In April, it was the only tour running. There was no snow for dog-sledding, but too much ice for glacier cruises, so when we discovered we could see the grey whale migration on a boat out of Seward, we were delighted to be in Alaska at the right season for SOMETHING!

We boarded the scruffy boat with a handful of off-season stragglers and visiting relatives, each of us to a big and not necessarily welcome bear hug from our captain.

Captain Hook (the only name he would give us) pilots the boat with two metal hooks where his hands used to be, chain-smokes Lucky Strikes and knows the whales in Resurrection Bay each by name. It’s certain that every recipient of Hook’s bear hugs thinks – and maybe whispers – the same question: How did he lose both hands? But nobody is impolite enough to ask.

We raced out to the mouth of the bay to see just a handful of grey whales roll by; not a great day’s whale spotting. To compensate, we visited Resurrection Bay’s resident humpbacks. Captain Hook’s “nemesis” Zippy was happy to indulge us with a wonderful display of jumps and tail-waves. It is doubtful that friendly Zippy had anything to do with Hook’s hooks, but by that stage we had gained a sense of humour about the diabolical weather and were enjoying the rumour and speculation about the captain’s rugged Alaskan lifestyle.

All of a sudden, a cry went up and everyone leapt to the bow. Dall’s porpoises! The dainty monochrome pod were bow-riding; leaping in our surf and showing off to the delight of everyone. It was a magical end to an otherwise average day of whale watching.

That evening, in the rough petrolero bar that serves as Seward’s nightlife, we bumped into Captain Hook and bought him a pale ale. After a couple of those, I plucked up the courage to ask him how he lost his hands.

Hook just smiled, and lit another Lucky Strike.