“And now for something completely different.” The words from the old Monty Python skit reverberated in my head as I stepped out on deck my first morning at sea aboard the Nautilus Swell liveaboard. I’ve been on plenty of liveaboards in tropical destinations throughout the world, but this time I found myself sailing Alaskan waters. The frantic knock on my cabin door accompanied by a shout of “Breaching whales to port!” announced I was already about to see something unusual. My adrenaline kicked in immediately.
Unlike most of the photography trips I take, this charter was to be as much about the topside photo opportunities as those to be found underwater. Of the 14 guests on board, only three of us brought drysuits and expected to dive. This is very atypical of the groups normally booking the Nautilus Swell, for they cater to experienced cold-water enthusiasts. But our idea was to bring long lenses to capture the topside aspects of the Alaska seascape, and so we constructed an itinerary that placed us where the critters were at the times of day when the light was right. Diving would absolutely be a part of the experience, but one or two dives per day would be plenty for us, unlike the three or four a dedicated dive charter might deliver. Some might think purposely reducing the dive opportunities sacrilegious, but the reality is topside Alaska is so visually rich, we chose to strike a compromise weighted to the terrestrial. The knock on my door told me we were right to do it; we were getting the chance to nail some hot shots from the very outset.
We’d departed from Juneau and gotten a good night’s sleep cruising the calm waters of the Inside Passage, and we awoke just off Point Adolphus for that early morning photo-op. My cameras were still unassembled in my cabin (rookie mistake), so when I heard the call of breaching whales, I did the logical thing. I slapped a 400mm telephoto lens on my Canon 1D Mark IV with its 10-frame-per-second motor drive and stepped out my cabin door, ready to set up my tripod for some distant and random whale breach. Another mistake. This whale was not distant; it was close to the boat, visible the moment I stepped out of my door. Watching it breach no more than 50 yards off the railing, I was gripped with equal parts awe and frustration.
Those who had awakened earlier or had a wider lens got killer shots of three whales doing synchronized breaches directly alongside the boat. We could hear the mighty crash as their sheer mass pounded the surface, and as the mist drifted back to the boat we could even smell the distinctive odor of humpback halitosis. What I couldn’t do was take a picture. With no time to change the lens all I saw was a wall o’ whale through my 400mm lens. Yet I did have the presence of mind to set the camera down and just enjoy the show, brief though it was. I captured it in my mind’s eye if not on camera, and it was among the most inspiring sights in three decades of liveaboard travel.
Guys like Flip Nicklin and David Hall have made careers shooting in cold water and intimately know with certainty what I was only belatedly figuring out: Above and below the cold waters of Alaska is found some of the most beautiful scenery on the planet.
Seeing the Sites
Our plan was to make an afternoon dive at a cluster of sites around Inian Island. The first, Susan’s Hooters, was the site of two nicely symmetrical rocks surrounded by kelp and inhabited by a number of Steller sea lions.
I don’t normally get apprehensive before a dive, but for a guy whose whole career has been about tropical diving, getting ready to make that initial descent in 46°F water created a little anxiety. I have definitely spent more time in wetsuits than dry, so that first giant stride into dark water with a discernible down current and marginal water clarity, coupled with the possibility of kelp entanglement, was clearly a departure from routine. I was outside my comfort zone, and it was oddly stimulating. Reacquainting myself with my cold-water skillset had a significant payoff. The creatures I would photograph in these waters were unusual (for me) and very beautiful. The backgrounds were far more colorful than many of the tropical locations I dive, and while the water clarity was rarely suitable for sweeping wide-angle scenics, the macro life was certainly on par with the best of the muck sites of Indonesia or Papua New Guinea. From the very first immersion, Alaska was an inspiring environment.
I descended to about 50 feet to find clear water, and once there, the color revealed by my strobe’s model light was riotous. The first fish I found to photograph was a red Irish lord, a lovely fish I discovered is very common to Alaskan waters. They’re ubiquitous like blue-striped grunts in Key Largo, Fla., but still too beautiful to ignore, particularly since all the substrate surrounding the fish were invertebrate and sponge life wrenched from the warm end of the color spectrum. The sheer visual confusion of the macro life on the bottom made it hard to discern exactly what the guide was pointing at. Was it an orange-peel nudibranch, which meant little to me, or was it some rare and wonderful sculpin eluding my view? Mostly I guessed wrong, at least on those first few dives.
However, it wasn’t long before I was drawn back to a wide-angle approach by a squadron of bombarding Steller sea lions. It’s pretty hard to ignore 7-foot, 600-pound playmates when they nibble on your drysuit or bite your head. I tried to keep the visual of a crushed grape out of my mind as I photographed the sea lions in front of me, ignoring the ruffians continually bumping me from behind. It was all in good fun, albeit a bit overwhelming when they decided it was more entertaining to harass me than hang out on a rock watching the kelp.
There are several really nice sites in the Inian Islands region, including Wall of Life and Inian Wall. My only regret was our visits to the dive sites didn’t occur later on the trip itinerary when I’d have been better accustomed to the cold-water routine, as these sites were incredibly productive from a photographic point of view. But whether at the front or back end of an itinerary, like virtually all of Alaska diving, these sites needed to be done at slack tide to avoid extreme current.
The large marine life in the Inian Islands region is fascinating, and we spent several days photographing sea otters, humpback whales and Steller sea lions. The Stellers were very actively hunting salmon. I don’t know how many humpbacks there were in the area, but I calculated it to be dozens, and like all sea otters, those we watched frolic were irresistibly cute. The action was pretty nonstop and again confirmed we’d made the right decision in balancing our trip with underwater and topside photo opportunities; had we done more dives per day, undoubtedly we’d have missed a great deal on the surface. If you’re cruising near the Inian Islands, you can’t ignore the topside.
Another of my favorite dives was on an immense pinnacle known for its hydrocoral gardens. Descending the anchor line through milky green opacity, the visibility increased to about 50 feet just below the plankton layer, and a huge field of plumose anemone decorated the boulder-strewn apex further than the eye could see. At a depth of 60 feet or more, we couldn’t spend the time the site merits, but even a cursory glance reveals diverse and abundant crab and invertebrate life along what little bare rock exists. The real majesty of the dive, though, is the vast wide-angle scenic of the whites against emerald green.
From there we made the very long steam south to dive Wooden Island, my favorite dive from my trip to Alaska seven years earlier. It was one site that remained strong in my memory. I described it then:
People talk about the macro photography at Cannibal Rock in the Komodo Islands, or Milne Bay in Papua New Guinea, or even the obscure critters in Indonesia; but the reality is I have never seen a greater proliferation or concentration of macro creatures anywhere in tropical waters. Bizarre anemone, sponge and filter feeders of all description covered every millimeter of rock face. Amid this pulsating carpet of vibrant hue we found a huge variety of nudibranchs, sculpins, barnacles and crustaceans. It would take me several hours at the fish ID book just to realize what I’d seen on this dive, so I remain content to know it was colorful and beautiful. Regrettably, we get only one dive here at slack tide, for this is surely worth a repeat!
To a great extent, this trip was about facilitating that repeat dive, so it was with some disappointment we found the surge and impending weather too heavy to dive Wooden Island that day. Instead we visited a nice little cove nearby, better protected from the sea but not as macro-rich. Had the trip been all about diving it might have been a bummer, but to us it was just a speed bump along the way to more topside photo opportunities, including the calving ice and bergy bits at the Tracy Arm glacier, the quaint village at Elfin Cove and the hotsprings and waterfall that are the highlights of a visit to Baranof Island.
No Need to Choose
Though I spend most of my time in tropical waters, I won’t resist the siren song of Alaskan waters for long. I found that underwater world to be endlessly fascinating, rivaled only by the sights to behold above water. Though admittedly I was initially skittish upon my return to cold-water diving, by the end of the trip I was eager for every dive. With a little more experience came confidence and respect for those who dive cold waters often and well. I understand why so many divers are so passionate about the sport in California, the Pacific Northwest and New England.
But when I consider my next expedition to Alaska, the conundrum remains: topside or underwater? It’s really not a tough decision; it has to be both. The underwater wonders of Alaska are incredibly compelling, but the terrestrial aspects can’t be denied or ignored. I’ve already booked my next trip, and for sure my topside telephotos and underwater macro lenses will come along to capture the unparalleled diversity and beauty.
The Iconic Wrecks of Southeast Asia
By Udi Bornovski
S.S. State of California — The S.S. State of California is located within secluded Gambier Bay off Stephens Passage in Southeast Alaska. This old steamship is 300 feet in length, providing refuge for cloud sponges, anemones, decorated rockfish, decorated warbonnets and prowfish. Prowfish, which have traditionally been assumed to live only in the deep, are found here at just 60 feet. The top of the bow rests at 65 feet, and there is a lot of wreckage to be seen; the toilets and wooden deck are still intact after a century in saline waters.
S.S. Princess Kathleen — This 370-foot passenger and freight steamship sank on Sept. 7, 1952, after running aground off Lena Point in Alaska’s Lynn Canal. It lies in about 50 to 100 feet of water, quite accessible to divers, especially given the ship’s many penetration points. The propellers sit at 130 feet, and the hull is intact and in remarkable condition. In 2010 a salvage group removed 150,000 gallons of oil from the ship to prevent a massive disaster.
S.S. Princess Sophia — The remains of the S.S. Princess Sophia reside on Vanderbilt Reef, where it ran aground in 1918. This wreck measures 245 feet in length and is one of the worst nautical disasters of the century with a death toll of 343 and not a single survivor. Now totally covered with giant plumose anemones, decorated warbonnets inhabit the girders, and prowfish are located amid the rubble of twin engines and winches. This wreck has significant historic value to the local area and abundant marine life.
© Alert Diver — Q3 Fall 2011