Attention: These posts following our coastal Christmas-thru-New-Year’s trip are named a bit specifically, that’s because when these were originally shared, they only had one photo each due to bandwidth limitations back in the day. Since that time, I’ve updated them to include images that relate to the details of each day.

Today, Caroline and I visited Alcatraz Island for the first time. Great place, well, as long as you are coming and leaving of your own free will. On the ride over to the island, the last man to get on the ferry was an elderly gentleman who wore a National Park Volunteer patch sewn onto his hat. I’ll introduce him to you later.

There’s nothing here that hasn’t been shown a thousand times before. I’ll bet a million people a year take this exact photo.

But then again, from the state of some of the ruins and the proclivity of the area being prone to earthquakes, maybe much of this will fall to the wayside someday.

Why is it always the places forbidden to us that hold the greatest interest for me and where I’d like to wander?

And who placed a key in the lock and closed this iron door for the last time?

It’s a strange idea that, at one time, this little walkway was once part of the path of freedom. People who worked on the island moved within the manicured landscape with walkway lights and housing on the bay with some of the best views.

While prisoners behind bars might hear the ocean and smell the ocean, only rarely would they see the ocean.

In their regimented universe in which these abominations to public safety were warehoused, a club of felons established their own government with rules that survived within the captivity of other men with equally harsh rules. But for all the discipline an incarcerated man can bring to bear while in prison, it’s ironic that they weren’t able to live on the outside with a similar set of guidelines.

What the National Park Service here at Alcatraz can never share with visitors is what it sounded like back during the days when Al Capone called this home.

Five feet wide and nine feet long with a ceiling just seven feet overhead, this is where some of the worst of the worst lived and died.

About that volunteer who boarded with us, it turns out this guy was a prison guard while Alcatraz was still operating. Now 84 years old, John Hernon visits the island at least once a month to break out of the routine and tell some of us lucky tourists stories of his time on the Rock. He enjoys having his picture taken, unlike Sean Penn, who we ran into on New Year’s Eve at a small burger joint. He promptly gave me the finger as I raised my camera – no, I didn’t take a picture of him or his finger.

The kitchen looks as though you could put it back to work today.

Back in early 1963, the prison was closed and started to fall into decay. Ten years later, the island prison became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area with things starting to be stabilized. Finally, in 1986, the island was opened to visitors.

I’d like to believe that guards had cushy jobs out here, but it can get cold and windy out on San Francisco Bay; I’m pretty sure those guard shacks were not heated back in 1934 when the prison was first opened.

Remnants of an old history are tossed everywhere, in the surf, too.

So much of the island is off-limits to us visitors; I’m certain it’s all the most interesting stuff, too. We could have explored the island and what’s left of the buildings all day, but our time was over too soon.

This is Michael Masley, known as The Artist General. He’s on the street playing his Cymbalom, and you bet we bought a CD from him. Amazing watching and listening to this man play his unique instrument.

With plenty of time before dinner, it was a great idea to grab a tiny snack at the Original Ghirardelli Ice Cream and Chocolate Shop. Why split a sundae when you can have two, along with a hot chocolate? Okay, one of those hot fudge sundaes was mine.

After our ice cream indulgence, it was a short walk to the Maritime Museum for a quick tour.

And not far away, well just across the street really, are the Hyde St. Pier Historic Ships.

This photo was taken on the Eureka, a 19th-century paddle steamboat.

We weren’t about to eat a thing here at Fishermans Wharf as we had bigger and better plans.

We had reservations for Millennium Restaurant, a vegan affair created by chef Eric Tucker. If I could employ this amazing chef to cook for Caroline and me in Phoenix, I’d convert to veganism in a second. Our rather pricey dinner here was one of the best meals I’ve ever enjoyed.