Eliza Harbor, Yasha Island, Lake Eva
Farewell from the Sea Lion
When I felt the first pattering of feet upon my deck this morning, I knew it would be an extraordinary day. Not only would I, the vessel known as the Sea Lion, have a chance to try my hand at writing, but all the humans onboard would find themselves immersed in a day full of Alaskan wonder and surprises.
I am a Lindblad Expeditions boat: a 152-foot motor vessel made of aluminum and steel, weighing somewhere around 600 tons. My name? The Sea Lion. My job? To carry 99 people (69 guests, 6 naturalists, and 24 officers and crew) through the inter-coastal salt waters of the northeastern Pacific Ocean. My current position on the charts is in southeast Alaska, on the last of a seven-day trip called Exploring Alaska’s Coastal Wilderness.
Under the careful navigation of my officers, I made three stops today: the first into Eliza Harbor on the southern end of Admiralty Island for a pre- breakfast exploratory cruise, the second at Yasha Island, near the juncture of Frederick Sound and Chatham Strait, and the third at Lake Eva, off of Peril Strait. Natural history staff members and guests observed Steller sea lions, harbor seals, and many species of sea birds (pigeon guillemots, common murres, tufted puffins, Cassin’s auklets, and three species of murrelets—Kittlitz’s, marbled, and ancient) surrounding Yasha Island this afternoon, but another animal in the vicinity demanded their attention. As Zodiacs full of wide-eyed explorers motored away from my stern, humpback whales began to surface. They fluked. They breached. They tail slapped. The bartender reported whale-induced splashes on the windows of the forward lounge. In the midst of these cetacean behaviors, the four Zodiacs (trusty inflatable craft that travel everywhere with me) carrying our guests, naturalists, and crew members, allowed the whales to come close enough to feel the mist from their exhalations.
Following a few hours with the whales at Yasha Island, Captain Delisle pointed my bow toward Lake Eva. When we arrived, the deckhands dropped my anchor before guests and Natural History staff headed toward shore for a hike. They planned to traverse a trail shadowed by moss-covered hemlocks and bordered by huckleberries, salmonberries, and wild orchids. They expected to hike a short distance to a river where two species of salmon spawn. What they found along the trail outdid their plans and exceeded their expectations. (As you might well guess, I cannot participate on hikes, but I received the following eye-witness report): “When we arrived at the river, a young male brown bear was in the water, looking for his dinner. As we, a large cluster of captivated observers, watched the brown bear, he maneuvered around in the quickly moving water, scanning for salmon. After a leap and a splash, he dipped his snout into the river and came up with a salmon clenched in his strong jaw. He pulled it onto a rock, glanced in our direction, ate the parts he wanted, and sauntered back into the forest on the opposite stream bank, while a pair of bald eagles flew by. After this week’s sightings, it was just the icing on the cake.”
To further celebrate the last night of a 750-mile week-long nautical and educational journey, everyone joined in the dining room for the Captain’s Farewell Dinner. Conversations ranged from “Just what did that whale breath smell like?” to “What will you remember most about your expedition?” Following the meal (prepared by my fabulous galley staff and served by my fantastic stewards), young guests received Zodiac licenses from the boatswain, asserting that they learned to successfully pilot a zodiac with no damage to life, limb, or the zodiac (much to the delight of the boatswain). As I entered the narrows on my final miles to Sitka, everyone lingered a little longer than usual in the dining room to share thoughts, thanks, and laughter.
We could call today a Grand Finale. We could call it an almost perfect cross-section of Alaska. Or we could remember the expressions on our faces and simply call it a day—or a week—full of wonder for our natural world.
