Alaska : The early bird catches the whale

Belugas at dawn

The piercing shriek of my alarm shatters my tranquility at 3:45 am. I groan, my eyelids heavy with the weight of a sleepless night. My mind always churns with anticipation before a tour, preventing decent sleep.

I drag myself out of bed, the worry of a new tour already pressing on my shoulders. I had laid out my clothes the night before, a small ritual before finally laying down for a couple of restless hours.

Ready and out the door in 15 minutes, the taxi ride to the train yard is a blur, my mind still foggy with exhaustion. As the taxi pulls up to the train yard, I step out onto the gravel, greeted by the chatter and bustle of port workers making their way to the cruise terminal.

I make eye contact with some familiar train workers, exchanging smiles and nods. We all understand that less chatter is better. I join the throng, throwing my bag under the waiting bus before climbing aboard.

The bus remains quiet, the air laden with fatigue as the sun rises in the sky. I close my eyes, allowing myself to drift off as the bus rumbles along. Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder jars me awake. My eyes slowly focus on the curly head and bright eyes of Dylan. He is pointing excitedly out the window.

"Look! Beluga Whales!" His eyes are wide.

Following his gaze, I see them: the milky waters of Turnagain Arm broken by the sleek, white bodies of belugas, their graceful forms gliding effortlessly through the icy depths. Dylan and I lean closer to the window, transfixed by the sight.

As we watch, the pod of belugas swims closer to the shoreline, their ghostly white forms a stark contrast against the dark waters. They move with a fluid grace, their movements perfectly synchronized as if choreographed. They dive and surface, a group of calves, their skins gray, swim alongside their mothers, nuzzling close in a display of affection that warms my heart.

Time seems to stand still, I am acutely aware of the privilege it is to share this dawn with these magnificent creatures, to catch a glimpse into their world.

Suddenly, another pod of twenty belugas joined the first one. Then, pod after pod arrived until a superpod numbering over 200 were dancing in the changing tide.

As the whales move further out to sea, their forms growing smaller in the distance, Dylan turns to me, his face alight with wonder. "That was incredible," his voice hushed. "I've never seen anything like it."

I nod in agreement, my own heart full to bursting with the weight of the experience. "This makes it worth getting up so early," I grin, my eyes still trained on the horizon where the belugas disappeared.

Glancing at Dylan, who catches my eye and grins back, his boyish enthusiasm is irrepressible as always. "Can you believe this, Mick?" Dylan's eyes sparkle, using the nickname he gave me when we first ran together. His contagious joy fills the bus, reminding me why I love this job so much.

Turning to me, eyes sparkling, Dylan asks, "Isn't this just amazing?"

"Yes, thanks for waking me up," I reply with a grin.

As the bus pulls into the Spencer Glacier Whistle Stop, Dylan leans over. "There she is, our train for the day." The train is at the station and the conductor has the boarding steps ready for our arrival.

We disembark the bus, a much livelier crowd now, excited by the whales and the waiting train emblazoned with the blue and gold livery of the Alaska Railroad. Boarding the train, I stow my bag and grab my backpack full of guest literature. The train sets off, winding its way through the Portage Valley.

As the train winds through the valley, I'm struck by the realization that this narrow strip of land, just 14 miles long, is all that connects the Kenai Peninsula to the rest of Alaska. The valley demonstrates the raw power of glaciers, carved out over centuries by the massive Portage Glacier that once stretched from end to end.

The views are breathtaking. The glaciers' blue ice gleams against the deep green of the black spruce forests and the crisp white of the snow-covered Chugach mountains.

Dylan and I stand at the window, drinking in the sight of each glacier as it comes into view. The Explorer Glacier, with blue ice hanging over the valley floor; the Middle Glacier, imposing in its expanse; then the writers—the Byron, Burns, and Shakespeare glaciers—their towering faces of blue ice gleaming in the sunlight.

"Can you believe we get to witness this beauty every day?" Dylan muses. "We are so lucky to be here."

His words linger in the air, pulling me back to the present, to the extraordinary 'now.'

As we approach the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel, I reluctantly tear myself away from the window and make my way to my seat near the bar. As we enter the two-and-a-half-mile-long tunnel, and the outside goes dark, I start down the tables laying out materials for my guests when they arrive.

Emerging from the tunnel, the train hugs the curves of the track, and the coastal scenery once again leaves me breathless. Passage Canal stretches out before us, its calm blue waters reflecting the towering Chugach Mountains like a mirror. Overhead, bald eagles ride the air currents, their wings spread wide.

Whittier is an unusual place. Almost everyone in the town lives in one colorful building called Begich Towers. The blue sky makes the town look cheerful, and the cruise ship looms large, nearly the size of Begich Towers.

As the train edges into Whittier, pulling up on the track opposite the cruise ship, my eyes linger on the receding mountains, my heart racing slightly as Whittier glacier comes into view.

This journey, with its stunning landscapes and incredible wildlife, has been a true gift. Catching Dylan's eye across the car, he flashes me a knowing grin, his delight mirroring my own.

In this moment, surrounded by the sharp, crisp air and Dylan's wide-eyed wonder, it clicks. This is why I do this job—to share amazing experiences with great people. I am charged up and ready to meet my guests.