Once a year I like to plan a family vacation, mostly to remind myself why we don’t take more family vacations. We decided that we would go Alaskan tourist this time, and so that means we drove many hours and paid money to be cold, wet, and puke on whales.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

Months ago, Bren asked if we could go the 3 Barons Renaissance Faire again.  Since she hardly ever asks for anything, I felt compelled to say yes.  However, I wasn’t going to drive seven hours one way just for a homegrown nerdfest roughly the size of a high-school football field.  I decided to tack on an Orca watching expedition.  This is different than the cruise we went on before, which was mostly luck of the draw on what you’d see; this trip would specifically chase down orcas.  Upon telling Rick of my plans, he informed me that he didn’t want to spend four hours on a boat looking at fins.  I put him on a halibut fishing charter instead.  Thanks to a yearly sale, I managed to get half-price tickets and a reservation for a townhouse down in Seward.  Things were looking great.

The end of May we started our drive.  I really do love driving up here.  The views are amazing and always a little different.  It’s 9 hours to Seward, and the drive went off without a hitch other than Rick’s phone suspiciously dying and needing to be replaced. We had dinner that night at Ron’s, a boardwalk restaurant with a delicious menu and one of the best salads I’ve ever had.  It’s also great if you don’t want to have money left after your trip. (Aside: classy restaurants up here are always jean- and kid-friendly. This place had a hand-drawn coloring sheet of local animals for the kids. My ocean-nerd toddler and preschooler loved it.)

The next day Rick got up around 5:30 and headed off for 12 hours of fishing on the Gulf of Alaska.  After last year he was prepped for seasickness, and he headed off to the trip with high hopes, a sack lunch, and a Scopolamine patch behind his ear.  It was a little rainy and grey, but the fish don’t care so the boats go out.

I lounged around for a couple more hours, letting the kids watch tv (thank goodness we weren’t in yurts this year).  I made them eat lunch and then we were off for our own adventure.  It started out a little rough when Echo squeezed between me and the van and got smacked by the van door, leaving a very visible, immediately colorful bruise bisecting her cheek.  She rallied quickly, but still got a stuffed seal out of the ordeal (#momguilt).  We got our tickets and a pack of Dramamine and went out to the boat.

Meet Aurora Cute-Cute McPup.

Despite the fuschia bruise on my kid’s face, nobody called CPS.  There was one older couple touristing from Vermont who struck up a conversation.  It was fun to give recommendations about stuff to do in Alaska and answer some of their questions.  I say “their” but I really mean “her”; the guy’s contributions were mostly on the lines of “6 girls?” and laughing while he shook his head. The exchange would be repeated whenever there was a break in conversation. 

We crammed onto the boat, which was much smaller than our last cruise ship.  This one held maybe 65 people including 3 crew members.  We secured ourselves a place on the second deck and I passed out non-drowsy children’s Dramamine to the minions while the Captain gave safety instructions and nausea tips.  After her lecture on the proper form for vomiting off the back of the boat and assuring the passengers that this was entirely acceptable, Aeryn turned to me with anxious eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” I assured her. “You took your medicine.”

“Was there enough medicine left for you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I hugged her. “I didn’t have any problems last time.  I’m a water creature.”

Even as I said the words, a small voice in the back of my head whispered that I’d regret saying that out loud.

In grand Bushman tradition, half the girls were unconscious within the first hour.  It had nothing to do with the drugs and everything to do with them having a crappy sleep schedule.  I would have been mad, but it was cheaper for all 7 of us to go on this trip than it was for Rick to go fishing, so I didn’t care too much.  In fact, it was pretty handy since two of the sleepers were the smalls; Claudia had spent the first half hour of the trip running laps on the deck and slamming into the rope barrier by the life rafts, so it was frankly wonderful when she passed out.  I tucked her onto my sweater on the floor, where she stayed for roughly the next two hours.

It was a blessing.  I just didn’t realize it at the time.

The large, gentle swells of Resurrection Bay gave way to the rolling, storm-churned waters of the Gulf of Alaska.  Our boat pitched back and forth, and despite the Dramamine, Ginger-ale, and nasty ginger candy, I soon had to take Aeryn to the back of the boat to spew.  She had excellent form.

It started to rain.  The top deck wasn’t really enclosed—there was thick plastic sheeting lashed to the frame and a metal roof—so it was cold.  Rain and ocean spray kept us damp.  Every so often I would rush down the steep, swaying death-trap they called stairs to keep Aeryn from blowing chunks on the other passengers.

We saw our first whales about an hour and a half out.  Long black dorsal fins spiking up from the water, cheeky white and black faces, playful belly rolls.  It was a really cool experience to see them, playing and hunting in the wild. We stayed for twenty minutes, the legally allowed time to harass whales, then started the engines again in search of more critters.

It looks flat.  It wasn't.

Just as we were pulling away, I felt the call.  It had been growing for a while.  A little nausea, a little bile kept at bay by sips of cold ginger ale and focusing on the horizon…until it wasn’t.  Black fins still visible, I calmly asked Bren to keep an eye on her sisters and barreled down the stairs.  I don’t know if I had an audience and I don’t care—they should just be grateful it wasn’t on them.  The captain was right; it did feel better afterwards.  I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find one of the crew members with a complimentary bottle of water, napkins, and eyes that said he’d seen it all before and was thankful I’d made it to the railing.

The next two hours was more of the same.  Cold rain, heaving waves, Aeryn or I spewing over the side, interspersed with the occasional fat harbor seal or curious—then quickly disgusted—orca.  When we finally pulled back in to port, we were all glad to be back on solid land, except for Brenna, who’d actually had a very good time. Our day went without further incident except for a minor group meltdown in the van and Leah leaving her wallet on the boat.  I managed to get a hold of the crew, who said they’d be happy to return it to the check-in desk—after they were done cleaning the boat.  Since I knew exactly what they were cleaning off the boat, I didn’t push it.

A wet, cranky eagle.

These two fat lards are harbor seals, and the grey blur is a pup.

Sea lions.

Rick got back to our hotel about an hour after we did, and we compared notes.  He won.  He had spent twelve hours in a boat smaller than ours, 60 miles out from the safety of the bay, on waves so big that they slammed him and the other passengers against the ceiling of the cabin and prompted the crew to consider turning around instead of dying.  Even with the scopolamine patch, he threw up everything he’d eaten that week and then some. He didn’t even catch a halibut to make it all worthwhile.  Instead, he caught six dogfish, a type of little bastard shark that hang around on the ocean floor and steal the bait off your hook.

Thanks to our experiences, we had learned a costly but very important lesson: we are not water creatures if the water is more than waist-deep.  Lesson learned. We will stick to the rivers and the lakes that we’re used to.

Comforting ourselves with the world's biggest dandelions.

We headed out early the next morning.  Still rainy and grey, but gorgeous despite the occasional mannequin.

This is right at the end of someone's driveway.  Half a mile further is a skeleton Viking in a garden patch.

We got to Anchorage in time for Rick to sneak in a session at the temple.  The girls and I entertained ourselves, a little by reading but mostly by driving to the nearest gas station multiple times because nobody’s bladders would sync up and the church building was locked.  (If any people with influence read this, let’s see what we can do about putting a visitor’s center with a bathroom and a place for kids down by the temple.  It doesn’t need to be big or fancy, just a toilet and a room to offload children from cars.  Thanks!)

A set of puzzles Leah and Brenna worked through together.

The Renaissance Faire was more fun than I remember.  The girls all dressed up, complete with wire Elf ears that Brenna made.  The girls beggared themselves at the various shops and came home penniless but with bags full of loot.  Leah and Aeryn favored candles and fans, while the younger girls ate their weight in licorice ropes.  Bren managed to find a hairpiece that doubles as a murder weapon, which appealed to her pragmatic, multi-tasking soul.  All in all, I'd call it a success.

*Disclaimer: No whales or dolphins or any other sea creature were actually vomited on or in danger thereof.*