A dozen years ago the Royal Canadian Navy wanted to familiarize the Canadian public on its role and workings. In doing so it hosted civilians aboard the HMCS “Algonquin” in March 2010 on a voyage to Alaska. The sixteen other guests were mostly parents or siblings of the crew.
The “Algonquin” was a destroyer and the pride of the Pacific fleet with a 5000 ton displacement and a crew of about 300. Apparently a couple of the civilians bailed immediately after the introductory sailing when we encountered the Strait of Juan de Fuca meeting the rolling open Pacific Ocean. The ship took on the waves at 28 knots, enough to kick up an impressive rooster tail and that was enough for them. Returning from the open Pacific we passed by the base at Esquimalt (just outside of Victoria BC) and after disposing of two very seasick civilians we started up the Inside Passage route to Alaska.
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The “Algonquin” casts off from her base in Esquimalt, bound for Alaska.
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A pint-sized naval vessel accompanies “Algonquin” out of the harbour at Esquimalt.
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A RHIB pulls up along the port side with personnel.
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A rooster tail spews from the stern in the open Pacific at full speed ahead.
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Teamwork is critical on the bridge as “Algonquin” navigates the busy Salish Sea.
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For the week-long voyage up the coast my pal Lash shared the three-tier bunk, him on the middle and me on the top bunk. From my position, getting up for a wizz in the middle of the night took some calculation of strength and agility in getting down, then up again. We were in a small ‘mess’, ours with only nine bunk beds. In the big ‘mess’ there were six times that many.
The odd thing was that all night long not a single guy was snoring. After boarding I soon met the sailor I’d be sleeping next to barely a metre apart for the next week. Our initial chat goes like this:
“Nice to meet you Al. Uuhhh, you don’t snore do you?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess so, everyone snores now and then don’t they?”
“YOU DON’T!”
And I didn’t. One night around midnight I skulked down to the main ‘mess’ where 54 guys were sound asleep, curious to assess the snore level. Not a peep.
You might wonder how this opportunity happened with the Navy. I spent half a century in a fraternity of guys playing the great Canadian game. There’s something about hockey that bonds guys, whatever their skills might be. In our case the skills were minimal, the enjoyment and fraternal spirit maximal. Simply by being around for so long a quartet of us became the oldest guys playing Burger hockey and the organizers of our long-standing club, the four of us known by the boys as G4, the Gang of Four. Over the years a couple of Navy guys drifted into the group but could only play now and then as they were tied up with defending Canada’s west coast. Like most others in the hockey club they acquired inexplicable handles and became the ‘Dor and the ‘Fence. They were most appreciative of G4 engineering each of them a roster spot whenever they were in town. G4 were invited to join them aboard the “Algonquin” on a mission to Alaska as they were aware of this Navy program of hosting civilians. Three of us gladly accepted the invite. Conveniently the ‘Dor was in charge of communications onboard while the ‘Fence ran the engine room. The boys were well placed.
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The mechanical operations centre runs like a Swiss clock under the ‘Fence’s watch.
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Take-offs and touchdowns are perfected with the aging Sea King helicopter.
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Navigators take pride in precision.
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The Salish Sea was calm, Vancouver shrouded in low cloud off in the far distance to the starboard. We sailed northwest before slowing to a crawl south of Campbell River to conduct some exercises, particularlry the classic “man overboard” drill and the forced boarding exercise. We also watched the ancient Sea King helicopter doing take-offs and touchdowns from the stern deck. After these drills the tempo livened when entering the tidal rapids churning through the Discovery Islands, a bit of rock ‘n’ roll though not for long as we were now sailing the very protected waters of the serene Inside Passage.
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Beyond the tidal rapids of the Discovery Islands the water is glassy calm.
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The ship’s wake creates an abstract pattern in calm seas.
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The stairs and passage-ways aboard “Algonquin” contrast sharply with other
Alaska cruiseliners.
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Overnight we cruised past the top end of Vancouver Island and were now on the Mid Coast, home of the Great Bear Rainforest. Some fiords were chosen by the captain to explore, to fly the flag, and investigate ’iirregularities’. In Dean Channel an RHIB (rigid-hulled inflatable boat) was lowered and I was given a seat for patrolling a quiet bay with a crew of eight. Coincidentally I’d been on a photo assignment thirty years earlier at the exact same remote bay to document the extraction of a specific mud that was used as a commercial beauty cream. What are the chances?
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Boarding a RHIB from the ship’s port side.
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The RHIB patrols placid Dean Channel.
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A BBQ party on the quarter deck prevented any mutinous plots from being hatched.
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The BBQ party offshore from the village of Ocean Falls was winding down after the third plate of dessert
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The Inside Passage is dominated by the Coast Range.
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The path of an avalanche is carved out on the wall of Dean Channel.
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Forested walls drop precipitously to the shoreline on many of the coastal fiords.
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Countless waterfalls gush from the Great Bear Rainforest, this one into Fisher Channel as the “Algonquin” steamed northward.
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Log barges are among the seldom-seen traffic along this remote coast.
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Waking hours aboard the ship were spent mostly on deck viewing the passing scenery, the bridge or in the ‘mess’. Up on the bridge, even in the dead of night, there were always at least half a dozen sailors working in the subdued red lights of navigation instrumentation. We “Tigers” (civilians) were most welcome on the bridge anytime. And the mess, whether master seamen or petty officers mess, was the venue for food and drink galore, at least for this ‘’Alaska cruise’. This was a ‘float and bloat’ tour of flying the flag, very relaxed in these friendly waters.
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Near Bella Coola is a simple and obscure monument to the efforts of Alexander MacKenzie from over two centuries ago who was the first European explorer to reach the Pacific coast of our present British Columbia.
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After entering American waters in the Alaska panhandle we prepared for arrival at the port of Ketchikan. Customs were soon aboard to check us out. Also coming aboard was our pal the Baron, another of G4, who flew in from Seattle as he would be taking my bunk for the return voyage. The ”Algonquin” would be in port for two or three nights, relieving almost all the crew of duties aboard. This was play time. Just before going ashore the squawkbox blared “The moose is loose! Repeat, the moose is loose!” That was the call to the mess to a hefty tureen of “moose milk”, an intoxicating brew of 151 rum, maybe a liqueur or two, ice cream, and who knows what else. We drained a cup or two before venturing ashore.
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The ice cream buffet was yet another highlight in the never-ending caloric intake aboard “Algonquin”, the ice cream as a preventative of scurvy being the conventional wisdom. One shouldn't question conventional wisdom,
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A contingent of the crew gather at the bow upon entering Ketchikan.
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The five Burgers were itching to see greater Ketchikan. Excessive alcohol could be involved. A local attached himself to our posse at a seedy bar and suggested we take the cable car up the hillside to the Cape Fox Lodge, an elevated venue (and clientele) which included, to our surprise, the captain and some of his officers who were off-duty. They were on a mission requiring back-up and we were welcomed to their patriotic task of draining an almost empty keg of Alaska Summer Ale to score the keg plug as a ship souvenir. Mission accomplished.
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Crew-mates aboard the HMCS “Algonquin” --- the ‘Dor, Lash, the ‘Fence, Baron, and Real share cups of ‘moose milk’ prior to discovering the delights of Ketchikan.
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I flew home the next morning as me and the bride faced a flight to Rome the following day. I was sorry to miss the return voyage which arrived in Esquimalt a week later by taking the open Pacific route off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Being in open water my pals were treated to firing the machine guns on the deck and watching the big gun shooting salvoes miles away into open water, each of them receiving large empty brass shells as souvenirs. During our stay aboard HMCS “Algonquin” we witnessed consistent and calm professionalism among this crew of young men and women, the result of solid training and leadership. Everyone knew their job plus their back-up roles and performed flawlessly, at least to our eyes.
The “Algonquin” sailed another five years from the Esquimalt base before being decommissioned in 2015. She was then towed to Nova Scotia for scrapping after an active service life of four decades, a melancholic coda five years later to a week that few outside the navy would ever experience.
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