Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
seals play peekaboo with us between the icebergs and a soft breeze has everyone's coat
off.
At 11 a.m., class is in session, with John Straley teaching his journal workshop. He
writes a daily haiku, he tells us, a 17-syllable image to summon the day back when
needed. I immediately write my own, which I call “Hubbard Glacier”:
Broken cliffs of ice
Warm williwaw wind, lounge chairs,
And margaritas.
I try to work the word "surreal" into it but it won't scan. "I know," Jan says, gazing at
the 40-mile-wide cliff of ice that is the Malaspina Glacier passing off our starboard beam.
"You don't feel like you deserve it."
At 5 p.m. the authors do their second panel discussion, "Sex and the Single Sleuth,"
which affords the Jesuit priest among us multiple zinger opportunities, after which we ad-
journ once again to the aft deck to watch the sun go down behind the islands of Prince
William Sound, and a half-moon rise up into the sky. We have finally picked up a little
groundswell, which convinces me that I am, after all, still on Planet Earth.
