Fur and Feathers Journal, 2024, Day Two Entry Four, Great Birding

 Entry No. 4

Great Birding

Karl is sitting on the gravel bar that appears in front of camp at low tide.   He stands and waves at us.   “Bear or moose,” he shouts.

 

It’s shortly after breakfast—and after Karl washed the dishes and took his folding chair and book out to the gravel.

 

We gather our cameras and head out in the direction Karl indicates.   Getting there means climbing down a bank about six feet high to the tidal flats, but I make it without falling.

 

Off in the distance, far out of range of our long lenses, is a moose out in the open meadow.   It spots us and begins moving.

Too far away for a good shot.  Unusual to  see moose in bear country.

 

I try to get closer and come upon a pile of bear scat.  It has not been touched by the tide, so I figure it might be from the bear that Karl had rendezvoused with near the outhouse this morning.   I check around, find  bear tracks, and follow them a few feet to the bank.  

 

The bank is much lower here and I see where the bear climbed it easily.   I also see a bear trail into the forest in the general direction of the outhouse.

 

By this time, I’ve taken a couple shots of the far-away moose and returned to the group.

Nice rack.   That's something you can say to a moose but never to a woman.

 

“You know the old question, “Does a moose poop in the woods?’ ”   I ask.   

“ The answer is, 'No, it doesn’t.   It poops on the beach and then goes into the woods.’”   I tell them about the bear trail heading toward camp.

 

As we reach the high bank by camp, someone spots a couple bald eagles high in a spruce and we take a few shots.

 

 

As we’re eating our bratwurst lunch, a bear strolls along the far shore of Shelter Creek.   It is the right size as the clamming bear so we believe it’s the same bear.

 

We watch it make its slow progress.  We take photos at intervals and go to the high bank spot to watch it walk through the meadow with Iliamna and the spires in the background.   It’s a breath-taking scene on a beautiful day. 

Black spot along the meadow is the bear, dwarfed by Iliamna.

 

In the afternoon, I go to my tent to get something and my sleeping bag tempts me with an invitation I can’t resist.

 

Next thing I know, Ronnie’s shouting at me and it’s dinner time, which is a huge bowl of delicious, homemade loaded baked potato soup.   We see some shorebirds called yellowlegs right in front of camp.

 

Soon, Karl is back out on the gravel bar and waves to us that he sees a great blue heron.   We scramble.  The bird had been in the trees around camp earlier.

 

It’s a long way off, like the moose in the morning.   We saunter along, dodging water left by the receding tide.

 

The first bird we are close enough to photograph is a kingfisher perched on an overturned tree root structure.

Kingfisher is almost in the center of the photo.

 

As we’re watching that, I spot a raptor in flight, jack up my shutter speed and shoot!

 

It’s a northern harrier.   Another great bird spotting.

Woo-hoo!   Bird in flight and it's in focus.

 

I get some so-so pictures of the heron and we head back to camp.

 

Much later, Eddy walks out to the beach.

See him?   Follow the green at left out past the center where the land meets the creek mouth.   That wee black spot is Eddy.

 

Sigh, it's our last night here.  Tomorrow we will head to the lodge.

Clouds moving in portend an overcast day tomorrow.   Here's hoping it doesn't rain.

Fur and Feathers Journals 2024, Entry No. Three, Ronnie Tries to Keep Me from Peril

Entry No. Three

Ronnie Tries to Keep Me from Peril

You know how far it is to get help?” says Ronnie, our co-host at Shelter Creek tent camp.   “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“I know,”   I reply.   “I don’t want to get hurt either, but we can get closer.  We can get a lot closer.”

 

Ronnie eyes the Coastal brown bear ahead of us on the beach of Cook Inlet.  “But….”

A few minutes earlier, game-spotter Karl signaled to us that he saw a bear on the beach.  We trudged over and there’s medium-sized bear digging clams.

 

We are so far away the bear looks like a tiny black spot in our  long lenses.

Using all 500mm of my big lens and not cropped so the bear was much farther than it appears in this photo.

 

“Ronnie, I know the bears around here might not be as habituated as the bears farther up the coast at Silver Salmon Creek, but that bear is relaxed.   Look at its ears.   They aren’t laid back.”

 

The bear continued to dig razor clams as we slowly approach.   

 

“It takes a long time to get medical help, especially when the weather’s bad.” Ronnie says.

 

I smile, but don’t let Ronnie see it.   I felt the same way the first time I came over here and Rick Collins led us to these dangerous creatures.

 

 

As always, we pause for an “insurance shot.”   Just in case we never get anything more opportunities, it’s our safety photo.

“Okay, let’s not approach it directly.   Walk toward the water.   That way, the bear has a clear escape route to the forest.”  Don’t I sound like a bear guide?   I laugh to myself and imagine I’m channeling former guide Rick , the best bear guide I know.

 

We slowly get closer.  I’m thinking not only bear safety but also photo angles and background, direction of the sun, and composition.

 

The bear continues digging clams.   We are still a long way away.

 

Ronnie is darned near apoplectic by the time I stop. He’s right behind my shoulder, murmuring in my ear about getting hurt.   We are still about 70 feet away and I know we can safely approach, but I stop.  Ronnie’s our cook. Can’t have the cook disabled by nervous naufragii.

 

In Ronnie’s defense, this is his first time as a host at bear camp.   Alicia and I have been to Silver Salmon Creek lodge several times.   Eddie is also a first-timer here but I’m not sure he believes the stories I told him.

Love it when the sun turns the hide golden.

The bear’s ears are at the right attitude, the hackles aren’t standing up, and—best of all—it continues digging for clams.

 

It glances at us occasionally, but for the most part just goes about its business.  Many, many generations of Coastal brown bears have lived here and they are accustomed to humans.    “Habituated"  the correct word.

 

I have seen sows lie down on their backs and nurse their cubs not 30 feet from me!  They are most vulnerable to attack in that position. I have seen them send their cubs up a tree near us and leave us to babysit the cubs.   A friend who used to setnet for salmon here told many stories of bears that trusted him with their cubs.  The sows know the boars won’t come close when humans are there.

 

I wouldn’t try this with any other bears in any other location.   They are still wild and dangerous and unpredictable.   But here?   Bear manners above all.   Don’t walk in front of them.   Keep the group close together to appear large.   Don’t crowd them, don’t move quickly, don’t run, stay quiet.   Even if they walk straight toward you, stay calm and they won’t bother you.  Stay extra vigilant with boars, but with such hairy coats, who can tell?

 

Several times I’ve had these bears walk within five or six feet of me.

 

I watch Eddie crouching low to get a great angle with his camera.   I’d be down there, too, but it would take all three of them to get me back upright.

I'm really happy that Eddie is getting his shots.   Sitting in camp while Karl watches for bears is entirely different method than what we have coming up when we go to the main lodge.

Incoming tide.

 

The tide’s coming in and soon the bear must leave.   So will we.

Kelp in the sand.

We trudge back to camp for a lunch of bratwurst.   Ronnie has returned to normal.

 

Karl goes out on the gravel bar with his book and chair.

 

 

See Silver Salmon Creek along the right coast just above  "Cook Inlet ?"   We are south of there around the knob  of land.

 

Fur and Feathers Journal 2024, Entry No. Two

Entry No. Two

Danger, Danger Everywhere

 

 

 

I hear voices.

 

 

Or, I think I hear voices,

 

I’m burrowed so deeply into my flannel-lined sleeping bag that I’m not sure.  I find the flap and lift slightly.   I can see that dawn is newborn but still quite young.  With the flap open just a couple inches, I hear voices again.  

  

Well, one voice.   

 

I fight my way out of the bag and go to the tent door, unzip it, and see Karl standing outside. (Remember, I went to bed fully dressed.)  It’s Karl’s self-appointed duty to get up before everyone else in camp and start the coffee.

 

Karl explains that he’d just run into a bear near the outhouse, which is a winding walk into the forest and about 60 feet beyond the electric fence.  He says they surprised each other and the bear stood up to get a better look at him before they each went in opposite directions.    Though, says Karl, the bear walked past Eddie’s tent.  

 

He  warns us to keep our eyes open when we visit the open-air facility in the dense forest.

 

I zipped the flap closed and wake Alicia to tell her.   Then, I'm  back to my toasty-warm bed until the sun comes up and the temperature is more amenable to human survival.   There's been a series of cold storms the past few days, but the winds that tried to scour us from the earth have died down and the sky is clear.

 

Our camp is enclosed with an electric fence—two bands of white tape hooked to a battery device. The tape is unhooked during the daytime and armed at night.   

 

Bears or no, the pathway to the outhouse presents a threat.   There are blueberry bushes and Devil’s Club bushes interspersed among the huge spruce trees everywhere you look.   The blueberries attract bears and the Devil’s Club lie in wait for the unsuspecting passer-by, whence they stab you with their  horrid, hooked thorns that can cause painful punctures and skin irritation.   

I still have a scar on one hand where a thorn punctured me.

Gillifoto photo.

 

Even the huge leaves are a menace.   No wonder the plant is called Oplopanax horridus.  The stems have a multitude of thorns and even the leaves have them.

The top of the leaf.

The bottom of the leaf.

 

In the fall, Devil’s Club blooms with a cone of bright red berries.   Very striking against the rich green leaves, but the berries are toxic to humans.   Bears and moose, however, love the berries.

 

 

It’s still cold later at breakfast.   I’m working my way through a huge bowl of oatmeal with dried apricots and pecans.   It’s about four times more than I usually eat and I do what I can so I don’t insult Ronnie the Chef.

 

Alicia asks for buttered toast.  The butter is too cold to spread so the guys come to her rescue with a propane torch.   We instantly deem the bread  “Blowtorch Toast”   

Alicia's Blowtorch Toast.

Just for that, I ask for a slice of Blowtorch Toast so I can get better pix, not that I need more to eat.

And he didn't burn the paper towel!

Eddie says he thought he’d heard a bear right next to his tent during the night.  He’s been alert to every sound.   “I punched the side of the tent and yelled,” he said.  Most likely, that’s the bear Karl saw walk towards Eddie’s tent.

L-R:   Karl, Alicia, Eddie, me, Ronnie.  Karl's photo

 

Then we sit around camp, get to know our co-hosts, have serious and civil discussions about current topics, swap stories, and relax while Karl goes on the lookout for animals.  He grabs his book, carries a folding chair out to the gravel bar that appears at low tide, and settles in to wait and watch.

 

And he spots critters!

 

 

Fur and Feathers Journals, 2024, Entry No. One

 Entry No. One

Bears or Bed?

“Want to go out to the beach and check for bears?” asks  Karl after dinner on our first night at Shelter Creek tent camp.

 

I don’t respond, just reach for my camera and start to stand.  Then, while listening to my body hurling all kinds of threats and invectives, I stare down at the table for a moment and say, “No.  I’m going to bed.”

 

And I do.   

 

I am beyond exhausted.  I reach the tent, take off my shoes and wrestle my way into a large, flannel-lined sleeping bag with a pillow.   Inside the bag is a sheet folded in half length-wise and I try as best I can to get between the folded sheet while still wearing the rest of my clothes.

Four cot tents, but Alicia and I are the only two in this tent.

 

The sun is still shining, so it must have been 8-ish when I hit the sack.   Or  bed, or bag. Whatever.

The tents are Hansen Weatherports and very roomy.   These are the ribs with sun shining through the trees.

 

I am chilled.   The wind had blown all day and by evening I was starting to get cold.   After dinner, the chill really took hold.    I pull the sleeping bag over my head and snuggle down as much as I can while wearing clothes, and in between a folded sheet.

 

Then, I think about how I arrived here.

 

A week before I had no intention to go anywhere.   Then, Wednesday I spoke with a friend who offered me an unbelievable price for three nights in the Shelter Creek tent camp and three nights at Silver Salmon Creek Lodge.   It’s one of my favorite places in Alaska and after first declining because of the exterior restoration project I was immersed in, I changed my mind and said yes.

 

We were to meet at Lake Hood, the floatplane base in Anchorage, at 11 AM Sunday.  Our plane would be on wheels and take off from the adjacent airstrip.

I arrived there at 10 AM, but our flight was re-scheduled for the next day at 7:45 AM because of strong, blustery winds.

 

I drove the hundred miles home, had a lot of trouble falling asleep, got maybe two hours of sleep, and headed back the hundred miles to Anchorage.  

 

My friend, Eddie, and I were the only ones there.   The woman who organized the trip didn’t show until 10:30 or so.   Then, the pilot texted 11:30.   More waiting, but eventually we were off.   Mixed texts; mixed messages.

Tide flats west side of Cook Inlet

 

After an hour or so, the Cessna 185 skipped across the mud flats to slow the plane and came to a stop on the sandy beach.  Carts and staff met us, loaded our luggage and us, and headed for the lodge.

The charts are pulled by an ATV.

 

No sooner did we clear the first line of trees and enter the meadow, than we saw a Coastal brown bear walking our way.   No problem, we just let him go.

Here's a video I took, probably with my phone.   Listen to the noise of the wind.

 

After lunch at Silver Salmon Creek Lodge, we board an aluminum boat with Oliver in command and we bounce and slam our way across the waves about ten miles south to Shelter Creek.   The seas are rough.   So is the ride.

 

This boat, or another like it, is what took us to Shelter Creek.

We arrive at high tide and Oliver is able to enter the creek and drop us off right in front of camp.   We meet our co-hosts, Ronnie and Karl.

Karl, left, and Ronnie, right.   Great camp hosts.

Note the ladder to get up the bank.

  

Our glorious kitchen and Ronnie's domain.

 

One of the Hansen Weatherports

Four men toting fishing gear and huge cameras climb on board the boat for a ride back to the lodge.  They had to spend an extra day because of the same bad weather that delayed us.

 

I notice they look pretty glum and I wonder if they hadn’t caught any salmon.  But why do the photographers also look glum?   No bears?

 

We have a nice dinner and sit around chatting until Karl asks me about checking for bears.

 

Nope, nope.  Soon I am tucked into my flannel-lined sleeping bag. There will be bears tomorrow.

 

 

Looking upstream from camp.   The large peak on the far right is Mt. Iliamna, a dormant volcano.   The three peaks to the left are actually another ridge in from of Iliamna

Another upstream view showing the tidal spread of Shelter Creek.

Photo taken from in front of camp and looking to the mouth of Shelter Creek and into Cook Inlet.  That far green strip on the left is where Karl wanted to check for bears.