We disembarked the ship early into the kind of sharp sunshine freakish in Alaska, and were ferried down the dock, into full body rubber suits that our guides––in jeans and sweatshirts themselves––did not elect to wear.

Divided into teams of four with a small boat and a local guide apiece, we fished for halibut, rockfish––salmon, if someone got lucky. After a time, we jetted to a prearranged beach cupped by cedars, where the guides gutted the fish for us, moved the filets into hotel pans––as are naturally occurring in the Alaskan wilderness––and created a makeshift kitchen.

Cooks poached the fish and spooned opaque filets around a saucy tomato stew decorated with little lumps of garlic aioli and pale sourdough. The salmon (one person did get lucky) was wrapped in foil and cooked directly over the fire. We drank coffee and hot chocolate warmed in the same fire, and then ate bowls of bread pudding baked with dried blueberries, dolloped in whipped cream and jemmed with crystallized ginger.

Sated, we settled back into our small boats and returned to the dock, Briefly, we browsed the tanzanite shops lining the port before we boarded the ship and pulled away, heading north.