Baranof Island, Alaska
The number of brown bears (a subspecies of the grizzly bear) on Southeast Alaska’s “ABC” islands (Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof) is thought to be higher than on any other group of islands in the world. The number of bears assembling at any stream on these islands is proportional to the number of salmon in the stream. Today, the salmon were in! The bears were here!
Perhaps we saw only one individual this morning. Or was it two? Or three? Judging by track sizes in the beach sand and dark-chocolate mud, at least three and probably more were at this forest-enshrouded stream. The “long-hikers” found the first one. It was wandering casually in the middle of a small waterfall, unaware of our approach. Leaping salmon held its attention. As the bear moved downstream, our stealthy kayakers then had their turn. And even the short-hikers and stop-and-wait photographers positioned themselves for excellent views of this bear.
Later, a slow cruise into an ancient fjord on Admiralty Island brought equally satisfying looks at 6 more bears, including a sow with two strapping cubs. Their time on the beach was short-lived, however, not because of our approach, but because a large male—always a threat to cubs—wandered into the sow’s favourite fishing territory. She hustled her young ones off into the dense forest.
The annual return of Pacific salmon to their streams of birth is the source of most of the winter fat for bears. They need it to carry them through 4 to 5 frozen months of foodless inactivity in a cozy den. Mothers, who give birth to up to 3 tiny cubs while in the den, must produce gallons of fat-rich milk.
We were all smiles again today. The morning encounter with the bear was truly exciting. So, too, were the masses of pink, sockeye and chum salmon that were “holding” in the river. They had completed a 2- or 4-year oval loop of the north Pacific Ocean and were now returning with a strong body, packed with nutrients. Each fish would deposit its seeds of life into the gravel. Then, within 2 weeks, each would die, contributing its hard-earned nutrients to the river. Bears, eagles, gulls, ravens, otters and many other vertebrates would gather for the feast. In turn, their random distribution of these nutrients would “melt” into the forest soil, to be taken up by entangled roots. The sweet salmonberries that we ate along the trail today, and the gigantic spruce trees that we hugged, were the proof.
In nature, all things are intertwined.
The number of brown bears (a subspecies of the grizzly bear) on Southeast Alaska’s “ABC” islands (Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof) is thought to be higher than on any other group of islands in the world. The number of bears assembling at any stream on these islands is proportional to the number of salmon in the stream. Today, the salmon were in! The bears were here!
Perhaps we saw only one individual this morning. Or was it two? Or three? Judging by track sizes in the beach sand and dark-chocolate mud, at least three and probably more were at this forest-enshrouded stream. The “long-hikers” found the first one. It was wandering casually in the middle of a small waterfall, unaware of our approach. Leaping salmon held its attention. As the bear moved downstream, our stealthy kayakers then had their turn. And even the short-hikers and stop-and-wait photographers positioned themselves for excellent views of this bear.
Later, a slow cruise into an ancient fjord on Admiralty Island brought equally satisfying looks at 6 more bears, including a sow with two strapping cubs. Their time on the beach was short-lived, however, not because of our approach, but because a large male—always a threat to cubs—wandered into the sow’s favourite fishing territory. She hustled her young ones off into the dense forest.
The annual return of Pacific salmon to their streams of birth is the source of most of the winter fat for bears. They need it to carry them through 4 to 5 frozen months of foodless inactivity in a cozy den. Mothers, who give birth to up to 3 tiny cubs while in the den, must produce gallons of fat-rich milk.
We were all smiles again today. The morning encounter with the bear was truly exciting. So, too, were the masses of pink, sockeye and chum salmon that were “holding” in the river. They had completed a 2- or 4-year oval loop of the north Pacific Ocean and were now returning with a strong body, packed with nutrients. Each fish would deposit its seeds of life into the gravel. Then, within 2 weeks, each would die, contributing its hard-earned nutrients to the river. Bears, eagles, gulls, ravens, otters and many other vertebrates would gather for the feast. In turn, their random distribution of these nutrients would “melt” into the forest soil, to be taken up by entangled roots. The sweet salmonberries that we ate along the trail today, and the gigantic spruce trees that we hugged, were the proof.
In nature, all things are intertwined.
