Kelp Bay, Baranof Island to Frederick Sound
Daylight hours diminish at a rapid rate. Although today was eleven minutes shorter than yesterday, the sun still rose before we did. It sprung above the eastern horizon at least an hour before the earliest of watchers arrived on the bow. In its shyness it hid behind the rumpled clouds resting upon the mountains of Admiralty Island. A faint pink tinge in the sky was the only indication it was there. Otherwise the world appeared a steely gray. The sea was crushed satin in a purple shade that changed to silver gray if one gently turned to absorb the surrounding scene. Gradually the light broke through the clouds and danced along the treetops of Catherine Island painting each in turn a fresh lime green. It continued to play with the sharp and jagged peaks of Baranof Island spotlighting first one and then another in turn. As we turned our vessel into the mouth of Kelp Bay the smell of the woods wafted to our nostrils, imprinting the image of Alaska in multiple sensory means.
We peer into the eyes of wildlife seeking answers beyond our understanding. Why do salmon return to their natal streams? What stimulates a bear to suddenly cache food when only a week ago it seemed wasteful in its eating habits? How to birds know when to fly south? Why does a whale breach? We observe. We hypothesize. But no matter how much we learn there is still an element of the unknown, the secret is not quite revealed. Within ourselves we feel those same drives. With the coming of fall a tiny voice whispers that it is time to complete the harvest, to hoard our winter’s supply or possibly to head south following the reddening leaves.
Two valleys converge in a salt marsh meadow. From each a river flows laden with glacial flour. Mouths enlarged by an opposing sea their journey is forced to slow, their carrying capacity reduced. Miniscule clay-like particles settle over gravel and sand creating a canvas upon which will be drawn a story of life and death. Interlocking imprints of webbed feet came in two distinct sizes, big-footed glaucous-winged and petite Bonaparte’s gulls. Massive talons pierced the soil at the tip of four strong toes, three aimed forward and one behind. Purposeful strides led from river’s edge to sandy ridge where salmon remnants lay. Above nine bald eagles circled as if to examine their artistic contribution from on high. But the strongest presence was perhaps the most secretive with its signature. Sedges laid flat by rising waters were crushed in meandering trails by bodies heavier than ours. Strong muscular forearms had torn into the soil in search of roots to eat. Where salmon struggled against the current, they were snatched abruptly from the rocky shallows. Their glistening skin still wet and eyes shining they lay amidst silverweed and grass. Mother bear and cub had been hard at work stocking their larder somehow knowing that the time of plenty was coming to an end. At the edge of the scene harbor seals bobbed, their curious heads rising next to silent colorful kayaks.
Back at the mouth of Kelp Bay where lowering clouds hid not too distant islands, a humpback whale frolicked. It sprang from the water repeatedly testing back-flips and belly-flops and indescribable maneuvers. All seemed to please it and us as well. Who was it applauding with the crashing slaps of pectoral fins between each act of the show?
Fall Alaskan light paints the waters charcoal. When mirror calm they blend into silvery skies. Sea and shore can be distinguished only by silhouetted hillsides and mountains in shades of gray unless one is lucky enough to find oneself amidst a myriad of whales. A hundred or more humpbacks sent misty white plumes skyward in every direction around us in Frederick Sound. Black bodies appeared in chorus lines, kicking their heels up one by one in sounding dives. Perfectly synchronized, two tail stocks rose as one and seemed to flow from the water, one above and one below. Trumpeting sounds mingled with gentler exhaling blows. They too feel the need to store calories for the winter yet to come and feeding becomes the prime activity throughout the day and night.
Darkness falls and with this night we find no stars or promise of northern lights but if one listens quietly the sound of wilderness can be heard.
Daylight hours diminish at a rapid rate. Although today was eleven minutes shorter than yesterday, the sun still rose before we did. It sprung above the eastern horizon at least an hour before the earliest of watchers arrived on the bow. In its shyness it hid behind the rumpled clouds resting upon the mountains of Admiralty Island. A faint pink tinge in the sky was the only indication it was there. Otherwise the world appeared a steely gray. The sea was crushed satin in a purple shade that changed to silver gray if one gently turned to absorb the surrounding scene. Gradually the light broke through the clouds and danced along the treetops of Catherine Island painting each in turn a fresh lime green. It continued to play with the sharp and jagged peaks of Baranof Island spotlighting first one and then another in turn. As we turned our vessel into the mouth of Kelp Bay the smell of the woods wafted to our nostrils, imprinting the image of Alaska in multiple sensory means.
We peer into the eyes of wildlife seeking answers beyond our understanding. Why do salmon return to their natal streams? What stimulates a bear to suddenly cache food when only a week ago it seemed wasteful in its eating habits? How to birds know when to fly south? Why does a whale breach? We observe. We hypothesize. But no matter how much we learn there is still an element of the unknown, the secret is not quite revealed. Within ourselves we feel those same drives. With the coming of fall a tiny voice whispers that it is time to complete the harvest, to hoard our winter’s supply or possibly to head south following the reddening leaves.
Two valleys converge in a salt marsh meadow. From each a river flows laden with glacial flour. Mouths enlarged by an opposing sea their journey is forced to slow, their carrying capacity reduced. Miniscule clay-like particles settle over gravel and sand creating a canvas upon which will be drawn a story of life and death. Interlocking imprints of webbed feet came in two distinct sizes, big-footed glaucous-winged and petite Bonaparte’s gulls. Massive talons pierced the soil at the tip of four strong toes, three aimed forward and one behind. Purposeful strides led from river’s edge to sandy ridge where salmon remnants lay. Above nine bald eagles circled as if to examine their artistic contribution from on high. But the strongest presence was perhaps the most secretive with its signature. Sedges laid flat by rising waters were crushed in meandering trails by bodies heavier than ours. Strong muscular forearms had torn into the soil in search of roots to eat. Where salmon struggled against the current, they were snatched abruptly from the rocky shallows. Their glistening skin still wet and eyes shining they lay amidst silverweed and grass. Mother bear and cub had been hard at work stocking their larder somehow knowing that the time of plenty was coming to an end. At the edge of the scene harbor seals bobbed, their curious heads rising next to silent colorful kayaks.
Back at the mouth of Kelp Bay where lowering clouds hid not too distant islands, a humpback whale frolicked. It sprang from the water repeatedly testing back-flips and belly-flops and indescribable maneuvers. All seemed to please it and us as well. Who was it applauding with the crashing slaps of pectoral fins between each act of the show?
Fall Alaskan light paints the waters charcoal. When mirror calm they blend into silvery skies. Sea and shore can be distinguished only by silhouetted hillsides and mountains in shades of gray unless one is lucky enough to find oneself amidst a myriad of whales. A hundred or more humpbacks sent misty white plumes skyward in every direction around us in Frederick Sound. Black bodies appeared in chorus lines, kicking their heels up one by one in sounding dives. Perfectly synchronized, two tail stocks rose as one and seemed to flow from the water, one above and one below. Trumpeting sounds mingled with gentler exhaling blows. They too feel the need to store calories for the winter yet to come and feeding becomes the prime activity throughout the day and night.
Darkness falls and with this night we find no stars or promise of northern lights but if one listens quietly the sound of wilderness can be heard.
