Hanus Bay and Iyoukeen Inlet
This morning we woke up in Hanus Bay, a favorite of the naturalists. An inner lagoon that floods with the high tide begs for exploration. Kayaks are nimble crafts that can truly transport you without taking you anywhere. Once the gentle scraping on the bottom stops, you slip into solitude. After a few minutes, the sounds of the beach are replaced by the paddle’s splashy entrance into the water and the gurgling of the blade. There is such satisfaction in the quiet between each stroke, that soon you modify your paddling to make no sound at all. Your hearing becomes heightened. Buzzy whistles from varied thrushes answer one another. A tiny winter wren’s song etches through the air, its musical tones winding up and down, twisting here and there, finally ending after over 100 individual notes. Two ravens talk back and forth. One makes a soft guttural “kerkaw” sound that lasts for several seconds after the raven stops. How can a sound bounce and ring through the foliage of trees? The songs of hermit thrushes are the best, especially if you try to hear the very last sound they make. A single note is followed by an incredibly complex, overlapping conversation of tones. It finally trails off and transports your senses into the forest where it leaves you in delicious silence.
The forest also beckoned and hikers embarked on a variety of walks that paralleled the stream feeding the saltwater lagoon. Skunk cabbages and unfurling ferns emerged from the black soil where banana slugs moved ever so slowly along their slime trails. Bear tracks reminded us of how wild this wilderness really is.
Just after lunch, we were quietly called to the bow for a brown bear sow and three cubs feeding out on a small islet. As we watched, the mother guided her cubs through a small water passage and up onto Chichagof Island. Brown bears often peruse the shores for emerging shoots of sedges and grasses. They disappeared into the forest just in time for the ship to turn to watch another brown bear about 400 yards down the beach. We watched this young and somewhat slender bear with rapt attention and careful silence as it moved toward us. After a long interval of watching the animal eat grass and stroll gingerly on pads made delicate by months of sleepy disuse, we slowly pulled away. We had a presentation and then gathered for a wine tasting party in the lounge. As this is being written, many guests are watching three humpback whales off the bow as we await our meal of dungeness crab and baby back ribs. Can a day get any better? Well, actually yes. During dinner, eagles, gulls and humpback whales descended on a large school of herring boiling near the surface next to the Sea Lion. Dozens of eagles flew low over the water, dipping their talons into the surface attempting to catch an evening meal.
This morning we woke up in Hanus Bay, a favorite of the naturalists. An inner lagoon that floods with the high tide begs for exploration. Kayaks are nimble crafts that can truly transport you without taking you anywhere. Once the gentle scraping on the bottom stops, you slip into solitude. After a few minutes, the sounds of the beach are replaced by the paddle’s splashy entrance into the water and the gurgling of the blade. There is such satisfaction in the quiet between each stroke, that soon you modify your paddling to make no sound at all. Your hearing becomes heightened. Buzzy whistles from varied thrushes answer one another. A tiny winter wren’s song etches through the air, its musical tones winding up and down, twisting here and there, finally ending after over 100 individual notes. Two ravens talk back and forth. One makes a soft guttural “kerkaw” sound that lasts for several seconds after the raven stops. How can a sound bounce and ring through the foliage of trees? The songs of hermit thrushes are the best, especially if you try to hear the very last sound they make. A single note is followed by an incredibly complex, overlapping conversation of tones. It finally trails off and transports your senses into the forest where it leaves you in delicious silence.
The forest also beckoned and hikers embarked on a variety of walks that paralleled the stream feeding the saltwater lagoon. Skunk cabbages and unfurling ferns emerged from the black soil where banana slugs moved ever so slowly along their slime trails. Bear tracks reminded us of how wild this wilderness really is.
Just after lunch, we were quietly called to the bow for a brown bear sow and three cubs feeding out on a small islet. As we watched, the mother guided her cubs through a small water passage and up onto Chichagof Island. Brown bears often peruse the shores for emerging shoots of sedges and grasses. They disappeared into the forest just in time for the ship to turn to watch another brown bear about 400 yards down the beach. We watched this young and somewhat slender bear with rapt attention and careful silence as it moved toward us. After a long interval of watching the animal eat grass and stroll gingerly on pads made delicate by months of sleepy disuse, we slowly pulled away. We had a presentation and then gathered for a wine tasting party in the lounge. As this is being written, many guests are watching three humpback whales off the bow as we await our meal of dungeness crab and baby back ribs. Can a day get any better? Well, actually yes. During dinner, eagles, gulls and humpback whales descended on a large school of herring boiling near the surface next to the Sea Lion. Dozens of eagles flew low over the water, dipping their talons into the surface attempting to catch an evening meal.
