Point Adolphus, Idaho Inlet and Marble Creek

“We have concluded that there are many infallible signs of rain in this region. If the sun shines, if the stars appear, if there are clouds or if there are none; these are all sure indications. If the barometer falls it will rain; if the barometer rises, it will rain; if the barometer remains steady, it will continue to rain.”
-Harry Fielding Reid, from his Glacier Bay field journal for 1892.

In the temperate rainforest of Southeast Alaska, one expects rain. We plan for it, dutifully pack our rain gear, and often, in the backs of our minds, hope it does not arrive during our visit. But a realization soon washes over us as our first full day of this journey progresses. Here is not the gloom of peering out rain-streaked windows. Rather, rain—and water—is a part of the entire cycle here, from the glaciers awaiting us to our east at Glacier Bay National Park, to the fast currents ripping past Point Adolphus, to the myriad of streams where bears, eagles and humans anxiously await the return of salmon.

Our morning begins with the sight of a dozen humpbacks near Point Adolphus. Their blows—warm exhalations formed by the force of their breath—hang in the morning mist. The currents in Icy Strait race by Point Adolphus, making this a productive feeding ground for these creatures. Humpback whales here are known to work cooperatively while feeding, but this tight-knit group staying together for over an hour is extraordinary. Harbor porpoise and harbor seals erupt around us, and Steller sea lions dart through the water. As we move into Idaho Inlet, we are greeted by a raft of over 50 sea otters. Phalaropes circle frantically near the shore, stirring up food to the surface.

In the afternoon, kayakers and hikers set off amongst the soft rain at Marble Creek. During a long hike, our naturalist enacts the motions of hundreds of bears before—stepping carefully in the well-worn bear tracks, and scratching at a favorite tree. One hiker finds bear hair left in the tree, another an eagle feather nestled in the grass. Deer tracks dot this estuary at low tide. We sit among the mosses and the lichens hanging lazily from each Sitka spruce and hemlock tree around us, breathing in the clean, moist air. Kayakers spot harbor seals investigating the scene, and eagles—immature and adults—swoop over our heads.

As the day comes to a close, we watch as two humpbacks lunge toward the water’s surface, feeding. It has been a glorious day after all.