Le Conte Bay Ice and Petersburg Muskeg
The Le Conte Glacier releases more ice than most other glaciers in Southeast Alaska. After a massive amount of ice calves off the face of the glacier, it slowly drifts the seven miles down the curving channel, melting a little on its way. However, by the time it reaches the bay, there are still an amazing number of chunks of ice, all the way from giant bergs to little growlers. Until recently, that channel was part of the solid glacier, which carried with it all the rock, gravel and till that it picked up on its way down from the mountains. In this way, over centuries, a glacier builds a massive terminal moraine in front of the place where it has a stationary front for a long period of time. The Le Conte's moraine lies in the bay, and reaches up to just below the surface. The smaller growlers and bergy bits freely float over the shallows above the moraine, but the larger bergs get stuck, forming what looks like a fleet of blue and white ships of the most diverse shapes and sizes.
It was this sea of ice that we penetrated this morning. One by one, the Zodiacs set course for the clearly visible icebergs in Le Conte Bay, leaving the Sea Lion behind, anchored safely in deep water. Already from afar, we could see the bergs, white and silent, waiting for us. The beauty of these ephemeral works of art, sculpted by Mother Nature for no other purpose than to melt into nothingness, is both seductive and awe inspiring. The diversity of hues of white and blue is indescribable in its infinite gradations and contrasts. Yet, in this apparent world of stark, cold ice and water, there is life. Barely a moment passed when there was not at least one harbor seal watching us from a safe distance, its big eyes focused on the Zodiac with its human cargo. On our approach they gently slipped below the surface, only to reappear in some other spot. Above us, gulls flew from berg to berg, and higher in the sky eagles wheeled on an updraft. But most of the life in Le Conte Bay remained invisible to us, as it lived its day in history below the surface, in a world beyond our eyes.
After lunch we arrived in the charming little fishing port of Petersburg, and shortly after, we were ferried across the harbor to the starting point for a hike into a wonderful old growth forest and an extensive area of muskeg. Our focus was on the muskeg, which is an ecosystem unique to temperate rainforest regions. This habitat develops on level areas and gentle slopes, where mosses build up dense layers of peat, which hold so much water, that the tree roots become waterlogged, and the trees die. The muskeg we hiked through is an open area of mosses, sedges and grasses, punctuated only by scattered stunted shore pines and a myriad of small pools. We pushed a cane four feet down into the wet ground, and when we pulled it out again it was not at all soiled, indicating that the layer of peat is at least four feet thick! That means, that in this rainy climate, the nutrients from the subsoil will not be available to plants growing on the surface. But the grass and moss sward and the little pools contained a lot of different plants, as well as the stunted shore pines. A close examination of the plants, however, showed that here we have a set of plant species rarely encountered elsewhere. All these species are specifically adapted to very nutrient poor conditions.
The most extreme example of this adaptation is the sundew (Drosera rotundifolia) which has leaves modified to catch and digest small insects. The red, circular leaves carry thick hairs with droplets of glue at their ends. When a hapless fly mistakes the leaf for a small red flower, it is immediately stuck. The plant responds slowly, by curving the leaf inwards, like a closing hand, wrapping the insect up. We also admired such typical muskeg species as the snowy white Labrador tea, the gorgeously pink bog laurel, the minute flower of the cranberry, and the spikes of delicately fringed flowers of the buckbean growing in the little pools. We were elated when on our way back, we came upon four deer grazing in the muskeg. We watched them for quite a while, and concluded that they were feeding preferentially on buckbean and deer-cabbage, two fairly similar species related to gentians. They seemed to focus their attention on the pools, sometimes standing knee deep in the water, and biting off the foliage just above the surface.
Today was a day of beauty and of ecology, of introspection and of discovery. It was a day of experiencing Alaska at its best.
The Le Conte Glacier releases more ice than most other glaciers in Southeast Alaska. After a massive amount of ice calves off the face of the glacier, it slowly drifts the seven miles down the curving channel, melting a little on its way. However, by the time it reaches the bay, there are still an amazing number of chunks of ice, all the way from giant bergs to little growlers. Until recently, that channel was part of the solid glacier, which carried with it all the rock, gravel and till that it picked up on its way down from the mountains. In this way, over centuries, a glacier builds a massive terminal moraine in front of the place where it has a stationary front for a long period of time. The Le Conte's moraine lies in the bay, and reaches up to just below the surface. The smaller growlers and bergy bits freely float over the shallows above the moraine, but the larger bergs get stuck, forming what looks like a fleet of blue and white ships of the most diverse shapes and sizes.
It was this sea of ice that we penetrated this morning. One by one, the Zodiacs set course for the clearly visible icebergs in Le Conte Bay, leaving the Sea Lion behind, anchored safely in deep water. Already from afar, we could see the bergs, white and silent, waiting for us. The beauty of these ephemeral works of art, sculpted by Mother Nature for no other purpose than to melt into nothingness, is both seductive and awe inspiring. The diversity of hues of white and blue is indescribable in its infinite gradations and contrasts. Yet, in this apparent world of stark, cold ice and water, there is life. Barely a moment passed when there was not at least one harbor seal watching us from a safe distance, its big eyes focused on the Zodiac with its human cargo. On our approach they gently slipped below the surface, only to reappear in some other spot. Above us, gulls flew from berg to berg, and higher in the sky eagles wheeled on an updraft. But most of the life in Le Conte Bay remained invisible to us, as it lived its day in history below the surface, in a world beyond our eyes.
After lunch we arrived in the charming little fishing port of Petersburg, and shortly after, we were ferried across the harbor to the starting point for a hike into a wonderful old growth forest and an extensive area of muskeg. Our focus was on the muskeg, which is an ecosystem unique to temperate rainforest regions. This habitat develops on level areas and gentle slopes, where mosses build up dense layers of peat, which hold so much water, that the tree roots become waterlogged, and the trees die. The muskeg we hiked through is an open area of mosses, sedges and grasses, punctuated only by scattered stunted shore pines and a myriad of small pools. We pushed a cane four feet down into the wet ground, and when we pulled it out again it was not at all soiled, indicating that the layer of peat is at least four feet thick! That means, that in this rainy climate, the nutrients from the subsoil will not be available to plants growing on the surface. But the grass and moss sward and the little pools contained a lot of different plants, as well as the stunted shore pines. A close examination of the plants, however, showed that here we have a set of plant species rarely encountered elsewhere. All these species are specifically adapted to very nutrient poor conditions.
The most extreme example of this adaptation is the sundew (Drosera rotundifolia) which has leaves modified to catch and digest small insects. The red, circular leaves carry thick hairs with droplets of glue at their ends. When a hapless fly mistakes the leaf for a small red flower, it is immediately stuck. The plant responds slowly, by curving the leaf inwards, like a closing hand, wrapping the insect up. We also admired such typical muskeg species as the snowy white Labrador tea, the gorgeously pink bog laurel, the minute flower of the cranberry, and the spikes of delicately fringed flowers of the buckbean growing in the little pools. We were elated when on our way back, we came upon four deer grazing in the muskeg. We watched them for quite a while, and concluded that they were feeding preferentially on buckbean and deer-cabbage, two fairly similar species related to gentians. They seemed to focus their attention on the pools, sometimes standing knee deep in the water, and biting off the foliage just above the surface.
Today was a day of beauty and of ecology, of introspection and of discovery. It was a day of experiencing Alaska at its best.
