Tracy Arm and Williams Cove
It was a cool and windy day that greeted us as we got on deck this morning. Gray clouds covered the sky, casting a dark hue over the distant hills. The Sea Lion was heading southwards on Stevens Passage with the Glass Peninsula on starboard, the mainland to portside, and a small rocky island known as Midway Island up ahead. A small cluster of early morning keeners, coffee mugs in hand, peered at every bird that came within sight, and discussed the usually tentative identification: "àdidn't see any white on the wings, must be surfsà' or 'àwas small enough to be a red throatà did you see any red?' and so on. But gradually more people came up on deck, and as the Sea Lion entered Holkham Bay, she made a near ninety degree turn, and headed for the channel across the 'bar', and for Tracy Arm beyond.
Tracy Arm is a long and very deep fjord, which was carved out of the rock during the last ice age, when it carried a major glacier, which joined an even bigger one that slid southwards through Stephens Passage. During the post-glacial period there have been some cold centuries during which the two glaciers now at the head of Tracy Arm, the North and South Sawyer Glaciers, advanced jointly, filling the entire fjord with ice. This glacier must have had a long stationary period with its toe resting at the entrance to Tracy Arm. There it built up an enormous under-water moraine, which still persists today as a giant bar. A narrow channel, clearly delineated with markers and buoys, provides access to the fjord. As the Sea Lion traversed the channel, the depth of the water under the ship as indicated by the sonar dial on the bridge, changed from 450 feet in Stephens Passage to only 45 feet in the channel over the bar, then back to some 500 feet in Tracy Arm.
Many of us returned to the fore deck right after breakfast, and feasted our eyes on the amazing landscape. The sheer 2000-foot walls facing the meandering channel, shorn to a smooth, shining patina, were vegetated by thin strips of stunted shrubbery and grasses only. From the melting snow on top of the surrounding mountains thin streams of meltwater cascaded down the cliffs, ending their brief existences by splashing into the cold deep water of the fjord. Above the towering near vertical slopes, every now and then, higher mountainous features came into view: hanging glaciers, alpine horns, snow-covered scree slopes, or scraggy ridges. Sightings of harbor seals resting on icebergs, a pod of transient killer whales, and small flocks of oystercatchers, harlequin ducks, and other birds added punctuations of life to the sublime, but serene landscape. As we approached the split in the channel leading to the North and south Sawyer Glaciers, more and more icebergs, bergy bits and growlers started to obstruct our progress. Then, as we rounded one last rocky point of land, suddenly both glaciers were in view. As the Sea Lion inched its way up the ice-strewn arm leading to the South Sawyer, the overpowering magnificence of this river of ice created simultaneously feelings of intimidation and exhilaration.
Until the 18th-Century, landscapes such as the ones Tracy Arm provided us today were considered sterile, ugly and offensive. But with romanticism, spawned in part by the age of discovery, Europeans started to see beauty in powerful and dangerous landscapes. In his 1757 essay 'On the Sublime and the Beautiful', Edmond Burke redefined the meaning of 'sublime' by claiming that the emotions conjured up by a sublime landscape are based on a sense of terror at the potentially dangerous and uncontrollable power of such landforms. This philosophy became the inspirational basis for the boom in 19th and 20th-Century eco-tourism. For us, travelers on a comfortable, modern ship, run by a competent captain and crew, it is difficult to sense the feeling of terror when viewing the magnificent Alaskan landscape. But on the cold water of Tracy Arm, surrounded by overbearing rock faces, it was not that hard to imagine being on a small wooden craft, with a tent and some camping gear, and no contact with the outside world. The sublime environment under such conditions would surely have a component of terror in it.
We spent the afternoon at Williams Cove, which is a lovely, sheltered inlet off Tracy Arm, near Holkham Bay. Our activities included kayaking, Zodiac cruises and a series of hikes. The reputation of Williams Cove was not tarred by today's experiences. Some of the kayakers spotted a river otter, and watched this wonderful animal as it caught and consumed in quick succession a sea star, an urchin, and a fish. The hikers discovered new and wonderful plants, which for the first time this year were found in bloom. One group of hikers ended up bush-whacking from the beach, up a steep slope, and into an area of impossibly dense bush which was best expressed by John Muir in the late 1800s, when he traveled through this same valley. 'This growth, when approached, especially on the lower slopes near the level of the sea at the jaws of the great side canons, is found to be the most impenetrable and tedious and toilsome combination of fighting bushes that the weary explorer ever fell into incomparably more punishing than the buckthorn and manzanita tangles of the Sierra'.
It was a cool and windy day that greeted us as we got on deck this morning. Gray clouds covered the sky, casting a dark hue over the distant hills. The Sea Lion was heading southwards on Stevens Passage with the Glass Peninsula on starboard, the mainland to portside, and a small rocky island known as Midway Island up ahead. A small cluster of early morning keeners, coffee mugs in hand, peered at every bird that came within sight, and discussed the usually tentative identification: "àdidn't see any white on the wings, must be surfsà' or 'àwas small enough to be a red throatà did you see any red?' and so on. But gradually more people came up on deck, and as the Sea Lion entered Holkham Bay, she made a near ninety degree turn, and headed for the channel across the 'bar', and for Tracy Arm beyond.
Tracy Arm is a long and very deep fjord, which was carved out of the rock during the last ice age, when it carried a major glacier, which joined an even bigger one that slid southwards through Stephens Passage. During the post-glacial period there have been some cold centuries during which the two glaciers now at the head of Tracy Arm, the North and South Sawyer Glaciers, advanced jointly, filling the entire fjord with ice. This glacier must have had a long stationary period with its toe resting at the entrance to Tracy Arm. There it built up an enormous under-water moraine, which still persists today as a giant bar. A narrow channel, clearly delineated with markers and buoys, provides access to the fjord. As the Sea Lion traversed the channel, the depth of the water under the ship as indicated by the sonar dial on the bridge, changed from 450 feet in Stephens Passage to only 45 feet in the channel over the bar, then back to some 500 feet in Tracy Arm.
Many of us returned to the fore deck right after breakfast, and feasted our eyes on the amazing landscape. The sheer 2000-foot walls facing the meandering channel, shorn to a smooth, shining patina, were vegetated by thin strips of stunted shrubbery and grasses only. From the melting snow on top of the surrounding mountains thin streams of meltwater cascaded down the cliffs, ending their brief existences by splashing into the cold deep water of the fjord. Above the towering near vertical slopes, every now and then, higher mountainous features came into view: hanging glaciers, alpine horns, snow-covered scree slopes, or scraggy ridges. Sightings of harbor seals resting on icebergs, a pod of transient killer whales, and small flocks of oystercatchers, harlequin ducks, and other birds added punctuations of life to the sublime, but serene landscape. As we approached the split in the channel leading to the North and south Sawyer Glaciers, more and more icebergs, bergy bits and growlers started to obstruct our progress. Then, as we rounded one last rocky point of land, suddenly both glaciers were in view. As the Sea Lion inched its way up the ice-strewn arm leading to the South Sawyer, the overpowering magnificence of this river of ice created simultaneously feelings of intimidation and exhilaration.
Until the 18th-Century, landscapes such as the ones Tracy Arm provided us today were considered sterile, ugly and offensive. But with romanticism, spawned in part by the age of discovery, Europeans started to see beauty in powerful and dangerous landscapes. In his 1757 essay 'On the Sublime and the Beautiful', Edmond Burke redefined the meaning of 'sublime' by claiming that the emotions conjured up by a sublime landscape are based on a sense of terror at the potentially dangerous and uncontrollable power of such landforms. This philosophy became the inspirational basis for the boom in 19th and 20th-Century eco-tourism. For us, travelers on a comfortable, modern ship, run by a competent captain and crew, it is difficult to sense the feeling of terror when viewing the magnificent Alaskan landscape. But on the cold water of Tracy Arm, surrounded by overbearing rock faces, it was not that hard to imagine being on a small wooden craft, with a tent and some camping gear, and no contact with the outside world. The sublime environment under such conditions would surely have a component of terror in it.
We spent the afternoon at Williams Cove, which is a lovely, sheltered inlet off Tracy Arm, near Holkham Bay. Our activities included kayaking, Zodiac cruises and a series of hikes. The reputation of Williams Cove was not tarred by today's experiences. Some of the kayakers spotted a river otter, and watched this wonderful animal as it caught and consumed in quick succession a sea star, an urchin, and a fish. The hikers discovered new and wonderful plants, which for the first time this year were found in bloom. One group of hikers ended up bush-whacking from the beach, up a steep slope, and into an area of impossibly dense bush which was best expressed by John Muir in the late 1800s, when he traveled through this same valley. 'This growth, when approached, especially on the lower slopes near the level of the sea at the jaws of the great side canons, is found to be the most impenetrable and tedious and toilsome combination of fighting bushes that the weary explorer ever fell into incomparably more punishing than the buckthorn and manzanita tangles of the Sierra'.
