Up on the bridge of the Wilderness Legacy, Captain Andy Lyngar is playing Pink Floyd. The strains of Wish You Were Here soundtrack scudding gulls, as bald eagles soar the higher skies. Humpback whales break the surface: first a plume, then the arc of a gleaming back, before finally a fluke rises, slapping down the sea. I’m torn between imagining they are waving goodbye, or flipping us off, as if to say: this is our element, mate.
If that’s the case, they are entirely right. It is late spring, and these huge creatures have navigated their migration routes, gliding from tropical waters, here to their summer feeding grounds, where the first pods are now arriving. Meanwhile, we are wrapped up in layers, binoculars and cameras clumsily held in gloved hands, or fingerless mittens for those in the know. Sailing with UnCruise, we have joined the Legacy in Seattle on a 12-day trip that will bring us up the narrow channel of Canada’s Inside Passage, via God’s Pocket, through the perfectly named Misty Fjords, stopping in at Ketchikan on the way to Glacier Bay in Alaska.
So what is “uncruisey” about UnCruise? For a start, the boats are smaller, which means we can nudge into the channels, bays and fiords inaccessible to the bigger vessels. While being perfectly comfortable, with everything you might need, there is also a certain unvarnished charm. Sleeping 86, the Wilderness Legacy is at the larger end of the operation, so you’ll find a couple of exercise bikes (should you want them), and a pair of outdoor hot tubs, but there’s no lavish spa or gym. The cabins are also idiosyncratic – the doors are off the decks, so I had a damp spot on my carpet in occasional high seas, and I needed to move pillows around to make things work for somewhere to put a cup of tea, but after the first day’s nesting, I was entirely content.
Captain Andy and the crew are special too. Having been on ships where the captain is a remote figure, and the bridge a closed zone, UnCruise captains are welcoming. Andy, who looks like he could have been in ZZ Top, issues an open invitation to visit. The crew are warm, fun and share their insights in a series of evening talks. Miranda’s one on sea otters is a particular treat: the animals wrap their pups in fronds of sea kelp to anchor them while they go foraging for food. There are binoculars in your cabin, and books in the lounge on the history, flora and fauna of Alaska. Browsing them during our welcome drink, I can hardly wait.
Sailing out of Fishermen’s Terminal, in Seattle, which devotees were keen to point out is the home port of the boats out of Deadliest Catch, we cruise overnight to hike at Sucia Island. The sun shines, and we are warned that this is the only actual trail we’ll find, as most of our stopping points will be unpopulated. Sunlight slants the way and it seems as if the birds have come out in force, from the now-ubiquitous bald eagles to the great blue heron (or GBH as they call them in these parts), pine siskins and red-breasted nuthatches.
Back on board, Hadder at the bar has been shaking up the daily cocktail – there is a different special each day – and snacks are laid out. There is no chance of going hungry or thirsty aboard. It is amazing how quickly you slip into a routine: there is first breakfast in the bar, a stretch session (for a rapidly shrinking group), then main breakfast, when Séamus outlines the day’s outings, which include kayaking, bushwhacking and gentler eco-meanders. I make friends with an adventurous Australian, a newly-wed couple from Minnesota and a retired professor from somewhere in Texas. There is a man who likes to hang out and write haiku, a couple from Canada and a pair of extremely healthy-looking Americans.
On sea days and in the evenings we play cribbage, do jigsaws and trade stories of sightings. I learn not to be jealous of people with enormous cameras, even though their photos are amazing, as I don’t think I have the money, or the dedication to match. On our first full day, we cross the sea border into Canada.
We go by coastlines almost too beautiful for words, and are encouraged to watch out for spirit bears. Different from polar bears, these white-coated creatures are shy, but we search nonetheless. Some of the men compare their lenses. The weather is kind as we sail into God’s Pocket, a sheltered spot on the south side of Queen Charlotte Sound where generations of ships have awaited good weather before venturing into wilder waters. We are now in the Tongass National Forest, and kayaking here is glorious, although I belatedly pick up on a vital travel tip: don’t skimp on your wet-gear pants. No matter how calm the waters, paddles create puddles, and wet knickers are a distraction from the jaw-dropping beauty of it all.
Going further north, nature keeps sharing gifts. There are sea otters, harbour seals, sea lions, starfish, anemones, mountain goats, a lone wolf, a pair of tufted puffins. A double rainbow appears. Announcements from the bridge alert us to things we might miss: a pod of Dall’s porpoises playing off the bows, whales and wolves. Then there is a bear. Yes, a bear. I miss it, but decide to be glad for the people who didn’t. For one, it makes for a happy boat, but it also means that bears are out there to be seen.
The only populated places we visit are Ketchikan and Juneau. Ketchikan was a Native American Tlingit fishing camp before Irishman Mike Martin founded the town in 1885. Today you can still explore the old stilted walkways of Creek Street, where the red-light district gave women dubious financial independence until recently – the brothels were officially outlawed in 1954. Signs warn of bear sightings.
Each time we disembark at an unpopulated place, we get the Bear Talk. Never say “bear” unless you see one. If you do see one, say “bear”. Don’t go towards a bear, don’t run away from a bear. Instead, put your hands on the shoulders of the guide, and leave the rest to them. I begin to doubt a bear meeting will happen, until we go on the bushwhack. Bushwhacking with UnCruise means going for a walk in an uninhabited place with no paths. No paths means there truly is no route. It is fabulous and frequently muddy fun. Tip: have good hiking boots and wear layers of clothes you don’t care about.
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Things begin promisingly with a moose footprint on the shoreline, then a scramble up a seemingly impossible bank. There are groves of skunk cabbage with its beautiful yellow flower. Bears like to eat the roots to unconstipate after their winter torpor, we are told. There are signs a bear has been feasting. After about an hour of flicking briars and whiplash fronds, someone quietly whispers, “Bear.” No one pays attention. Then the word comes louder. Our guide, Nicole, pauses, and there he is: huge, dark and ambling mildly towards us through the forest. And yet there is nothing mild about him, sleepy though he might be, post-winter torpor, every ripple of his hide says strength and power.
“Bear,” says Nicole. “Go away bear.” Her tone is calmly firm. The bear keeps coming, until he is about 10 metres away. One-handed (our other hands being dutifully on Nicole’s shoulder) we take photographs. The taller of us get good, if blurry, snaps, which they later share; I get lots of someone’s neck, which I don’t. Everything, save the bear, seems to go still. Nicole reaches for her bear spray, but then he veers off. Miranda says he’s circling, but he has clearly found something more interesting as he disappears into the green. It probably only lasts a minute or two, but time has frozen into something unforgettable.
It takes us another two hours to get back to the boat, as we nudge a high bank looking for a way down, eventually finding a friendly slide of soft earth, to emerge on to the shore with muddy backsides and a sense of elation. “It’s a Type Two enjoyment,” somebody says, describing the idea of something that is arduous or uncomfortable, but amazing in retrospect. Amazing it has been, and there are still the glaciers to come.
As we go further north, ice appears at the water’s edge. It is almost impossible to capture a sense of scale in Alaska. From kittiwakes to glaciers, everything is so tiny or vast. Waterfalls freeze and the weather changes, as the microclimate of Glacier Bay takes over. Further north still and the ice turns blue. The skies are laden with sleet, and different kinds of rocks appear to have slammed into each other. “It’s a geological train wreck,” confirms Nicole.
I am woken up at dawn by the sound of clanging and thumping. Huge lumps of ice are beating at the side of the ship. We make our way up to the Johns Hopkins Glacier, and marvel at the cannon-fire like sounds coming from the huge forces it contains. The Tlingit called it white thunder, and while it is hard to imagine their lives in its presence, I can see how gods are made. A final chance to kayak at Lamplugh Glacier reveals sea-sculpted ice and yet more birds, before the finale that is the polar plunge. Strictly optional, we are invited to peel down to our togs and dive in, which I am excited to do, and even more delighted to survive. The crew throw Captain Andy in for good measure, uniform and all. Would I have missed it? Not for the world.
Gemma Tipton was a guest of UnCruise and The Port of Seattle
Getting There: Aer Lingus flies direct from Dublin to Seattle, aerlingus.com. 12-night itinerary from Seattle to Juneau with UnCruise from $6,700pps (€5,700), or $11,700 (€10,000) single occupancy. Includes all food, drink, equipment and activities. Excludes tips, port fees and taxes. Departures in September 2025, and from April 2026, uncruise.com. Fly back from Juneau to Seattle with Alaska Airlines, alaskaair.com.
In Seattle: Plan to arrive a day or two early to explore Seattle’s attractions, including the Monorail and Space Needle for Back to the Future-style fun. Make sure to leave time for a cocktail and snack at the top of the Space Needle, and see all of the city and surrounding mountains as the top floor slowly revolves, $37.50 (€32) admission, spaceneedle.com. At the foot of the Needle, the Chihuly Garden and Glass (from $35/€30) gives you an insight in to the work of Seattle’s famous son, who has worked in the past with the teams at Waterford Glass, chihulygardenandglass.com. Feeling peckish? Browse and graze the famous Pike Place Market, or take the Savor Breakfast and Culture Tour to get you going, daily at 8am, $89 (€76), savorseattletours.com.
Stay at The Edgewater: built in 1962, Seattle’s only over-water hotel is edgily fun-meets-luxury, having hosted the likes of The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kurt Cobain and Frank Zappa. It’s slightly more sedate these days, but the food and cocktails are great, and it’s walking distance to Olympic Sculpture Park, and the Seattle Waterfront and Pike Place Market. Rooms from approximately €290, edgewaterhotel.com.
