June 25: The Man Who Fell From Heaven 

Posted August 16, Judd Anchorage, Duke Island, AK

Years ago, we traveled for the first time to Prince Rupert, BC, and visited its wonderful Museum of Northern British Columbia. Among myriad exhibits about the history and art of Indigenous people in the area, it has a replica of a petroglyph of a human, life sized and pecked out of solid rock. It’s labeled, “The Man Who Fell From Heaven.”

“The origin of this petroglyph is explained by some of the Tsimshian Indians in the following story. An important Indian man, to impress the people, said he was going up to the sky. He disappeared but came back home some days later as he could not stay hid long for lack of food. He explained to the people that he had fallen through the sky and struck the earth. To prove this he took the Indians to this rock sculpture and said that it was the dent he made when he fell from heaven. He really sculptured it himself while hiding. According to another story this sculpture was made where the body of a drowned Indian was found.”          -- Harlen I Smith, 1936, Essays in Anthropology

About 5 or 6 years ago we decided to go look for this petroglyph. The original is in Venn Passage that connects Prince Rupert harbor and the Tsimshian village of Metlakatla. In the research I did, its location was only referred to in the most general terms. We were lucky that boating friends gave us the lat/lon for the glyph. We set out in the dinghy to pick our way through Venn, a narrow snaky channel studded with tiny islets, nasty reefs disguised by innocently waving fronds of bull kelp, and sneaky underwater rocks that were all out to get our propeller. We bumped around for a while before we located the site and were thrilled with our ‘discovery.’ I even found some old trade beads from the fur trade era there. Future stops at Prince Rupert haven’t allowed time to re-visit the site, though I've always wanted to return.

Fast forward to this summer: We are in Rupert’s

nearby anchorage awaiting a weather window to can cross Dixon Entrance, a wide-open-to-Pacific-weather transit which becomes miserable – and potentially dangerous – in certain sea conditions. I’m thrilled with the delay. A chance to return! But tides are not cooperating. They are lowest in the morning, making it dangerous to navigate the shallow parts of the channel, and would leave us stranded until high tide.  Never one to be stymied, I realize Pillsbury Cove anchorage is only about a quarter of a mile away from the petroglyph, if I’m willing to bash through old growth forest to get there. I am willing to try it. Patrick has common sense. I’m thinking, “How bad can it be?” Unfortunately, we’ve misplaced our notes with the lat/lon, but I’ve been there before and I’m confident I can find it again. I arm myself with sea boots, stout outerwear, bug stuff and my trusty phone with GPS. Patrick lowers the dinghy and drops me off ashore. I set a course for the village site and step into the forest.

Looks like a spider on acid, right?

It’s a nightmare. This forest is feral and always has been. And I think it might be in a bad mood. I’m weaving around enormous ancient trees and hopeful saplings, through thickets of prickly devil’s club and berry canes, climbing over (and crawling under) huge fallen cedar and hemlock trees, some of which are still dressed in their sticky dead needles. I'm trying to avoid falling into treacherous holes between dozens of fallen trees that are disguised with untold generations of thick, deceptively pretty green moss. Not a good place for a broken leg. Due to all this fallen and decaying biomass, for each step I take, I sink down and spring back up; it’s like walking on a trampoline. I haven’t touched actual earth since I left the rocky beach almost an hour ago and I still appear to have a long way to go. Each time I look at my screen to check my course I'm farther off track. Over and over I choose a landmark ahead to aim for, and over and over I'm thwarted by malevolent little creeks and impassable salal thickets. I'm thrilled when I find a couple of bear trails going in my direction. I crawl on my hands and knees like the bears who must use it often enough to keep it passable. Do I have second thoughts about being here? Oh yes, I have second thoughts.

By the time I escape the forest’s clutches and get to shore on the other side, I have lost count of the times I’ve had to rescue my baseball cap from the sinister grip of some unseen branch stub or overhanging bough. One of my gloves has mysteriously disappeared, my sea pants and jacket are filthy, I have all kinds of itchy, ticklely stuff down my back, and I’m all sweaty.

These faces -- who do they represent?

But now, finally out on the beach on the other side, I can begin to search for the petroglyph! The funny thing is that islets, rocks, or stretches of sandy beach look completely different at different tides. My remembered landmarks (from our first visit at high tide) are unrecognizable. I stumble around, seeking the grassy knoll that's in my mind's eye. As I wander, I scan each rocky outcropping. I start to see petroglyphs I hadn't seen on my first visit, and even some red ochre-colored pictographs. Clearly this is an important place.

Viking sea boots are the best!

At last my determination and sheer, ridiculous doggedness pay off and I once again find the Man Who Fell From Heaven.

It’s a HURRAH! moment. It's a time to contemplate the past, and the person who imagined this enduring work of art and then completed it. I think about the people who lived in this place many centuries before Cook, Vancouver, fur traders and settlers ever came here. Though this village site is now abandoned, descendants of those who lived here  in are just a couple of miles away in Metlakatla, and scattered around northern BC, Alaska, and all over the world. They share such a rich culture.

This day we have a negative tide, so the water level is unusually low -- lower than the average low tide. It's an opportunity to see sea life seldom exposed in this place. a wet-knees crawl along the base of a rocky islet reveals these remarkably red tubeworms -- annelids that anchor their tail to a rock and secrete a mineral tube into which they can withdraw their entire body. Love the color!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 4, Ketchikan's Parade and Fireworks

I grew up in small towns with small-town parades and celebrations, so being in Ketchikan is fun and full of nostalgia. The proud citizens who march and ride in the parade are a joy to see. We wave to them, and they wave to us, and shower us with what we used to call 'penny candy'. Fire engines whoop, politicians and candidates stir up cheers, and a series of big hay trucks carry dozens of representatives of high school graduating classes: the most recent Class of '24, '04, '94, '84, etc.

We're told many alums travel back here year after year for the reunion parties. Their enthusiastic songs and cheers provide a great soundtrack. And to top it all off: one of the cruise ships, calling their passengers back on board for departure, plays the theme music from "The Love Boat" on their huge ships' horns! 

Because it stays light so late during the summer, it's 11pm before we can enjoy a marvelous fireworks show over the harbor and Tongass Narrows.

July 27: Salmon Spawning Season and Lots of Happy Bears

While Admiralty Island (east of Baranof Island across Chatham Strait) claims it has the largest population of grizzlies in SE Alaska, we have had very good luck finding them all along the southwest coast of Baranof. 

By popular demand on the part of the First Mate, we return to Ell Cove anchorage on Baranof, so we can make another visit to the fish hatchery at Hidden Falls. It's a remarkable place where salmon eggs and milt are harvested, and tiny salmon are raised safely until they are big enough to significantly increase their chances of survival in the ocean when released. It's an important part of helping to maintain fish stocks. The bears here are conditioned to "stay on their side" of the waterfall's outflow, so workers can safely do their jobs and visitors (and workers too) can watch in awe. Bears just being bears. 

This year we find over a dozen bears and cubs wandering, fishing (and learning to fish -- hilarious) and even fighting. Spawned-out and bear-kill chum salmon litter the rocks. The stink of dead fish is palpable. Sunshine and rain clouds chase each other across the sky.

 I'll let the videos speak for themselves. 

(1:39) This cub's endless enthusiasm to learn how to catch a salmon is inspiring. Mom lets her cub go for it on its own. 

(3:01) A bit later, I notice the cub appearing a little nervous, making sure he knows where his mama is. The reason comes around the corner, and we have some bear drama.

 

[3:49] What do you do when your out in the world, fishing your heart out in the sunshine, and you have an itch? Well you scratch it, of course! Then fish some more.