A slight (planned) hiatus in our holiday occurred at the point we have reached in my narration. This required me to use my thirteen year old ‘emergency’ mobile phone in order to summon a lift. We had recently had an issue when such summoning did not work owing to a technical hitch but on this occasion, it seemed my phone and the recipient’s were now communicating. I decide however to send a text message in preference to a call. Simples. I know how to send text messages. It turns out that I can indeed send text messages, I just cannot write them on my phone. My capitalisation is idiosyncratic and I am unable to work out how to create a space between the words. I write the message Ifinishat4wiLLletUkNowifitcHanges and hope the fisherman of my acquaintance can interpret it. Considering that I am reasonably proficient with computers, it is sad but true that mobile phones are another country.
Amongst all this, panda hiding continues. I head out to photograph a hidden panda in the early hours before we are due to move the caravan on to Scotland. I appear to have forgotten to return the SD card to the camera after uploading previous pictures. Fortunately, I don’t have to walk back up the hill and down to the van as there the van is, just the other side of a fence. I call for assistance and my travelling companion retrieves the card and prepares to hand it over the fence to me. Ah. A slight snag, my side of the fence is accompanied by a stinging nettle filled ditch. Hmm. I am terrified that the card will somehow get dropped in the undergrowth but fortunately this danger is averted and the picture is duly taken.
We arrive in Markinch. My children have Scottish ancestry. In fact, all my grandchildren have kilt wearing credentials on both their mother’s and father’s sides. The closest I get is Northumbrian lineage. I pay tribute to Edward’s ancestors, who come from this area. We decide to go for a walk, following a leaflet we have found at the site. It is a five mile walk. We realise that it probably a while since we walked five miles. It may not sound far but we are out of practice and knocking on a bit now. We used to walk regularly until grandchildren visiting seemed like more fun!
The walk instructions are a tad vague. It starts well, with us finding our way through Markinch then on up a footpath. We are to look for a ‘worn stone step style’ (their spelling). We debate whether a couple of steps constitute a ‘style’. They are supposed to be opposite a parish boundary mark. We climb a bank. No sign of said marker. We dismiss these steps and continue. Our first mistake. It turns out that these were the steps we sought. Road signs are conspicuous by their absence but we manage to recover the route, although have walked on road rather than footpath more that we should. I am wearing soft shoes as opposed to walking boots as the latter are slightly narrower than my feet (story of my life). I should have read all the instructions. They are taking us across a peat bog. My shoes are not peat bog proof. Luckily, the recent dry weather means I can safely negotiate the boggy bits. We try to identify the ruins of Kirkforthar Chapel. The guide tells us a former vicar was called Reverend Zong, allegedly a corruption of Yogh/Young – one for the family historians amongst us. We also see the remains of Kirkforthar House and ‘doocot’. Also on the itinerary is Stob Cross, a monolith of uncertain origin but possibly Pictish.
As a reward for our strenuous exercise, we treat ourselves to an ice-cream. It may be a day or two before we walk again!
Our changeover goes without a hitch this time and our luck is in as we have an empty seat beside us. Once again I am struck that aeroplane food involves a ridiculous amount of plastic packaging. Airlines seem to be missing a green credentials USP here. I fail to achieve more than level 6 on Bejewelled; so my level 12 on the journey out must have been exceptional. I am slightly concerned to find water dripping on my head. Is this something I should be panicking about? Is something leaking from the luggage compartment overhead, or is it more sinister? Whatever it is does not seem to have dire consequences and we disembark from our fifteenth flight in the last six months, thankful that there are no more planned.
Robert Dunsmuir made a fortune from the coal industry. Initially he came out from Scotland to work for the Hudson’s Bay Company, travelling via South America and up the west coast. He soon set up on his own, having found a rich coal seam. He set out to build Craigdarroch Castle but died before it was finished in 1890. His widow did not like it so moved out in 1908, since which time the ‘Castle’ has had many uses. These include a military hospital for ‘incurables’; it is patently unsuitable for this as it is built over four floors. It has also been a College, a Music School and offices. It is now run as a tourist attraction, with 100,000 visitors each year. One of the most impressive aspects of Craigdarroch is its stained glass. Typically of cruise excursions, we don’t have anything like long enough there, so rush round before re-boarding our coach. Once back on board, we had planned to sit on deck but the unseasonal weather makes this less than pleasant, so we force ourselves to make the most of the Windjammer’s offerings. We are invited to clap the staff as they parade round the dining area.
Icebergs prevent us from getting right up Tracy Arm but we still have beautiful views to admire. It is too chilly to sit outside for long so we spend the morning in the Windjammer again, as breakfast blends in to coffee and then into lunch. Great to relax and chat as the scenery and icebergs flash by. I later realise that I spectacularly failed to get any close up iceberg photos. I seem to keep missing out on this trip.
Our railway carriage, one of 83 in the fleet, is named Lake Klukshu. Skagway means ‘land of the north wind’ but we are fortunate that the weather is glorious, so we have great views of the White Pass and Yukon route. Following the discovery of what was actually very little gold, Captain William Moore, founder of Skagway, together with Skookum Jim, one of the two first nations people who found the initial gold, sought to establish a route to the Klondike that was easier than the existing Chilkoot Pass. Their route, past Lake Bennett, was named White Pass. A sensationalist newspaper headline about the discovery of gold, led tens of thousands of prospectors to take steamers up the inside passage and begin a hazardous 600 mile trek across country to the Klondike. No prospector was allowed to begin the journey without a ton of supplies. The slightly easier White Pass was favoured over the shorter Chilkoot Pass as it was, in theory, possible to take pack animals. Over 3000 horses or donkeys perished on the Pass before the railway on which we are travelling was constructed. They began building this narrow gauge railway in 1898 and reached the summit, 110 miles away in 1899. The route involves steep gradients and tight turns and construction was hampered by temperatures as low as minus 60. By the time the track heading north joined the track coming up from the south, in 1900, over 35,000 men had been employed in building the railroad at some point. The tracks ceased to carry ore after the price slumped in 1982 and the railroad became a tourist destination.
Finally, we are able to dock and the sun is shining on the righteous and on us too. Juneau was a gold rush town, founded in 1880 and is now the state capital. We are invited to join a mad genealogists’ excursion to the Mendenhall Glacier in a hired mini-bus. The first challenge is to cram all twelve of us inside. This involves trying to avoid being garrotted by the seat belt that is strung across the doorway. It is a short drive to the glacier near Nugget Falls. Despite the name, virtually no gold was taken from here and in the early part of the twentieth century, money was made from hydro-electric power, before the area turned to tourism. We learn a little of the local Tlingit people. It is very peaceful here, despite it being a tourist honey pot. Sadly, climate change is taking its toll and the glacier is retreating at an alarming rate. We see some bald-headed eagles on our journey but not in a spot suitable for photographing.
The History Interpreter - Janet Few 