The Last Gasp

Long time no see! Haven't been home much over the last month. I went up to Yakutat for what was supposed to be four days and came back two weeks later. The weather has NOT been ideal. People are starting to wonder what happened to their summer up in this part of the world. Regardless, I managed to go surfing in the relentless rain in Yakutat. Arctic Terns, getting ready to head back south to Antarctica to continue their endless summer, were diving for juvenile salmon that jumped from the water all around me.


Arctic Tern resting on ice.

Despite the weather, we have powered through and accomplished some big tasks, including finding several Kittlitz's Murrelet nests. One, that we are unable to access, is on a nunatak. Nesting on a 1500-foot cliff face surrounded by ice and snow, this bird flies over 10 miles inland from the ocean up to it's rocky perch 8000 feet above sea level.


A Kittlitz's Murrelet is trying to make it's way in life on the cliff face in the foreground.

Above the Pacific Ocean and then a sea of clouds and ice, a Kittlitz's Murrelet protects its single egg.

Trying to track a nesting, radio-marked murrelet up in the snow above Icy Bay (photo N. Hatch).

Although humbled by the massif of Mt St Elias (towering another 10,000 feet higher), this is an impressive feat. But maybe it's a smart choice; most of the time, this nest is probably above the clouds and crappy weather that has been plaguing us mere mortals down below.

Not all nests are this dramatic, but all are inspiring.


A nest site above the Tyndall Glacier, only a few hundred feet above sea level and not far from the sea, in 2009.

Tomorrow I'm going back to Icy Bay for almost a month. Am I ready? For the challenges, I am mentally preparing myself. Long, sleepless nights catching birds. Cramped quarters on a boat with a crazy captain who washes himself with a dish sponge.



For all that I find beautiful there, yes. Navigating a skiff through ice and fog-bows. The greatest evenings on earth, as the sun slips through the clouds, shining spotlights down over the Robinson Mountains and onto the sea. A quiet wilderness bay along the Lost Coast, one that I'm starting to feel I've seen more than most and my most regular home over the last four years, I may never see this place again.

Untitled from Jonathan Felis on Vimeo.