Icy Strait, Southeast Alaska
Glassy water. Misty clouds both high and low, broken here and there by the morning's early rays. Ocean water rich in plankton and schooling fish, driven on a collision course by tidal forces and extruding land masses. Upwellings. Sea birds wheeling and plunging. Salmon trollers checking their lines. Success! Tall spires of mist shooting high. Lone Humpback whales feeding endlessly, storing fatty energy for another long migration.
As time passed this morning, the misty clouds dispersed and the sun shone through, least for a while. The lone whales joined forces. Seven of them, all together. Or were there six? Or eight? It did not really matter. We were close observers -- ever so close -- witnessing acts of cooperation within the whale world. By working as a team, the tiny plankton and herring sought by these huge mammals could be concentrated. Humpbacks are masters at this. Our hydrophone was lowered below the keel and quickly relayed to us the intriguing squeals and moans of the group. Were they frightening prey into tighter balls for easy feeding, or simply "talking" to each other? Most scientists think the former. Of the whales we had seen so far on this journey, these were the feature performers.
A shroud of fog moved in from the open Pacific and engulfed our happy ship. Our search for more exciting inhabitants of these waters was interrupted, but our learning was not. Scott Burns, our geological expert, talked around some excellent slides about the geological origin of Alaska and its National Parks. The terranes that surround the north Pacific Ocean are "suspect," having drifted here from the south through the movement of tectonic plates.
Clear views returned as we cruised slowly into Dundas Bay, a picturesque fjord that forms part of Glacier Bay National Park. Bears and birds were on the agenda here. Keen eyes and focussed binoculars picked out four black bears, all some distance from the low-tide shoreline. A large flock of Common Mergansers, assembling for the southward migration, scurried off the water, while Canada Geese, Northern Pintails, a Red-tailed Hawk and even two Caspian Terns fed and rested in the rich intertidal marshes.
Back into Icy Strait we drifted, but also back into the fog. It was suddenly cold as the wind whipped in off the nearby ocean. Our radar guided us directly to a lone rock in Inian Cut where a few dozen Northern (Steller's) sea lions were hauled out or frolicking in the swells. Lying quietly in nearby kelp beds were everyone's favourite marine mammal, sea otters. With silence on deck and our white ship blending with the fog, we approached closely, with little disturbance to these marvelous animals. Once exploited relentlessly, first by the Russians, then by the British, Americans, Spanish and French, a world population of about 150,000 was quickly decimated to near extinction. Fortunately, a few escaped the determined hunters -- perhaps 30 in coastal California and as few as two in the remote reaches of Amchitka Island. With total protection granted in 1911, those remnants of a natural dynasty multiplied with gusto. As many as 150,000 may again be with us. Re-introductions to Southeast Alaska and British Columbia have been amazingly successful.
Our splendid day ended with kayaking and hiking on a small island on the very edge of the Pacific. Some kayakers extended themselves by circumnavigating the island, while others peeked in and out of tiny bays and under towering cliffs and arches. A cadre of determined hikers sought and found a huge 6-inch, pedestal-mounted naval cannon of World War I vintage. It had been placed here in 1942, at the peak of World War II. Defense of the inside passage was paramount. Evidence of access points and support buildings for this installation could still be seen, but much more evidence has no doubt long since been swallowed up by the duff, litter, fungi, roots and tangles of this temperate rain forest. Our further penetration of this island led to spectacular views of the distant Fairweather Range, the placid ocean, an idyllic pond and this image of a rugged Alaskan shoreline.
Glassy water. Misty clouds both high and low, broken here and there by the morning's early rays. Ocean water rich in plankton and schooling fish, driven on a collision course by tidal forces and extruding land masses. Upwellings. Sea birds wheeling and plunging. Salmon trollers checking their lines. Success! Tall spires of mist shooting high. Lone Humpback whales feeding endlessly, storing fatty energy for another long migration.
As time passed this morning, the misty clouds dispersed and the sun shone through, least for a while. The lone whales joined forces. Seven of them, all together. Or were there six? Or eight? It did not really matter. We were close observers -- ever so close -- witnessing acts of cooperation within the whale world. By working as a team, the tiny plankton and herring sought by these huge mammals could be concentrated. Humpbacks are masters at this. Our hydrophone was lowered below the keel and quickly relayed to us the intriguing squeals and moans of the group. Were they frightening prey into tighter balls for easy feeding, or simply "talking" to each other? Most scientists think the former. Of the whales we had seen so far on this journey, these were the feature performers.
A shroud of fog moved in from the open Pacific and engulfed our happy ship. Our search for more exciting inhabitants of these waters was interrupted, but our learning was not. Scott Burns, our geological expert, talked around some excellent slides about the geological origin of Alaska and its National Parks. The terranes that surround the north Pacific Ocean are "suspect," having drifted here from the south through the movement of tectonic plates.
Clear views returned as we cruised slowly into Dundas Bay, a picturesque fjord that forms part of Glacier Bay National Park. Bears and birds were on the agenda here. Keen eyes and focussed binoculars picked out four black bears, all some distance from the low-tide shoreline. A large flock of Common Mergansers, assembling for the southward migration, scurried off the water, while Canada Geese, Northern Pintails, a Red-tailed Hawk and even two Caspian Terns fed and rested in the rich intertidal marshes.
Back into Icy Strait we drifted, but also back into the fog. It was suddenly cold as the wind whipped in off the nearby ocean. Our radar guided us directly to a lone rock in Inian Cut where a few dozen Northern (Steller's) sea lions were hauled out or frolicking in the swells. Lying quietly in nearby kelp beds were everyone's favourite marine mammal, sea otters. With silence on deck and our white ship blending with the fog, we approached closely, with little disturbance to these marvelous animals. Once exploited relentlessly, first by the Russians, then by the British, Americans, Spanish and French, a world population of about 150,000 was quickly decimated to near extinction. Fortunately, a few escaped the determined hunters -- perhaps 30 in coastal California and as few as two in the remote reaches of Amchitka Island. With total protection granted in 1911, those remnants of a natural dynasty multiplied with gusto. As many as 150,000 may again be with us. Re-introductions to Southeast Alaska and British Columbia have been amazingly successful.
Our splendid day ended with kayaking and hiking on a small island on the very edge of the Pacific. Some kayakers extended themselves by circumnavigating the island, while others peeked in and out of tiny bays and under towering cliffs and arches. A cadre of determined hikers sought and found a huge 6-inch, pedestal-mounted naval cannon of World War I vintage. It had been placed here in 1942, at the peak of World War II. Defense of the inside passage was paramount. Evidence of access points and support buildings for this installation could still be seen, but much more evidence has no doubt long since been swallowed up by the duff, litter, fungi, roots and tangles of this temperate rain forest. Our further penetration of this island led to spectacular views of the distant Fairweather Range, the placid ocean, an idyllic pond and this image of a rugged Alaskan shoreline.
