Icy Strait
After many days together, we had our first introduction to the real Northwest Coast – we awoke to heavy rain! The Sea Bird was traveling through Dundas Bay. This isolated body of water is known for unusual wildlife sightings. Sure enough, early risers spotted a moose. These animals, seemingly an Alaskan icon, are actually very difficult to find on the Northwest Coast. Later, we also spotted a bear, but the creature wandered off into the brush before we could get a firm notion of what species it was.
Motoring on, we soon dropped anchor among the Inian Islands, an archipelago that forms a constriction in Icy Strait. The tidal volume of much of northern Southeast Alaska flows through these islands. Currents can be ferocious, but they stir the ocean into a rich broth that supports all sorts of life. Summer weather is usually placid, but it’s clear that the area receives punishing waves from winter storms. Cliffs and rocky promontories abound, and a deeply surging waterline reminds us of the proximity of the open ocean.
Braving the rain, many of us ventured out by boat to explore the Inians. Kayakers paddled around a protected cove, looking for sea otters. Strange to think that the first kayaks here came for the same reason. Hoards of Aleuts, paddling native craft, hunted otters to local extinction at the bidding of their Russian masters. Today our intentions were more benign; a good look at these busy creatures was all the “soft gold” we needed. Zodiac cruisers also saw otters. Baby otters ride on their mother’s tummies, safe and dry. Naturally, they stay on that fuzzy bed as long as ever they can, up to a year, and eventually grow to a point where it seems they must swamp the living arks upon which they ride. We heard the loud hoarse squeals of the babies, which might have been more heart-rending had they not seemed so clearly calculated to arouse maximal sympathy from mamma or anybody else in the neighborhood. We also saw Steller sea lions. These imposing creatures surface with a snort, and swim with a certain savagery quite unlike the gentler-seeming harbor seal. They often approached the Zodiacs, regarding us with suspicion and curiosity. With bulging eyes and whiskery faces, they looked like some bastard cross between a great dane, a sculpin, and General Kitchener. A couple of the sea lions were hauled out on nearby rocks, resembling enormous, soaking-wet Cuban cigars. When not dead asleep, they let out regular bellows. California sea lions give the well-known “circus seal” bark, but these, their larger northern cousins, converse in deep guttural roars that give the group the name “lion”. A few lucky boaters saw an aquatic tussle just behind their Zodiac. Three sea lions roiled in watery roughhousing. Then the largest of the three clambered up onto the rocks. He approached one of the animals already there and they struck violently at each other with open jaws. Suddenly one lumbered off and plunged into the sea. The beachmaster was deposed, and a new king-of-the-hill was proclaimed. On the way home, we encountered a group of oystercatchers atop a seaside rock. Bold in their black and vermillion coloration, the birds are even more striking to the ear. Their loud, staccato piping carries far even over the slurp and hiss of the waves.
After lunch we neared Point Adolphus. Currents swirling past this headland also stir productive waters, but life was even more profuse here than in the islands. Otters paddled about. Porpoises broke the surface in scattered pairs. Eagles swirled over schools of fish in clusters of three here, five there, and eight in the distance. Scores of white heads looked on from the backdrop of dark spruce trees. But we came to see whales. Spouts rose all around us, but most interesting was a cow and calf pair. While the adult seemed comparatively intent on business, the calf was full of spunk. He lolled at the surface, waved his pectoral flippers, lashed his tail, and spyhopped. Perhaps it was this boisterousness that attracted the sea lion. The sleek creature glided in and swam all around the whale calf. Perhaps the sea lion was using the calf as a great hulking toy, or perhaps both were in on the game, it was hard to tell. Later the calf, alone again, splashed about and spyhopped just off our bow, seemingly as interested in us as we were in him. Then moving off with his mother, both passed just under our bow, and we were bathed in the rich, asparagus-pee smell of whale breath!
At last, replete with experience, we made ready for our last dinner aboard as the Sea Bird motored toward Juneau.
After many days together, we had our first introduction to the real Northwest Coast – we awoke to heavy rain! The Sea Bird was traveling through Dundas Bay. This isolated body of water is known for unusual wildlife sightings. Sure enough, early risers spotted a moose. These animals, seemingly an Alaskan icon, are actually very difficult to find on the Northwest Coast. Later, we also spotted a bear, but the creature wandered off into the brush before we could get a firm notion of what species it was.
Motoring on, we soon dropped anchor among the Inian Islands, an archipelago that forms a constriction in Icy Strait. The tidal volume of much of northern Southeast Alaska flows through these islands. Currents can be ferocious, but they stir the ocean into a rich broth that supports all sorts of life. Summer weather is usually placid, but it’s clear that the area receives punishing waves from winter storms. Cliffs and rocky promontories abound, and a deeply surging waterline reminds us of the proximity of the open ocean.
Braving the rain, many of us ventured out by boat to explore the Inians. Kayakers paddled around a protected cove, looking for sea otters. Strange to think that the first kayaks here came for the same reason. Hoards of Aleuts, paddling native craft, hunted otters to local extinction at the bidding of their Russian masters. Today our intentions were more benign; a good look at these busy creatures was all the “soft gold” we needed. Zodiac cruisers also saw otters. Baby otters ride on their mother’s tummies, safe and dry. Naturally, they stay on that fuzzy bed as long as ever they can, up to a year, and eventually grow to a point where it seems they must swamp the living arks upon which they ride. We heard the loud hoarse squeals of the babies, which might have been more heart-rending had they not seemed so clearly calculated to arouse maximal sympathy from mamma or anybody else in the neighborhood. We also saw Steller sea lions. These imposing creatures surface with a snort, and swim with a certain savagery quite unlike the gentler-seeming harbor seal. They often approached the Zodiacs, regarding us with suspicion and curiosity. With bulging eyes and whiskery faces, they looked like some bastard cross between a great dane, a sculpin, and General Kitchener. A couple of the sea lions were hauled out on nearby rocks, resembling enormous, soaking-wet Cuban cigars. When not dead asleep, they let out regular bellows. California sea lions give the well-known “circus seal” bark, but these, their larger northern cousins, converse in deep guttural roars that give the group the name “lion”. A few lucky boaters saw an aquatic tussle just behind their Zodiac. Three sea lions roiled in watery roughhousing. Then the largest of the three clambered up onto the rocks. He approached one of the animals already there and they struck violently at each other with open jaws. Suddenly one lumbered off and plunged into the sea. The beachmaster was deposed, and a new king-of-the-hill was proclaimed. On the way home, we encountered a group of oystercatchers atop a seaside rock. Bold in their black and vermillion coloration, the birds are even more striking to the ear. Their loud, staccato piping carries far even over the slurp and hiss of the waves.
After lunch we neared Point Adolphus. Currents swirling past this headland also stir productive waters, but life was even more profuse here than in the islands. Otters paddled about. Porpoises broke the surface in scattered pairs. Eagles swirled over schools of fish in clusters of three here, five there, and eight in the distance. Scores of white heads looked on from the backdrop of dark spruce trees. But we came to see whales. Spouts rose all around us, but most interesting was a cow and calf pair. While the adult seemed comparatively intent on business, the calf was full of spunk. He lolled at the surface, waved his pectoral flippers, lashed his tail, and spyhopped. Perhaps it was this boisterousness that attracted the sea lion. The sleek creature glided in and swam all around the whale calf. Perhaps the sea lion was using the calf as a great hulking toy, or perhaps both were in on the game, it was hard to tell. Later the calf, alone again, splashed about and spyhopped just off our bow, seemingly as interested in us as we were in him. Then moving off with his mother, both passed just under our bow, and we were bathed in the rich, asparagus-pee smell of whale breath!
At last, replete with experience, we made ready for our last dinner aboard as the Sea Bird motored toward Juneau.
