Wet Nasturtia by the Sons of Norway Hall, Petersburg
Today we learned the true meaning of the word “wet”! We awoke cruising the quiet waters of Scenery Cove. Aptly named, the cove was picturesque, with never-seen-before waterfalls tumbling everywhere. Water falling through the trees, water falling over the rocky shore, and mostly water falling from the sky! The sea was dappled with ever-changing pock-marks. A short cruise took us to Cascade Creek, where we dropped anchor, kayaks and Zodiacs.
With a splash our boots hit the shallows. They squelched through sodden grass as we headed for the forest. There the trail seemed more fit for a salmon, or maybe a tuna, than for a deer. We might have heard drops pattering on our hoods and hats but for the powerful roar of Cascade Creek. The creek, normally an impressive series of rapids, was swollen to daunting and dangerous size. Water sped by in a foamy frenzy, and tore at streamside vegetation that at any other time would have been high and dry (OK, damp). We tromped through the rain, and thought that we knew something about wet, until we got to the base of the falls! Cascade Creek gets its name from the waterfall that tumbles not far from the tide line. Normally grand, today the falls were so fierce that they pounded out mist like the skies of Dublin at 40,000 feet, mist dashing by as if in a jetstream. Intrepid hikers ducked their heads and strode through the mist, ascending a “stairway to heaven” above the clouds. There the trail led through the forest to a cliff with a “rain wall” of steady drips. Beyond, a bridge straddled the creek. Looking down, we were even more impressed to see the immense power of the rapids. They churned with great ferocity, sending up plumes of spray tens of feet high, like chilly geysers.
Heading south, we were joined by two guests. Pieter Folkens is perhaps the finest illustrator of marine mammals in the world. He spoke to us about the work of the Alaska Whale Foundation. Sean Hasner, who studies bioacoustics, played some interesting communicative noises for us, and spoke of his interest in humpback whale vocalizations.
By afternoon, many of us were ready for a dose of civilization. Petersburg, off the cruiseship track, is a fine place to see hardworking, “normal” Alaska. Here we saw many things that, through our time spent in the wilderness, have grown unfamiliar – gift shops, hardware and grocery stores.
Some, not thoroughly hydrated, decided to visit the plashy bog. There, they found anomalous plants, such as Alaska cedar, deer cabbage, and the carnivorous sundew.
Really, mucking about in boots was a lot of fun today, but if any wondered if Southeast Alaska in September was quite the place to be, dinner cleared up doubts. A feast of Dungeness crab made being wet as a sea otter seem very worthwhile.
Today we learned the true meaning of the word “wet”! We awoke cruising the quiet waters of Scenery Cove. Aptly named, the cove was picturesque, with never-seen-before waterfalls tumbling everywhere. Water falling through the trees, water falling over the rocky shore, and mostly water falling from the sky! The sea was dappled with ever-changing pock-marks. A short cruise took us to Cascade Creek, where we dropped anchor, kayaks and Zodiacs.
With a splash our boots hit the shallows. They squelched through sodden grass as we headed for the forest. There the trail seemed more fit for a salmon, or maybe a tuna, than for a deer. We might have heard drops pattering on our hoods and hats but for the powerful roar of Cascade Creek. The creek, normally an impressive series of rapids, was swollen to daunting and dangerous size. Water sped by in a foamy frenzy, and tore at streamside vegetation that at any other time would have been high and dry (OK, damp). We tromped through the rain, and thought that we knew something about wet, until we got to the base of the falls! Cascade Creek gets its name from the waterfall that tumbles not far from the tide line. Normally grand, today the falls were so fierce that they pounded out mist like the skies of Dublin at 40,000 feet, mist dashing by as if in a jetstream. Intrepid hikers ducked their heads and strode through the mist, ascending a “stairway to heaven” above the clouds. There the trail led through the forest to a cliff with a “rain wall” of steady drips. Beyond, a bridge straddled the creek. Looking down, we were even more impressed to see the immense power of the rapids. They churned with great ferocity, sending up plumes of spray tens of feet high, like chilly geysers.
Heading south, we were joined by two guests. Pieter Folkens is perhaps the finest illustrator of marine mammals in the world. He spoke to us about the work of the Alaska Whale Foundation. Sean Hasner, who studies bioacoustics, played some interesting communicative noises for us, and spoke of his interest in humpback whale vocalizations.
By afternoon, many of us were ready for a dose of civilization. Petersburg, off the cruiseship track, is a fine place to see hardworking, “normal” Alaska. Here we saw many things that, through our time spent in the wilderness, have grown unfamiliar – gift shops, hardware and grocery stores.
Some, not thoroughly hydrated, decided to visit the plashy bog. There, they found anomalous plants, such as Alaska cedar, deer cabbage, and the carnivorous sundew.
Really, mucking about in boots was a lot of fun today, but if any wondered if Southeast Alaska in September was quite the place to be, dinner cleared up doubts. A feast of Dungeness crab made being wet as a sea otter seem very worthwhile.
