Frederick Sound and Pond Island
For most of us the day started when the Sea Lion lifted anchor in its idyllic overnight resting place between the two Brother Islands, which separate Stephens Passage from Frederick Sound. Shortly after, whales were sighted, and soon the call was out: 'àsome scattered humpbacks and at least a pair of killer whales'. Although the ship had to actually slow down so as not to collide with a pair of humpbacks, the killer whales managed to give us the slip. Somehow, in the choppy waters between Sail Island and the Five Fingers archipelago, we lost sight of them.
After breakfast we found ourselves basking in sunshine on Fredrick Sound, sailing westwards on near perfectly calm water, enjoying the incredible landscape. With the forested slopes of Admiralty Island to our north, and Kupreanof and Kuiu Islands to our south, up ahead we faced the snow-capped mountains of Baranof Island. All this, and the blue sky above reflected in the still water all around us, creating the perfect atmosphere for our marine excursion. We were treated to a fine array of bird sightings: small flotillas of common murres drifted by, unperturbed by our proximity, a few Bonaparte's gulls came close enough for us to clearly see their black hoods and red feet, a lone red-necked phalarope stood on a wad of floating seaweed, and of course, every now and then, the ubiquitous marbled murrelets came briefly in sight, only to dive as soon as we tried to train our binoculars onto them.
By mid-morning, shortly after Michelle Graves gave a great talk on Southeast Alaskan forest ecology, we started seeing humpback spouts up ahead. Soon the Sea Lion was placed strategically in the middle of a loose aggregation of at least ten of these giants, each doing more or less its own thing. Some drifted very quietly on or just under the surface, while others made their regular three to six appearances at the surface in quick succession, followed by a deep dive that lasted from three to seven minutes. A small group of three of the foraging animals swam right in front of the bow, giving us the perfect view of these leviathans, revealing even such details as their two blowholes, and the barnacles on their skin. With these three visitors barely out of easy viewing distance, a shout from one of the guests riveted our attention on a distant happening: a breaching whale! Instantly, the Sea Lion settled on a new course, heading straight for the spot where the whale had crashed back into the water. As we approached, the whale repeated its breaching activity over and over. Between breaches, it lay on its back, flapping its enormous pectoral flippers in the air, splashing them with considerable force onto the surface. At an appropriate distance, the Sea Lion stopped, and for at least half an hour we watched the show. Every now and then, our whale took a few breaths, and dived. We all waited silently, until some twenty seconds later, to gleeful shouts from all on deck, the whale reappeared, thrusting itself nearly completely out of the water, thirty tons of blubber, flesh and blood, briefly levitating above the surface, only to have gravity pull it back, with an audible crash, into the water.
This afternoon was spent on and around Pond Island, at the entrance to Kelp Bay. All reports were thumbs up on one of the nicest kayaking experiences imaginable, and the hikes, though not very long, due to the rough terrain and shortness of time, were full of discovery of new and fascinating situations and events. The island has a stand of splendid old-growth forest, with magnificent Sitka spruce trees, and some giant hemlock and cedar specimens. Many of the cedar trees had been partly de-barked many years ago, indicating native utilization of the forest. A round pool in a salt-marsh area looked like it might have been man-made for the purpose of trapping fish, but our speculation that a native village might have been on the island could not be confirmed with remnants of house posts or other artifacts. Yet, hiking back to the pick-up beach, I tried to imagine a time two centuries or longer ago, when Tlingit men and women stripped bark, picked berries, caught fish, and perhaps even lived in a village on the edge of the island, facing Kelp Bay.
For most of us the day started when the Sea Lion lifted anchor in its idyllic overnight resting place between the two Brother Islands, which separate Stephens Passage from Frederick Sound. Shortly after, whales were sighted, and soon the call was out: 'àsome scattered humpbacks and at least a pair of killer whales'. Although the ship had to actually slow down so as not to collide with a pair of humpbacks, the killer whales managed to give us the slip. Somehow, in the choppy waters between Sail Island and the Five Fingers archipelago, we lost sight of them.
After breakfast we found ourselves basking in sunshine on Fredrick Sound, sailing westwards on near perfectly calm water, enjoying the incredible landscape. With the forested slopes of Admiralty Island to our north, and Kupreanof and Kuiu Islands to our south, up ahead we faced the snow-capped mountains of Baranof Island. All this, and the blue sky above reflected in the still water all around us, creating the perfect atmosphere for our marine excursion. We were treated to a fine array of bird sightings: small flotillas of common murres drifted by, unperturbed by our proximity, a few Bonaparte's gulls came close enough for us to clearly see their black hoods and red feet, a lone red-necked phalarope stood on a wad of floating seaweed, and of course, every now and then, the ubiquitous marbled murrelets came briefly in sight, only to dive as soon as we tried to train our binoculars onto them.
By mid-morning, shortly after Michelle Graves gave a great talk on Southeast Alaskan forest ecology, we started seeing humpback spouts up ahead. Soon the Sea Lion was placed strategically in the middle of a loose aggregation of at least ten of these giants, each doing more or less its own thing. Some drifted very quietly on or just under the surface, while others made their regular three to six appearances at the surface in quick succession, followed by a deep dive that lasted from three to seven minutes. A small group of three of the foraging animals swam right in front of the bow, giving us the perfect view of these leviathans, revealing even such details as their two blowholes, and the barnacles on their skin. With these three visitors barely out of easy viewing distance, a shout from one of the guests riveted our attention on a distant happening: a breaching whale! Instantly, the Sea Lion settled on a new course, heading straight for the spot where the whale had crashed back into the water. As we approached, the whale repeated its breaching activity over and over. Between breaches, it lay on its back, flapping its enormous pectoral flippers in the air, splashing them with considerable force onto the surface. At an appropriate distance, the Sea Lion stopped, and for at least half an hour we watched the show. Every now and then, our whale took a few breaths, and dived. We all waited silently, until some twenty seconds later, to gleeful shouts from all on deck, the whale reappeared, thrusting itself nearly completely out of the water, thirty tons of blubber, flesh and blood, briefly levitating above the surface, only to have gravity pull it back, with an audible crash, into the water.
This afternoon was spent on and around Pond Island, at the entrance to Kelp Bay. All reports were thumbs up on one of the nicest kayaking experiences imaginable, and the hikes, though not very long, due to the rough terrain and shortness of time, were full of discovery of new and fascinating situations and events. The island has a stand of splendid old-growth forest, with magnificent Sitka spruce trees, and some giant hemlock and cedar specimens. Many of the cedar trees had been partly de-barked many years ago, indicating native utilization of the forest. A round pool in a salt-marsh area looked like it might have been man-made for the purpose of trapping fish, but our speculation that a native village might have been on the island could not be confirmed with remnants of house posts or other artifacts. Yet, hiking back to the pick-up beach, I tried to imagine a time two centuries or longer ago, when Tlingit men and women stripped bark, picked berries, caught fish, and perhaps even lived in a village on the edge of the island, facing Kelp Bay.
