Fox Creek (Idaho Inlet), Inian Islands
No surprise. The day dawned cool and gray. In the early morning as the National Geographic Sea Lion turned to port and entered the throat of Idaho Inlet, the winds charging through Cross Sound, gateway to the Gulf of Alaska, quickly dissipated. The eastern escarpment of the inlet’s mighty topography presented a wall of reprieve. The waters were suddenly almost as a mirror. Wisps of low-lying mist hung in the trees like smoke. Idaho Inlet, a roughly 12-mile long dog-leg left fjord, is known for beautiful close-quarter scenery and for rafts of sea otters that call it sanctuary.
The tide was low and the visibility good. Over two-thousand feet of rugged tree-covered mountains rise on both sides of the fjord. On its borders protrude the occasional flat reaches edged with meadow, conjuring possibilities of large carnivores patrolling the exposed shoreline. However, after nearly an hour of early morning investigations, it was not to be. The eagerly anticipated sighting of large, brown charismatic mega fauna would have to wait for another occasion. The waterway, though, still offered much to hold our attention.
The waters themselves held flotillas of marine mammals that arguably win all aspects which comprise the cuteness factor. With their broad heads, small ears, plump cheeks, and prominent mustaches they are animals many warmly jest as to wanting to take home. Sea otters originally inhabited coastal waters from Baja California to the northern Japanese home islands. In Alaska, they occurred in a huge arc from Southeast to the extreme western Aleutians. Commercial hunting for their rich, dense fur nearly wiped out the species, but several small groups survived. The Alaska population has expanded from these remnant groups and from groups reintroduced to sites in Southeast.
Dozens of sea otters, singly, in couples, or in large congregations approaching two dozen, drifted contentedly on their backs. They would raise their heads and gaze at our passing vessel in unison, like old men rising from rest on park benches to see what vehicle was passing by and disturbing their quiet time. Upon close approach, many would disappear beneath the surface only to re-emerge once the hazard had passed. Then they would peer curiously, even accusingly, at our receding ship. Half way up the fjord and with time running short it was decided to turn our ship one-hundred and eighty degrees and head to our morning’s landing destination.
In short time we found ourselves at the mouth of Fox Creek near the maw of Idaho Inlet. The tide was very low. This was becoming a theme. After negotiating the familiar yet slippery intertidal zone we stood once again upon the grassy perimeter of another Southeast Alaskan forest. Our treks covered much that we already knew – temperate rainforest, muskeg, and riverine environments. However, this was a different locale and thus offered new and varied possibilities. Bear sign was abundant in the form of scat and prints. A couple of red squirrels were spotted scurrying across the forest floor, one retreating to his impressively-sized midden at the base of a spruce tree. And a couple of red-breasted sapsuckers flitted among the trees on the edge of the muskeg. However, the dominant, almost omnipresent, wildlife this time out were the mosquitoes and gnats. Relief only came with the occasional breezes blowing down from the valley above or with the frequent application of bug dope. The nuisance still remained only a distraction as the scenery and abundant wildflowers made it all worthwhile.
A short run from Idaho lay the Inian Islands. This group of islands is renowned for its seasonal resident Northern (Steller’s) sea lions. They are the largest of the “eared” seals, and in many parts of their range they are in decline, the cause of which is still under scientific investigation. They breed in the spring months on rookeries along the Gulf of Alaska to the Russian Far East. They haul out in summer months at specific locations within Southeast Alaska (and other locales) to rest and forage.
On first approach, through the narrow channels separating the islands, in small coves, and trenchant rocky corners we saw them singularly or in small groups in the water. As we neared the main haul-out, the groups increased in size and frequency until, upon a small rocky island, we discovered perhaps a couple hundred individuals (mostly young males) basking in communal glory. Downwind of the islet the group’s collective pungent odor hit our olfactory senses pretty hard. The air was ripe but tolerable.
The waters surrounding their haul-out were a potato patch of conflicting currents. Standing waves and strong eddies were everywhere. As a consequence the region was rich with fish. Many sea lions dove and surfaced with a catch, then violently shook their quarry from side to side effortlessly tearing their prey to manageable bites. Kittiwakes and gulls dined on the leftover scraps.
For the next hour Zodiacs patrolled the islet’s surrounding waters as dozens of sea lions at a time flipped, rolled, leapt, and closely followed our rubber crafts with an innate and unflagging curiosity. The show was one more luminous and memorable act in the play that was our journey through the wilds of Southeast Alaska.
