Tracy Arm and Williams Cove, Southeast Alaska
The essence of wilderness is unpredictability—which means that in Alaska a day that starts out one way may turn out very differently. Today, however, began on a high note and just continued with one showstopper after another.
Expedition Leader Art’s 0630 wakeup call summoned us out on deck. During the night the ship had traveled 25 miles up the narrow fjord known as Tracy Arm, and now cruised slowly closer to the Sawyer Glacier, a massive blue tongue of ice slotted into barren reddish rock. Under the light overcast sky the blue seemed to glow, as if the glacier was lit from within. But we scarcely had time to take it in before our first wildlife sighting of the day, a pair of mountain goats. Goats are normally seen as tiny white specks against the rocky heights of a fjord (if the specks move and have legs, they are goats; otherwise, they are just specks.) But these were at the very base of the wall, at water level. They were nibbling at a crevice in the rock, where they’d evidently found a natural mineral lick. It’s an unheard-of experience to look down on mountain goats.
During breakfast the ship repositioned around the corner into the channel of the South Sawyer Glacier. Immediately we were surrounded by ice floes, composed of bergs of every size and an unimaginable variety of shapes. And in the midsection of the fjord, every berg seemed to have a harbor seal on it. Or in many cases, two seals—mothers with pups who had been born on those very icebergs a month or so before.
The bergs themselves are born at the face of the glacier, when great masses of ice calve off into the sea. The amount of ice in the water made it clear that the South Sawyer is much more active than its twin, and even from two miles away we could hear the cannon-shot sounds of huge chunks smashing into the water. Everyone hopes to see a big calving while visiting a glacier—today we got almost more than we had bargained for.
All four Zodiacs were out on their second round, in front of the wide face but keeping a respectful distance, when a massive sheet of blue ice suddenly let go. The monstrous ripple waves that rolled out from the impact were an awesome and unsettling sight. Even more so were the waves from the next calving, moments later, which was bigger, and the one after that, which was bigger still. Observers on board the ship later said that the Zodiacs disappeared in the troughs of the waves, showing that they were higher than our heads. Zodiacs, however, are remarkably seaworthy craft, and with a little guidance from our drivers, they rode out the miniature tsunamis. Fast-moving rings of shattered ice, radiating out in concentric circles, followed behind the swells.
Even after we were back on board, as the ship sailed back down Tracy Arm, more calving could be seen and heard in the distance. Most guests stayed on deck as we twisted and turned our way down the winding channel. And it was well that they did, for they were on hand to see the appearance of the orcas.
There were three of them—a big male with a tall, elegant dorsal fin, an adult female, and a young calf. This was in all probability a family group, of the type known as a transient pod, a small, fast-moving team of marine mammal hunters. Undoubtedly they had come up Tracy Arm in search of an unwary seal amongst the ice, and were now headed down-bay to their next hunting ground. We paralleled their course for half an hour…until we were distracted by the bears.
It was a mother and cub, black bears, scrambling up a hillside that most of us would have deemed impossible to climb, even for a bear. But they did it easily, and dove into deeper cover—startled by us or by the orcas, which were just passing underneath. At this point, Art finally declared lunch, about an hour overdue by that time.
In early afternoon we anchored in Williams Cove, a sheltered thumb of water off Tracy Arm. Soon we were ashore, with Zodiacs, kayaks, naturalists, and guests. It was our first chance as a group to walk in the pristine forest of Alaska, and to kayak in the calm waters of the Inside Passage. Many of the hikers were surprised to learn that they were standing in a temperate rain forest, one of the most biomassive and productive ecosystems in the world. Some of the kayakers were in for a surprise as well, when a lone humpback whale made a pass through the cove, feeding as it went. Although no one was close to its path, it’s still a thrilling experience to share the water with so great a creature.
In his briefing after dinner, Art, a leader of vast experience, declared this to be the best day he has had in Alaska. Wilderness is unpredictable—which makes the gifts it can give you all the more magical.
The essence of wilderness is unpredictability—which means that in Alaska a day that starts out one way may turn out very differently. Today, however, began on a high note and just continued with one showstopper after another.
Expedition Leader Art’s 0630 wakeup call summoned us out on deck. During the night the ship had traveled 25 miles up the narrow fjord known as Tracy Arm, and now cruised slowly closer to the Sawyer Glacier, a massive blue tongue of ice slotted into barren reddish rock. Under the light overcast sky the blue seemed to glow, as if the glacier was lit from within. But we scarcely had time to take it in before our first wildlife sighting of the day, a pair of mountain goats. Goats are normally seen as tiny white specks against the rocky heights of a fjord (if the specks move and have legs, they are goats; otherwise, they are just specks.) But these were at the very base of the wall, at water level. They were nibbling at a crevice in the rock, where they’d evidently found a natural mineral lick. It’s an unheard-of experience to look down on mountain goats.
During breakfast the ship repositioned around the corner into the channel of the South Sawyer Glacier. Immediately we were surrounded by ice floes, composed of bergs of every size and an unimaginable variety of shapes. And in the midsection of the fjord, every berg seemed to have a harbor seal on it. Or in many cases, two seals—mothers with pups who had been born on those very icebergs a month or so before.
The bergs themselves are born at the face of the glacier, when great masses of ice calve off into the sea. The amount of ice in the water made it clear that the South Sawyer is much more active than its twin, and even from two miles away we could hear the cannon-shot sounds of huge chunks smashing into the water. Everyone hopes to see a big calving while visiting a glacier—today we got almost more than we had bargained for.
All four Zodiacs were out on their second round, in front of the wide face but keeping a respectful distance, when a massive sheet of blue ice suddenly let go. The monstrous ripple waves that rolled out from the impact were an awesome and unsettling sight. Even more so were the waves from the next calving, moments later, which was bigger, and the one after that, which was bigger still. Observers on board the ship later said that the Zodiacs disappeared in the troughs of the waves, showing that they were higher than our heads. Zodiacs, however, are remarkably seaworthy craft, and with a little guidance from our drivers, they rode out the miniature tsunamis. Fast-moving rings of shattered ice, radiating out in concentric circles, followed behind the swells.
Even after we were back on board, as the ship sailed back down Tracy Arm, more calving could be seen and heard in the distance. Most guests stayed on deck as we twisted and turned our way down the winding channel. And it was well that they did, for they were on hand to see the appearance of the orcas.
There were three of them—a big male with a tall, elegant dorsal fin, an adult female, and a young calf. This was in all probability a family group, of the type known as a transient pod, a small, fast-moving team of marine mammal hunters. Undoubtedly they had come up Tracy Arm in search of an unwary seal amongst the ice, and were now headed down-bay to their next hunting ground. We paralleled their course for half an hour…until we were distracted by the bears.
It was a mother and cub, black bears, scrambling up a hillside that most of us would have deemed impossible to climb, even for a bear. But they did it easily, and dove into deeper cover—startled by us or by the orcas, which were just passing underneath. At this point, Art finally declared lunch, about an hour overdue by that time.
In early afternoon we anchored in Williams Cove, a sheltered thumb of water off Tracy Arm. Soon we were ashore, with Zodiacs, kayaks, naturalists, and guests. It was our first chance as a group to walk in the pristine forest of Alaska, and to kayak in the calm waters of the Inside Passage. Many of the hikers were surprised to learn that they were standing in a temperate rain forest, one of the most biomassive and productive ecosystems in the world. Some of the kayakers were in for a surprise as well, when a lone humpback whale made a pass through the cove, feeding as it went. Although no one was close to its path, it’s still a thrilling experience to share the water with so great a creature.
In his briefing after dinner, Art, a leader of vast experience, declared this to be the best day he has had in Alaska. Wilderness is unpredictable—which makes the gifts it can give you all the more magical.
