Kelp Bay And Hanus Bay, Baranof Island, Southeast Alaska
Big whales, big trees and big muddy.
Today, our final day on board Sea Lion, started just like our other days - with big excitement. A scene of misty spouts rocketing upward against the misty-green shoreline of Baranof Island was enough to chase us all out of our warm beds and onto the decks. Humpback whales were up and active long before we were, probably feeding through the night on tiny creatures whose collective nutrients make the whales so massive. There were three whales to begin with, but seemingly out of nowhere came two more, suddenly bursting to the surface just off our port side with a startling "whooosh". All remained there for a moment or two, breathing four or five times as they restored the level of dissolved oxygen in their blood. Then, with their broad backs arched, they lifted their impressive tail flukes and sounded again. One could not help but wish that all people of the world could experience such a close encounter with these mysterious mammals. Certainly, with more people witnessing the behaviour of wild whales there would be a greater demand for their protection.
As the whales sounded, our digital cameras recorded the uniquely individual patterns of black and white on the underside of the flukes. Our challenge was then to search through the photographic catalogues of humpback whales that have been observed and studied in the waters of Southeast Alaska. Could we find a match? The alumni of Williams College were up to the challenge and quickly succeeded. One of the adults, with two small spots on predominantly white flukes, was identified as A/05 or Number 0183. A darker individual, with white blotches confined to the outer top of the flukes and to the peduncle area, was clearly F1/75 or Number 0538. Both are well known to Dr. Fred Sharp and his research team, who work here with the Alaska Whale Foundation. The other individuals in the group, including the young calf pictured here with its protective mother and born this past winter in the warm waters off Hawaii, are probably also under Dr. Sharp's scrutiny.
We had hiked in the temperate rain forest a number of times on this trip, but most of us still wanted more. A small island in Kelp Bay, on the east side of Baranof Island, was our morning destination. Colourful mushrooms were popping up everywhere in response to shorter days and cooler, late summer temperatures. Many were being consumed almost as fast as they grew by multi-coloured banana slugs, a few of which were not banana-yellow, but as white as snow. We strolled in search of unknown island mysteries, struggled through thickening mud to a beaver pond and tiny bogs, or bent down in the intertidal zone to learn about bizarre adaptations and life histories of shoreline invertebrates.
The kids with us hopped into a Zodiac and towed a plankton net for a few hundred metres, then prepared a sample of this marine "soup" for study under our video microscope. The TV monitors were alive! The sheer abundance of minute life within the cool waters of the Pacific Ocean is amazing. Copepods and dinoflagellates dominated, but barnacles, fish and snails, each in larval stages of life, were also identified. The basic building blocks of the complex ocean food pyramid were suddenly clear to us.
Long or short hikes through a rugged old-growth forest and along a clear salmon stream attracted only a few of us today…those who know that human skin is waterproof, even when raingear is not. Big Sitka spruces towered over us. They have been nurtured through the centuries by nitrogen and phosphates brought in from the ocean by salmon. Carried from the river into the forest by bears, otters, mink, eagles, gulls and many other vertebrates, these "anadromous" fish (some return each year to spawn and die) may contribute as much as half of the basic nutrients that produce these trees.
Those who chose to kayak here experienced a real highlight of our journey. The water was calm and the tide high. They wound their way into an enclosed estuary and right up to a low falls on the salmon stream. The fish were here. A few eagles peered down from the trees. Bears must have been watching from just inside the thick forest. Harbor seals chased the assembled salmon and surfaced amazingly close to the colourful kayaks. The rain dampened only a few spirits.
After dinner, the latent ability of Williams grads and others to entertain rose to the surface, sort of like the whales of the morning. Glee club voices, school songs, poetry, prose, laughter and even professional talent filled the lounge. This was a great way to end a very special expedition into the wilderness of Alaska.
