Pavlov Harbour, Alaska
Today is a day of feeding, feeding by magnificent creatures, on an Alaskan grand scale…
The humpback whales in Chatham Straight, and their high tech bubble net fishing technique, are spectacular. Levering their fluke, they dive, and corral bottom cowering fish using incongruously huge, flashing white pectoral fins. Blowholes, meant for surface breathing, stream a circular wall of bubbles to spook the prey herring into a tighter, rising ball. When the bubbles start to hit the surface, the herring have nowhere to go, bubbles to the sides, ascending whales below, sky above. The gaping whale mouths begin piercing the water inside the bubble circle, six, eight, then twelve. The glaucous winged gulls quickly congregate in a spiral to pluck the escaping, panicked herring. The sea becomes a maelstrom of flashing baleen, pink mouth roofs, swooping gulls, and gorged whale throats. We witness a feast in progress. Trumpeting whale exhalations indicate a successful feeding? Or perhaps just the end of a long breathe hold. We too, exhale, knowing we have witnessed magnificence.
Magnificent, yes, but, somehow we understand the feeding bears better. We stand by the stream waterfall, transfixed. There they are, brother and sister bear, chasing down battered, spawning salmon. Their movements and facial expressions make us smile, or sigh with anthropomorphic empathy. When the impatient brother bear catches a male fish, we interpret a look of exasperation. There are no high fat roe here, back into the water the fish goes, with telltale claw and tooth punctures. The siblings scamper in the shallows after splashing dorsal fins, but not too desperately. They are bears after all, they have dignity. As sister bear squeezes some orange eggs into her mouth, toothpaste tube style, brother sits like a bored child, looking at his paw, then scratching distractedly. He swipes at a fish, misses and raises his paw in seeming frustration. After more than an hour of antics that we too easily assign human feelings to, the bears become full, or disinterested, and wander into the shadows of the forest. Perhaps their turn is over, and other, more eager diners wait among the towering trees for a seat at the table. We daydream of bears as we make our way back, along the rocky beach, toward the Sea Lion, and the fortunate bounty of our own table.
Today is a day of feeding, feeding by magnificent creatures, on an Alaskan grand scale…
The humpback whales in Chatham Straight, and their high tech bubble net fishing technique, are spectacular. Levering their fluke, they dive, and corral bottom cowering fish using incongruously huge, flashing white pectoral fins. Blowholes, meant for surface breathing, stream a circular wall of bubbles to spook the prey herring into a tighter, rising ball. When the bubbles start to hit the surface, the herring have nowhere to go, bubbles to the sides, ascending whales below, sky above. The gaping whale mouths begin piercing the water inside the bubble circle, six, eight, then twelve. The glaucous winged gulls quickly congregate in a spiral to pluck the escaping, panicked herring. The sea becomes a maelstrom of flashing baleen, pink mouth roofs, swooping gulls, and gorged whale throats. We witness a feast in progress. Trumpeting whale exhalations indicate a successful feeding? Or perhaps just the end of a long breathe hold. We too, exhale, knowing we have witnessed magnificence.
Magnificent, yes, but, somehow we understand the feeding bears better. We stand by the stream waterfall, transfixed. There they are, brother and sister bear, chasing down battered, spawning salmon. Their movements and facial expressions make us smile, or sigh with anthropomorphic empathy. When the impatient brother bear catches a male fish, we interpret a look of exasperation. There are no high fat roe here, back into the water the fish goes, with telltale claw and tooth punctures. The siblings scamper in the shallows after splashing dorsal fins, but not too desperately. They are bears after all, they have dignity. As sister bear squeezes some orange eggs into her mouth, toothpaste tube style, brother sits like a bored child, looking at his paw, then scratching distractedly. He swipes at a fish, misses and raises his paw in seeming frustration. After more than an hour of antics that we too easily assign human feelings to, the bears become full, or disinterested, and wander into the shadows of the forest. Perhaps their turn is over, and other, more eager diners wait among the towering trees for a seat at the table. We daydream of bears as we make our way back, along the rocky beach, toward the Sea Lion, and the fortunate bounty of our own table.
