Stellar Sea Lions

 

Weather blew in heavy the night before we were supposed to leave King Pacific Lodge, courtesy of a big low-pressure system that came down from Alaska.  High winds, torrential rain and low ceiling prevented the float planes from coming in to get us, also preventing the incoming group from arriving (we had the better deal!). The day before we went into lodge “lockdown,” when no boats could go out, a few of us got a guide to take us out to a rock grouping where a colony of 70-80 Stellar Sea Lions watched us approach.  The big alpha males sat highest on the rocks with the most commanding presence, but there was great concern (and much bellowing) as we approached. 

 

As fearsome as the biggest 800 lb guys looked, they were easily scared. We nosed the small boat right up to the rock, took these photos, and watched their response.  The guide said that the sea lions were basically big chickens, then yelled at the group.  The surprise of that caused the less confident ones to jump for the water, unanimously soiling themselves, or the rocks, in their frantic effort to get away from us.  The sea literally turned brown as they landed, turned, then scowled at us. Within minutes, they all climbed back onto the rocks.  Big stink, big fuss. 

Over the course of the next few days of being stuck at KPL, the group got anxious about leaving. After three days of still not being able to get any planes in, the lodge organized our extraction by boat.  When those boats finally pulled up to the dock, the clamoring of the guests to get on a boat and get home was reminiscent of those lions abandoning the rock. That is, without the mess.

King Pacific Lodge... and the Spirit Bear!

We made our way back down to Bella Bella, left Heron tied at the Shearwater docks, then flew north again to the  King Pacific Lodge, where Kim had an assignment. Jeff was happy to tag along, especially since guests are flown in on these cool 1948 Grumman Goose amphibious planes.  We swept in, banked a tight turn, and landed with a splosh, floating right up to the KPL docks...

Kim bumps into Standup4Greatbear founder, Norm Hann. 

View of Barnard Harbour from the lodge...

Hiking on Campania Island.

Meeting National Geographic photographer, Thomas Peschak.

Welcomed by a resident humpback feeding right in Barnard Harbour....

The best part of our King Pacific Lodge stay was having such access to the spectacular wildlife and marine environments of the Great Bear Rainforest, one of the few places left on the planet where wild land meets completely wild ocean.  Because there is no industry, the  ecosystem is alive and flourishing.  You can see whales, wolves, bear, salmon, bald eagles, all in the same day.  This remarkable place has been the backyard of the Gitga'at First Nations culture for centuries. We were lucky enough to spend a second day bear-watching with local guide Marven Robinson, and this time encountered three female black bears (two with pairs of young cubs), and a magnificent male black bear.  It was mesmerizing to spend hours watching them hunt salmon in this fish-rich stream...

The highlight of the day  - and indeed, a life highlight! - was when this beautiful spirit bear showed up.  Spirit bears (black bears with a recessive gene that causes them to be born white), are elusive and shy.  An estimated 400 of them live in the Great Bear's moss-draped rain forest... and they are extremely rare to see.  We'd met people who had spent weeks trying to sight a spirit bear, with no luck, so this one was a rare gift!  Like something out of a dream...



The Spirit Bear comes out of the brush...



Fishing for lunch.

 

And heading upstream, too soon gone.



Kim is pretty happy about the sighting!

  
As if the bear wasn't enough, as we were hiking back out of the forest, Jeff spotted a Northern Spotted Owl.   Marven had only seen ONE in his life, and the wildlife guide at KPL had
never seen one.  They are nocturnal animals, and rarely out during daylight hours. It is estimated there are less than 30 nesting pairs left in British Columbia's old growth forests, and that there will be none in BC in a few years, so this was really something...

Northern Spotted Owl camouflaged in the alders...

Northern Spotted Owl.  Wow!

Meeting more humpbacks on the ride home...

Canadian Coast Guard ship sitting in Barnard Harbour, storm front approaching....

53 Degrees 32 N, 129 Degrees 00 W

Having traveled 700 miles, we reach the apex of Heron's 2011  Journey:
53. 32.27 North, 129.00.70 West, (90 miles south of the Alaska border),
motoring on a chilly, stunning morning up Wright Sound to Verney Passage...

This late in the season (August 30th), we see few other boats, just the occasional fishing vessel. Ahoy!

Although beautiful, it's our coldest morning yet,  maybe 50 degrees on deck...

As the sun rises, we watch islands of mist float off Gribbell Island, which has stunning dark granite bowls scooped out by glaciers eons ago.  Even in late August, snow patches cling to the highest bowls, and waterfalls tumble from the island's rocky flanks.  Binoculars out, we scan the shore, ever-vigilant for a white "Spirit Bear," but still no luck...

Rounding the northern tip of Gribbell Island, we make a run for Bishop Bay Hot Springs,  natural springs with 100-plus degree water.  At 10:30 a.m. on a Tuesday, we're the only humans for miles in any direction.  We grab towels, sprint up the trail, and slide into the steaming-hot springs. Nice!

Heron tied up at Bishop Bay Hot Springs...

Anchored later amidst the granite peaks at the head of Khutze Inlet, a lovely estuary rich with sedge grass, lovage, and angelica -- the main plants that make up a grizzly bear's diet -- we scan the shores for grizzlies and wolves.  We are the only people here, but there is plenty of life:  a highly entertaining colony of 50-60 seals encamped on a mudflat off the bow,  resident eagles, and when Jeff checks the crab pots, 27 crabs in less than an hour!!

Jeff determines which crabs to keep for cocktail hour...

 

Sails up, wing and wing, and flying south again...

North to Hartley Bay

 

Heading up Whale Channel, there was enough wind to raise the sails, wahoo! After anchoring for several nights in the remote coves and inlets of Princess Royal Island (where we saw no one, but hoped to glimpse a rare Kermode, or  “Spirit Bear,” a black bear with a rare recessive gene that causes it to be born with white fur), we docked in the First Nations’ village of Hartley Bay.  Docking was tricky; it’s a tiny marina.  We were lucky to find a spot on the main dock the first night, but learned the next morning that Hartley Bay’s twice-weekly ferry would be pulling in and that we might want to move the Heron.  And good thing we did!  When the ferry pulled up the whole town came down for supplies; we would have been right in everyone’s way…   

The community of Hartley Bay was wonderful.  We met fisherman Wally Bolton, who gave us two enormous Dungeness crabs and a beautiful ling cod.  Some other fishermen tossed us a nice Coho salmon off their boat (“here’s a small one, just enough for two” they said.  NOT, it was huge!).  We grilled that up our first night for dinner.

 

Kim holding a ginormous live crab, (the way Wally instructed so she won't get pinched)!

Hartley Bay's hand-hewn cedar boardwalk leads two miles through the rainforest... lovely!

 

Exploring B.C.'s Great Bear Rainforest, a wild stretch of western red cedar, hemlock, and spruce that runs 250 miles down British Columbia’s coast and forms one of the largest coastal temperate rain forests in the world, was extraordinary.  It’s a spooky, wild, mysterious place:  there are wolves here that fish, deer that swim, Western red cedar trees that have stood a thousand years or more – and  a black bear that is white...  Having no luck finding the shy, elusive Spirit Bear on our own, we were incredibly lucky to track down Hartley Bay’s local guide, Marven Robinson. 

The one and only  Marven Robinson.

 

With Marven, we spent an afternoon exploring Princess Island’s Cameron Cove.  Speeding across the water in Marven's boat, we were surrounded by more amazing humpbacks – so close we could smell their breath...  

Humpback fluke: each, we learned, is as unique as a human fingerprint.

Humpbacks feeding side by side.  Another fact:  humpback sons remain with their mothers for life. True!

Another graceful fluke... beautiful!

Marven dropped us off with a canister of bear spray and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” (after he anchored and kayaked ashore), eek!

Jeff armed with bear spray...

The ground in Cameron Cove's estuary was littered with mauled salmon carcasses.  Hundreds of pink salmon were hurling themselves upstream – it was a remarkable sight,  something we’ll not soon forget.  While we stood waiting nervously for Marven, we were dive-bombed by dozens of bald eagles and juveniles, pairs of squawking blue herons, tiny white gulls, cawing ravens...

One of many magnificent bald eagles...

Marven returns... phew!

Salmon swimming up Cameron Cove's gin-clear stream...

 

When Marven returned we hiked into a beautiful section of moss-covered forest and sat for several hours waiting for bears to come to the river and feed.  It was a quiet evening (bear wise), and we only saw one black bear.    But having the opportunity to spend an afternoon with Marven and learn about the issues facing the Great Bear Rainforest was fantastic.  We hoped to hook up with him the next week, when we returned to report on the King Pacific Lodge and hopefully head out Spirit Bear viewing again…

Our black bear.

Klemtu

 
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Heading north from Bella Bella, we crossed Seaforth Channel on a crisp blue-sky day, threaded our way through the rock-strewn entrance to Reid Passage, made a sharp elbow-turn into Oscar Passage, then a sharp turn north up Finlayson Channel.  Our destination: the first nations’ settlement of Klemtu, a Kitasoo native village, about which the cruising guides give almost no information.  As we floated up to the small public dock, we weren’t sure what to expect, but luckily, the dock-end was open next to a large purse seiner, the Pacific Marl.  The Pacific Marl’s young crew caught our lines, and when we tied up we met Skipper Bob, from Vancouver, who told us he’d been captaining the 1927 Pacific Marl since 1975. 

 

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The Coho were jumping like crazy in Klemtu.  One of the Marl’s crew, Peter, from the native village of Alert Bay told us it was because they were “happy,” just playing in the water, leaping around because they’d made it back to the river of their birth.  This was the first time we heard this, but now, after weeks of watching salmon catapulting themselves through the air for no apparent reason, we believe it to be true.

While we were eating dinner, there was a knock on our cabin:  it was Skipper Bob, his wife Cathy, Peter and their adopted dockhand, inviting us to join them on a walk to Klemtu’s cedar longhouse.  Peter’s cousin was the caretaker, and evidently, had a key. We were eager to see the longhouse, so leapt up and joined them on a lovely evening walk along the Klemtu boardwalk, which circles the small bay.  Most of Klemtu seemed to be out fishing or strolling the boardwalk in the warm summer light, still vivid at 8:45 pm.  Every person we passed waved and said “hello,”  (or introduced themselves and asked if we were from the sailboat – the only one in Klemtu). 

 

 
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Caretaker Gary Robinson met us at the longhouse, unlocked the door, and let us inside. Everything smelled of rich, fragrant cedar.  We admired the raven, wolf, and eagle carvings while Gary, in his soft-spoken, understated way, told us wonderful stories of his family, father, ancestors, and Klemtu.  Gary also opened the small “museum” next to he longhouse, where there were beautiful artifacts that had been donated to the Kitasoo nation, including old “coppers” used in ceremonial potlaches, and an ornate bear mask with a hinged jaw, flat copper nose, and copper eyes carved recently for Gary by a master carver in honor of Gary’s father.

 
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In the morning we woke to a chilly cabin, maybe 45 degrees and steamy windows.  We revved up the generator, got the floor heaters going along with a pot of strong coffee, then sadly slipped out of friendly Klemtu.  “Everywhere I look, I see a fish jump,” Jeff said.  And it was crazy-true.  Fish leaping in happy circles all around us, we headed north again…