Victoria Island is, by most accounts, a fairly small place. That is, unless you’re walking it, in which case it gets large fairly quickly. We had an activity scheduled – whale watching. Eddie and I had done this before in Provincetown, MA, when we were there, but the others hadn’t done it.
We were loaded into a 55 ft. boat with two levels, one in the open air above and one down below, with windows all around. People divided as you might expect, although it was chilly and enough chop on the water that people tended to rotate through the cabin as well. Coffee and hot chocolate were provided, so that helped take the chill off. It was definitely “sweater weather” out, about 60 degrees with some wind.
We were all excited about whale watching. After all, they had promised to use their special whale-whistles to call them right up to the boats, where each and every one of us would be allowed to individually hand feed them a special non-smelling, non-slimy dead fish and then pet them while they posed for photos.
We travelled about 30 minutes on the boats out to where the whales live, or at least where they go for lunch. There were several companies doing the same with lots of boats, like whale paparazzi running in a pack from one location to the other. You could tell who’d sited whale, because their boat suddenly leaned that direction as everyone rushed from one side to the other, clicking cameras the entire time.
From a whale’s perspective, that’s got to be a little annoying. I mean, you’ve just gone out with the fam for a little sushi, and all these people show up and take your picture. They don’t say anything, never offer to buy you a drink, but are just there taking pictures of your kids. You know those pics are going to either end up on the internet or in National Enquirer, even when there was nothing exciting going on. For humans, that kind of activity would rate a call to 911.
The young ladies who were the flight attendants on the trip were great. All were marine biology students (or something along that line) who were quick with facts and tips about the whales.
We learned that the “resident pod” there (as opposed to the travelling pod, which can be identified by their ugly floral shirts, fanny packs and the cameras around their necks) are fish eaters, dining primarily on salmon that is going upstream to spawn.
Think about this from the salmon’s perspective. You’ve been anticipating “it” for an entire year. You’ve put in time at the gym, got your pickup line down right after having discarded all the lame ones, buffed up the scales so your bling is goin’ on and are seriously intent on pickin’ up some lady fish – and about the time you’re going to cross the red rope past the bouncer to get into the club, some big bruiser comes along and swallows you whole.
That’s gotta be a downer.
The travelling whales are mammal eaters. There weren’t any in the area, so the suggestion that we throw the child that had been crying for half an hour overboard to see if we could snag one was discounted, at least from a whale-attraction standpoint. It also confirmed that most food is cultural and that children everywhere will point to something unfamiliar and say, “Eww, what’s that? I’m not eating this, it’ll make me puke!”
The other amazing thing we learned is that these “whales” really aren’t whales at all. Instead, they’re the largest members of the dolphin family, with the adult males getting to be about 24 ft. long and weighing 6 to 9 tons. Males live about 50 years and females about 80, with the oldest known being a 98 year old female. The females live so much longer because humans have put so much toxic crap in the water and it’s fat-soluble, so they’re slowly poisoned. Females get to dump a lot of that when they calve (although the first young don’t tend to make it, being the whale equivalent of a crack baby), and that lets the females live longer. Males just continue to sneak fast food, store the fat until they have a heart attack and die.
The whale were not feeling especially photogenic for us. None of the huge breaching jumps that you see on the Discovery Channel; instead, all we had were the delinquents that hang out at the food court in the mall, trying to look older than they are and smoking cigarettes.
Our guides explained that you could tell the adolescent males because their dorsal fin, the part that sticks up out of the water, is somewhat floppy and they are unable to control it, as if it has a mind of its own. Being very tactile, they like to roll over and rub it against the kelp beds that grow there.
I leave it to you to draw the obvious parallels to human teenage males.
I suspect the adolescent whales tend to run around in groups at the kelp bed saying to each other, “Whadda you wanna do? I dunno. What you wanna do? This place is so lame; I can’t wait until I can get outta here and on my own,” (although, of course, they’re saying this in whale talk) while the female adolescents get piercings of which their parents would not approve and use glitter eye shadow that matches their dorsal fin polish. This all proves once again that some things cross specie lines and are based in the most rudimentary genetics of life.
Eventually, the boat turned back toward our point of origin. This took a lot longer and was much rougher than the trip out because we were fighting the current and because a front came in with significantly more wind, causing a LOT of spray for those on the upper deck. So much spray, in fact, that two ladies who stayed up too long were soaked. It didn’t take long in that surf for must everyone to be indoors, and some had taken on a very interesting shade of green.
Victoria Island
Back at Victoria Island, we still had some time for site-seeing, so we divided into two groups. The senior members of the organization took the shuttle downtown to the TCA, while the rest of us hoofed it around. We didn’t expect to meet up again, but that’s what happened.
The Empress Hotel looks gorgeous from the outside, as does the Government Building. We didn’t go into either of them, as the likelihood of being able to purchase refrigerator magnets and T-Shirts in them was slim. Instead, we made a quick bathroom stop and walked to the business district, where, believe it or not, we found that they were selling T-SHIRTS – right there on the street and in the open if you can believe it. Canadians have such strange ideas as to what is appropriate conduct and what is not, eh?
I do not understand how 15 shops selling exactly the same T-shirts, magnets, shot glasses and other stuff at almost exactly the same price can survive, but apparently they do.
We broke up the trek with a stop for ice cream, which, despite the temperature, was pretty good. After that we took the shuttle back to the ship in time to catch a snack and change for the ice show. Notice that we have yet to miss a single meal despite our activities.
Ice Show
The trend toward more and more “stuff” on a cruise ship is apparent on these behemouths afloat now. Our ship, the Mariner of the Seas, has 3 pools (1 blissfully designated adult only so you have to at least be 14 to go there), the expected spa, fitness room, movie theater, performance theater, etc., but also has a rock climbing wall, driving range and an ICE SKATING RINK.
This is the sister ship to the one we were on last year, so we weren’t surprised, but it still amazes me that they have these things on board. There’s seating all around the rink along with attentive bar staff eager to get your drinking dollars, and it seats about 800 people. We got in for the first show, “Ice Under the Big Top” or something along those lines – it had a circus theme.
Even without the waves, I’d be pukin’ my guts up if I had to spin around like those ice skaters.
The show was very good. There were all the typical ice skating things you’d expect, set to appropriate music. The best part was the finale, though, which was this couple who did quick change tricks. That always is fascinating, but to do it on ice skates is even more impressive. She probably did a dozen different outfits and he did 3 or 4 during the time they were performing.
The entire show was less than an hour, giving us just enough time to succumb to the siren song of the casino and head off to dinner.
Our waiter, Lyall, is excellent, as his assistant, Gang. He gives Gang nine kinds of hell about “stop smiling and open your eyes, you can’t see anything.” Gang is from China and looks the part very much, with a round face, a ready grin and stereotypical slanted eyes. He is the perfect foil to Lyall’s wit, grinning and taking the abuse heaped upon him.
One nice thing about going north rather than south is that it’s much more enjoyable to dress up in a jacket and tie when it’s 60 degrees out than when it’s 112 degrees outside with corresponding humidity.
