Glacier Bay National Park
In Glacier Bay National Park, the only constant is change. This becomes apparent early on as the National Park Ranger who joined our journey, Laura Congdon, tells us our glorious sunny day is one to be appreciated. Our clear view of Fairweather Mountain at 15,320 feet above sea level (only visible in “fair weather”) is a rare occasion.
We begin at South Marble Island where we spot pigeon guillemots, common murres, and set our scope on a pair of oystercatchers on the shore with two chicks. Tufted puffins and several horned puffins make their way past our bow. At once both clumsy and graceful, we watch these birds—aptly designed for searching underwater for fish—paddle and flap their way into the air, and later quickly dive below the surface, “flying” underwater.
Male Steller sea lions warm themselves on the rocky island, including a branded one: F1205, possibly from a rookery further west at Forester Island. The largest of the eared seals, or sea lions, they mainly breed on the outer coast. These animals are threatened—in just 30 years, their population has declined 70-80% with almost three-quarters of the world’s Stellers living in Alaskan waters. Leaving South Marble Island, we see two humpback whales traveling together with Fairweather Mountain watching over in the distance.
At Sandy Cove, we spot three brown bears separately on the hillside, and up ahead, a surprise visit from some transient killer whales—one instantly recognizable. T2, a solitary male killer whale (orca) has a tall dorsal fin whose tip curves over dramatically to the left. We had hoped to spot him, as he had been sighted in the area in the last few days. As we approach, he surfaces slowly, his dorsal ominously protruding above the water line. He is accompanied by a small pod of three other transient orcas, and a nearby research vessel tells us they recently made a kill. These transients—as opposed to fish-eating resident orcas—tend to feed mainly on marine mammals such as harbor seals, requiring as much as one and a half harbor seals a day to survive. Transient orcas tend to range farther than residents in search of food, and are often much quieter under water, stealthily approaching their prey. A calf playfully leaps out of the water in the background. All four approach our stationary vessel, one adult female rolling about and lifting her tail out of the water, and just as quickly, they disappear.
At Gloomy Knob, a once glacier-covered outcropping bearing the scars of boulders carried by ice, our search for wildlife does not go unrewarded. Several mountain goats are perched on top of the hill, while pelagic cormorants line up neatly on the cliff side.
Working our way further into Glacier Bay, one of our naturalists spots a mother grizzly bear (brown bear) and her cub in the distance. With engines at idle and voices hushed, we watch in astonishment as the mother and cub venture into the water. The yearling cub taunts its mother into play by climbing up her back. She returns the taunts with some playful swats of her own. Next spring, this cub will be on its own as its mother looks to breed again.
Further north in Glacier Bay, we enter the mouth of Johns Hopkins Inlet, home of the tidewater glacier bearing the same name. Chunks of this glacier have broken off, providing haul-out space for the harbor seals around us. During the pupping season of May and June, vessels are not allowed in this protected nursery area, where seals are provided a reprieve from the relentless hunting by killer whales. However, a closer look at one mother and a newly weaned pup reveals a recent superficial injury to her neck—possibly the result of an orca encounter.
This mile-long glacier has been advancing for the past 85 years. Most recently, it’s been flowing down the valley at 3,000 feet per year, or about eight feet a day. A second glacier near the mouth of the inlet has been retreating—quickly enough that one naturalist on board remembers it almost reaching the water below. The force of water moving earth is evident in the changes occurring around us, and suddenly, moving at a “glacial pace” doesn’t seem so slow anymore.
