The Press and Journal (Inverness, Highlands, and Islands)
JOURNEY INTO THE UNKNOWN
In the second of a three-part series, Keith Gordon explores the Bering Sea and becomes an expert in all things ornithological
DAY 6, MONDAY - AGAIN
We are back on the “right” side of the dateline. We have arrived at St Lawrence Island, far out in the Bering Sea. We are supposed to go ashore here and visit a small, isolated Inuit community where the people survive on a diet of whale and walrus meat. However, the wind has other ideas – the waves are too high for the zodiacs (the small rubber boats that take us from ship to shore). The calm seas of the past few days are no more.
Before lunch, I go to a lecture on plate tectonics and the geology of this region. John, our geology professor, explains that we are in the northern “Ring of Fire”, an area where the Pacific Plate and the North American Plate meet, the former subducting under the latter. This is the reason for the many volcanoes here, some of which are still active. A fascinating talk. Can you still study geology at my age?
The Silver Discoverer sails to the more protected south side of St Lawrence Island where the sea is calmer – so is my stomach! The zodiacs take us to the beach. We spend an hour or two walking on the tundra, learning about the flowers and mosses of this vast, treeless place. Then it is back to the ship and hot chocolate with a generous dash of rum.
DAY 7, TUESDAY
Thick fog. We are at anchor off the bird cliffs of Hall Island – somewhere out there in the fog. We hope. The ship is immediately swallowed up by the fog as we zodiac into the unknown in search of nesting birds. Centuries ago, people believed the Earth was flat, that you would fall off the edge if you went far enough. That is how I feel at this moment. An eerie atmosphere. Our zodiac driver has to navigate with GPS. Then suddenly, the cliffs loom into view. The fog lifts and we marvel at the thousands of seabirds, on the water, in the air, on narrow ledges of rock. How do they manage to nest on these vertical cliff faces?
In the afternoon, we visit the nearby volcanic island of St Matthew. This time we go ashore, and in small groups explore the spongy, but surprisingly dry tundra. Conrad, our team botanist, stops every 20 metres, drops to his knees, bombarding his listeners with the Latin names of various plants, mosses and flowers. He infects us with his enthusiasm, and we are soon crawling around on all fours looking at specimens of the unique tundra vegetation.
A small bird zooms past, right in front of our noses. A scream from the birders. A Mackay’s bunting! This feathered specimen nests nowhere else in the world, only here and on Hall Island. It is a kind of
Eldorado for birders. If and when a birder has seen one, he can turn up his toes and die a happy man in the knowledge that he has achieved life’s ultimate goal.
After a while, at the top of a hill, I sit down on the soft grass, lay down my camera and enjoy my peaceful surroundings and the Bering Sea below. The fog lifts, the sun makes a brief appearance. A soothing experience.
DAY 8, WEDNESDAY
We are on the way to St Paul Island, 229 nautical miles south of St Matthew. Before our arrival, we listen to a lecture on “The First Iditarod”. What is that? It is a huskydrawn sledge race from just north of Anchorage up to Nome, a distance of over 1,000 kilometres. It takes place in March every year to commemorate the relay of huskies and men who, in January 1925, in appalling winter conditions, brought a lifesaving antitoxin to Nome to combat the diphtheria epidemic in which several children had already died. T.H. Baughman, a professor of European history, gives the lecture. He creates an exciting story, making it easy to visualise the danger, sacrifice, and heroics of the dogs and men involved.
In the middle of his talk, we are hanging on every word. Then, loudspeaker announcement: Orcas on the starboard side! There is a mad rush to the outside decks. Is it worth it? Yes! At some distance, we see three orcas “playing” with a seal they have just caught. I feel sorry for the seal, but more sorry for T.H. If the announcement had said “Fire!”, the room could not have emptied more quickly. Never mind, he will be able to finish the story this evening.
At about midday, we reach St Paul Island, one of the Pribilof Islands. They were discovered in 1786 by the Russian explorer Pribilof and named after him. He was looking for fur seals and found them here in their tens of thousands. Thus began the commercial slaughter of these animals for their skin.
We spend an interesting afternoon on the island. First, we drive to an observation platform on one of the beaches from where we can look down on a fur seal rookery. There are thousands. Huge bulls have staked out their territory, jealously guarding their respective harems. An impressive sight. We then go on to visit the small Russian-Orthodox church. There are 440 souls living on this island, of whom 90% are Russian-Orthodox, many of them, thanks to old Pribilof, with Russian surnames.
DAY 9, THURSDAY
Today’s island is St George, also one of the Pribilof group. It lies 36 nautical miles further south and has a population of 70. St George was at the centre of the fur seal industry until 1973 (in this year, the cruel slaughtering finally became illegal). We visit an old seal processing factory, now a museum, where the various “processing” stages are explained. Several skins have been laid out for our inspection: otter, beaver, caribou, fur seal. All feel soft and silky, but the fur seal is in a class of its own. Now I understand the vast sums of money which could be made from fur seal skin in those days.
After this visit, a King-Kong pickup takes us to another fur seal rookery. The local behind the wheel is obviously a retired racing driver. I sit outside on the side of the open cargo area, hanging on by my fingernails, enjoying the force 10 gale. I am the outdoor type. Suddenly, the wind decides it is time for my woolly hat to take its leave. It sails away, executes a few complex airborne pirouettes, before landing softly in some long grass now becoming ever distant behind me. Thankfully, we soon arrive at the rookery.
In the afternoon, we reach the Aleutian Trench, the point in the Bering Sea where the depth goes suddenly from 200 to 1,100 metres. It is here where seabirds in their hundreds often congregate. Our ornithologist throws “chum” into the water. What is “chum”? Wait for it: a mixture of halibut, sardines, cereal and olive oil. The birds appear as if from nowhere. A wild, frenetic eating orgy ensues. The birds can’t get enough – neither can the birders on board. No, silly, they don’t eat it, they just go berserk with their cameras. I must admit to a feeling of mild enthusiasm.
DAY 10, FRIDAY
We have arrived in Dutch Harbour. This small port is 200 nautical miles south of St George on the Aleutian island of Unalaska. It is America’s biggest port measured by the volume of fish landed there annually. Its large fish processing plant is the main employer. The deep-water harbour allows our ship to tie up at the dock, giving us a “dry landing” – no zodiacs this time. Two shuttle buses take us to various places of interest. So, what do we see? First of all, bald eagles, America’s iconic, national bird. They are everywhere. On lampposts, roofs, in trees, I even see one perched on the onion-like spire of the Russian-Orthodox church, obviously looking for inspiration.
The most interesting thing for me, however, is the small war museum, which tells the story of the Aleutian Islands in World War II and their strategic importance for the US. The Japanese occupied two of the islands – Attu and Kiska – in an effort to gain control of Pacific supply lines. There was heavy fighting between American and Japanese troops before the Americans retook the islands. It is called “the forgotten war”.
In the afternoon, we sail for the “Baby Islands”. Cool temperatures, cloud, hardly any wind, calm sea. Ideal conditions to spot whales. Sure enough, some humpbacks appear at the surface, roll lazily forward, then dive, their flukes waving goodbye as they disappear into the deep. Hypnotic to watch.
I am still at the ship’s railing when a small, frail-looking old lady approaches. She seems to be shivering – obviously too cold for her on deck. “Where is the warm air?” she asks. “Africa?” I suggest. Total confusion spreads across her face. Then we both burst out laughing. She meant, of course, the warm air coming out of the ventilator grids in the ship’s two funnels. Silly me!
The Baby Islands are just a collection of rocky outcrops. We zodiac around for two hours, see some rare seabirds, sea otters, seals, sea lions. The bird which causes the greatest excitement is the so-called “whiskered auklet”. Shouts of awe and wonder every five minutes. Back in our cabin, I mutter to Lynda that if I hear the name once more... At that moment, an announcement is made. Whiskered auklets have been sighted close to the ship. Give me a gun!