First morning light on Behm Canal shed a soft glow onto the mountains of Revillagigedo Island to our starboard and the Coast Mountain Range to port. Our final day in Alaska for 2013 couldn’t have started off any more pleasant and was a sign of things to come. As the sun climbed in the sky we continued southeast towards Rudyerd Bay and our explorations of Misty Fjords National Monument. Impossibly steep granite walls descended directly into tannin-stained water with only the occasional spawned-out, dead salmon breaking the calm surface. Barely a bird could be seen as an eerie calm settled into the long narrow fjord. If it were not for the squeal of a Bonaparte’s gull or a glance from wary harbor seals, Misty Fjords would keep its wildlife secretive and elusive.
Nearing the narrow constriction called Owl Pass, we dropped kayaks and boats for further, more intimate explorations of the bay. With air temperatures threatening to break 80 degrees, the cool air of nearby waterfalls was a welcome respite for the overdressed traveler. A high tide also allowed small boat exploration of the bay’s salmon-laden river. Whereas the rest of the bay was calm and quiet, here it was brimming with life. Several bald eagles patiently scanned the water for a meal and harbor seals popped up for a cautious glance. Salmon are what brings animals to this bay and many of the fish looked downright terrible. Life’s flame will soon be extinguished for many of these “zombie fish.” Every flick of the fin could be their last yet even the most lifeless animal continues to fight the river’s flow and stoke the fire inside. How do you measure resolve?
Directly beneath the owl eyes at Owl Pass, our chef Michelle and I punched through the brackish surface waters to explore a cold, dark, yet clear underwater world. The steep slopes above continue underwater as we explored a vertical, and sometimes overhanging, world of rock and invertebrates. The abyss called from below, a rich blue-black hole of mystery awaiting prying lights and eyes. We encountered a field of feather stars and watched thousands of arms fluttering gently like wheat in a breeze. There were more feather stars on this dive than I’ve seen in my entire diving career. Arms held up into Misty Fjord’s sweeping currents, the feather stars capture drifting particles, much of it organic material resulting from the salmon runs nearby. We rode the tide for minutes, barely a kick of our fins was needed to cruise with lion’s mane jellies and moon jellies. Our lights passed over sponges bigger than kegs with crabs and shrimp slinking back for protection. We could have sailed all day in this alien world, but the surface—and British Columbia—was calling. We ascended to a mussel bed packed with feeding Dungeness crabs. The rock face was simply boiling with crabs, all of them prying and crushing salmon-fueled mussels while the tide was still high. Everything in this bay, from the swaying feather stars to the shy rockfishes relies on salmon in some way.
