Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska
June is spring in Glacier Bay, the time of new life. For many of the bachelor bull sea lions on South Marble Island participating in the creation of new life must wait for next year; we saw only those who were not able to hold a breeding territory this year. The birds – tufted puffins, pigeon guillemots, common murres, marbled murrelets, glaucous-winged gulls, blacklegged kittiwakes (pictured here against the Margerie Glacier), artic terns, northwestern crows, bald eagles and black oystercatchers – were all engaged in the reproduction game. But survival and reproductive success for one species may preclude it for another. Two of the crows we saw on South Marble Island were feeding on kittiwake eggs. This predation on kittiwake nests seems to be one of the factors that limit the size of the kittiwake colonies in the area.
Of the six coastal brown bears we saw, five were either participating in the mating game, or at least wanted to be. The one who wasn’t was too deeply involved in resting to even notice the courting pair only a couple of hundred yards from him. It was impossible to see him sleeping, draped over a rock with legs hanging down, and not imagine that we could hear his snoring. The two bears he was ignoring were in the early stage of courtship, the male following the female but not yet being allowed too close. Earlier in the day we had seen a pair consummating their courtship. After probably a week of courtship this act of consummation lasts thirty minutes or more and may be repeated several times over a period of two or three days. The fact that we saw this on an open beach is not surprising. Mating usually occurs in open areas and probably increases the likelihood of survival since it allows the bears to be aware of what’s going on around them. This incident well illustrates the importance of that point since there was a second male in the area. To be unaware of a rival is never good; to be unaware when in what could only be described as a compromising position is even worse. On the beach there was no chance of the other male approaching undetected. For us it meant being able to witness what is likely to be a once in a lifetime sight.
We didn’t see the Johns Hopkins Glacier because the area in front of it is a major harbor seal birthing area. Since now is the time for the pups’ arrival the area is closed this time of the year. It is a birthing area since the glaciers themselves are seemingly engaged in the reproductive game as well, for the sea in front of the ice wall is filled with recently calved icebergs. Seals use the many smaller icebergs as safe places to drop their pups.
Though the Johns Hopkins area was closed, we were able to watch the Margerie Glacier calving. We saw massive ice chunks break free from the glacier front and drop silently into the sea. Only then, as the kittiwakes approached the roiling water the fall had caused, roiling that drew food from the depths to the surface where the birds could reach it, did the “white thunder” of cracking, crashing ice reach our ears.
It was the mountain goats that spoke of hope though. We saw a nanny, still attended by last year’s daughter, nursing a newborn kid. May we be allowed to see and feel this sacred place, protected from one generation to the next.
June is spring in Glacier Bay, the time of new life. For many of the bachelor bull sea lions on South Marble Island participating in the creation of new life must wait for next year; we saw only those who were not able to hold a breeding territory this year. The birds – tufted puffins, pigeon guillemots, common murres, marbled murrelets, glaucous-winged gulls, blacklegged kittiwakes (pictured here against the Margerie Glacier), artic terns, northwestern crows, bald eagles and black oystercatchers – were all engaged in the reproduction game. But survival and reproductive success for one species may preclude it for another. Two of the crows we saw on South Marble Island were feeding on kittiwake eggs. This predation on kittiwake nests seems to be one of the factors that limit the size of the kittiwake colonies in the area.
Of the six coastal brown bears we saw, five were either participating in the mating game, or at least wanted to be. The one who wasn’t was too deeply involved in resting to even notice the courting pair only a couple of hundred yards from him. It was impossible to see him sleeping, draped over a rock with legs hanging down, and not imagine that we could hear his snoring. The two bears he was ignoring were in the early stage of courtship, the male following the female but not yet being allowed too close. Earlier in the day we had seen a pair consummating their courtship. After probably a week of courtship this act of consummation lasts thirty minutes or more and may be repeated several times over a period of two or three days. The fact that we saw this on an open beach is not surprising. Mating usually occurs in open areas and probably increases the likelihood of survival since it allows the bears to be aware of what’s going on around them. This incident well illustrates the importance of that point since there was a second male in the area. To be unaware of a rival is never good; to be unaware when in what could only be described as a compromising position is even worse. On the beach there was no chance of the other male approaching undetected. For us it meant being able to witness what is likely to be a once in a lifetime sight.
We didn’t see the Johns Hopkins Glacier because the area in front of it is a major harbor seal birthing area. Since now is the time for the pups’ arrival the area is closed this time of the year. It is a birthing area since the glaciers themselves are seemingly engaged in the reproductive game as well, for the sea in front of the ice wall is filled with recently calved icebergs. Seals use the many smaller icebergs as safe places to drop their pups.
Though the Johns Hopkins area was closed, we were able to watch the Margerie Glacier calving. We saw massive ice chunks break free from the glacier front and drop silently into the sea. Only then, as the kittiwakes approached the roiling water the fall had caused, roiling that drew food from the depths to the surface where the birds could reach it, did the “white thunder” of cracking, crashing ice reach our ears.
It was the mountain goats that spoke of hope though. We saw a nanny, still attended by last year’s daughter, nursing a newborn kid. May we be allowed to see and feel this sacred place, protected from one generation to the next.
