The Alaskan Marine Highway reaches the parts other ships don’t reach – we climb aboard the Trusty Tusty in Dutch Harbour, Unalaska, for the scenic 2½ day trip through the Aleutian Islands to Kodiak and on to Homer – camping is optional but much more fun!

It was rather worrying that the ship and I shared the same birthday, but hopefully it was not known as the Trusty Tusty for nothing. Named after a glacier on the Kenai Peninsula, she was quite small too at only 296 feet long (and some of that was added later), carrying only 211 people including 35 crew.

When one thinks of Alaska one of the first things that springs to mind is cruising through the Inside Passage. We decided to start at the other end and to travel on the Alaskan Marine Highway System – the ‘poor man’s cruise’ as it is called!

I prefer to call it the more interesting option, after all it is not every day one gets to put a tent up on the top deck and fasten it down with duct tape – although I did notice that the locals had claimed every free seat below stairs in the boat so maybe they knew something we didn’t!

Someone once referred to Simon’s ninja tent erection skills so now they were to be tested to the limit – we rapidly found that duct tape alone was not going to suffice on the wet floor and guy ropes were hastily improvised.

Of course, one can always go for the easy option and rent one of the bijoux cabins on board but I have a long history of avoiding avoidable charges and this seemed much more fun!

We duly pulled gently away from Unalaska at 5.15 pm and Dutch Harbour soon vanished in the low cloud which rather blanketed the area. The huge cliffs at Fort Schwakta were the last to disappear.

Finally we saw tufted puffins, beating frantically across the water to escape us, and even a couple of humpback whales breached momentarily.

We decided to have dinner and discovered two delightful things about the Tusty: 1. That her meals are subsidised so were effectively half the price they would be in any mainland diner and 2. That tips were illegal as the employees are government workers and tips are banned – what a refreshing change that is in America where 20% seems to have become the standardized norm.

The restaurant was simple but there was table service and the fish & chips and burgers were tasty enough. The meals were so cheap that we even decided a sticky chocolate pudding could be justified!

Akutan

By 6.30 we were approaching Akutan which is the next main island in the chain, just to the north east of Unalaska. It started life as a Russian fur trading base but later turned to commercial fishing. There are about 100 year round mostly native Alaskan residents but many transient workers in the processing plants.

We passed high green cliffs that looked like fragmented caldera until we turned up a narrow inlet and arrived at Akutan, a small untidy huddle of low prefab houses scattered in a random fashion, although some were in jolly colours which livened things up a bit. Duckboards were laid for an ATV track through their centre – there are no cars. The island is too hilly for an airport so can only be reached by seaplane or boat.

We were allowed off for 40 minutes; we all turned right and walked through town. The focal point is the Alexander Nevsky Chapel built in 1918 to replace the 1878 original – it was quite photogenic with many crosses in front of it.

We called it a day after 600 metres at the rusty whaling gun. The actual whaling station was on the other side of the inlet and further up. Built in 1912, it was the only whaling station in the Aleutians. It closed down in 1939 but there still looks to be substantial ruins.

We meandered back towards the boat and realised we should have turned left on getting off: head for the low sky blue building, it’s the Akutan Roadhouse and I am sure would have provided lots of local character.

If you have the time and are feeling energetic it is possible to climb some 7 miles west to Mount Akutan (1,303 m), the most active volcano in Alaska. There are also some hot springs.

Leaving Akutan behind we headed for open water and a thick mist that rendered any chance of seeing anything to zilch. A welcome very hot shower and it was time for bed which was quite comfortable but in a rather noisy spot. I expected to end the week both deaf and hoarse from trying to communicate over the engine noise.

Cold Harbor

We awoke to a morning of good visibility although still cloudy. The boat was just starting to make its way up the long inlet to Cold Harbor. Tall mountains, the higher ones snow capped, lined the way, eventually a sandy spit curving around and guiding us towards the low lying village. Supposedly it is the cloudiest place in the United States with up to 304 days of heavy cloud cover annually so we were indeed lucky.

We just had time for breakfast. There is a small seating area with access to a microwave, so we could make coffee and porridge. The tables had charging stations and neat depictions of the local wildlife on land, sea and shore – we had whales and otters.

The sea was smooth with shattered reflections of sky and land. Pigeon guillemots flew past with a splash of vivid red feet as we tied up at a wooden jetty and were allowed to disembark. It was low tide and glossy black mussels could be seen hugging the supporting poles interspersed with the odd colourful starfish.

The jetty was quite long and there is not much time to do anything in 40 minutes, but we examined the old collapsed wooden jetty and noticed rusty sand mats buried in the seaweed. 

On land I sought out a gun emplacement but only depressions in the earth remained. A hunting lodge had an array of caribou antlers and a whale’s skull. Cold Bay is actually part of mainland Alaska, deeply indented and torturous though the coastline may be.

It appeared quiet, sleepy, yet you look on the map and these places were always in use: numerous abandoned army ruins, trappers cabins and villages. An entire army camp of 20,000 people was set up on the plains behind the jetty under the cold eye of Frosty Peak (1920 m).

It became home to Fort Randall and the 11th Air Force in 1942, designed to protect the deep water harbour at Dutch Bay and in 1945 was the epicentre of Project Hula, where there was a massive transfer of material to the Russians, as well as instruction in how to use it.

Today little remains of those tumultuous days, although the runway is still available for emergency landings. It is one of the few places that isn’t focused on fishing but rather survives as a hub to outlying communities around it.

King Cove

King Cove was an hour of smooth sailing around the bay on the Tusty – there are moves to build a road from Cold Bay but there are environmental concerns.

Waterfalls fell off high cliffs as King Cove came into view around a corner, another indiscriminate cluster of rectangular blocks dispersed along the shores of the bay.  It was quite mountainous, the tops scree covered or bare with volcanic colours.

The place is entirely orientated towards commercial fishing and processing and was the base of Peter Pan Seafoods, once the largest processor of canned salmon in the US, employing 500 people. Dating back to 1911, it actually closed in 2024, immediately decreasing the school population by 20% and the village’s income by 75%.

It is a good example of the old adage: don’t have all your eggs in one basket. The future of the villagers, some of them 3rd generation, is in limbo, their hopes on another processor buying the bankrupt plant. However, it does beg the question: what comes next?

There is a lot of publicity at the moment as World’s Deadliest Catch enters it’s 21st season and the crews go further than ever!!! in their search for King crab – to Adak Island, 400 miles from Dutch Harbour.

But they fail to highlight the underlying issue: the King Crab are virtually fished out, their harvest no longer allowed around Dutch Harbour as their population levels plummet. I wonder why we have never learnt to fish sustainably, why we have to totally plunder everything in one go so one day there is just nothing left. It does not bode well for the earth. 

The boat carried on, slipping past islands with strange names: Inner Iliasik, Goloi, Dolgol, Ukolnoi, Wosnesenski: green rugged shapes with seemingly no people or paths, protected by their isolation and lack of desirable resources.

It looked as if there would be lovely walking but I know the tundra type vegetation of deep springy turf and bushes – it is quite energy sapping without trails. The sun came out and created silver sprinkles on the sea. The maritime climate has an average range of between 22 – 55°F. We sat in the solarium area just beyond the open tent deck where there were overhead heaters and good viewing seats and it felt quite balmy.

The perfect volcanic cones of Little Pavlof (1,861 m), Pavlof (2,518 m) and Pavlof Sister (2,142 m), came into sight, their snow covered slopes partially shrouded by cloud. The pyramidal peak of Mount Bobrovia stuck up prominently as we went along the coast and Unga Island was closely followed by Popof Island where we found our next port of call.

Sand Point

We weren’t in the Aleutians anymore! Sand Point is actually on the northern shore of Popof Island, one of the Shumagin Islands east of the Alaskan Peninsula.

On first glance it looked quite a big town, although the big 3 storey building is part of the Trident Seafoods complex which dominates the major headland above the jetty area.

The main town lies behind it, too far for us to reach on our brief foray. Instead we contented ourselves with the fishing harbour and walked far enough to see a rather inconspicuous memorial to Nikkita Shumagin, a Russian sailor on Bering’s expedition who is thought to have died of scurvy in 1741. An even plainer memorial to seafarers stood beside it – they had left plenty of blank spaces on the stone.

The island also has a small herd of bison which were introduced in the 1930s which we obviously didn’t see, although we had a good sighting of a fishing sea lion in the harbour, surrounded by seagulls who tried to steal his catch.

Chignik

A smooth night’s sailing and we awoke at 5 am – the first landing was to be 6.15 am. It looked quite grey and murky in the dawn light.

Chignik was hardly worth getting up for and only 2 tired locals appeared to tether the boat. The village is squeezed onto a ledge under high mountains – it must once have looked quite picturesque before the roads sprawled either side to airport and rubbish dump. However, it’s name means ‘big wind’ so it might not be the nicest place in the winter.

Its main and probably only claim to fame is that Benny Benson (1913-1972), the native Alaskan designer of the state flag came from there. It was also home to the first salmon canning factory in 1878 which introduced many European races to the area.

These days the cannery has gone but there is still commercial fishing, and the native Alaskans practice subsistence fishing.

The mountain sides were now bushy and being on the mainland, there were even bears. The jetty was too far from everywhere so we merely had a stroll along the coastal edge. This time they got us on and off the boat via the revolving car deck loader which had had fairly little use on the trip.

The day passed quietly, remaining overcast and later brightening with smooth water for sailing. The ship went through a large stretch of open water so we could only see the islands as dark silhouettes. We spotted a huge pod of at least 20 whales in the distance, easily found by their tell tale white plumes of breath, rising far in the air like synchronized fountains.

Later the land largely disappeared and it was only at about 4 pm that the Kodiak outline became obvious.

We passed Tugidak and Sitkinak islands and immediately it was striking how much gentler they were: lower, more rounded, greener. The sun came out and it all looked rather beautiful; many of the peaks sported cloud caps.

Old Harbor

We had supper in the restaurant; I had their speciality baked sockeye salmon and sad to say we couldn’t resist yet another sticky chocolate pudding. It had made a pleasant change not having to cook for ourselves.

And we were finally at Kodiak, 70 miles southwest of Kodiak town! And I actually liked Old Harbor: it was the first place that felt like a half pleasant place to be. It wasn’t overwhelmed by fishing detritus, the houses were more orderly, the place was just generally fresher.

At the head of the narrow Sitkalidak Inlet and surrounded by dramatic peaks, it has a lovely location – so much so that it was actually the first Russian colony in Alaska.

It didn’t start well: Russians first landed on Kodiak in 1763 and in 1784 Russian fur traders massacred several hundred native people at Refuge Rock on Sitkalidak Island – it can be seen from the ferry quite easily.

Due to tsunamis and earth quakes, the settlement ended up being moved to present day Kodiak and it wasn’t re-established until 1884.

The village is nestled on a narrow beach under a lush green mountain. The Three Saints Russian Orthodox Church dates back to 1789 although the present incarnation is from 1953 with jolly blue cupolas which stand out jauntily as one approaches on the ferry. A forest of Russian crosses are sprinkled on the hill above.

Once we were allowed off the boat the church was our first stop – and surprisingly the door was open. Inside, it was all rather dark as no one could find a light switch and the boat had only docked at 9.30 pm so it was getting rather dark, but it had nice proportions and a lovely smell of beeswax.

The main mob had hightailed it down the main road so quickly I thought that there must be a pub involved but that turned out not to be the case and after trying to gatecrash a private lodge we turned for home, meandering back along the beach and picking up attractive shells.

Although commercial fishing does play a part in the village, there are also quite a few fishing and hunting lodges in the area.

Backlit by the sun, the Tusty was ready to go again. We backtracked to the open sea to turn northwards along the Kodiak peninsula. So far, after 2 days of travelling, the boat was still dead on time, although the quiet seas probably helped.

Kodiak

Dawn was breaking on a calm sea as we packed up at 5 am and had breakfast. There were trees again! Tightly packed islands of spruce trees dotted the harbour and large houses clung to the cliff edges.

The Tusty carefully negotiated the narrow channel to the dock and tied up at 6 am, precisely on time – not bad after 2½ days and just over 600 miles.

The narrow channel to the harbour

We disembarked for a week on Kodiak. The city was founded in 1792 and became the capital of Russian America in 1799, until Alaska was sold to America in 1867. Now it is a huge fishing harbour – there is even a fish processing factory in an old grounded ship right next to the Tusty wharf.

The dock is conveniently in the middle of town, next to the tourist office and close to the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge Visitor Centre which has displays on the animals in the inland reserve which can only be reached by air.

Across the road, the Kodiak History Museum occupies the oldest Russian building in America, originally built as a fur store.

There is also a native Alutiiq museum and a Russian church but after that a hire car is really needed to explore further. The moss laden landscape at Fort Abercrombie is definitely worth a look and there is some beautiful scenery further afield. We even saw bears!

To Homer

A week later we arrived back at Kodiak dock to board the ship to Homer. Although it had arrived at 8 am it wasn’t letting anyone on board. The office is next to the tourist office and I inquired about leaving luggage as we were early.

We were not allowed to leave it in the building but they said it would be ok outside under the office window – and it was, for most of the day!

The boat left at 10 pm with the soft evening light and reflections softening the fish factories. We did a 360° turn in the harbour and headed out to sea, a gentle goodbye to Kodiak as the land slipped away.

We saw the point where we had lunch on Near Island, the pretty Mill Bay Beach and our Fort Abercrombie peninsula. Even Termination Point, whose relentlessly up and down coastline had exhausted us, looked flat from the sea.

Slowly dusk faded behind dark silhouetted mountains and we headed to bed to sleep soundly – until 3 am when we awoke to pitching and crashing.

The winds had picked up and the tent was flapping madly, but luckily it held firm. With the roaring of the engines on top it did not make for a very restful night.

Finally awakening from a fitful slumber at 6 am, we found Seldovia slipping past. The little settlement was once a supply post for the region and even had salmon canning factories. It is quite picturesque and in a pretty spot with a couple of decent hotels on its old boardwalks – the Seldovia Boardwalk Hotel and the Seldovia Harbour Inn. There isn’t particularly a great deal to see, but it is a pleasant place to chill and has some gentle walks. The Tusty would be stopping there after dropping us in Homer.

The heavily forested mountains around Kachemak Bay came into view. The State Park has trails to hidden glaciers and free campsites whose trailheads can be reached by water taxi from Homer.

The long 4.5 mile finger of Homer Spit guided us into our last harbour. The distinctive sand spit is thought to be glacial moraine although it now provides a base for various excursions as well as numerous restaurants and shopping outlets.

The dock where we tied up and the surrounding structures had become home to a huge colony of kittiwakes so our arrival in Homer was greeted with raucous squawking as birds flew everywhere whilst fluffy chicks stoically sat tight.

A covered walkway was thoughtfully provided for our protection; we gathered our belongs and finally said goodbye to the Tusty – we had certainly come a long way together!

NOTES

The Tustumena can be booked via the Alaskan Marine Highway System website.

Tip: If camping on deck bring ear plugs (it’s noisy) and plenty of good duct tape to tape the tent to the deck!