Southeast Alaska

17-24 June 2017

I haven't had a holiday to somewhere nice and wild for a year because of A-levels but we finally went on an UnCruise trip to Southeast Alaska on the EV Wilderness Explorer! It was a very small ship - more like a boat, really - even for an expedition vessel, which was what made it so great. There were seven guides (I think) for only 70 guests onboard so it felt very homely. Everyone was really friendly and we quickly got comfortable with one another. The guides were unbelievably knowledgeable about ecology, evolutionary biology, geology (all the -ologies you can think of); I feel some of them could replace a couple of my previous school's H2 Biology teachers (cough). They will need more teachers like these if they want us to stop sleeping in lectures any time soon. I wish we had a chance in school to get out a bit more and see things for ourselves, which was what the Wilderness Explorer was all about:

f/5.6, 1/500s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

Anyway, I learnt so much from this trip; it reminded me very much of my favourite trip to Wales with Raffles Girls' School in 2013. I'd rank this trip right next to the latter, only because this one had no quadrats and cross-staffs, Spearman ranks and diversity indices. It was uncannily similar in other ways, though, like the skiff tours; Dan, one of the guides with a marine biology degree, even gave a short presentation on intertidal ecology using the standard rocky shore diagram (subtidal zone to splash zone) which we used for our field experiment in Freshwater East in Wales! All my memories of the Wales trip came flooding back when he did that - the desiccated barnacles, the limpets, the sedentary dog whelks and their curious relationships with each other. Incidentally, it was there that I learnt seaweed were not plants but here where I forgot it, wondering why kelp weren't plants when the answer was also in primary school Science. I also learnt loads about nautical navigation. I've been to a bridge in one of Singapore's frigates but never to one, until this trip, in an expedition vessel which was more interesting and the air of naval tradition was heavier.

I was planning to annotate all my pictures with the time they were taken when I found out my camera was about 10 minutes off. My phone pictures were all right though.

17 June 2017
After a flight from Singapore to Taipei, from Taipei to Seattle and from Seattle to Alaska, we finally arrived at the Juneau hospitality centre by bus. The UnCruise guy on the bus said there were more boats for sale here than houses. From there we walked to the harbour where we boarded the WEX.
1833h. First view of the Last Frontier:

Then we had dinner, where I made friends with Jeff, a guy with a geology degree, by asking him strange questions about rocks.

18 June 2017
The next morning we arrived at Glacier Bay National Park. This national park is closed to larger ships so it was a privilege to enter it by sea.

0810h. Here's a nice poster they have on the ship; it's a stark reminder of how much there still is to see:

A while later we saw lots of beach bum stellar sea lions enjoying their summer:

f/5.6, 1/320 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610 

And a tufted puffin. Tufted puffins are about twice the size of Atlantic puffins which made it easier for me to take this picture but I still like Atlantic puffins more because they look sillier and are clumsier.

 f/5.6, 1/320 s, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

I think these are cormorants but I'm not sure:

And then we saw a bit of the Fairweather Range in fair weather. I can't work out if that chunk of stuff is a glacier:

f/5.6, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610 

About two hours later we saw some mountain goats! At first they were pretty hard to spot but after we got a bit closer, more began to appear. They were small in my 10x binoculars and even smaller in my 300mm lens so I had to brutally crop my pictures:

 f/5.6, 1/320 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610

Here's a lousy picture of a pelagic cormorant (but it's the only one I have, sorry):

f/8, 1/80 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610 

Here's a baby mountain goat nursing. Sometimes the nannies get so tired of nursing that they move to higher ground just to avoid their kids. Another cruelly cropped picture:

 f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610

Then one of the guides, Christian, let me try out his camera which was attached to a 600 mm telephoto! I managed to snap a picture of an otter with her baby on it. It was pretty far away and since this was shot in jpeg, I couldn't crop it without losing too much detail. It's a bad photo but the only one I have:

f/6, 1/1250 s, ISO 800, 150-600@350 mm (Don't ask my why it wasn't fully extended; still hating myself for it), Nikon D610

Then, he let me put his lens on my camera but by then the otters were gone. Over the remaining days of the trip, my camera seemed fated to be absent whenever otters were present so I have no good otter pictures to show, which makes me sad because they're adorable.

1259h. And then it was lunch. Here's the view from the queue:

After lunch we looked at glaciers. This ice floe looked incredibly lonely:

 f/7.1, 1/1000 s, ISO 100, 70-300@70 mm, Nikon D610

I have no idea which glacier this was. I think it's the Lamplugh glacier.

And here's another right next to it. This one looks like a stretch of rock but it is in fact a really wide glacier covered in silt. The other glacier calved from its face, bringing the silt down with it. This one calved from the bottom, allowing more layers of silt to sit on it. We tested the water visibility which was rather poor due to the silt and also the temperature which was warm at about 22°C. I'm not sure why but I strongly suspect it's because the glacier and ice floes reflect heat back into the water. My friend who took A-level Geography says it's also because the darker silted water absorbs more heat.

1415h. We spotted this eagle who is basically my life goal:

The ice floes looked like clouds in the mountains' reflections:

1536h. We kept cruising; the summer melt made little waterfalls everywhere:

I also wondered why there are patches on the water surface that are textured differently. I've always wondered this in Singapore but I found no-one to answer me. Anyway one of the guides, Kelly, said it was because they were freshwater (from the waterfalls) that couldn't mix well with salt water. Later, one of the other guides said it could also be that the currents beneath those patches were going in a different direction from the surrounding area.

2053h. We docked at Bartlett Cove next to a row of research vessels. It felt good to be so near hardcore academia.

We took an easy forest trail where there was a quiet pond. I looked long and hard for eagles to land on the snags but none came:

There was a well-written information board:

And an eagle carving on a tree:

Another information board worth reading:

And a porcupine! By the time I got there it was pretty scared by all the attention it was getting:

f/5.6, 1/100 s, ISO 320, 70-300@270 mm, Nikon D610 

2134h. In the soft sunset glow the woods were beautiful:

The leaves danced like flames in the light breeze as the light shone through them:

And then we headed back to the boat for a stunning sunset. I don't remember seeing orange sunsets over the remaining days so this was a good day:

f/4.2, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 70-300@100 mm, Nikon D610

 f/5.6, 1/100 s, ISO 400, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

 f/5.6, 1/100 s, ISO 400, 70-300@70 mm, Nikon D610

19 June 2017

The next morning we found ourselves at the Inian Islands. We also visited the Idaho Inlet. I went on a skiff ride to check out the animals by the waterside and I stupidly did not bring my camera with me. All I had was my phone in a waterproof cover.

1050h. We saw a group of sea lions. There was a gang of teenage sea lions who kept checking us out. Some came really close. Ellie, one of the guides, said sea lions might be attracted to the boat's bubbles, thinking the boat is another sea lion. But for all we know they might just be checking us out out of curiosity. Then, while these teenagers were out, two adult sea lions on the rock began to get really frisky but the female just wasn't into it and went away. Ellie said she once saw a female sea lion bite a male's ear off because he couldn't get that she wasn't interested.

As we were returning to the ship we navigated really near a cave because there was a mother sea otter and her pup floating around there, foraging through the kelp! They were out of my phone camera's range but unbelievably close, definitely close enough for me to get a good picture on my 300 mm which I didn't have with me. One of the saddest moments of my life.

1632h. In the afternoon I went for a kayaking tour. We passed over an area with huge blood stars that went up to about 30cm in diameter, again when my camera wasn't with me! It was really pleasant and quiet in the rain and I didn't want to go back to the ship.

The rain stopped for a bit and the bugs came out immediately. 'It's either bugs or rain,' said Dan, our kayaking guide, 'I prefer the rain.'

At about 2100h I saw a whale come up close to our boat. Something was behind it but I'm not sure. It could've been an otter or a sea lion.

20 June 2017

We arrived at Seal Bay where I paddle-boarded for the first time! It was raining but the rain was gentle and inviting, unlike in Singapore. I think Singapore gets more rainfall but even light rain back home sounds more menacing because of the man-made materials and objects it strikes. Here in Alaska, rain fell on nothing but water, earth and leaves.

It was my first time paddle-boarding so Dan paddled beside me for a bit to give me some advice. He said not to look at the paddle but 'in front at just how beautiful it is!' That cured my nerves straight away - the hills and trees converging in the mist and soft rain was truly breathtaking. Nothing in Singapore compared. He also said it was like riding a bicycle - the moment you stopped you would feel like falling off, so the trick was to keep paddling, even if really slowly.

0929h. After I managed to get my legs to stop shaking, though, I also managed to stop paddling and comfortably snap a picture (with my phone of course):

0938h. There was the same peace that I felt kayaking the previous day that cannot be described. Trying to explain it is like trying to explain the colour blue to someone born blind.

I also took some simple videos. I wish I had a GoPro. I saw them at MS Color when I got my telephoto. Maybe I'll wait a bit before I plead for another discount.

0956h. When I got nearer to the bay, I could see just how clear the water was. There were also baby salmon swimming around.

1015h. And then I saw a seal! Then two seals! Then, three! They began popping up everywhere just when I did not have my camera with me! I tried to snap a picture with my phone but this was as far as it could go. They wouldn't go too near to me but were playful and curious enough to check me out periodically. They would pop up one or two at a time and consider me with their puppy dog eyes before disappearing beneath the water again.

That was the seal if you're wondering:

1132h. There's the Wilderness Explorer. She's really small even for an expedition vessel and I loved her. I still do.

1523h. After lunch we went whale-watching from the bow of the ship. The whales were bubble-netting which someone on the ship said was rare but it seems to be a pretty well-documented behaviour. It's a complex behaviour that requires intelligent co-operation that goes against the solitary instincts of the whales; they have to learn it from their mothers and by watching each other. It helps them feed better by confusing the fish with a bubble net, allowing the whales to scoop the fish off the surface of the water. Sometimes they fed on their sides so we couldn't see their mouths popping out of the water. We couldn't see anything that went on underwater so we used the birds that were attracted to the fish as an indicator species instead to tell us where the whales were bubble-netting:

 f/5.6, 1/320 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

Here they are feeding on their sides:

f/5.6, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610 

1541h. The whales then popped out at an unexpected place because the birds we were following apparently had no idea what they were after:

f/5.6, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610 

At first I thought this was a bird...

But then in the next picture:

 f/5.6, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

It suddenly seemed to big to be a bird; it looked more like a part of one of the whale's fin. Or it could still be a really squashed bird:

1629h. As we waited for the next bubble net event, we got distracted by a rainbow:

In the interim here's a heavily cropped picture of a whale tail:

And a heavily cropped picture of an eagle getting something:

While another eagle waits to steal it:

1652h. Do these belong to the same whale?

1720h. Then, Christian lent me his 600 mm telephoto lens again! I was really happy. I sat outside on the bow alone for two hours hoping to get a sea otter but instead I got a flock of ducks:

 f/6.3, 1/400 s, ISO 100, 150-600@600 mm, Nikon D610

Christian said they were something ducks but I forgot. I did a search back in Singapore and I think they're wood ducks but I'm not sure. Anyway I like the progression of wing beats in this picture; it's like a film roll. But there was too large a chunk of sea at the bottom which was annoying so I cut that off:

 f/6.3, 1/400 s, ISO 100, 150-600@600 mm, Nikon D610

21 June 2017

On the fourth day we arrived at Emmons Island. I went on a bird walk in the morning. There was sunshine and calm breezes. It was really pleasant.

0828h. I also got a picture of this eagle when we landed:

 f/5.6, 1/500s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

0908h. Then, Christian lent me his telephoto lens again:

f/6.3, 1/500 s, ISO 100, 150-600@600mm, Nikon D610 

And I tried to pan a raven with it and failed:

We headed into the woods, then out, then back again. Two of our shipmates played chickadee song and some chickadees called back. We saw a kind of photosynthetic fungus that looked like a plant but wasn't a plant (forgot the name) and a cut-off dying segmented worm that turned out to be a marine worm when I looked it up. I wonder how it got there. Then, we found a mixture of animal bones; they were probably some predator's dinner. We also checked out some stripped spruce cones left by a squirrel beneath a western hemlock tree. I wondered why the squirrel didn't just eat the spruce cones under the spruce tree instead; Christian said it was because the squirrel just liked the hemlock tree better. The squirrels here resembled the ones in Singapore much more than the grey squirrels in the lower 48 or the red ones in Britain. There was the same test tube-cleaner, non-bushy tail and the sleeker frame. I wonder if they're historically related although I know it's more likely to be a coincidence, seeing how far away Alaska is from Singapore.

The woods were very quiet and peaceful and I felt safe there. Someone had set up camp there and put up hammocks. They have apparently been there for a long time. When we got back into the woods, we lay down on the moss and just listened. A squirrel ran up a tree, checking every branch for cones. A few eagles flew past. Birds that I couldn't identify called out. I drowsily watched the spruce and hemlock branches above me, how they fanned out so geometrically and beautifully, and thought of Keats' poem addressing a nightingale whose song he was admiring from under a tree (although there are no nightingales in Alaska):

...'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
  But being too happy in thine happiness, -
    That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
      In some melodious plot
  Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
    Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

...Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
  No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
  In ancient days by emperor and clown...

0942h. We saw two Sitka deers just when we were about to board the skiff:

And an eagle. This isn't a good picture because it's a bit out of focus but I really like those curled winglets. I read somewhere that the winglets of aeroplanes were inspired by those of eagles:

f/6.3, 1/400 s, ISO 100, 150-600@600 mm, Nikon D610 

And here's the last decent picture I got on Christian's 600 mm. Eternally grateful.

f/6.3, 1/400 s, ISO 100, 150-600@600 mm, Nikon D610

And then the skiff zoomed away. I really wanted to stay though.

...thy plaintive anthem fades
  Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
    Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
      In the next valley-glades:
  Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
    Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

1008h. When we returned I borrowed a book from the captain which I saw the previous day when I visited the bridge. The captain was really friendly my first time there (and thereafter); he gave me a crash course in navigation, let me inspect his charts, let me watch him undock while narrating the whole process to me. The book was really interesting but some of it contradicted what I read elsewhere, especially from British sources (this book is American) despite sharing the same terms:

1449h. In the afternoon I went for a bushwhack. It was pretty short - not much of a whack but we saw a good deal of cool plants and fungi. I didn't bring my camera along but there were no animals anyway. I forgot the name of this one but it eats bugs, like a venus flytrap:

We also saw this weird thing (I have stopped assuming plant-like things are plants) that our guide Michelle couldn't identify. I wonder what it is and what it does:

Then we passed through a nice muskeg:

1553h. On the shore we waded around for quite some time because no-one was available to drive our skiff. Here's a baby limpet:

I also saw a limpet move! And a small hermit crab hiding under a rock. Finally, the bosun arrived to drive us back. The captain had told him I was interested in nautical stuff and he told me a bit about his experience sailing on the square-rigged tall ship Lady Washington.

When we made it back I got on with a Scrabble game, where I added E and T to the other words and made 'limpets', which earned me a high-five from Dan that night...

...Because after dinner he gave a presentation on intertidal zones! I learnt this in Year 3 on a school trip to Wales as rocky shore ecology. All rocky shores are intertidal zones but not all intertidal zones are rocky shores. Also, the biodiversity in Dan's slides was different from and richer than that of the Welsh rocky shore - there were more life forms in the former, just not any dog whelks and the limpets were smaller. The presentation featured sea cucumbers and afterwards when Dan asked if anyone had questions, a child replied, 'I don't have a question but can I say something?'

'Of course,' said Dan.

'Sea cucumbers breathe through their butts!'

We laughed and Dan told her to repeat it louder which she did.

'Thank you, [name withheld]! I never knew that. We learn new things every day!'

Anyway, I looked it up and it's true - sea cucumbers have two tree-like things in their anuses that extract oxygen from water.

2205h. At night I watched the ship navigate through a narrow sea lane. I wish this was done in the daytime so we could get a closer look at the birds and other animals on the neighbouring island:

2230h. Then I watched the bosun lower the anchor for the day. The bridge called to him through his walkie-talkie, 'Let go five shots, let go' which he repeated to himself before turning the rode wheel. He explained that the anchor was marked with ribbons for each shot. I think the order was green, yellow, red, blue then white but I wouldn't trust myself with this, except that five shots was surely white because the white ribbon was dancing on the waterline when he was done. I was in awe of the precision and exclaimed, 'It's exaclty five shots!' To which he replied, 'Yes, it is! This time. It's not always like this.' He was really proud of his work. Then he stretched his arm out of the side of the boat; I think he was showing the bridge the angle between the anchor and the boat. It was all very thrilling to me.

22 June 2017

On a mournful second-last day we visited Kalinin Bay. It was quite a pleasant bay but I regret the activities I chose for the day. I wanted to go for a full-day hike up to the Pacific coast very much. I was also all geared up with my 3L water reservoir and all that. But instead I chose to paddle-board out of - this time unrequited - love for the water. This also meant I couldn't take any decent photos in the morning.

0950h. The water was full of jellyfish which gave me nerves although there were also some really beautiful lion's mane jellies which I admired more than feared. The first time I saw one at the bow of the ship (probably some time before the whales appeared when we went whale-watching), I exclaimed, 'There's a jellyfish!'

'You saw a fish?' said Wilson.

'No, a jellyfish.'

'Oh, I thought you saw a real fish,' he laughed.

'It's funny because they've renamed starfishes as sea stars because they're not fish. So we don't know when they'll change the name for jellyfishes. Maybe one day we'll be calling it something else.'

'Sea jellies,' I replied.

'Yeah, sea jellies!' 

The atmosphere still wasn't as nice as in Seal Bay, at least not for paddle-boarding. Because Kalinin bay was directly connected to the North Pacific Ocean, the waters were much harsher and harder to control so I felt less comfortable pausing my paddling to take a video. I quit it halfway.

Is that a square-rigged ship!?

I looked back to find our ship but couldn't:

1103h. It began to rain which smoothed out the rough waters:

About half-an-hour later I began to make my way back but it was too late - the afternoon winds made huge swells across the water against my direction of travel. It was useless to steer; the moment I completed a turn, the wind and currents spun me round again like a toy. While I could comfortably stay on my board without any nerves, the wind was pushing me from rock to rock, whatever I did with my paddle. Then I ran straight into kelp country - the one thing which threatened to throw me off. I wanted the challenge so I battled the wind for a while, using a particular tree as a marker. But I simply couldn't make it past the tree. When the tree began inching 'forward', I raised my paddle and waved my hands around frantically while permitting the winds to momentarily drive me straight into a rock. Nobody saw me for quite a while so I must have looked like a clown. Then, finally, a skiff came over (not sure who) and picked me off after some confusion regarding whether I needed help or was just saying hi. The guy on it said, 'I wouldn't want to be out here on one of those [paddle boards]', referring to the state of the waters here. This was probably the only exciting part of the day. If it weren't for the jellyfish, I'd stay battling the sea a while longer.

1502h. After lunch I went for a short hike, which traced the first few meters of the full-day hike. It wasn't even half a day, only about two hours or less. I was starting to regret not going on the full hike the moment I started on this one.

Anyway the first thing we saw was a great blue heron:

And then a momma bear with a cub. This is a very brutally cropped picture - about 1/10 of the original: 

f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610 

But no, there were two cubs! Also brutally cropped:

 f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610

And this was when I wish I had Christian's lens:

f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 160, 70-300@300 mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610

Just to show how much I cropped that, here's the original:

1607h. We reached the turning point of our 'hike'. We were not allowed to go beyond these steps so this was where my regret of not going on the full-day hike truly and painfully set in. Just look at the steps and tell me how you're not tempted to walk on it and beyond:

1621h. On our way back we saw the bears again! This was after we passed by the full-day hikers and Christian offered to lend me his lens in the middle of a bog and I said 'never mind' which I still regret to this day and hour. This moderately cropped picture is an eternal reminder of that painful and unforgivable mistake:

 f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 320, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

And this one:

 f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 320, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

1638h. Then we heard some birdsong that nobody could identify. Later, when we arrived in Sitka, I played it to a shopkeeper who said she was a birder. She said it was varied thrush song. I looked up that bird and I wish I had seen it in real life:

2009h. After dinner we saw a bunch of lion's mane jellies pulsating by the boat:

 f/5.3, 1/200 s, ISO 320, 70-300@190 mm, Nikon D610

'It's openin' up for ya,' said one of the shipmates as I snapped away.

 f/5.3, 1/200 s, ISO 320, 70-300@230 mm, Nikon D610 

2232h. The sun set in a strange way which caused this island to glow like the background landscape of a theatre set. It was surreal:

2243h. The captain lent me more books when I tried to return Origins of Sea Terms the previous day. So I did some bedtime reading:

23 June 2017

On the last day we headed to the Magoun Islands. I went snorkelling in the morning but I don't have any pictures of that. Our snorkelling guide Wilson did take some pictures, though, including an underwater selfie but I expect most of them didn't turn out very well because they weren't sent to us. Anyway it doesn't matter as long as I remember the experience. We saw a sea star (I think it's one of the blood stars) and a nudibranch:

Copyright UnCruise

I could clearly see a black organ floating inside it but no-one knew what it was. I don't remember seeing much else, except lots of kelp, moon jellies and clams. The moon jellies flouresced in the water; they were mesmerising as they filled my field of vision. There were also one or two lion's mane jellies that passed right underneath us. One of the guys in my group kept pointing to something on a rock to me at one point but because the rock had lots of stuff on it, I couldn't work out what he was pointing at. We couldn't speak so I couldn't ask him, either. I hope it wasn't something really cool that I missed. We weren't as lucky as the previous group who saw more stuff and got more pictures. I also kept getting distracted by water filling my goggles and snorkel from time to time, causing me to ingest three mouthfuls of wholesome salt water seasoned with algae. I still really hope to go again and get my fill of intertidal invertebrates.

1347h. In the afternoon I went on a bird skiff. Instead of birds, we saw some bears:

That got scared away by our kayakers. The bear stood up and ran:

I tried to get a picture of marbled murrelets but they were too far away. But again, it's the only one I have, so I cropped it:

f/5.6, 1/200 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300mm (heavily cropped), Nikon D610

Then we saw a juvenile bald eagle perched on a rock:

f/5.6, 1/250 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

Seconds later, it took off. And at that precise moment my camera's autofocus decided to fail me, lagging my shutter spitefully even after it was done focusing:

f/5.6, 1/250 s, ISO 100, 70-300@300 mm, Nikon D610

It doesn't usually do that but recently it's been doing so more. I should get it checked soon.

1452h. Christian lent me his 600 mm again and I failed it by not panning a great blue heron properly:

f/6.3, 1/320 s, 150-600@600 mm, Nikon D610

Afterwards we didn't see many birds except a few crows and ravens. We saw some crows chasing each other and someone asked if they were playing. Christian said labelling it as playing was anthropomorphising; the crows only know such behaviour as part of life. I thought that was a neat point and I felt I finally found the answer to why this trip made me so inexplicably happy - nature doesn't follow our terms, our constructs, our criteria and requirements. It was such an explosive joy to be liberated so suddenly into what Camus called the 'tender indifference' of the Earth from all those things that were pulling me under. Nature treats everyone equally. She doesn't care who you are, what your grades are, where you're from, what scholarships you won, whether you're an Olympic gold medallist or you're dying of cancer; brown bears will still fight you (if you surprise them; mostly they run away), bald eagles will still fly over you, lion's mane jellyfishes will still sting you. Nothing in the wilderness belongs to you, yet you are free to go wherever you wish and do whatever you want. Cruising on a small boat in the middle of the north pacific, there was nothing, no buoys or lines or big ships, to distract me from the massive roundness of the Earth, save the fathomless diversity of life to remind me also of her wideness.

The tide was in so the skiff went pretty close to the shore. There was a mudflat nearby and we tried to find some birds there but couldn't. It reminded me of Sungei Buloh Wetlands Reserve in Singapore where passage migrants seem to love the mudflats a lot. The tide was so high that we could go into a little creek that led to a beautiful waterfall. Although there were no birds there, there were lots of baby salmon and a couple of jellyfishes. Then, we squeezed through another short narrow creek, ducking below devil's clubs, to get to the body of water on the other side (not sure if it was a huge lake or the sea). We got through with some steering and explored the area a bit. On our way back to the ship we stopped by a magnificent western hemlock tree that was growing out of a rock by the water and sat under its shade for a while. I vaguely recalled learning this as biological weathering in Year 3 Geography but that was too long ago, so I had to Google it:

1737h. Before dinner came the most exciting part of the day - the polar bear plunge (my new favourite sport)! I'd been looking forward to this all week because it's summer, baby! I tried to use my phone as a GoPro; it didn't work out very well:

The water wasn't as cold as I expected so I stuck around in it. I really loved it! It was the ultimate break from the unbearably hot tropical concrete-jungle air of Singapore. When I tried to swim back, my PFD buoyed me up unecessarily, which prevented me from swimming properly, which was really irritating. Anyway, that allowed me to hang out and enjoy the lovely waters a bit longer. The one small fear I had was of jellyfish because there were lots of lion's mane jellies at the bow of the ship. But after a time I just enjoyed myself and was sad to climb back up onto the fantail. I also got a very official award for this:

After dinner, the ship passed by a whole raft of otters! Again when I did not have my camera with me! Dan joked that I should ask the captain to turn back. I should have.

2127h. In the evening, I watched the ship anchor for the last time. 'Let go' were such apt words for my feelings about leaving this lovely ship:

f/5.6, 1/100 s, ISO 800, 70-300@70 mm, Nikon D610

2204h. A last good look at the Great Land:

And where we've been:

And the things we saw:

I don't have many words of my own to describe this trip because it meant so much to me. But I do have some of Richard Fortey's words to share from his book Life: An Unauthorised Biography because they resonate very strongly with this trip and my feelings for it:

The excitement of discovery cannot be bought, or faked, or learned from books. It is an emotion which must have developed from mankind's earliest days as a conscious animal, similar to the feeling when prey had successfully been stalked, or a secret honeycomb located high in a tree. It is one of the most uncomplicated and simple joys... It is not just the feeling that accompanies curiosity satisfied - it is too sharp for that; it arises not from that rational part of the mind that likes to solve crosswords, but from the deep unconscious...

This excerpt particularly describes what I felt towards the glaciers and the vast North Pacific in general. Exposure to geological time was also exposure to the 'tender indifference of the world' as Camus put it. The time involved in the evolution of these animals we saw and the formation of glacier-cut valleys put the combined reigns of royal families to shame. What are human affairs against these great geological and biological scales?

I must return to the subject of geological time. All narratives require a scale. In novels, the scale is usually comprehensible in terms of the span of a human life, a few score years, maybe a few generations... Our natural longevity is an instinctive yardstick, the measure both of our mortality and the changes wrought by time. We can understand shifts in history within a few generations, empathize with our grandparents, even dimly appreciate the problems of the thirteenth century. This is all but a moment in geological time, an instant which may fall between one hammer blow and the next. The narrative of life requires a scale of thousands to millions of years, acting over a drama of more than 3,000 million years... The domestication of time serves to trivialize a magnitude which should be held in awe. In some ways I prefer something vaguer but truer - at least symbolically. The great raised beach on which Geoff and I laboured in Spitsbergen, with its endless shingle retreating into the mist - the pebble to hand might mark the appearance of Homo sapiens. The farthest I could throw it might just reach to the age of dinosaurs, while beyond that lay further beaches which could be seen more or less clearly, themselves composed of banks of pebbles, and then, into the mist, dimly perceived, more distant beaches, impalpable, remote, the outer reaches of Precambrian time. And, alongside, the sea, the eternal sea, linking pebble with pebble, framing time itself. Then at least we could appreciate the immensity of time, its countless instants, the fossil record perhaps a litter of shells upon the shore, a scattering of jetsam.