Ramblings With Ron

A Ferry Ride With A Wandering Logger

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The MV Malaspina

Today I am going to wander off on a story-telling track. Be forewarned! The protagonist of this story is none other than my father, so the content of this tale will be a half a bubble off of level...

Dad was recently hired to manage all of the timber fallers of a newly constructed logging camp. I'm pretty ecstatic for him as it returns his form to the Southeastern Alaska wilds. It also will provide no end of story fodder for us to regale people with.

The Alaska Marine Highway is a state owned and run system of small cruise ship sized ferries that serve the communities of the Alaska Panhandle. If you have a vehicle and want to get to one of the islands of that lovely archipelago, you travel on the ferry system. Dad drove his Chevy pickup on board the MV Malaspina Friday afternoon, and shortly before his boarding the texts and phone calls full of anecdotes began.

I rode the ferries of the AMH a lot as a kid, but as cell phones were only a thing in the cities, communication of any interesting tales tended to happen at the end of one's trip. Getting a text from Dad while he was waiting in the staging line to board the ship was pretty cool. I love 21st century technology. I also loved the text:

"I now have a sticker on my truck that says I have a gun, c'mon."

Dad texts like he is talking on a CB radio. Every text either has an "over" or a "c'mon" on it. You know, like he is an actor in his very own version of Smokey and The Bandit. I like it, and am still trying to think of an awesome call sign, for texting, because why not?

After giggling about the "he's got a gun in there" sticker. I moved on with my day, for I figured that would be last time I heard from Dad until he got to Ketchikan. I was wrong.

My phone rang a few hours later, and to my surprise it was Dad. How could this be? He had to be out in the Puget Sound by now.

"COOMMMEE ONNN!" I answered the phone. Dad and I answer the phone in competition with each other, for whoever can say the words "Come On" the most obnoxiously wins the right to talk first.

Instead of his customary greeting, I got this:

"The Strait of Juan De Fuca; Katie's Got To PUKE-AH!!!"

The dreaded song from my childhood floated into my ear canal. The horrid composition is only 1 stanza, but even now hearing it fills me with motion sickness dread. I was a nervous traveller as a child, and spent most trips, be they car, boat, or plane in a sort of nauseous misery. Mom was sympathetic. Dad was more lyrical.

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The Strait of Juan De Fuca is never this placid when I have had the pleasure to sail through it. There were always some very timely, rolling swells. At least my dad was amused.

When I was young, if you didn't have a state room on the ferry, the place to be was the solarium. Located on the upper most deck was a heated, fresh air paradise. You could throw your sleeping bag out on to a lounge chair and watch the evergreen treed coast slip by. People flocked to the solarium to ride out the trip, and if you didn't get a spot you had to hang out in the observation lounge, definitely not as cool.

"I'm the only one up here." Dad murmured.

"That is so freaking weird," I replied, "How is that even a thing?"

"No wait!" he exclaimed, "A lady just walked up here!"

"She left." he sighed.

I started busting up laughing. Every trip that I have ever went on there was always some creepy, beanie hat wearing, middle-aged dude camped out in the solarium.

"You're the creepy guy!" I shouted into the phone! "Sing the Juan de Fuca song again! I'd rather be pukey than creepy."

"Shut up." he grouched good-naturedly into the speaker, and we both hung up in the kind of great mood that can only result from good-natured familial ribbing.

Fast forward to today. Dad had managed to text my mom yesterday from off the coast of Bella, Bella, British Colombia, a fact that I found rather surprising. As I knew that he was going to make landfall in Ketchikan, Alaska today; I was expecting an anecdote filled phone call. He did not disappoint.

"Hey Sis! Let me tell you about the Scooby Doo Gang" he exclaimed.

"Okay, let me have it." I responded in anticipation, for I had just made myself a big cup of blended butter coffee, so I was ready for the long haul.

"So, I met these kids. One was about your age, in his mid thirties (Thanks Pa!), and in the military. He did his basic in Fort Hood, but had been reassigned to Ft. Wainwright," Dad gushed, "Well, he met up with this professional snowboarder who is just back from the Ukraine."

"Yes." I murmured encouragingly.

"Well, they ran into this 22 year old girl from Coeur d'Alene. She had a big nose ring, and you'll never guess what she went to school for?" Dad delivered this dangling story tidbit with a flourish.

"What was it?" I implored.

"To teach kayaking!" he blurted with incredulity, "She's going to Wrangell to teach people how to KAYAK!"

"Cool." I responded.

"Then there was this red-haired Army guy," he continued, "I swear Sis, all they needed was a Great Dane and a Mystery Machine!"

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My imagination was very helpful in the visual department as I listened to dad's descriptive storytelling!

Now that the characters were cast, Dad continued with is tale:

"So, I got to be pretty acquainted with these kids, and I was standing with my back to the window when I thought I should mess with them," he reflected, "So I noticed that we were about to Bella Bella, and told them so. Well, we were to Bella Bella, and they were amazed at how well I knew the terrain."

He went on proudly, "I heard them talking to some other kids, they said 'Ron's the only one that's got something going on up here' that was right before the one Army kid got publicly yelled at by his Sargent Major for not shaving."

Dad then regaled me with stories of how he got to watch the exercise show from his lounge chair every morning, from a man doing pull ups to a lady doing a complete yoga work out. He was the most impressed with a woman wearing a fit bit that walked around the deck at least "22 times."

Dad seemed a little weirded out that most of the people on the boat were obsessed with micro brews and having fun, as he comes from a slightly different era, but his tone instantly changed as he reflected on another interesting ferry tidbit:

"So I was sitting in the observation lounge and I felt a tap on my shoulder," he stated with dramatic flourish, "It was your Aunt's friend, she works in the galley, and she handed me three, perfect, warm chocolate chip and walnut cookies right out of the oven!"

Behold Dad's view as he waited for his hotel room!

Dad's now sitting in his hotel room in Ketchikan, and I have to laugh, for he got off of the ferry to over foot of snow gracing the ground in that town. This is a very uncommon thing for Ketchikan, for rain is their thing. It's almost like the snow was a harbinger announcing the return of Ron to all of Southeast Alaska.

The thing I like about my dad is that he can find the joy of the small details in the midst of what could be the boring part of an adventure. Most people hear that you are traveling to a logging camp in the Alaskan wilderness, and they want to hear about the wilderness and logging part. My dad however, can find the adventure in the most mundane things, the drama in the most simple interactions, and that is trait about him that I admire, for he will be forever entertained and amused, not to mention entertaining and amusing to those around him. Life is so much more amusing to endure if one finds joy in the details of every interaction, not just in the things that society deems "entertaining" or "exciting". There are stories everywhere, and I can't wait to hear Dad's next tales!

With the exception of the cited images (Thanks Pixabay!), the other above image was taken this morning, in Ketchikan, Alaska on my Dad's tired and well traveled Android phone. It was used with his permission.