The first time I heard a whale spout, it silenced an entire catamaran. A sudden breath of air cuts through the morning stillness of Prince Rupert in British Columbia. I couldn’t see the whales rising, but I didn’t need to; the sound was enough. The hush that followed said everything.
As a blind traveller, I’m used to managing expectations – other people's, mostly. I’ve been asked if I really travel alone. I’ve had hotel staff hand the menu to my husband, assuming I wouldn’t need one. When I told people I was heading off on a cruise to Alaska, reactions ranged from interest to scepticism. “Isn’t Alaska known for its sights?”
It turns out, not everything needs to be seen to be felt.
I’ve been travelling for years, often independently, usually with a mixture of curiosity and contingency planning. I’ve learned to ask the right questions: how many steps, what kind of lighting, are there audio guides, and is the terrain uneven? I’ve also learned, through repetition and sheer determination, that asking those questions doesn’t make me fussy; it simply makes travel possible.
I used to think cruising wasn't for me. In my head, it meant bingo and old people and bland buffet food. I thought it would be slow, same-y, and there would be nothing to keep me entertained. But I was wrong.
What drew me in was the destination. Alaska to me meant forests, fjords, wildlife and glaciers. Places I had only ever seen in magazines and on TV. I was going to be out there – ziplining through Alaskan spruce trees and hurling axes in Ketchikan, not to mention experiencing the incredible wildlife and scenery.
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My husband Grant and I sailed with Princess Cruises. From the moment we stepped onboard, the tone was set. Staff introduced themselves by name – a tiny thing, unless you’re blind and used to guessing who’s speaking. Our cabin steward remembered where we left things. The menus were read aloud, patiently and in full. The Princess app worked with my screen reader, meaning I could find Grant when he inevitably vanished to grab yet another slice of pizza.
Accessibility wasn’t treated like an awkward afterthought. It was built into the design: braille and tactile numbers outside every cabin, audio announcements in lifts, braille signage where you’d want it. The Ocean Medallion system – which includes a wearable device onto which information can be downloaded – even carries my access needs discreetly, logging preferences and allergies.
I don't need a wheelchair-accessible cabin – in fact, I often find larger rooms harder to orientate – but these accessible options are available, as well as hoists and step-free balconies. Clearly, Princess has thought about many different travellers. When it came to navigating port days, the crew announced accessible entry and exit points clearly over the tannoy. For once, I didn’t have to rely on someone else to guide me.
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The real joy, though, happened off the ship. In Skagway, I zipped through the trees on a high-wire course. The guides explained the layout, gave me clear verbal cues, and clipped me in without fuss. I soared through the spruce canopy with my arms wide, heart thudding. I didn’t see the view, but I felt it. And from the way they described it – the sharp green of the trees, the silver streaks of the river below – I built the picture in my mind.
Ketchikan gave me my axe-throwing moment. The instructor showed me how to throw by feel. When the blade hit the wood with a satisfying crack, it was instinctive to grin.
Prince Rupert brought calm. Whale watching sounds like a visual feast, but for me, it was sound and atmosphere. Or guide Matt’s commentary painted pictures I could follow: the history of the land, the rhythms of the sea, the anticipation of a sighting. And when the humpback whales finally breached, it was the collective gasp of the passengers, the sudden spray, the quiet awe that stayed with me.
None of this happened because someone made arrangements for me. It happened because the people involved communicated. They didn’t assume I couldn’t. They asked what I needed. They told me what to expect. They let me decide.
That, for me, is real access. Travel isn’t made welcoming by ramps alone. It’s made doable by people who give you the information to say yes. Who understands that being blind doesn’t mean being cautious, or passive, or grateful just to be included.
Of course, no company is perfect: information about which excursions were accessible was vague. The onus is still too often on disabled travellers to interrogate the details. That needs to change; if you have accessible toilets, say it. Disabled travellers are empowered when we have knowledge.
For once, I didn’t feel like a problem to be solved. I wasn’t a risk assessment. I wasn’t met with raised eyebrows or nervous smiles. I was just a woman on a cruise with her husband, doing things people don’t expect blind people to do.
And that’s what I’ll remember most. This trip didn’t show me what I was missing: It reminded me what I’m made for.
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Whale watching
I never imagined whale watching was something I could fully appreciate, but in Prince Rupert, it became one of the most powerful experiences of my life. As the humpbacks surfaced, tails lifting high and spray catching the air, I found myself laughing out loud in disbelief.
Even without sight, their scale and majesty were unmistakable. The sound of spouts breaking the stillness, the rhythm of water, and the hush that fell across the boat created a shared atmosphere that words can barely capture. For me, it was not about seeing the whales; it was about being fully present with them.
That day reminded me that travel is not only about what we see, it is about sound, sensation and connection. Experiences like this prove that adventure should never be limited by assumption. Everyone deserves the chance to encounter moments this extraordinary.
Glacier Bay
Have you ever heard a glacier roar? We did, twice. Glacier Bay National Park felt like stepping into another world, with 3.3 million acres of rugged mountains, deep fjords and more than a thousand glaciers. Only a fraction can be explored by ship, and we were fortunate to sail through with Ruby Princess as National Park Rangers gave live commentary across the decks.
We saw five glaciers in total, each spectacular, but the calvings were the highlight. First, a deep crack and groan as the ice began to split, then a thunderous roar as tons of ice collapsed into the bay, sending spray and waves rolling out across the water. Wildlife added to the magic, from puffins and seals to sea otters drifting on their backs and even climbing onto a small iceberg. Glacier Bay is, without doubt, one of the most awe-inspiring places I have ever experienced.
A 10-night Inside Passage voyage on Ruby Princess, departing round-trip from San Francisco on Sunday, 3 May 2026, includes Glacier Bay National Park scenic cruising and calls at Ketchikan, Skagway, Sitka and Prince Rupert.
The Princess Plus fare includes direct London Heathrow flights, a one-night pre-cruise stay at Parc 55 Hilton, transfers, drinks, wifi and gratuities. Prices start from £2,880.74 per person.
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