TwoVan's excellent roadtrip...Part 1

This is what BC Ferries' Northern Expedition looks like at 11:30 at night, when it's at its Port Hardy terminal.
Normally we wouldn't hang around to see this as all the cars have gone, the cleaning crew has boarded and (because it now costs $22 to overnight in the ferry parking lot) we're actually parked at the boat launch a couple of hundred yards up the road, the one with the "No Overnight Parking" sign, where we're two of about 20 vehicles, all awaiting the re-opening of the ferry lot gates.
At the moment I took this photo, Paul was negotiating with the Loading Supervisor to have the Brown van towed aboard next morning, the need for this occasioned by its key jammed in the steering wheel lock, refusing to be either turned or removed. The BCAA had come and gone; this course of action was the tow-truck driver's suggestion.
And so next morning we got on the ferry, heading for Prince Rupert. It was kind of cloudy-drizzly, and to me the most interesting photos were of the many lighthouses along the Inside Passage. This one is the Boat Bluff Light on Sarah Island, just north of Klemtu. And this one, taken by Paul later that afternoon, is of Grenville Channel, much closer to our destination:The boat arrived at about 11 PM. We went to the Prince Rupert RV Park, where we had booked a spot, and Paul and Shirley went to a downtown hotel for the night. Their van disappeared with the tow-truck driver.
Next morning we found them at the hotel, and waited while Paul checked out options and consulted people. It quickly became clear that no one in Prince Rupert wanted to touch his problem, except for the sketchy tow-truck driver, who claimed to be a mechanic but clearly had no particular expertise with the ignition locks of Volkswagen Eurovans. The nearest VW dealer was in Terrace, which is stretching the definition of "near", to say the least.
Here's my email account written from Prince Rupert:

So Paul spends a long time on the phone determining that no one really wants his problem, and he doesn't know where his van is, because the tow-truck driver hasn't told him. They're looking at spending a minimum of three days in Prince Rupert, if they can even find someone to take the issue on. Eventually he tracks down the tow-truck guy, and discovers that the van is parked about a block from the hotel. Shirley and I go there to retrieve some stuff they need to cancel the ferry reservation.
And there it is! sitting by the side of the road, looking forlorn.
I ask Shirley if anyone has tried the key again, now that it has been jostled by several tow trucks. She says yes, but not recently, and I'm welcome to try.
So I get in and start messing with the key. It doesn't budge, and I'm about to give up, when suddenly there's a slight "click" and the key turns. I remove it, then re-insert it. I turn the key. The van starts, although reluctantly: battery's probably right down. We run it for a while, and drive to the hotel, where there's much rejoicing.

Which is how, shortly after, I could take this photo through the rain in the Prince Rupert RV Park:
As the Alaska ferry didn't leave until late the next day we had intended to drive along the Skeena, but by the time Paul had finished getting new keys cut by the delightful locksmith/curio shop owner (the one who doesn't have to dress up to be Santa Claus at Christmas time) most of Monday was gone, so we toured Prince Rupert instead. There are many delightful aspects of this city, but we particularly liked the waterfront and the light, as the sun made it's infrequent appearances.
These photos are of the "tourist" section and of the view from a small restaurant there called "Smiles Seafood Cafe".

Over excellent halibut and chips we'd been enjoying the interaction of a young couple with a little girl at a nearby table. As we were leaving, the man said to me, "Hi, how are you?" "Fine," I replied and went to pay the bill. But he had looked kind of familiar, so I went back and said, "Do I know you?" "Trevor Mack", he said. Of course! Accompanied by Carrie Johnson and their daughter, Casey; an RCMP constable in Terrace. (Trevor was a classmate of Enid's at Timberline, famous for his competitive shooting exploits. Carrie, equally renowned, went to Carihi. I'd note small world, except that this would be a cliche.)
That afternoon off to the ferry...
...where we had our first encounter of this trip with American Customs' obsession with fruit and vegetables referred to in my previous post.