The Ship & Crew Who we are · What we're sailing on Crew Manifest

One ship, one family, forty nights

This page is the who and the what of the whole trip: the people writing these dispatches, the ship carrying us from Seattle to Miami, and how we get each day's post to you from the middle of the ocean.

A family of four standing together on a cruise terminal gangway in Seattle, rolling suitcases beside them, the white hull of a large cruise ship filling the background under bright afternoon sun, everyone grinning — Embarkation day, September 17, Seattle. Bags checked, boarding passes in hand, forty nights ahead of us. This is the last photo taken with our feet on Washington ground.

How this trip happened

This voyage started as a joke at a family dinner: what if we just stayed on the ship the whole way around?

Most cruises we'd taken were a week long. This one is different, a repositioning voyage, which is what cruise lines call it when a ship moves from one part of the world to another between seasons. Ours leaves Seattle at the end of the Alaska season and sails all the way to Miami for the winter Caribbean season. Forty nights, one cabin key, no packing and unpacking between hotels.

The route covers five distinct phases: Alaska's Inside Passage while the season winds down, the long run down the Pacific Coast, the Panama Canal transit, a sweep through the Caribbean, and a final stretch of Atlantic sea days into Miami on October 27.

We decided early that every single day gets its own post, sea days included. Port days have shore photos and stories. Sea days have their own rhythm: sunrise decks, card games, whale sightings, the daily program slipped under the door. If you only read the port posts, you'd miss half the trip.

This site exists so the rest of the family doesn't have to wait until Thanksgiving for the slideshow. Click any day in the ledger on the left and you'll get that day's full edition: photos, notes, and whatever went wrong or right.

Who's aboard

Four of us made the trip. Here's the crew manifest, with each member's official shipboard duties, self-assigned and loosely enforced.

A middle-aged man in a windbreaker leaning on a ship's teak railing, binoculars around his neck, gray-blue sea and coastal mountains behind him in soft morning light — Dad, navigator and chief itinerary worrier. Owns the binoculars. First on deck every morning and the reason we know our coordinates each day.

A smiling woman in a sun hat seated at an outdoor deck table with a camera and a travel notebook, bright blue ocean stretching to the horizon behind her — Mom, editor-in-chief of this journal. Takes most of the photos you see here and writes the first draft of every day's post before dinner.

A teenage boy mid-laugh on a pool deck, holding a slice of pizza, water slides and deck loungers out of focus behind him under a clear midday sky — The eldest, food correspondent. Rates every buffet, every port snack, every soft-serve cone. His scores appear in most daily posts.

A young girl kneeling at a ship's window pointing excitedly at the water, warm golden-hour light on her face, spray visible on the glass — The youngest, wildlife spotter. Keeps the official tally of whales, dolphins, sea otters and suspicious splashes. Disputes are settled by Dad's binoculars.

The ship itself

Our home for these forty nights is a full-size ocean cruise ship, big enough to have a pool deck, a theater, more restaurants than we can finish trying, and a promenade deck where you can walk a full loop with the sea on one side the whole way.

Our cabin has a balcony, which turned out to be the single best decision of the booking. Glacier mornings, canal-lock afternoons and Caribbean sunsets all happen right outside the sliding door.

Photos of the ship, the cabin and our favorite corners aboard show up throughout the daily posts, sea days especially, when the ship is the whole story.

A large white cruise ship at anchor in a calm bay, tiers of balconies catching low golden light, forested green hills rising behind the water — Our ship at anchor on a port morning, tender boats shuttling to shore, coffee on the balcony first.

Forty nights, five seas, one cabin key. Every day gets its own front page.

The house rule of this journal

How this journal works

How and when do we post?

One post per day, port days and sea days alike. Mom drafts the notes in the afternoon, we pick photos together after dinner, and the post goes up whenever the connection cooperates, usually that evening, sometimes the next morning. Each post has a photo gallery and journal notes from whoever has the most to say that day.

Why do some posts arrive late?

Sea Wi-Fi comes from satellites, and it slows down when the ship is far from land or when everyone aboard is uploading at once. Deep in the Gulf of Alaska or mid-Atlantic, a post may sit finished on the laptop for a day before it can upload. Nothing is skipped, late editions always appear under their correct date in the ledger.

How do you reach us mid-voyage?

The easiest way is the guestbookwe read every entry, usually with breakfast, and we answer in the daily posts when there's a good question. Regular messages and email reach us too, just slowly; expect a reply when we hit the next port with strong signal.

Can we ask for specific photos?

Yes, please do. Leave a request in the guestbook and the wildlife spotter and the editor-in-chief will do their best. Canal locks, glacier close-ups, buffet documentation: all reasonable requests will be honored, weather permitting.