Alaskan Odyssey

June-July 2005

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by James Michael Dorsey

Southern Alaska is an archipelago. Thousands of tiny islands dot the coastline forming a natural corridor known as the Inside Passage. On the eastern side of Chichagof Island, a bony finger of land pokes into the passage at Point Adolphus in an area known as the Icy Strait. This natural barrier rises out of the depths at the confluence of three great tidal flows, causing a massive buildup of fish, krill and amphipods. This giant food source has also made the Icy Strait a natural feeding ground for humpback whales. That is why we have come here.

I have paddled or sailed most of the coastal waters from Alaska to the tip of Baja, seeking whales of all types. When I am not paddling, I am usually on a catamaran off the coast of Southern California working as a naturalist for the American Cetacean Society. But I prefer the kayak. It has allowed me unprecedented access to the private lives of these special creatures.

I frequently lecture about whales and constantly try to update my photos and knowledge by kayaking in areas where they congregate. I have paddled with orca and greys, and now am seeking humpbacks. The Icy Strait is humpback central.

My wife and I have chartered a small boat out of Gustavus to cross the treacherous strait between Chichagof and the entrance to Glacier Bay. Even from shore we can see ten-knot currents colliding from every direction and have no desire to attempt paddling through this vortex. We are left with our boats on a rocky beach that is cut off from the rest of the island by a solid wall of flesh-shredding devil’s club, a vicious plant that grows wild here. We immediately see bear trails cutting through the spiny devil’s club. The thick fur of a brown bear (grizzly) is oblivious to thorns.

These trails are an instant reminder that nothing smelly can be left in our boats or tents at night, but must be suspended from the trees. Brown bears will eat anything they can smell, from sun block to toothpaste. Chichagof has one of the highest concentrations of brown bears of any area in Alaska. We must co-exist for the duration of this trip.

Because of the extreme currents and tides, we will stay at a base camp and make day paddles through the area rather than trying to move each night. Our main purpose is to see and photograph the wildlife and it is so abundant we do not need to travel far.

We have rented fiberglass kayaks for this trip. The boats are light, stable, and easy to paddle with only a day’s necessities on board. They also have flotation in the front and rear bulkheads to assure us an unsinkable boat should we capsize.

But these frigid waters are no place to capsize. Hypothermia will kill in minutes and our only hope would be to get ashore fast. We are dressed in layers of Capilene and fleece, which I much prefer to a wetsuit no matter how cold the weather, for fleece keeps one dry even when wet and dries quickly in the natural breeze while paddling.

As soon as camp is set up, we decide to take a short paddle through thick forests of kelp, hugging the shore. Within a mile we pass several small whirlpools that could suck a kayak down in the blink of an eye. We use the coastal kelp as a shield and stay within its welcoming embrace. The kelp here is full of sea otters. Once hunted almost to extinction, the otter has made a significant comeback in recent years. These particular animals are very skittish and dive long before we get anywhere near them. I attribute this behavior to the large number of predators around us, for normally otters are quite friendly and often approach kayaks.

We are surrounded by blows, and doing a quick count, decide there are at least twenty humpback whales within a mile of us. Their distinctive heart shaped blow gives them away. Humpbacks get their name not from a physical deformity but rather from the unique way they arch their backs into an almost perfect half circle before bringing their flukes up for a dive. They are the only whale that dives like this.

Humpbacks are among the most beautiful and active of all the whales. They can be found in most of the world’s oceans and tend to spend winters feeding in cold waters while migrating to warm waters to breed in the summer. These are the singing whales, but only the males sing and only when in warm waters. They also hang upside down while singing. The reason for this still eludes biologists, but most believe it is a way of attracting females.

Their long pectoral fins may be a third the length of their body, which makes for a spectacular display when they frequently breach, turning and spinning. The undersides of their pectorals and flukes are distinctively marked with black and white variations as unique as human fingerprints, making identification of individual whales possible.

They seem to be quite curious and will approach a kayak, but usually make a quick pass, have a look and then leave.

We always honor the Marine Mammal Protection Act that prohibits approaching these animals closer than 100 yards, but we often have them come to us. When they do this, we quit paddling and sit perfectly still, allowing them to control the moment.

This first morning on the water, several large males zip by within twenty yards of our boats, allowing us to take good photos.

We have whales to starboard and a crystal clear littoral shore to port. We silently glide over purple spiny urchins as numerous as stars in the sky. There are giant orange sea stars everywhere and solid walls of baitfish flash under our keels. This is a twenty-four hour fast food place for the whales and they are busy feeding. We travel about four miles north this first day and can hear the barking of a sea lion colony up ahead. This is a well-known haulout spot for Steller sea lions and we decide to make it our destination for the following day.

Returning to camp, we fall asleep under a canopy of twinkling stars and the countless blows of humpbacks barely a stone’s throw from our tent.

In the morning, I find fresh scat steaming where a bear trail joins the beach and am thankful we hung our food out of reach the previous night. Our tent is on such a rocky beach that we should be able to hear any approaching bear, but this is little defense if one of these creatures should become curious. We also have a boat on each side of the tent as a pitiful barrier. I have often camped among bears and have never had any problems, but I always sleep lightly in their presence. Our best defense here is that they should be well fed in such an abundant wilderness.

A thick fog covers the coast. We can only see as far as the kelp beds but can hear the whales, at least as numerous as the day before. We get an early start and in just over an hour of paddling are hit with the stench that signals a sea lion colony.

These are Steller sea lions. Bulls weigh well over a thousand pounds and they are very protective of their females. A large harem and maybe a few younger males lower in the pecking order usually surround a bull.

We can barely make them out through the fog when a terrific commotion breaks out. Suddenly there are dozens of panicky sea lions charging directly at us. Before I can react, I see the first black dorsal fin cutting through the water behind them. A pod of orca is looking for breakfast and we are in their way. I begin to smack the water with the flat of my paddle hoping to frighten the sea lions away. They will climb on anything to escape and I flash on an image of a thousand-pound sea lion capsizing my boat in freezing water right in front of a hungry carnivore.

But in a few seconds all is quiet. The sea lions are gone and the pod has disappeared. We have avoided catastrophe and I have enough presence of mind to grab my camera. Suddenly the orca blow right next to us and I get a wonderful shot as black and white saddle patches flash by us. I have had these magnificent creatures around me many times and never felt in danger. They are not known to attack people or boats, but they do get the heart pumping.

With orca hunting in the area, there will be no more sea lions to see today. We decide that was enough action anyway, and return to camp to discuss what we have just witnessed.

On day three we head south and know the orca have left, for once again humpback blows surround us. We can hear sounds like gun shots, but on the water we can’t tell from which direction they are coming. Then out of the corner of my eye I spot the source about half a mile out to sea.

Several humpbacks have formed a giant semi-circle, hundreds of yards across. They are standing on their heads, smacking the water with their flukes.

They are using this technique to drive a school of baitfish in the direction of the rest of the pod which is about a half mile away, lying on the surface with their enormous mouths open, taking in the frightened fish. Humpbacks are rorqual whales which means they have serrations in their lower jaws that allow them to open and expand their mouths much like a pelican’s pouch when feeding. They also unhinge their mandible, allowing the mouth to open unbelievably wide. An adult humpback with mouth wide open could literally swallow a grown man whole. (Do not try this at home!)

Unlike the orca that have teeth and eat flesh, humpbacks are baleen whales. They have a bushy plate of carotene hanging from the roof of the mouth through which they suck in their prey. Mostly they feed on krill and amphipods, but will also eat herring and small fish, swallowing them whole. And this is what they were doing at the moment.

We watch this pod as they feed for several minutes and then reverse their roles. When the feeding whales are full, they begin to smack their flukes, sending the remaining fish back to their still hungry pod mates who are now waiting with open jaws. We witness a perfectly choreographed hunt, proof of the intelligence and social abilities of these wonderful mammals.

I have never entered the wilderness without being awestruck by its natural inhabitants. In three days of paddling the Icy Strait we have seen countless whales and witnessed two distinct and fantastic hunts. Just when I think there is not much more to see, a new surprise awaits.

On day four we are paddling leisurely, perhaps a half-mile off shore in unusual calm. The normal currents have slacked off and we take advantage of this to venture further afield. I see a small dorsal fin break the surface several times but cannot identify it. Finally a familiar gray form flashes under my boat. It is a young bottlenose dolphin. These animals are quite common near my home in Southern California, and have a wide-ranging habitat, but I have never heard of one this far north. Pacific white sided dolphin do range this far north and different dolphin often tend to swim together. Perhaps this youngster simply took off with the wrong pod?

Whatever its reason for being here, it is curious and approaches our boat several times. Bottlenose dolphin are extremely friendly and active, as this one appears. It’s obviously a juvenile, free from scarring that normally marks an older animal. It’s most likely an orphan and many miles from its home turf. But it seems to be healthy and well fed, so I can only hope it’s old enough to fend for itself. It follows us for about a mile before venturing on to its destiny.

Back in camp that afternoon, our attention turns to the eagles fishing just offshore. Eagles have incredible eyesight and can spot a fish near the surface from a mile away. Because of their enormous wingspan, they always nest at the outer edges of the tree line where they have room to maneuver. These eagles are diving at high speed, snatching fish with razor sharp talons, and returning to their nest to feed.

A particular eagle lands in a large hemlock directly above where I am standing. It is so intent on its catch, it fails to notice me, or I doubt it would have landed here.

It is about fifty feet above me and when it hears the click of my shutter, drops the fish, which falls nearby, almost striking me on the head as the eagle takes off, shrieking at the top of its lungs.

Obviously upset with me, it continues to circle high overhead, calling me various names in eagle-speak. I take the fish down to the water and float it out in hopes of appeasement, but the eagle will have nothing more to do with it.

It dives swiftly and evacuates its bowels in my direction as a final comment on what I deserve and takes off in search of more fish. I consider this a fair and final farewell to another wonderful experience in one of the last great wilderness habitats on earth.

HOW TO GET THERE

Several major airlines offer daily flights into Juneau, the capital city of Alaska. This is the only state capital with no road access. You must either fly or take a boat to get there. There are also many ferry services from Seattle and Vancouver. From Juneau, there are at least two public ferries running to Gustavus each day from the main harbor pier. There are few services in Gustavus—it is a place to paddle and witness nature.

FROM GUSTAVUS

For the first time visitor or even an experienced paddler, I highly recommend using a local guide. The waters of the Icy Strait are very treacherous, full of rip currents and whirlpools.

© Text and photos by James Michael Dorsey, a US writer and photographer who has traveled extensively in 31 countries. James is a volunteer photographer for the National Wildlife Federation and the International Cetacean Society, and guides whale trips in both California and Mexico. whalekeeper@yahoo.com.