Misty Fjords National Monument
Granite cliffs that soar three thousand feet appear and disappear behind misty veils. Waterfalls cascade down steep defiles. Trees hang over calm water, their lower branches trimmed in a perfect line by the highest tides. This is Misty Fjords National Monument, a 3,570 square mile wilderness within the Tongass National Forest.
We spent the morning cruising aboard the National Geographic Sea Lion. Past Eddystone Rock, the tall spire of basalt in the middle of the wide fjord of Behm Canal, that reminded Captain George Vancouver of a lighthouse on England’s Eddystone Reef. Into Rudyerd Bay, Devil’s Punchbowl, and Walker Cove, narrow arms of the sea carved by glaciers and lined with ancient forest. In places, it looked like Yosemite, if all the valleys there were full of sea. It was enchanting to stand on the bow and watch the cliffs and waterfalls slide by, delightful to see the tiny murrelets diving, or to catch sight of a kingfisher searching for the perfect branch on which to perch.
In the afternoon, Zodiac cruisers and kayakers had a very high tide for their explorations, 18.8 feet, so we could go unusually far up salmon spawning streams. Salmon swam by, some bright with promise at the beginning of their upstream journey, some looking like zombies, spawned out and near the end of their life, listlessly plowing the surface. The eagles were gathered for the feast. We tried to decide if they were smiling or frowning, without success, and admired their stoic stance on perches in the rain. Harbor seals cruised the salmon buffet as well, sliding quietly through the water beside us. And everywhere, there were gulls, wheeling through the misty air or perched decoratively on half-submerged logs.
It was impressive to look across the bay and see a Zodiac dwarfed by improbably high cliffs and long lacy waterfalls. Impressive too, the way plants grew from every crack, ledge, and crevice. All the shades of green were there: lime-green meadow grasses, mint-green lichens, forest green spruce trees, shiny green patches on a flock of green-winged teals in flight. Shrubs in autumn colors provided subtle counterpoints in yellows and reds. We marveled at how quiet it all was. The occasional call of an eagle or cry of a gull, the soft slap of a dipping paddle, and a gentle salmon’s splash were all that broke the deep, wide silence. Wilderness, indeed.
At recap, we made a little noise of our own, with a rousing round of “The Eddystone Light”. A fine way to say goodbye, for now, to Alaska.
