So, it's particularly special to have a chance to go out for the opener. Abe hopped in and we flew over the glittering water set with emerald island gemstones to meet Adam on the outside.
We surfed the little rollers coming off the Gulf then hiked up top to hunt.
Early in the season the deer aren't used to hunters and are out doing their thing. Its magical to see them in their own world seemingly untouched by people.
Satisfied with our harvest, we skipped over to Cordova to see Toni, Drew, and Wade. I met these folks soon after I arrived in Alaska. These days I'm lucky to see them once a year, and each time is meaningful to me. We hiked, swam, and explored the barrier islands before flying through puffy clouds and past new peaks back to the city.
Later in August, Brady and I had time to squeeze in a day hunt together. It was really hot for the north Gulf Coast (maybe 60 degrees) and the deer and we humans were cooking. The animals were hiding from the heat and I wished we were too. With heavy packs, we stumbled back to the beach for a sunset trip home.
In September, between work, the typical severe wet and windy AK coastal weather with clouds to the deck, and flight training, we managed to rip out for a couple more day trips. Upon arriving in what Sitka blacktail deer hunters call the "alpine", Austin immediately found the buck of the day.
I futilely continued my program of passing on nice meat bucks in the search for a chewy old bruiser hiding in the bushes. Eventually I settled for a young buck that definitely tasted better anyways.
Another day, Sable, John, and I waited for the Anchorage fog to lift, then sprinted to Merrill, to the beach, and to the mountaintops. We had salt rings under our eyes and cramps in our legs when we started glassing. With our 360 degree view it was so cool to watch the animals come out to graze, go back to nap, do a little headbutting, curl up like cats, care for their young, and repeat. We eventually settled on a group of bucks, then from a high perch watched as John executed a great stalk thru bumpy terrain ground down by prehistoric ice sheets.
Photo: Sable Z.
Photo: Sable Z.
In November, it was finally the rut, and cold, icy, and foggy in town, with outflow winds raging over the mountains. We climbed to smooth air at 11,000 feet where we looked down at plumes of snow howling off our peaks. Past the funnels of cold air, we glided to the outside where nine foot rollers were breaking on the frozen beach.
Photo: Brady D.
It was crunchy in the muskeg, and per usual the deer were leery about noise, but some bucks still couldn't resist. It was fun to listen to them come crashing to the call, watch paired does with bucks in tow, then let them pass until we finally waited for the right big old one to come sneaking in.
A couple weeks later, Sable, John, Dan and I shoveled the boat out of the snow in town, survived the slippery highway, and pulled up to the icy ramp at sunrise. There we found a few hardos trying to get up the courage to ice skate their expensive trucks, trailers, and boats into the ocean. Sliding backwards down the steep and shiny pavement, I was again reminded that we still need to buy chains. Thank little jeezy for the gravel we tossed on the ramp at least. The trip was a wild mix of heavy snow, heavy hail, heavy rain, and beams of sun thru it all.
The recent rain on snow brought loud walking and few deer. Somehow we managed to call in a dog-sized buck, with a rack from a whitetail. The little thing stunk of rut and looked sort of like a donkey with its preposterously large rack.
Photo: Sable Z.
As is usually the case, it was so hard to drag ourselves away from this uniquely incredible place and head home to the city we love.
Photo: Sable Z.
As soon as I arrived in what Southeast Alaskans call the "alpine", deer trails appeared around me. Deer are not native to Prince William Sound. In 1916, the Cordova Chamber of Commerce had eight black-tailed deer captured near Sitka and transplanted to Hawkins and Hinchinbrook Islands. Sixteen more deer were transplanted over the following eight years. These stocky jungle creatures have since dispersed throughout the PWS. Fishery biologist J.D. Solf stated that he had seen deer or their tracks in nearly every major drainage of the Sound at one time or another.
I hunted until dark then crawled into my tent in the alpine. In the night I woke to what sounded like breathing outside my tent. You're dreaming I told myself, and rolled over. At first light I looked out my tent to see a coastal brown bear ambling towards the tent. Montague Island has a brown bear density ranging from 4–18 bears per 100 square kilometers. In comparison, Hinchinbrook, Kodiak, and the Alaska Peninsula which have brown bear densities greater than 18 bears per 100 square kilometers. When I saw three more bears from camp, I packed up my tent and left.
During a rare spell of high pressure in October, we camped up high for a few days. With a strong pressure gradient between cold high pressure over the interior and a warm low pressure spinning in the Gulf of Alaska, gap winds channeled by the mountains, passes, and channels of PWS kissed us with cold air whenever we left the shelter of local terrain.
The moon was waxing to full when we arrived. We could see pretty well by moonlight and I'm sure the deer could see even better. As each day passed the deer were less and less active, occasionally crawling out of their beds to stretch, yawn, and nibble. Maybe they were too busy partying all night to show themselves during the day, but who knows?
In late November we landed on the outside of Hinchinbrook. As we prepared to touch down on the beach, snoozing seals scurried for the water while fat otters rolled around lazily in the sand. In the woods we found fresh rubs, the smell of the rut in the air, and bucks running to the call.
It was still early enough when we were done hunting to skip over to Cordova for a sunset ice skate on Eyak Lake. Situated between the PWS, the Copper River Delta, and the Gulf of AK, the lake provides cornerstone habitat for ten fish species. Homeland to the Eyak people, this area has been a cultural crossroads for thousands of years for the Eyak, Chugach-Alutiiq, Tlingit, and Ahtna peoples.
2013
Looking north from Esther Rock, the entrance to College Fjord, Port Wells, is visible in the distance. Esther Rock means different things to different people. For the commercial fishermen, it is often the boundary of one of the salmon fisheries in the Sound. For others, it is a floating "internet cafe" of the Sound.
Glaciers are essentially mass balance problems - they transport snow and ice from higher elevations to lower elevations where it can melt. These Passage Canal glaciers extends over such a short elevation range; I love how even this minuscule change in elevation and distance is enough to produce ice dynamics. They are also rapidly disappearing.
Some people call those who live in Whittier WhitIdiots, those who live there part time are Half-Wits. But, how much of a dimwit can you be if you to choose live in a place that is not only so beautiful, but also has skiing 12 months of the year?
Located between Cordova and Montague Island, Hawkins Island guards the Sound from the Gulf of Alaska. I took this picture of the fog spilling over the Heney Range from the Gulf as we drove north past Hawkins Island.
If it had internet, Culross Cove would be our Captain's favorite anchorage in the Prince William Sound. With blue skies and temperatures in the seventies, we hiked to the top of Culross Island, complete with views of Culross Cove and the Chugach.
Just outside of Cordova, we watched these commercial fishing tenders float in and out of the fog of Orca Inlet as they waited for the next fishing period to open.
Waiting to head out to the Sound the next morning, we anchored in Orca Inlet, just offshore of Cordova. Bathed in Alpenglow, Mount Heney clashed with the industrial waterfront of Cordova.
After work one evening, we went kayaking from our anchorage in Eleanor Island's northwest bay. The days are starting to get noticeably shorter, and with the shorter days come seemingly endless and beautiful sunsets over the Sound.
I took this picture in the spring, but just stumbled across it this morning. Taken from our back deck, low fog hangs over Lake Eyak just after the ice finally broke up on the lake.
Driving out to the Alaganik Slough for a walk on a gray day, we saw these trumpeter swans. The swans, which can apparently fly at altitudes of 8 km, spend winter on the ponds, bogs and lakes of the Copper River Delta.
After heavy rain throughout the morning, the sky cleared delivering a beautiful sunset as we finished dinner in Port Fidalgo.
Dan and I went fishing for Dolly Varden Char up Ibeck Creek one evening last week. As we fished the marine layer rolled in and out of the Scott River valley.
Hoping to get a bird's eye view of the Sheridan Glacier, we hiked into the alpine on a July weekend. The marine layer limited the visibility to 1,000 meters, but it brought the color out of this dew-soaked wooly lousewort.
At 10:30 PM we watched the sun creep towards the horizon through the relic piles of the defunct Orca Cannery.
Our roommate Megan had the great idea of taking a couple canoes out to Sheridan Glacier's terminal lake. As we started the one mile portage it was raining lightly, by the time we left the lake a dense fog shrouded the ice.
Driving north out of Cordova, we watched these bald eagles fighting over fish in nearly perfect overcast light.
Headed back to Cordova, 40 knot winds slowed us as this bowpicker passed:
On our way back to the vessel after a day in the field, we stopped to refill our ice supply with blocks of glacial ice calved from the Chenega Glacier:
This pod of Dall's porpoise surfed on our bow-wake for an hour as we headed across the Sound:
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