Tenakee Inlet & Hanus Bay
Last night late, late, coming out of the Wrangell Narrows, having left the town of Petersburg behind to the south, the National Geographic Sea Bird sailed northwest up Stephens Passage into an incredibly rose-colored evening sky. From a tip passed our way on the radio, we knew there had been a sighting of some killer whales up ahead, and sure enough, as the dark closed in upon us, our day finished with the breathing and cleaving dorsal fins of killer whales in blood-red-colored seas.
This morning, on a tip from our sister ship the National Geographic Sea Lion, we entered Tenakee Inlet, back the way we had come a couple days earlier, searching for different whale action. Shortly after breakfast the news came from the bow – whales ahead! This time they were the holy grail of whale watchers in the region: cooperative bubble-net feeding humpback whales, unique to Southeast Alaska and nowhere else in the world! A tremendous tingle went up my spine as I realized we had found them in full feeding mode. For the next hour we followed them slowly towards the inlet, sometimes surfacing without blowing a net, but on at least five occasions we watched in suspense as they disappeared, fluke after fluke (counting up to eleven in this one group); three to four minutes later they burst the barrier of the ocean surface in a frenzy of herring flying, gulls diving, mouths gaping and water pouring, to then slowly subside once more and allow the waters to calm over their heads.
We breathed deeply and changed course for south Chatham Strait and the Peril Straits. According to marine mammal regulations, only a specified amount of time is allowed with groups of whales, so we left our friends and ended up in Hanus Bay on the trail to Lake Eva.
This is a salmon stream, that so late in the season has few bears visiting (though evidence of their passing and presence was everywhere), but bald eagles were still flying overhead. Kayaks went out, hikers left for the trail, and Zodiacs cruised the shoreline.
Over recap we shared outstanding moments in our memories, and Peggy led a song of her personal composition, while Scott recited his spontaneous poem:
Alberto stopped us to chat,
The nearby “oso” was oh-so-fat.
It roared a concerto, and swallowed Alberto,
Later David examined its scat.
Last night late, late, coming out of the Wrangell Narrows, having left the town of Petersburg behind to the south, the National Geographic Sea Bird sailed northwest up Stephens Passage into an incredibly rose-colored evening sky. From a tip passed our way on the radio, we knew there had been a sighting of some killer whales up ahead, and sure enough, as the dark closed in upon us, our day finished with the breathing and cleaving dorsal fins of killer whales in blood-red-colored seas.
This morning, on a tip from our sister ship the National Geographic Sea Lion, we entered Tenakee Inlet, back the way we had come a couple days earlier, searching for different whale action. Shortly after breakfast the news came from the bow – whales ahead! This time they were the holy grail of whale watchers in the region: cooperative bubble-net feeding humpback whales, unique to Southeast Alaska and nowhere else in the world! A tremendous tingle went up my spine as I realized we had found them in full feeding mode. For the next hour we followed them slowly towards the inlet, sometimes surfacing without blowing a net, but on at least five occasions we watched in suspense as they disappeared, fluke after fluke (counting up to eleven in this one group); three to four minutes later they burst the barrier of the ocean surface in a frenzy of herring flying, gulls diving, mouths gaping and water pouring, to then slowly subside once more and allow the waters to calm over their heads.
We breathed deeply and changed course for south Chatham Strait and the Peril Straits. According to marine mammal regulations, only a specified amount of time is allowed with groups of whales, so we left our friends and ended up in Hanus Bay on the trail to Lake Eva.
This is a salmon stream, that so late in the season has few bears visiting (though evidence of their passing and presence was everywhere), but bald eagles were still flying overhead. Kayaks went out, hikers left for the trail, and Zodiacs cruised the shoreline.
Over recap we shared outstanding moments in our memories, and Peggy led a song of her personal composition, while Scott recited his spontaneous poem:
Alberto stopped us to chat,
The nearby “oso” was oh-so-fat.
It roared a concerto, and swallowed Alberto,
Later David examined its scat.
