Day 1…

Camp Courageous Travel is on the move again. This time, Alaska’s calling. But tonight, we’re not there yet. Tonight, we’re in Chicago, a layover city with its own stories to tell.

The day started with check-in at Camp Courageous, a place that lives up to its name. From there, we rolled into DeWitt, Iowa, scooping up the rest of the ragtag band of campers. A caravan now, we pointed ourselves toward Chicago.

Hunger struck somewhere along the highway, so we pulled into a Wendy’s. A few campers opted for the Wednesday Addams meal, some Netflix tie-in that’s more about mood than menu. The rest stuck with the old reliables, cheeseburgers and chicken sandwiches, familiar.

By nightfall, we reached the hotel. The usual routine unfolded: keys handed out, bags dragged down anonymous hallways, doors swinging open to temporary homes. Tomorrow, it’s wheels up, destination: the wild, the cold, the vastness of Alaska. But for now, it’s Chicago. And sleep.

Day 2

Early wake-up. Bags by the door, half-awake shuffle to O’Hare. No drama. The group crammed onto the shuttle bus to the terminal, another pack of bodies moving through the meat grinder. United check-in. Cattle call. People everywhere, business travelers, families, sleep-deprived zombies all clawing their way to somewhere else. Gate C9. We made it. Breakfast was McDonald’s. Nothing glamorous, but it did the job. The campers inhaled it like it was their last meal. Then it was time to board. On the flight, kill time. Movies, music, flipping pages in books nobody would finish. Look out the window. Mountains start creeping into view. The closer we got to Seattle, the more real it felt. Off the plane. Luggage claim. Bus to the port. Functional, mechanical.

Then we were there. The spirit. We got on board. Straight up to Guy Fieri’s burger joint. Satisfying, exactly what it was supposed to be. Walked the ship, took in the noise, the smell of ocean air mixed with fried food and freedom of the open sea. Live bands grinding out their set lists to a half-interested crowd. Dinner was fine. The kind of fine you expect when you’re still getting your bearings. We roamed the decks a bit more, let the ship become familiar. First day done. Tomorrow, Alaska.

Day 3

Three hours behind Iowa. Time slips weird out here. Most of us are running on travel fumes, but the good kind of tired. The kind that comes with movement, new air, unfamiliar views.

So far, no complaints. People are settling in, finding their rhythm on the ship. A full day at sea. Wind howling, the ship swaying just enough to remind you you’re not on solid ground. Breakfast buffet in full swing, campers and staff making the rounds, piling plates with whatever caught their eye. No shortage of options. The day rolled on with cruise-ship distractions. “Guess the Groove” with Alex, the cruise director who never runs out of energy. Bingo with a gold rush theme. Strange, but somehow it works. By evening, it was time to clean up. Elegant Night. Everyone threw on their best, whatever that meant. Made their way to the dining room. Shared tables, great food, great laughs, papa johns.. It was enough. Later, Dune 2 on the big screen for those wanting something heavy. A comedy show for those who didn’t. And a performance called Color My World. part indie art piece, part pop love story. Surprisingly good. After, Some hit the dance floor while other were ready for bed.

A solid day at sea. Tomorrow, some campers will get up close with Tracy Arm Fjord. One giant glacier. The ice is coming.

Day 4

Morning came easy. Quick breakfast, then up to Deck 10. Coffee still warm in my hand. To scan the horizon for whatever wild thing might be waiting. The naturalist voice drifted over the loudspeaker: the valley below us carved by glaciers long gone, a reminder that this whole place is just borrowed time. Weather like this? Rare. Maybe a handful of days all year.

People pressed against the rail, chasing their own perfect photo. Eyes fixed on mountains jagged with snow caps, the water an impossible turquoise. Black rock like wet diamonds.

A few of us peeled away, trading the comfort of the big ship for a smaller boat. Along the way.. Wedding Cake Falls, a zig-zag of white water tumbling down the mountainside like a zebra’s stripes. The crew, grinning like pirates, hauled chunks of glacier ice straight from the sea, selling them in drinks to anyone who wanted to drink a few thousand years of frozen history. Cold, crisp, alive.

The crew just got close enough to the glacier to hear it breathe. Up close, it wasn’t just ice; it was a living wall, “the wall” cracking and groaning, shedding chunks into the sea like a slow, ancient shrug.

Dinner blurred into a show, Key 88 hammering out hits from the ’60s through the ’80s. Then a neon-smeared glow-in-the-dark dance party. Cruise director working the crowd like a pro. Campers, strangers hours ago, were now sweaty, laughing, spinning under the lights. By the time we turned in, the ship hummed under our feet. Tomorrow, Skagway. The first town. The next story.

Day 5

For the next few days, the crew’s going to be up before the sun, chasing whatever Alaska decides to throw at us. First stop: Skagway. Breakfast: eggs, coffee, bleary faces. Then the long wait to get off the ship. After three days at sea, everyone’s twitchy.

Finally, dry land. Skagway isn’t big, but it’s got personality . Old wood sidewalks, frontier facades, a whiff of gold rush past. The air smells sharp and clean, and somewhere under it, fry bread sizzling in oil. We wandered the shops, picked through trinkets, watched salmon muscle their way upstream, spotted harbor seals lurking like gangsters in a back alley. We ate, we walked, we shopped. A lot. Bags in hand, we made our way back to the ship for lunch.

Then the day split in two. Half the group headed back into town for the dog sled excursion. Fuzzy little sled pups, wide-eyed adorable that makes even the toughest guy melt, plus a crash course in Alaska’s dog sledding history. The rest of us stayed aboard, battling it out over trivia (so close to winning), playing board games, and watching movies on the big screen.

Evening rolled in. Dinner, hot tub, steam rising into the cold night air. A silent disco after, dozens of us dancing in our own little worlds, headphones on, moving like maniacs to music only we could hear.

Then, bed. Tomorrow’s another early start, another piece of Alaska waiting.

Day 6

The next morning, we slid into Juneau. Alaska’s capital wears the weather like a second skin. Mist hanging low over the mountains, drizzle just enough to bead on your jacket. People talk about “moody” landscapes; this one broods.

We took the Goldbelt Tram. It rose fast and quiet, dragging us up into the clouds like a slow elevator to nowhere. At the summit, the first thing that greets you isn’t wilderness. it’s a gift shop. Plastic snow globes, postcards, Tlingit art both genuine and mass-produced. We browsed, and when the retail trance broke, found ourselves in a theater watching a 20-minute film on the Tlingit people. Stories of survival, history, and the stubborn will to remain themselves in a place that tries to rewrite you.

Outside, the air was wet and thin. A short hike wound through alpine brush and silent pines, clouds moving in slow, patient swirls. Then back down the mountain, back to the ship, back to lunch. Afternoon. Trivia, karaoke, arcade “power hour.” Camper Shambo took the mic and belted Pink Pony Club like it was the only song that ever mattered. Dinner came with a birthday, Camper Tanda. We sang loud, badly, and with heart. It was messy and perfect.

The night closed with a live version of Family Feud, absurd and somehow exactly what we needed. Then the quiet walk back to our cabins. Tomorrow: Ketchikan. Lumberjacks. Salt air. A little more freedom.

Day 7

Ketchikan, Alaska. A town where the air smells like salt, wet cedar, and fish guts. It was an easy favorite for the group. We split in two. Half went to the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show. A circus of sawdust, woodchips, and men with forearms like tree trunks. Axe throws, log rolls, climbing poles like it was nothing. It’s theater, but the kind built on calluses and splinters. They wrapped it up with a little shopping. Trinkets, T-shirts, the usual trophies of travel.

The rest of us headed for the salmon ladder. Five species clawing their way up the current toward death and new life. You watch them fight, bodies burning out on the climb, and you can’t help but think: we’ve made it harder for them. Dams, roads, our need to control the wild. The ladder is our half-hearted apology. An invention to make amends, to give them a chance.

After that, Creek Street. A boardwalk of shops on stilts, built over water that used to carry logs, fish, and less savory business. Now it’s fudge, jewelry, smoked salmon in vacuum packs. Still, there’s something in the timbers that remembers the old days.

Back on the ship, lunch. Deck 9 for the loungers, eyes closed to the sun. Some recharging in quiet corners. Then, at 3 p.m., a guy with an ice pick and a frozen block of water, turning it into something beautiful before it melts back to nothing. That’s art too.

Dinner. A table full of tired but happy faces. Three courses, good friends, better stories. Joann, one of the travel volunteers, told us about a server she’d met. Four kids back home, eight months on the ship. A life of long absences and remittances. Camper Alex, half-joking, said, “Who’s your daddy?” and everyone laughed, but the truth of it lingered. The miles between people can be heavier than the ocean they’re crossed over.

Afterward: The Epic Rock Show. Seventies and nineties hits, loud enough to feel in your ribs. Then the White Hot Night Party on deck. Fun, sweat, laughter and down to deck 2 for Latin beats that didn’t let up until late. One more night to push the clock, because tomorrow we sleep in. The last big night before we head back to home soil. Back up our own streams, fighting our own currents, no matter how strong they run.

Day 8

Campers slept in today. After days of fun, late nights, it finally caught up with us. Even a seasoned crew has its limits. The pace slowed.

On Deck 10, campers stretched out in the sun, the wind just enough to remind you you’re at sea. Perfect weather with bright skies, and a soft breeze. You couldn’t have asked for more. On Deck 9, others found their rhythm, two-stepping to country music, smiling in the moment. A few slipped away to watch a show about the whales that call these waters home.

By afternoon, bags were being packed. Some dressed for dinner in the Empire Room, others wandered to the buffet for one last casual feast.

We arrived in Victoria, British Columbia. Walked down to Fisherman’s Wharf Park. Houseboats lined the water, fishing boats rocking at the docks. A small, easy adventure before heading back to the ship.

And just like that, the cruise comes to an end. Tomorrow, a flight from Seattle to Chicago, and real life waits for us on the other side.

Day 9

Last breakfast on the ship. Plates scraped clean, coffee downed, waiting for our number to be called. The Spirit, good ship. Kind crew. Fun crowd. A place where strangers become great  buddies in a day.

Then it’s on to the less glamorous part of travel: TSA lines, boarding gates, the great cattle drive of modern life. We got through. Lunch at the gate. Boarded.

Chicago had other ideas. Thunderstorms. We sat on the ground in Seattle, staring at the runway lights, waiting. Hours pass differently in an airport, slower, heavier. Eventually, wheels up.

Landed in Chicago. Checked into the hotel. Pizza, cheesy, perfect, exactly what was needed. Then bed.

Tomorrow, we drive back to Iowa. And the rest? The rest is just the story you tell later.

Day 10

That’s it. The ride’s over. Back through Dewitt, a quick pit stop to drop off a couple of friends. Then on to Camp Courageous, the last few passengers making their exit. And just like that, done. No fireworks, no big send-off. Just the quiet satisfaction of miles behind us and the faint itch to do it all again. The final frontier, until the next time the road calls.

 

Link to Pictures on Flicker: https://www.flickr.com/photos/campcourageous/sets/72177720328364967/