Our Last Day of Adventure in Alaska

Thursday morning began with a hike through bear country in Idaho Bay. We didn't meet any of the furry critters, but we did find remarkable evidence of their presence.


Brown bear often step in the exact same spots year after year, following in the steps of their elders. You can see those tracks in the first photo.



Later in the morning, we headed to Dundas Bay for our longest kayak of the trip. We certainly needed the workout after eating so well on the boat.

This is a rare photo of Esther and Donald both paddling.

After a couple of miles (against the falling tide), we found about a dozen sea otters scattered across the water at the base of an island. The babies are quite large by this time of year, and some of the moms seemed a bit over-matched by their soon-to-be-independent pups.

Several harbor seals were also cruising the waters. As best as we could tell, this particular seal enjoyed sneaking up on mother sea otters and scaring them. A moment later, mama otter and her pup disappeared below the water in a cloud of spray.

Note: The first two photos are by other travelers on our expedition.

An Unexpected Amphibian

On the way out of Glacier Bay, we stopped at Barlett Cove, home of a excellent dock (where one fisherman had a 376 pound halibut), a visitor's center, and a beautiful trail through the temperate rain forest.

The trail begins with a stone marker that was placed at sea level in 1966. It now stands much higher. Why? Because the land is still rebounding from its centuries under the glaciers.

And then into the forest, where every surface seemed to be dripping with moss, lichen, and fungi. I kept expecting a hobbit to appear. Instead, we found something better: Alaska's only hopping amphibian, the Western Toad (formerly known as the Boreal Toad).

I don't think I would have spotted him if he had stayed still. His green color blends perfectly with the moss and lichens. But Mr. Toad decided to hop, which gave me a chance to pick him up to share with our fellow travelers.
When we reached the Visitor's Center, we realized how uncommon the toads are. On the bulletin board by the main entrance, the National Park Service posted a flyer asking for information about any toad sightings.

But that's not all it said. In bold letters, the flyer also advised: "Do not touch or apprehend. Toad carries deadly fungus."

Yikes, that seems like the sort of thing they ought to tell you before you can get on the trail. I was going to wash my hands anyway, but this added some urgency. And then a light bulb went off, and I realized that they meant deadly to other toads. That made more sense. And is a good reason I won't pick up any more Western Toads.

One Slight Problem Visiting McBride Glacier

After our up-close look at Dawes Glacier a few days earlier, we had high expectations for our visit to McBride Glacier up Muir Inlet in the eastern arm of Glacier Bay.

McBride is off the beaten track. Indeed, our park ranger for the day hadn't been up there all year. Too bad we ran into one little problem: McBride had been calving so much during the recent warm spell that the route up to it was blocked by an armada of icebergs.

If look in the center of the photo, you can just make out the right edge of the glacier on the far side of a mile or two of icebergs.

Cruising Up Glacier Bay

Glacier Bay stretches more than 60 miles from its mouth at Icy Strait to the base of the tidewater glaciers at its northern end. Quite impressive, particularly when you consider that it didn't even exist just 250 years ago.

When the founders gathered to sign the Declaration of Independence, glaciers reached all the way into Icy Strait. Glacier Bay had not yet been born. By 1800, the bay was 5 miles deep. When John Muir visited in 1879, the bay had grown by another 40 miles. Since then, it has expanded another 20 miles, as the glaciers continue to retreat.

For travelers, that means that getting to the glaciers takes time. But there is plenty to see along the way. South Marble Island, for example, provides a safe place to breed for Black-legged Kittiwakes, Tufted Puffins, Horned Puffins (much rarer in these parts), Pigeon Guillemots, Common Murres, and other feathered critters.

It's also a spot where adolescent sea lions play king of the mountain.

Real Alaska Weather

After communing with whales in the morning, we set out for a lengthy journey to St. George's Island, where Icy Strait meets the North Pacific. Our proximate goal was to see more critters -- huge male Steller's sea lions, puffins, porpoise, and sea otters.

Even more important, however, is that this journey finally exposed us to real southeast Alaska weather. As we got closer to the ocean, rain, mist, and clouds replaced the sun that had blessed us in previous days. Lots of fun -- at least in small doses. And a great opportunity for some landscape photography when we anchored behind Lemesurier Island at dusk.

We Are Not Going to Die

The highlight of day 6 was a close encounter with a pod of humpback whales. The whales were using their bubble netting technique, in which they blow a wall of bubbles to corral a school of tasty herring, chase them to the surface, and engulf them. Our guide Karl explained that the alpha female coordinates the action using her song to synchronize the pod's actions. Apparently they are quite selective about which whales they are willing to bubble net with.

After chowing down, the whales would swim abreast, take some breaths, and then dive for more. We had a great time trying to guess where they would resurface.

Our first surprise came when the pod was feeding very close to the shore in False Bay. After traveling a few hundred yards, the pod suddenly turned 90 degrees and headed toward our skiff. The photo above shows one whale about ten feet from the skiff. After that shot, I put down my camera to enjoy the sight of the fifty-foot critters as they passed a few feet away.

Happily, Esther was filming with her Flip. Her video captures both the closeness of the encounter and the delight of our fellow travelers:




And here's how it looked from another skiff nearby:

















If you want to hear the alpha female singing as she coordinates the pod, check out this video. If you listen to the end, you will hear her change pitch, signaling for the whales to surface.



We almost had an even closer encounter a few minutes later. As the skiff lay idle in the water, we noticed large bubbles coming up all around us. The whales were herding herring directly below us. Karl put the skiff in reverse to get out of the way. And as we looked into the water, we could see the white pectoral fins of the humpbacks as they called off their ascent perhaps ten feet under the water.

Watching Brown Bears Catch Salmon

When evening came we visited Pavlov's Bay (insert obligatory dog / saliva / pscychology joke), where we lucked into a classic Alaska moment: watching a pair of brown bears catch salmon at the base of a waterfall. The salmon would try to spurt across the shallow riffles, with their backs sticking out of the water, and the bears would bound over and try to grab them. We saw each bear catch four or five salmon apiece. Several other salmon managed to escape after brief periods in the bears' control.

Unfortunately, these inconsiderate bears waited under almost dark to start their snacking. Most of our photos turned out to be pure black. But one did provide some detail after aggressive work in Adobe Lightroom. The white stuff is the waterfall, and the center-right blob is Mr. Bear.

And a very impressive bear he was. Also a shy one. When he caught a salmon, he would usually carry it off into the bushes to feast in private. His colleague (not pictured) was more confident about eating in public.

Saook Bay and the Grotto

Our fourth day aboard dawned in Saook Bay. Some fellow travelers had seen a brown bear the evening before on a creek that enters the bay along a beautiful meadow. So of course we had to go tromping along the creek and across the meadow. Lots of salmon, flounder, and sculpins in the creek, and ravens and eagles in the air. But no bears for us this morning, just lots of forensic evidence of their activities. Case in point: this matted down "bear bed" in the meadow (our naturalist Karl is standing in it).

In the afternoon, we hopped into skiffs to explore the famed Grotto in Big Basket Bay (and, yes, there is a Little Basket Bay, we watched salmom there a bit earlier in the day). But first we enjoyed some distant looks at a momma brown bear and her two cubs running across the beach. The twins were a riot, several times running into the water to wrestle. Mom was a bit more serious.

The grotto itself was a gem, dripping with moss and lichens and little flowers. Very Garden-of-Edenish.

The Baranof Hot Springs

On Sunday afternoon, we anchored in Warm Springs Bay on the east side of Baranof Island. Our goal: a dip in the rejuvenating, warm waters of the Baranof Hot Spring.

The real highlight, however, was watching schools of salmon swirl through the clear waters before attempting the waterfall up to Baranof Lake. Which looked insurmountable to us. Perhaps the salmon give it a go, realize it's fruitless, and then head elsewhere.

The tiny community welcomes travelers with a sign touting the properties of the famous hot spring. Unfortunately, they are its poisoning properties, not its healing ability.

What they don't mention is that the water is also really hot. As in 110 degrees Fahrenheit hot. As in the only water in recorded history that Esther declared to be too hot.

And the bottom of the hot spring? Sharp stones covered with slippery, heat-loving algae. Frankly, we were happy to get out of there alive. But at least we can check "bathe in hot spring" off the bucket list. And fondly remember the roaring waterfall and swirling salmon.

Red Bluff Bay

One of the beauties of expedition cruises is that you often wake up in wondrous locations. So it was on Sunday the 15th, when we awoke in Red Bluff Bay. The earliest risers played a game of "spot the bear" with a young bear on the distant shore. Through binoculars from half-a-mile, the bear was little more than a moving smudge, but we were still excited: our first ever sighting of a brown bear.

Not, I hasten to add, a grizzly bear. It turns out that the salmon-eating coastal bears are called brown bears, while the inland ones are called grizzlies. Unless, of course, they are actually black bears. Which brings us to today's survival tip: If attacked (highly unlikely) by a brown bear / grizzly, play dead (unless you are a salmon). If attacked (also highly unlikely) by a black bear, fight back. Just don't try to judge based on color alone; plenty of black bears are really brown. And some are bluish-white - the much revered "spirit bear." So try to look for other details, like the length of the bear's claws. Long = brown, short = black.


But we digress. No bear photos this day, but the bay made for great kayaking--highlights include many salmon, a stunning waterfall, and a 20-armed starfish called a sunburst.


And several very cooperative eagles.