The days, times, and places on the ferry ride were already blurring together. I was trying to remember what happened this day as opposed to the day before, or simply just what happened. The captain and crew were taking care of the important jobs. I was responsible for personal hygiene and not falling overboard. The ferry floated us closer to Seattle.
The sun woke me this morning. The violin noisemaker apparently jumped ship yesterday, much to the relief of my ears and circadian rhythms. Or maybe she was tossed overboard in the middle of the night. The hours of sleep were not quite up to where I wanted them, but a solid late morning nap cured that. Dad said he came by several times and I never stirred when he rustled or someone else barked. The sun went behind clouds, and I was bundled comfortably. The noise from the group was mellow, and the rest was history. My neck became somewhat stiff later in the day, probably from a combination of cold and a slight upward incline to the head-end of my lounge chair bed. But that was the only adverse aftereffect. Even the personal temporary need for laziness as a way of life receded, though it stayed on as reality.
The Alaskan panhandle coastline continued to slide by during the day, and at night we were rumbling by Canada. Bald eagles flew in and out of thick trees. Bound-together timber floated in river catch areas or was collected into a corral and push-pulled down a waterway by tug boats. Nat explained how the system of floating timber worked, as well as different logging practices.
Nat was a very interesting fellow, and he had a lot of good things to say about the things he knew best. It came with a jovial, loud sense of humor that grew to be endearing. Rough around the edges, but polite and well meaning, even shyly Puritan sometimes. When Nat scanned with his binoculars, it always presented the opportunity for a conversation about something new. He made an easy friend, and he always had a story to tell.
Days began to center more around meals. I had another USRDA lunch before a tasty dinner of lingcod, rice, rolls, salad, and peas. My appetite had not been of much volume on the ferry but I had not broken a sweat burning up calories either.
I did feel very slightly sick in my stomach, possibly seasick. It happened when I was writing in the confines of the lounge, and faded when in the dining room with its large, open view windows. The slight rock of the boat may have been Public Enemy #1, but I had never been seasick before on other boats. The enclosed quarters and lack of a visual sense of the outside horizon likely made the difference. Or I may have eaten something that did not jive with my system. A mystery of insignificance.
The people onboard continued to open horizons for me. I talked for a while to a blonde-haired, round-spectacled man with an outdoorsy backpacker look. Funny stories about drinking with loggers and being hit on by old, drunk Indian women. Nat and Dad joined in, and the stories got somewhat loud for my tastes, considering the people who were trying to sleep. But it was fun, at least until I got indirectly pushed out of the conversation when it turned to drinking and hookers. Interesting subjects, but Nat and the new guy had real stories that I could only laugh and nod at.