Frederick Sound and Port Houghton, Alaska
Where to begin! Wow! What a day. What a first day!
It all began in the cool, calm waters of Frederick Sound, South of Admiralty Island. An early wake-up call sent us scurrying onto the decks. A humpback whale was breaching close off our ship. And it breached! And it breached! And it breached! No whale is more inclined to be surface-active than a humpback, and this one was a champion. The idea of rocketing perhaps 40 tons of muscle, bone, internal organs and blubber some 25 to 35 feet into the air, from not much more than a standing start, seems incomprehensible. Yet we saw it, many times. Almost on countdown, this black and white monster burst forth from the water, rolled a quarter turn and smashed down again on its side or back. A towering splash rose, quickly followed by a loud “ca-thunk” as a concussive explosion echoed across the water. Play? Frustration? Temper tantrum? Communication? Herding prey? An itch? Who knows? But we enjoyed it.
More than satisfied, we moved further east, only to encounter what some believe to be the most extraordinary cooperative behaviour of any of the world’s animals. Thirteen (or was it 15?) humpbacks were engaged in what is known as cooperative bubble-net feeding. Down they would all go, out of sight but not out of sound. With our hydrophone in the water, we had the advantage of hearing the “callers” among the group. Their choreographed cries, slowly increasing in volume and pitch, and a rising curtain of bubbles emitted by one spiral-swimming whale, told us that an incredible surfacing by the entire group was imminent. “Watch for the bubble-net to rise. Get your cameras ready. If nothing else, believe what you see.” And we did...again and again. Who invented it?
All was not well within the humpback fraternity, however. Our bridge received a report that a nearby humpback was entangled in a salmon gillnet. A rescue team was on the scene and a radio tracking device had been attached. We made our way there and were able to watch (from a safe distance) the strategy of attaching large floats to the trailing net. The objective was to slow and tire the stressed animal so that a close approach could be made and lines could be cut - a dangerous and delicate job. Float lines and heavy lead lines had to be removed if the animal was to have a chance. We were to learn later from Dr. Fred Sharpe and his team from the Alaska Whale Foundation that, in spite a full day’s effort and the removal of much of the net, a badly twisted mass still hung from the flukes. More work would have to be done in the following days.
A meandering beach walk, not by us but by a black bear (with brown suffusions), was our next thrill. Sea Bird was maneuvered silently in close to shore. The bear was oblivious.
Our kayaks slid silently in a hidden bay first explored by Vancouver. We walked in tall tidal grass and into a temperate rainforest. Ancient Sitka spruce and western hemlock trees towered over the moss, duff and litter of the forest floor. Young seedlings ventured out close to the tide line, in shallow soils prepared by pioneer plants. We walked softly on the moss-sponge that nurtures all life here. We sampled berries that feed birds and bears. We thought of the hardships and pleasures that the first peoples of this coast encountered in this pristine land. And we paused, to listen to the silence within nature’s cathedral.
Where to begin! Wow! What a day. What a first day!
It all began in the cool, calm waters of Frederick Sound, South of Admiralty Island. An early wake-up call sent us scurrying onto the decks. A humpback whale was breaching close off our ship. And it breached! And it breached! And it breached! No whale is more inclined to be surface-active than a humpback, and this one was a champion. The idea of rocketing perhaps 40 tons of muscle, bone, internal organs and blubber some 25 to 35 feet into the air, from not much more than a standing start, seems incomprehensible. Yet we saw it, many times. Almost on countdown, this black and white monster burst forth from the water, rolled a quarter turn and smashed down again on its side or back. A towering splash rose, quickly followed by a loud “ca-thunk” as a concussive explosion echoed across the water. Play? Frustration? Temper tantrum? Communication? Herding prey? An itch? Who knows? But we enjoyed it.
More than satisfied, we moved further east, only to encounter what some believe to be the most extraordinary cooperative behaviour of any of the world’s animals. Thirteen (or was it 15?) humpbacks were engaged in what is known as cooperative bubble-net feeding. Down they would all go, out of sight but not out of sound. With our hydrophone in the water, we had the advantage of hearing the “callers” among the group. Their choreographed cries, slowly increasing in volume and pitch, and a rising curtain of bubbles emitted by one spiral-swimming whale, told us that an incredible surfacing by the entire group was imminent. “Watch for the bubble-net to rise. Get your cameras ready. If nothing else, believe what you see.” And we did...again and again. Who invented it?
All was not well within the humpback fraternity, however. Our bridge received a report that a nearby humpback was entangled in a salmon gillnet. A rescue team was on the scene and a radio tracking device had been attached. We made our way there and were able to watch (from a safe distance) the strategy of attaching large floats to the trailing net. The objective was to slow and tire the stressed animal so that a close approach could be made and lines could be cut - a dangerous and delicate job. Float lines and heavy lead lines had to be removed if the animal was to have a chance. We were to learn later from Dr. Fred Sharpe and his team from the Alaska Whale Foundation that, in spite a full day’s effort and the removal of much of the net, a badly twisted mass still hung from the flukes. More work would have to be done in the following days.
A meandering beach walk, not by us but by a black bear (with brown suffusions), was our next thrill. Sea Bird was maneuvered silently in close to shore. The bear was oblivious.
Our kayaks slid silently in a hidden bay first explored by Vancouver. We walked in tall tidal grass and into a temperate rainforest. Ancient Sitka spruce and western hemlock trees towered over the moss, duff and litter of the forest floor. Young seedlings ventured out close to the tide line, in shallow soils prepared by pioneer plants. We walked softly on the moss-sponge that nurtures all life here. We sampled berries that feed birds and bears. We thought of the hardships and pleasures that the first peoples of this coast encountered in this pristine land. And we paused, to listen to the silence within nature’s cathedral.
