Chatham Strait
The denseness of this coastal rainforest and the depths of these inside waters revealed much to us today. Leaving “normal” life behind, we’ve been able to peer deeply into a calm spot in a creek, and see hordes of salmon magically appear. As our eyes have slowly learned the dimensions of this new land, we’ve picked out banana slugs camouflaged in the moss, a shy maiden flower peeking out from behind a small log and a healthy brown bear fishing in a stream. Kayaking quietly along the shoreline, we’ve met the liquid black eyes of a curious harbor seal, and trusted the momentary connection. In short, we’re getting comfortable here.
So as we cruised north in Chatham Strait, with 20knots of breeze behind us, we were scanning the surface of the water for anything out of place. Keith thought he saw the falcate black dorsal fin of a killer whale, and ran to the bow with his alert. With more eyes now scanning, it seemed inevitable that we’d find them, if it had indeed been a killer whale. After an uncomfortably long interval, the fin reappeared, joined by three more, and we turned the Sea Bird to watch. Over the course of the next hour we were glued to the bow as a “predation event” unfolded. Four killer whales, including one young calf, proceeded to attack a Steller sea lion. We saw bursts of dramatic activity, including charges, fast porpoising, tail throws and lunging breaches, followed by the intense mystery of their disappearance under water. During the whales’ dives, we’d watch the sea lion laboring at the surface, and a small cloud of gulls gathering, ready to snap up any floating morsels. Ultimately, we had to turn and continue northward before the drama was concluded, each of us trying to absorb what we’d witnessed.
Finally, with dinner hour approaching, we got a call from the bridge that there were a couple of very active humpbacks just ahead. Some ran back out to the bow, while others cheered from the lounge as two humpback whales breached repeatedly, slapped their long pectoral fins on the water and waved their tail flukes high.
Some days just can’t get any better…
The denseness of this coastal rainforest and the depths of these inside waters revealed much to us today. Leaving “normal” life behind, we’ve been able to peer deeply into a calm spot in a creek, and see hordes of salmon magically appear. As our eyes have slowly learned the dimensions of this new land, we’ve picked out banana slugs camouflaged in the moss, a shy maiden flower peeking out from behind a small log and a healthy brown bear fishing in a stream. Kayaking quietly along the shoreline, we’ve met the liquid black eyes of a curious harbor seal, and trusted the momentary connection. In short, we’re getting comfortable here.
So as we cruised north in Chatham Strait, with 20knots of breeze behind us, we were scanning the surface of the water for anything out of place. Keith thought he saw the falcate black dorsal fin of a killer whale, and ran to the bow with his alert. With more eyes now scanning, it seemed inevitable that we’d find them, if it had indeed been a killer whale. After an uncomfortably long interval, the fin reappeared, joined by three more, and we turned the Sea Bird to watch. Over the course of the next hour we were glued to the bow as a “predation event” unfolded. Four killer whales, including one young calf, proceeded to attack a Steller sea lion. We saw bursts of dramatic activity, including charges, fast porpoising, tail throws and lunging breaches, followed by the intense mystery of their disappearance under water. During the whales’ dives, we’d watch the sea lion laboring at the surface, and a small cloud of gulls gathering, ready to snap up any floating morsels. Ultimately, we had to turn and continue northward before the drama was concluded, each of us trying to absorb what we’d witnessed.
Finally, with dinner hour approaching, we got a call from the bridge that there were a couple of very active humpbacks just ahead. Some ran back out to the bow, while others cheered from the lounge as two humpback whales breached repeatedly, slapped their long pectoral fins on the water and waved their tail flukes high.
Some days just can’t get any better…
