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June 16, 2009 – Elfin Cove, Alaska
by Herb McCormick and Andy Gregory
Elfin Cove, Alaska (June 15): Yesterday’s Crew Log stated that last evening we’d be staying in a place called Elfin Cove near the entrance to the Gulf of Alaska, but a funny thing happened on our way to the spot, and we never actually got there. Instead, we tied up in the very protected harbor of a fishing town called Hoonah, a small village that the locals humorously refer to as Hoonah-lulu. Little did we know when we pulled in, the unscheduled stop would ultimately lead to one of the more remarkable events of the voyage thus far, a rendezvous with literally scores of humpback whales that none of us will forget some time. We’ll return to the whales’ tale in a moment.
First mate Dave Logan doesn’t actually know someone in every backwater from Seattle to Sitka, though oftentimes it seems that way. As the hours under power mounted yesterday, and it became apparent that our arrival in Elfin Cove would be late in the evening, skipper Mark Schrader made the call to pull into Hoonah, where Logan’s friend Kim Thompson lives aboard his fishing boat, Eddysez. Before we got back underway at 1030 this morning, Kim presented us with a ton of bait, a big bag of frozen shrimp and a couple of massive filets of fresh salmon.
Logan’s many long-time friendships in these parts were forged back in the 1970s, sometimes working on a fishing boat, and others just having a good look around. Previously, he’d mentioned one remarkable day, way back when, off Point Adolphus at the far northern point of Chichagof Island, where some thirty fishing boats and at least that many whales congregated in a memorable scene. Our route today took us back out into Icy Strait and up past Point Adophus. There wasn’t a fishing boat in sight, but as far as the humpbacks were concerned, in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, it was deja-vu all over again.
The very first thing that happened to us as we motored into Southeast Alaskan waters about a week ago was a remarkable encounter with Orca whales, and I’d been kicking myself ever since for not launching our Little Wing carbon-fiber kayaks and having a better peek. So, moments after Logan pointed out the distinctive tails of several humpbacks-even before we realized we were smack-dab in the midst of a massive pod-I had the 12-foot kayak in the drink and was in hot pursuit. I was more than grateful for a second chance.
By the time I’d paddled a good quarter mile and found myself just astern of three big humpbacks, I was breathing hard, and it had nothing to do with exertion. Up close, these were big creatures, at least three times the size of my little boat, and it was a little startling to be there. I paddled slowly behind them, keeping a watchful and respectful distance. They were, quite simply, magnificent.
The first pack sounded and disappeared and I sat back in the kayak and looked around. A hundred yards to port, then to starboard, a whale or two would surface, exhale a small geyser, and gracefully dip back into the sea. After a while, I turned and started back towards Ocean Watch.
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| Humpback Whale |
I hadn’t paddled more than twenty yards when a big “whoosh” was unleashed behind me and I almost had a heart attack. A granddaddy of a humpback had sounded just astern, and it was a good thing I was upwind, for if I’d been down, I’d have been soaked in his mist. I spun the kayak around and got right up on his quarter-I was feeling much braver now-and all of a sudden his distinctive tale rose from the sea, directly abeam. There was a big piece of kelp on his fluke and for the briefest of moments I thought I should reach out with my paddle and flick it off. But I was too awestruck to move.
Back on Ocean Watch, resting idle in the water, as nearly a dozen eagles wheeled overhead, a virtual parade of whales cruised by. “You could hear them singing,” said the skipper. “Like cows mooing. Just loud.” Meanwhile, mate Andy Gregory had launched the second Little Wing, the 14-footer, and paddled off in the other direction, equipped with a camera, an item I’d totally spaced out in my excitement to get the kayak launched. Thank heavens one of us is a trained journalist, and the other is smart.
Andy needs no further assist from me. Here’s his account:
“I paddle out into the south passage of Icy Straits with Pt. Adolphus off my port quarter. There are two pods of humpbacks closing in on a tidal rip just off my bow, probably working a school of herring.
“I paddle hard and fast and the Little Wing 14 slips silently and smoothly through the water. I arrive near the site where I last saw the whales surface, just past the rip. I slowly glide to a stop and pull out my camera and wait.
“Silence. Everything around me is gray. Were it not for the misty mountains of Lemesurier Island ahead of me, I wouldn’t be able to tell where the sky ends and the ocean begins. A few gulls squawk in the distance, breaking the calm. Then off to starboard I hear, ‘Psshhh!’ Almost simultaneously to port the answer comes back. ‘Psshhh!’ The two sets of humpbacks are closing in.
“A small brown form breaks the surface near by. The playful eye of a sea lion pops up to investigate me, a strange, colorful addition to this otherwise gray world.
“The whales continue to close in, each time popping up for three, four or five breaths before showing me their tale and flukes and diving back to the icy depths. In between whale sightings, the sea lions keep me entertained, growing more and more curious each time they buzz by. The pack grows to at least ten and at times I can nearly reach out and touch them. They wiggle their massive head and shoulders as high as they can above the surface to get a better look at me.
“As the sea lions and I are exchanging playful looks, I nearly roll my kayak over as a humpback surfaces within meters of my bow. Seconds later another surfaces to starboard and their breaths are accompanied by an almost prehistoric-sounding bellow, something right out of Jurassic Park. Majestic doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling of this place. I feel at one with these creatures of the sea: Massive in size, gentle in nature and at peace in their own way.
“I begin to paddle back to Ocean Watch, and I see Herb return from his adventure. We meet up within a hundred yards of the boat and just as we do a humpback surfaces, splitting the difference between the sailboat and us. The 64-foot cutter nearly disappears behind the huge, humped back. Only now do I have any sort of perspective on the true size and scale of these gentle giants. ‘Welcome to Sea World,’ I say to Herb.
“Admission: priceless.”
-Herb McCormick and Andy Gregory with photographs by David Thoreson
*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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