The Pictures You Miss, And a Visit to Glacier Bay

Posted August 16 from Ketchikan, AK

I’m thinking about all the moments I’d like to share that I can’t illustrate; the pictures you don’t get to take in the wild. So many are indelibly imprinted in my mind.

The other day, we passed a big sea otter on our way in to Elfin Cove. Patrick pointed it out or I would have missed it completely. It was so close to us I could see individual whiskers on its sweet, funny face. It floated on its back, calmly dining on a huge, fluorescent-orange anemone of some sort that rested on the otter's stomach, overflowing the plate, as it were. As we passed by, the otter spared us a mildly-interested glance before returning to his squirmy repast. And me with no camera!

This afternoon we’re anchored in a little bay in the midst of a group of small islands. A huge sea lion colony lives on the rocky shorelines not far away. I find their antics endlessly amusing. I sit in the sunny cockpit with Simon the Cat for hours, cockpit canvas open, watching them fish, swim around Tenacious, and just generally horse around the bay. 

In the background, the Steller sea lion opera is in full swing. Hundreds of sea lions with their basso profundo voices, growl, grumble, roar and belch, hour after hour, day and night. When the wind direction is right, I’m treated to the aroma of Eau de Sea Lion, and it’s remarkably unpleasant. Maybe that what they’re always complaining about. The shot that I miss? The look on Simon’s face when a sea lion pops it’s head out of the water about 5 feet from our hull and gives a loud, cough-like bark, then dives. The funny thing is Simon doesn’t even twitch. His eyes get huge and he watches that expanding circle of bright water for minutes, waiting to get another glimpse of this noisy, dog-faced sea creature.

We will never forget the two humpback whales that breeched side by side. We didn't even know humpbacks were nearby when they erupted, like twin geysers, from the water. Or the instant the sun peeks out from the clouds, suddenly surrounding us with an ocean of blazing diamonds before it disappears once more. Or the staggeringly enormous, glorious majesty of the mountains and glaciers that surround us. A camera can never really capture that sense of awe and smallness.

And so these “pictures that I missed” will remain in my heart and in my mind … at least, for a few more years! 

On The Way -- To Glacier Bay!

By the time we work our way through Peril Strait (which has, ironically, a big old dog-leg turn right in the middle) and in to Sitka, we are ready for a little relaxation. We spend a few days there, soaking up the Native and Russian history and culture, enjoying huge Dungeness crabs bought right off the boat in the harbor (so much much easier than trapping them ourselves--and just as delicious) doing laundry, and grocery shopping to fill in our fresh produce supply before going farther north.

The weather continues to be unbelievably good and it looks as if it’s going to hold a while longer. We decide to shoot for Glacier Bay National Park, via the west coast of Chichagof Island —the Pacific side. We don’t take outside passages lightly, so Patrick has planned a series of inlets and anchorages where we can duck into if conditions become uncomfortable. We are excited about the prospect of visiting an abandoned mining town, and another anchorage with beautiful waterfalls, but the seas are so flat and the day so beautiful for a run that we decide to continue north. We choose the little town of Pelican on Lisianski Strait as our target for the night. What a charming boardwalk village! 

At the General Store I find this t-shirt irresistable -- it says, "Do Not Feed the Giant Hamsters," with a picture of a grizzly bear. It really cracks me up, which probably says a lot about how long we have been at sea ...

We're eager to learn more about Glacier Bay from our well-met new dock neighbors who are tied up behind us. Over beers, they share their experiences (they just came out of the Park) of anchorages and wildlife there. I take notes on our charts so we'll know some places we'll be sure to go.

We enjoy pizza at Rose's Bar and Grill. Word on the dock is that at one time it was a rather notorious spot for fishermen to blow off a little steam, if you know what I'm sayin'. 

We apply for a permit to enter Glacier Bay National Park. Only 25 boats are allowed in the park at any one time; the maximum stay is seven days. We are thrilled when our application is approved for entry two days from now.

Glacier Bay: July 29 - August 4

We enter the park and check in at the Ranger Station, staffed with young men and women who are just adorable and so sincere in their love of this place and it's care. (More about them later.) We steer a course for our first anchorage, and begin seeing whale spouts and groups of sea otters all around us. We slow down to watch the show for a while. The otters just make me smile. Although we see some swimming around solo, often they are in groups as small as two and up to hundreds. What looks, at a distance, like a single otter, often turns out to be two or three that snuggle and paddle in a tight group. Moms and babies are my favorite video subject!

Single whales and small groups work the shoreline, leisurely scooping fish into their enormous mouths. In our Fingers Bay anchorage, they are all around us. It's always a little surprise to hear their explosive "PHHHHH-HUH!" as they blow a steamy plume of moist whale breath into still air, and inhale huge lungfuls of fresh air in a less than a second.  If you see the blow from just the right angle, it curls upward into a heart shape, because of the shape of their blowhole. Whales are everywhere, near and far And it's magical. 

Marjerie Glacier, Tarr Inlet

One of our favorite stops so far is Tarr Inlet. The depths in these inlets is usually tremendous, but thanks to a tip-off from friends, we find a little nook just south of Marjerie Glacier, with a stunning view of the Grand Pacific Glacier at the head of the inlet. We enter on a flood tide  -- a good thing for boat speed -- but the number of icebergs that accompany us on the way in is a little alarming. We anchor safely off a curved beach that is wreathed in stunning hot pink wildflowers.    

Marjerie Glacier calving (left side)

After a night of listening to the boom and crack of the glacier moving on its slow, inexorable path, we launch the dinghy in the morning haze, to get a closer look, dodging icebergs all the way. Wary, yet hopeful of witnessing it calve, we carefully approach the front of the glacier to within about a quarter of a mile. We shut off the motor and drift, all alone in this majestic space, listening to the loud CRRRACKs and BOOMs. I snap a picture of the glacier, not knowing a huge chunk of ice has just broken off! (The sound of the calving travels slower than the event itself.) I'm lucky enough to capture a series of pics as the ice falls, smashing into the water and sending up fountains of icy water. I get about 5 shots off before we start to feel the waves generated by the brand new iceberg hitting the water. A bit later, it calves again. We rock alongside our iceberg neighbors, for a long time.

 

We dodge the bergs again on the way back, stopping to pick up a "berg-y bit" for cocktail hour. 10,000 year old ice for our drinks! In the afternoon, as I relax down in the cabin, I hear a loud bubbling noise, like the sound of a large pot of water at a rolling boil. My first, panicked thought is that Tenacious's hull has somehow been punctured and I'm hearing seawater rapidly bubbling up into the bilges. I shout for Patrick and lift up a hatch in the teak-and-holly sole to see if I can see watering pouring in. Nothing! Patrick races up to the deck to see what's going on. He finds the source of the bubbling sound and calls me to the deck to see. A huge iceberg has quietly sidled up to our starboard, and huge bubbles are erupting all around it's edges, including where it's resting against our hull. We guess that it has rolled over, as icebergs do, and is off-gassing air trapped in the ice as it melts. Patrick deploys the boat hook to fend off the monstrous chunk of ice that's trying to cozy up to us. My heartbeat slowly returns to normal. What a day!

 

Wildflowers along the high tide line in Marjerie Anchorage.

 

I go ashore to bring some of the brilliant beauty aboard Tenacious

 

 

Our trip through the park continues when we leave Tarr Inlet on the ebb. The pictures will tell at least some of the story.

A curious grizzly bear checks us out as we pass by his shoreline meadow.

 

 

 

                   A mother mountain goat and her baby trot confidently along the craggy heights.

Too soon our Glacier Bay adventure must come to an end. Late on our final day, we return to the Ranger Station to "check out" of the park, tying up at the capacious wharf there.  True to character, Jake the Cat takes the opportunity to jump ship and roam the dock, making friends with staff and guests. Our business ashore complete, we fill our water tanks with delicious, icy water from the hose on the dock, and cast off to anchor overnight near the station to get ready for an early morning departure. 

We blithely set about settling the boat for the night when I notice I don't see Jake. I spin and make a quick survey of his favorite napping places. No Jake. I enroll Patrick in a more thorough search. Still no Jake. We look at each other in horror: We Have Left Jake At The Dock!!! We hurl ourselves into the dinghy, cat carrier in hand, and retrace our course. 

 

A large aluminum skiff, rowed by a young Park Ranger, is heading our way. She catches our eyes across the water, and she calls, "Are you missing a cat?" just as we are shouting, "Is there a cat on the dock?" She nods vigorously. Thank you, Ranger Holly! At the dock we find Jake huddled nervously under a dock structure, being carefully watched by Caden, the dear ranger who first noticed him there. He's making sure Jake isn't tempted to get near the ramp to land. All the staff are helping. One ranger, fishing off the dock, has generously supplied Jake with a tempting little chunk of fresh herring. (Jake declined: too nervous.) Another is standing at the bottom of the ramp, blocking access to a land-based adventure for Jake. They are darling, and sweet, and so very, very kind and concerned. We are endlessly grateful for their caring. And Jake gets loaded up in his Sherpa bag for his inaugural dinghy ride, while chalking up another unexpected adventure! (Sadly, no documentation of the dramatic rescue exists, but here are The Kitty Boyzz.) 

Simon in the cockpit: large and in charge

Jake is an extravagant sleeper

There are many, many more memorable, and yes, unforgettable moments to share than I can ever record here. I leave you with this exuberant whale we meet as we head south along the coast of Admiralty Island.