Kelp Bay
We’ve decided that someone on board must have excellent karma. The overcast skies of typical Southeast Alaska started to break apart in the morning, and it went up from there. Rips and tears in the clouds showed through to blue in patches, and wisps of clouds gathered tightly around mountaintops, clinging tightly. Granite, snow and dark green trees peeked through. Then the mountainsides uncovered their faces to the occasional beams of sunlight that percolated through.
Our morning was spent inside a huge bay on the Eastern side of Baranof Island, known as Kelp Bay. Once away from Chatham Strait, the breeze was blocked and a soothing quiet and unruffled calm surrounded the Sea Lion as we dropped anchor next to Pond Island. A mother and calf humpback whale pair cruised in tandem out of sight around the corner. From our perspective (the deck of the Sea Lion), it seemed as if they should run aground, so close to the shore were they.
Behind the beach bear trails led into the dark depths of the forest, and footfalls were hushed by the deep moss underfoot. Over roots and fallen trunks, under branches and between young alder saplings, the hikers moved inland. The name, Pond Island, was given in honor of the interior, which is taken up principally by an enormous pond, itself created by the damming of a stream “generations-of-beavers-ago.” It was our objective to reach the dam itself, and we succeeded without the loss of a single boot to the muddy sections of the trail. Practically the entire island has been affected by the damming, and water permeates all except the very highest ground. A sphagnum moss ecosystem covers large expanses, and underfoot this feels like walking on a well-padded waterbed. Few plant species can tolerate living in such waterlogged conditions, and Sitka spruce and hemlocks were found only on the steep hillocks with good drainage.
Kayakers reveled in the mirror calm surface of the bay. The haunting faces of harbor seals silently appeared above the surface, only to disappear just as soon. I kept asking, but no-one brought home a fresh salmon…strange, since they were leaping out of the water with such abandon and disregard, I was sure one would land inside a kayak. Catching one might even have given us another opportunity for a science-class dissection session. Susan Sherman, our Family Coordinator on board kept our younger guests spellbound after lunch with the exploration of the internal workings of a drowned seabird we had found near shore in the morning (which took place on the aft 100 level, outside of course).
Late afternoon found us entering Red Bluff Bay. At first inspection it looks like there couldn’t possibly be a channel large enough for a vessel of our size, but then we slide by the first little spruce-covered island, then the next…and finally we come around the corner to a marvelous waterfall. With consummate skill, Captain Deslisle positioned the bow of the Sea Lion just in front of the heavily falling water. The pounding and mist were like magnets, and we all were drawn forward. A small bird known as a dipper appeared from behind the falls, maybe a member of the same family that has lived here for years. A plankton tow was performed at one slow spot of our cruise in the bay, and the sample we later saw in the lounge under the stereoscope. The ocean water teemed with microscopic life.
Just as we were preparing to leave the head of the bay, a golden backed brown bear ambled out of the woods near a stream. Binoculars fastened closely to its every move, we discover “it” was a “she,” and she was not alone. A small dark miniature bear comes out from behind her, and another equally small shadow emerges from the tree line. We spent a long time in hushed quiet on the bow, watching her every move.
After dinner we entered another bay new to many of us, “Gut Bay.” Even more dramatic than the first, granite cliffs shot up from deep green forest and still waters as the sun set on a fabulous day.
