Chatham Strait & Lake Eva
Although full of wildlife, activity, and sounds, what made today unique was the long period of silence during which we watched two brown bears wander and graze the shoreline near the entrance of Sitkoh Bay.
As soon as we turned from the bears, a group of humpback whales, including a mom and calf, surfaced. Then, while we enjoyed lunch under sunny skies on the bridge deck, another humpback rolled alongside the Sea Lion and slapped its pectoral flippers, perhaps digesting its own meal.
In Hanus Bay, we walked the Lake Eva trail and kayaked into the shallows where the river becomes sea, alert to bears. Sockeye salmon schooled in the salt water, soon to begin their journey upstream, and fishermen from Sitka cast their fly lines for trout and Dolly Varden in the hemlock-shaded pools.
It’s not often that a large group of people are held in thrall to something that is not designed for them, does not care about their presence, and is not engaging in anything particularly showy. But for a long time today, while we watched those bears, we were. Voices didn’t rise above a whisper, and people leaned over to help direct their neighbors’ binoculars when a bear returned from the alder shadows. We didn’t explain or editorialize, we just experienced what Alaska gave us. We listened to this place.
Although full of wildlife, activity, and sounds, what made today unique was the long period of silence during which we watched two brown bears wander and graze the shoreline near the entrance of Sitkoh Bay.
As soon as we turned from the bears, a group of humpback whales, including a mom and calf, surfaced. Then, while we enjoyed lunch under sunny skies on the bridge deck, another humpback rolled alongside the Sea Lion and slapped its pectoral flippers, perhaps digesting its own meal.
In Hanus Bay, we walked the Lake Eva trail and kayaked into the shallows where the river becomes sea, alert to bears. Sockeye salmon schooled in the salt water, soon to begin their journey upstream, and fishermen from Sitka cast their fly lines for trout and Dolly Varden in the hemlock-shaded pools.
It’s not often that a large group of people are held in thrall to something that is not designed for them, does not care about their presence, and is not engaging in anything particularly showy. But for a long time today, while we watched those bears, we were. Voices didn’t rise above a whisper, and people leaned over to help direct their neighbors’ binoculars when a bear returned from the alder shadows. We didn’t explain or editorialize, we just experienced what Alaska gave us. We listened to this place.
