Story goes that the Russian merchant and trader Alexander Baranov’s ship was forced to take shelter here during a powerful storm on Easter eve. Stunningly calm, beautiful weather on Easter morning led him to dub this 18-mile long, deepwater inlet “Resurrection Bay.” A century and a half later, American shipping interests established the town of Seward at its head and started working on a railway line north to the territory’s interior.

Seward is also home to mile marker zero of the overland Iditarod Trail, leading to Nome, about a thousand miles miles away, on Alaska’s western shores.

And it’s also…well, we’re here. Reached the sheltered waters of the Kenai Peninsula overnight, and sighted its rugged, snow-covered peaks mid-morning. Land! Stunningly inhospitable-looking land, mind you, but land. By mid-afternoon we were deep in the bay, watching sea otters cavort alongside and eagles soar above as we steamed our way in – just a little farther, just a little farther.

And then something distracted me for a half hour or so and we were there, tied up at the dock, the ABs securing the gangway for us to disembark. Allana had whipped up pizza for us in the galley for a quick dinner before we all filtered out across the dock to scope out what this sleepy little southern terminus of the northern territory had on offer.

Plus side, it was Saturday night. Minus, it was still well before season, and those shops that didn’t have “See you May 1st!” signs on the windows had mostly shuttered themselves for the evening. Candy store was open, though, and when I poked my head in, was filled with most of the STEM-SEAS kids from the ship, tucking into ice cream and chocolate. Other than that, it was mostly the bars.

I took my time casing the town, all three blocks of the main drag, before circling back to the one Julian had mentioned, the Seward Alehouse. That’s where the “grownups” were, swapping stories as one does, and rotating through the pool table with all the skill you’d expect of a crew of the data science nerds we were. Low key, fitting the end of a low key cruise.

I played a few rounds, won a few, lost a few, then called it an early evening and walked back to the ship with Cat, the STEM-SEAS den mother. Ship’s crew were having their own little shindig by the dock – they waved, we waved back, but decided we didn’t want to intrude.

Sun was still coming off the mountains across the bay when I kicked my shoes off and tucked in for the night. For once, the ship was silent.