational work to do, but I was being paid more than
I had ever received before, and it was limited to four months’ work and eight
months’ pay; thank goodness for The Canadian Merchant Service Guild!

We were allowed to take wives on one trip per year, and despite the minute
cabin that was allotted to me, we had a good time seeing the very fine scenery,
bergy-bits calving from the glaciers, and walks on the decrepit board-walks.
Malcolm was a good fellow to know, as his background was so similar to mine,
and Judith found him quite a charming fellow (Archie would have been a more
knowledgeable 2nd mate, but what we would ever have talked about? Malcolm’s
sex life at a Holiday Camp where he had been a Red- Jacket gave rise to hilarious
tales, especially over the scotch that I smuggled aboard).

Not all was roses, however. There was much crew drunkenness, and I learned
upon which members I could rely. There was no George, and the passage being
so difficult, good helmsmen were of value; one such was Bob Ward, a gangling
Canadian of great experience who had for years worked for CPR (which company
operated the West Coast CP fleet), and we utilised his services for difficult
passages. On one occasion, we had berthed and two were missing from the tie-
up crew. I asked the bosun where they were; he said that they were ‘sick’; I knew
what he meant and asked him to bring them up on deck. He looked at me, started
visibly shaking and looked about ready for an apoplectic fit. This, I knew, was
trouble, but I recalled the advice of the Royal Marine Instructor (“Never take on
a drunk or drug-addled opponent.”) and simply stood there waiting to see what
he might do. He blinked; five days later, he was the ex-bosun.

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