A Voyage Through Inside Passage: Into the Wild of Jack London’s World and Beyond

Seventeen of us, a spirited group of friends, boarded the Royal Princess in Seattle, bound for the rugged beauty of Alaska’s Inside Passage. We were a colorful medley: adults eager to get away from our day jobs; five teenage girls who coordinated their outfits for every occasion and remained half-tuned into the world through earbuds; and one precocious preteen with a curly mop of hair, a sunshine smile, and a few gappy teeth that made his grin all the more irresistible. He was the girls’ Man Friday.

From the moment we sailed out of Seattle’s Elliott Bay, the journey felt like a dream unfurling like waves in the Pacific Ocean-in slow motion. Water and wilderness greeted us in every direction. Our route would carry us through storied ports: Juneau, Skagway, Glacier Bay, Ketchikan, and finally, into the twilight charm of Victoria, British Columbia.

Port of Juneau

Our Alaskan adventure began in the capital city of Juneau, a town of 30,000 that comes alive in the summer months, its boardwalks echoing with the clang of miners’ boots and the brawls of prospectors. Towering above us were mist-wrapped mountains and evergreen forests, silent and deep—home to some of the world’s largest eagles’ nests. The area boasts around 28,000 bald eagles. They are not shy.

We saw busts of Joe Juneau and Richard Harris, the co-founders of Juneau, and laughed at the memory of the longest line in town history…when a McDonald’s opened. And then there was Soapy Smith, the self-proclaimed “king of the frontier con men,” who ran a criminal empire in Skagway until he was gunned down in a duel on the Juneau Wharf. His ghost, they say, still lingers in town.

The Road to the Yukon

Our bus ride to the Yukon Territory was an adventure of its own, led by a 22-year-old geology student from Utah who handled the sharp turns remarkably well. He told us stories of legends like George Washington Carmack, Skookum Jim Mason, and Tagish Charlie, whose 1896 discovery of gold in Bonanza Creek sparked a stampede of over 100,000 hopeful souls heading north. While Carmack claimed the find, many believe it was Skookum Jim: a sharp-eyed Indigenous prospector, who first spotted the glint of a gold nugget in a creek bed.

We passed Caribou Crossing (modern-day Carcross), where Tagish Charlie, after being refused service at a saloon, famously bought the entire hotel. Just to make sure no one ever denied him a beer again. A lesson in pride and poetic justice. Surprisingly, the area around Carcross, shortened from Caribou Crossing, was a sandy desert. A stark contrast to the surrounding temperate rainforest.

As we wound through steep mountain passes, we peered down into dizzying ravines and across forests of crooked, stunted trees, their windward sides bare of branches, shaped by centuries of fierce gales and harsh winters. This was once the infamous Dead Horse Trail, where exhausted pack animals perished by the thousands.

Yet amidst the rugged terrain, we found serenity in the mirror-still waters of Bennett Lake and Tutshi Lake. Legend has it that mothers warned their children about monsters that stirred after dark. Some waters glowed emerald green, thanks to pine needles, algae, and copper deposits.

We spotted caribou, alpacas, bearded billy goats, two black bear cubs eating grass, and even a moose( called the squirrel of Alaska) an ambassador of this untamed land, birthed by their legendary “game mother.” We remembered Romeo, the friendly black wolf who once played with neighborhood dogs and trotted off with their squeaky toys. We sampled Canadian rolls and donuts with a denser texture and homemade feel. We met Siberian Huskies and Alaskan Malamutes, seemingly waiting for the snow to return so they could race down steep slopes.

All Aboard the White Pass Train

Returning to Skagway, we rode the legendary White Pass & Yukon Route Railway: A narrow-gauge train that clung to cliffs and looped past Bridal Veil Falls and the Skagway River. This was the very path once climbed, tediously, by gold-rush stampeders, heavily burdened with supplies and dreams. We traveled in heated comfort, defogging our windows to glimpse golden caribou moss and vibrant green filigree of spruce, hemlock, aspen, and beech. Purple lupines, pink fireweed, and white dandelions zipped past like magic. Ice-streaked mountains and fog-draped valleys unfolded before us. We marveled at the Yukon suspension bridge spanning 180 feet across the Tutshi River canyon.

Only one family stood between train cars in the open space called the apron, snapping what seemed like a thousand selfies! much to the quiet consternation of the rest of us.

Glacier Bay: A Living Ice Cathedral

The next morning, the Royal Princess cruised into the sacred quiet of Glacier Bay. While most of our group snoozed under the spell of late-night dessert buffets, a few early risers huddled on balconies, coffee mugs in hand, awestruck by the light and imagery infront of us. Just in time, we witnessed a thunderous slab of Margerie Glacier calve into the sea. A moment so majestic it felt like a dream.

A bald eagle floated past on an ice floe. A raft of otters reclined in the bay. Onboard, National Park rangers taught us about retreating glaciers, the rise of new forests, and the park’s unique geology. A landscape shaped by tectonic uplift, earthquakes, and post-glacial rebound.

Mount Fairweather, rising 15,300 feet above the clouds, loomed in the distance. And in every creak of the ice and whisper of the wind, we heard Indigenous stories and felt the adventurous spirit of early explorers like Captain James Cook, Captain George Vancouver, and naturalist John Muir. It was the stillness of a landscape still waking from the Ice Age.

Ketchikan and the Southern Frontier

We docked in Ketchikan, a town where rainforest meets frontier spirit. Some of us wandered Creek Street, once a red-light district and now a rainbow row of souvenir shops. We visited a local art gallery on Main Street; others attended a lumberjack show. We bought a pair of whale-tail earrings from a Sindhi jeweler from Mumbai. And promptly lost one when it slipped off my daughter’s ear.

Others watched salmon leap upstream while floatplanes took off and landed like oversized gulls. Everywhere, nature murmured with memory.

Victoria: A Sunset Farewell

Our last port was Victoria, British Columbia, and the entire city seemed to glow as if waiting just for us. We were welcomed by kind Canadian bus drivers with polite manners and twinkling eyes. “Enjoy yourselves,” they said. Though one weary husband (in our group) of a high-maintenance family grumbled in my ear, “What was the point of disembarking for such a short while? What if we miss the last shuttle back to the pier…?”

Despite the brief stop, the beautiful seaside city was a vision. The Fairmont Empress, wrapped in ivy and vibrant floral displays, stood noble by the harbor, and the Parliament Building was outlined in lights. Some of us dreamed aloud about visiting Craigdarroch Castle next time; others posed for pictures at the Waterfront Station or in front of the stunning Marine Building, its Art Deco friezes glowing golden in the setting sun. We watched the sky turn from gold to lavender as the harbor rippled like silk.

Homeward, with Stories to Keep

That final night aboard, all seventeen of us gathered to dance our worries away in the Fiesta Lounge. Some tried their luck in the casino. The girls huddled together for a group photo. We bid adieu to the ship’s captain and the warm, welcoming crew of the Royal Princess: from South Africa, Australia, Indonesia, India, the Philippines, Zimbabwe, Turkey, and Europe. We toasted to the culmination of a safe voyage, our hearts full, and our plates perhaps still a little too full with fruit, berries, salads, and sushi. We had perfect weather during our trip, pretty unheard of in Alaska where it rains almost everyday in Summer.

We remembered gold rush legends and glacier thunder, twisted trees and sunset castles. The sea around us was calm, as if even it wanted to listen.

And as stars pricked through the sky, our preteen lad: his shoes undone, his curls haloed by light, leaned on the railing, sighed deeply, into the drizzle and said:

“Where are we going next?”

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.