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Day 1
June 25
Anchorage, Alaska, USA Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all.
—Helen Keller
Our northern adventure began as we gathered at the Millennium Hotel in Anchorage, meeting and greeting old friends from previous voyages, and making the first steps towards new friendships as we embarked on our exciting voyage to the Realm of the Russian Bear. We were on a quest to observe the wildlife of the Russian Far East and to encounter cultures ancient and modern in one of the last truly remote and almost inaccessible regions on Earth. With the majority of staff already on board the Clipper Odyssey in Kamchatka nearing the end of two consecutive Wild Siberia expeditions, we began our voyage with a welcome cocktail and dinner in the company of Mark Brazil and Isabel Dempster from Zegrahm Expeditions, Roger Harris and Meryl Sundove from National Audubon, and George Munro from Smithsonian Journeys, and later Bill Mercadante of Zegrahm joined us. back to the top Day 2
June 26
Anchorage In this northern city of Anchorage the sun barely sets in late June and was high in the sky when we woke. Fair weather was set for the day, (and presaged our extraordinary good fortune with weather for almost the entirety of this voyage) and was helpful for the early-morning walkers, who took a stroll around Lake Spenard/Lake Hood with naturalists Mark, Roger, and Meryl to investigate the local waterfowl and flora.
Anchorage, with its tree-lined streets and interesting low-rise architecture, is a modern city much dedicated to travel and adventure. Named not even a century ago, in 1915, when the railway arrived, Anchorage is the largest city in Alaska, established as the U.S.’s 49th state in 1959; today it has a total population of 640,000, of which 261,000 live in the city area. While it may be the biggest urban center in the state, Anchorage has a rural, natural, even wild, outlook, with the rugged Chugach Mountains dominating the skyline inland, and in the fine sunshine the mountains looked enticing.
Our stay in Anchorage was preordained only to be brief, but to extend our short experience of the American north, after an excellent lunch with a view (from the tenth floor of the Captain Cook Hotel in downtown Anchorage), we visited the Alaska Native Heritage Center for a “taster” of northern peoples and their cultures. Our arrival was timed for the native song-and-dance performance of Kodiak Island traditions. Beautifully performed with informative introductions explaining the fascinating and intricate hand movements of the dances, the performance quickly drew us in to a traditional aspect of modern native people’s culture. As the composer/group leader explained, the song-and-dance group feels less nervous performing in front of visitors, because we don’t notice if they fluff something, but performing in front of their elders is their real acid test. Not surprisingly, though, their new pieces have met with their elders’ approval, and were performed with enthusiasm and vitality. The time passed all too quickly as we explored this modern center of living culture, art, and craft, its indoor cultural exhibits, and its series of open-air interpretive sites ringing Lake Tiulana. Brilliant sunshine drew out some birds for the naturalists, who enjoyed sightings of downy woodpeckers and alder flycatchers and an attentive and protective spotted sandpiper with its fluff-ball chick at the lakeshore.
By 1530 it was time to set off on the next stage of our journey, to check in for our flight on Magadan Air from Anchorage to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy (PK for short).
Patience was our most valued quality for the latter part of the day as we readjusted to life in lines. At Anchorage airport we lined first for check-in, then for baggage security, and then finally for personal security, a mere taste of what was to come. The great news was that the incoming flight was on time (a rare event!), and with relatively little time to kill we were soon boarding our Russian Tupolev 154 aircraft bound westwards across the North Pacific for northeast Asia and PK. Our four-hour flight took us over the International Date Line, into Russian airspace, and immediately ahead into Monday evening. back to the top Day 3
June 27
Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy, Russia As we descended from cruising altitude down towards the Kamchatka Peninsula in beautiful sunshine the snowcapped mountain ranges and sharp-peaked volcanoes were spectacular, with Kronotskaya Sopka (3,528 m) and Zhupanovskaya Sopka (2,929 m) dominating the scene as we flew south over the Kronotskiy Reserve and Zhupanova River, our destination for tomorrow. As we circled down towards Avacha Bay, the impressive towering cones of Avachinskaya Sopka and Koryakskaya Sopka (3,456 m) volcanoes dominated the scenery and provided blatant evidence that we were landing on the fiery rim of the Pacific. Clearly visible in the city harbor below was the shining white Clipper Odyssey, our home away from home for the next two weeks.
PK, the Vancouver of the northwest Pacific, was founded in 1740 as a base for Bering’s expeditions of exploration of the North Pacific and to the New World, and the fledgling settlement was named in honor of his two vessels, the St. Peter and the St. Paul. With the most spectacular setting of any city in east Asia, it can boast stunning views of whole clusters of volcanoes, lower mountain ranges, and of course the scenic bay itself. PK is situated on one of the great natural harbors of the world, Avacha Bay, a wide, round bay with an entrance so narrow that even the dread tsunami waves have little effect inside.
From airport to harbor, a journey of some 45 minutes may have seen some of us nodding off after a long journey and a time jolt. Nevertheless, the delightful rural scenes of grass pastures and dachas set amidst birch woodland; the enormous panoramic vistas of forests, wetlands, and mountains; and the charming introduction to her city, region, and country by our guide, Paulina, kept most of us alert until PK, the harbor, the boarding of our ship, and our welcome cabins for an overdue night’s sleep. back to the top Day 4
June 28
Zhupanova River / Valley of the Geysers  Our late-night arrival in PK provided just a tantalizing glimpse of what the city and its environs have to offer. For a deeper experience we need to return another time, because this time we were setting straight off for the wilderness of the Russian Far East. In the middle of the night, the Clipper Odyssey had slipped her lines and sailed, out through the narrow entrance of Avacha Bay, and into the historic wake of the St. Peter and the St. Paul.
By dawn we were off the largely cloud-hidden coast of southeast Kamchatka, but as the cloud lifted and the weather improved we were treated to sunlit mountain ranges and the sight of considerable snow still lingering in their upper valleys and gullies. At lower levels the stone birches were just breaking leaf, and in many areas snow was still lying on the ground at sea level.
Today was split between two activities. Some of us were ferried to shore by Zodiac then boarded our two, twenty-two seater, blue-and-white whirlybirds for the trip to the Valley of the Geysers. Some say "geezer" (English), some say "guyzur" (American), but the word is actually derived from the Icelandic place name Geysir (pronounced "gay-seer"), where the original hotwater spout was discovered.
Our Russian helicopters carried us for the forty-minute flight to the Valley of the Geysers. As we broke through the cloud cover we knew we were in for a real treat, not merely the excitement of the wonders of Mother Nature in the valley itself, but also the astonishing volcanic scenery along the way. We passed over endless miles of barren land patterned with late-snow patches, soared over and around enormous volcanic peaks under a clear, blue sky, the color of forget-me-nots. With rising volcanic vapors emanating from fissures and the aroma of sulfur even penetrating the helicopter cabins, our visual experience was extended to an olfactory one that was to continue for the rest of the excursion.
We swept down to the landing site, gaining tantalizing glimpses of plumes of steam rising from a bare patch of multicolored ground surrounded by lush vegetation (which benefits from the warmth provided by the hot springs)—hints of the delights ahead. Once on the ground again we set off on our guided walking tour of this protected area—accessible only by helicopter—each of us soaking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the geyser activity around us as we explored the elaborate system of walkways around this extraordinary thermal area, which would otherwise be very dangerous walking. With gushing steam vents, glub-glubbing mud pots, and the rushing river in the valley below, we were soon on sensory overload. This valley is one of the few true geyser fields in the world (the others are in Iceland, New Zealand, and Yellowstone), but was only discovered a few decades ago.
Bear tracks were evident in the soil along the edge of the wooden boardwalk, and there was also more physical evidence that they had also been on the boardwalk—perhaps not too long ago. A mother bear and her two cubs on a grassy area across the river provided an excellent viewing opportunity for those who had stopped at one of the observation areas to enjoy the sunshine and take in the magnificent scenery.
No visit to Kamchatka is complete without volcanoes, bears, and of course, salmon. Our lunch rounded out that trio, with plenty of salmon, whitefish, and excellent salmon roe all served in the cozy log cabin commanding stunning views of this extraordinary valley. Fortified with salmon and vodka for the return flight home, there was just enough time for our final photographs of the awe-inspiring scene before us. Reboarding the M-18s, we thundered off back to the mouth of the Zhupanova River and our home away from home on the high seas, the Clipper Odyssey.
While the flyers were experiencing geological activity up close and personal (and brown bear to boot), the Zodiac cruisers were exploring the Zhupanova River. This large river, with a network of channels all carrying silt to the sea, has built a huge system of sandbars around its mouth. The area is rich in wildlife, and to the south of the mouth of the river, there is a small fishing camp. The fish were running, fins were breaking the water’s surface, and fishermen at the camp were hauling huge salmon from their nets. We wound our way in to the river past the sandbars, bypassing, initially at least, the fishing camp and its small salmon-packing factory, as we headed upriver in search of our target: the Steller’s sea eagle, arguably the world’s largest, although some say the Philippine monkey-eating eagle is larger. But Steller’s is undeniably the world’s most spectacular large eagle. Thanks to the experience of Sergey Frolov, our Russian colleague, adventurer, and agent, we were able to head directly to an active nest and carefully and quietly approach to within 50 yards of the female as she incubated her eggs. At that range, even to the naked eye, her enormous yellow bill and massive white shoulders were awesome. We left equally as cautiously, and she remained, undisturbed, on her nest.
Next stop, bears! Just a few minutes later the call came across the radio, "It’s running along the bank," and there was a brown bear lumbering along at some speed before it crashed off through the willows lining the river. At this time of year, with spring only recently arrived, the bears are still breaking their long winter fast on a diet of spring greens, but with activity in the river they are also drawn to the fish, the main source of their protein and a rich supplier of the important fat that the bears need to accumulate in order to weather the coming winter. It is boom and bust here in the north, with a long hard winter and short lush summer. The bears are eager and willing to gorge on fish as soon as they begin to run upriver, to partake of the summer boom.
All the time we were out, the weather was improving, cloud lifting, sun shining, and it was like seeing the curtains drawn aside from a magnificent stage set. From behind the veils of cloud, mountain range after range came into view, but none so magnificent as immense Zhupanovskaya volcano, towering to 2,929 m. With such scenery, and with so few biting insects because of the late spring, the Zhupanova River was like a taster for paradise and straight out of the advertising brochures for Kamchatka. If the icons of this region are, as we are told, volcanoes, salmon, bears, and Steller’s sea eagles, then we encountered all four of them in one place—and on our first day out!
From bears and birds we backtracked to the fishing camp and fish factory to see freshly netted salmon being prepared for quick freezing. The catch from here is shipped out to auction in, of all places, Korea. And from there the fish are sold to at least ten different countries. To make our excursion complete we were treated to a superb alfresco lunch of delicious fish soup, tasty Russian brown bread, excellent salmon roe, and of course, the essential of any outdoor Russian meal, plenty of vodka. back to the top Day 5
June 29
Severo Zapadnyy and Nikolskoye Village, Bering Island / Ariy Kamen Islands, Commander Islands Group  Islands have always fascinated the human mind. Perhaps it is the instinctive response of man, the land animal, welcoming a brief intrusion of earth in the vast, overwhelming expanse of sea
—Rachel Carson
No visit to this part of the Russian Far East would be complete without voyaging to the remote Commander Islands, the westernmost outliers of the volcanic arc that stretches from Kamchatka to Alaska and most of which we know of as the Aleutian Islands. This cluster of islands approximately 250 kilometers east of the Kamchatka Peninsula is an outlying military listening station on the edge of the enormous Russian realm. Arriving first at the northwestern tip of Bering Island, our morning excursion provided us with a unique opportunity to observe three species of pinnipeds together. The main beach at Severo Zapadnyy was covered with northern fur seals gathering to breed. Here, the pregnant females were coming ashore to pup, and we were treated to views of tiny pups, some of whom were just hours or, at most, a couple of days old. Here and there were clusters of females, grouped within loose harems over which dominant males held court. Within days of pupping, the females will have mated again and begun another period of pregnancy. Delayed implantation of the fertilized egg enables the female to time her birthing to the brief period of early summer, the only time of year when she comes to shore.
At the back and sides of the beach were the hopeful, frustrated SAMs, the sub-adult male fur seals, awaiting their chance of mating with a stray female. Here and there amongst the fur seals were larger tawny creatures—Steller’s sea lions. Along with the magnificent eagle, this creature is also eponymously named after Georg Wilhelm Steller, naturalist aboard Vitus Bering’s ill-fated second expedition. Both fur seals and sea lions are eared seals, with visible, external pinnae. They are also distinguished by their flexible hip joints that allow them to rotate their hind limbs forward and under the body—sounds technical, but the essential upshot is that these beasts can run, and faster than we can. Not surprisingly therefore, for our safety and for their peace, we kept well away, watching and photographing from two viewpoints up on the sand dunes. Farther along the coast and out on rock flats exposed by the tide was our third species of pinniped, this time a “true” seal, the spotted, or largha, seal. Unlike the eared seals, these lack external ears, and they have inflexible hip joints that are greatly reduced and very far back on the body; the upshot of this is that they move just as we would were we encased in a thick blubber layer and zipped tight into a sleeping bag—like giant maggots or blubber slugs.
Our fourth mammal of the morning was the cheeky Arctic fox. One had been seen near our landing site, trotting across a snowbank, but of more interest was the individual sneaking about the fur seal rookery, no doubt taking advantage of the colony’s waste, in particular the afterbirths of the seals. One clearly had its eye on an isolated black-coated pup merely a few days old, and after being repulsed from the pup several times by a nearby SAM, the fox adopted the strategy of curling up on the beach as if to sleep, but clearly keeping an open eye on the nearby male seal and the pup; we were unable to await the outcome, but it was so strange for such a young pup to be alone that it was more than likely that the foxes did well that night.
There were other distractions of course, in the shape of highly photogenic carpets of flowers: geraniums, globeflowers, spotted orchids, and many others, and on the low cliffs near the fur seal colony marvelous red-faced cormorants posed perfectly for our cameras.
This was the kind of day we associate with a Mike Messick-led expedition. It was packed with action and excitement, with three excursions on offer: morning, afternoon, and evening. Some of us may have been tired, but how many of us were able to resist participating in them all? After all you can take a holiday once you get back! Lunch on board provided us with a breather, and time to gather our energies for the next visit ashore, this time of a very different nature.
Next up was the remote settlement of Nikolskoye (pronounced Ni-KOL’-skoye’), the only Aleut village in Russia. Once this was the first line of defense and intelligence on the border between two great but mutually suspicious superpowers; now it is almost the farthest point one can imagine from the center of Russian administration in Moscow. Today’s fascinating introduction to the local Aleut culture, through an enlivening and energetic song-and-dance performance, was somewhat unusual in the sense that the big surprise was for the dancers and their community’s school. It is a Zegrahm Expeditions tradition to deliver a box of school supplies to each remote community that we visit, and we did so here, but in this instance, thanks to a past Zegrahm traveler’s very generous donation for the community, we were also able to deliver an array of sports equipment for the school gym and a library of educational DVDs and videos, and more importantly, all the necessary equipment to view them on, including an enormous wide-screen TV, DVD, and video player. The school’s principal was clearly moved by the generosity, and accepted them on behalf of the community for the education of her charges.
Among the troupe of performers, the four older ladies and the older man who played the accordion were the only fluent speakers of Aleut. They have visited the United States, the Aleutian Islands, and have met and now have regular exchanges with American Aleuts. Most of the 300 families who live here are of mixed Aleut and Russian extraction. Until a few years ago this was a closed ‘city,’ and even Russians could not visit Nikolskoye, as Bering Island had become a largely military post. It was Russia’s easternmost listening station—dedicated to listening in on the U.S. military.
Some took time to explore this small town’s excellent little museum, which displays among many other items, a complete skeleton of the extinct Steller’s sea cow, a manatee-like creature, and some major artifacts from the ill-fated Bering expedition. Others ventured out of town in search of birds and encountered flocks of summer-plumaged dunlin refueling on the mudflats on their way north to their high Arctic breeding grounds.
Our final excursion of the day, which lasted until almost 2200, was a magical after-dinner Zodiac cruise around the Ariy Kamen Islands. This group of rocky outcroppings, composed of columnar basalt that was probably the core of an ancient volcano, is the chosen home of thousands of seabirds: murres, cormorants, puffins, and most notable of all, a Beringian endemic—the red-legged kittiwake—a local and far rarer species than its widespread cousin, the black-legged kittiwake. back to the top Day 6
June 30
Commander Bay, Bering Island / At Sea bound for Kamchatka  The sea never changes and its works, for all the talk of men, are wrapped in mystery.
—Joseph Conrad
Like a day at a strangely remote field university, we began with an early-morning field trip followed by classes in history, social geography, ecology, and avian studies. Our field trip, however, was as much a pilgrimage as a natural history excursion with the primary purpose of our visit being to stand at the new grave site and monument in honor of Commander Vitus Bering, the Danish sea captain who explored and sailed in service to Russia, and for whom both the archipelago (the Commander Islands) and the island are named.
Bering’s name is rightfully emblazoned in history—commemorated in the sea and strait that bear his name—as a result of his explorations of the northwest Pacific Ocean and his namesake sea. The original encampment of the shipwrecked sailors of the St. Peter was at the back of the dunes overlooking the river flowing out into Commander Bay. There, the forty-six survivors of the original crew were cast ashore in a storm in November 1741 and were forced to overwinter in makeshift shelters, before escaping the following August in a tiny vessel constructed from the wreckage. They were fortunate to reach Kamchatka, although Bering died during the winter.
Our early-morning, pre-breakfast walk ashore allowed us the opportunity to visit the gravesite and monument where the exhumed bones of the commander and his officers were re-interred after the Russo-Danish expedition of 1991. This expedition had set out to relocate and excavate the overwinter camp site. At the monument Peter Harrison provided a fascinating insight into the achievements and trials of Bering’s second and fateful expedition.
Our natural history exploration across the low tundra vegetation, led by Mark, was rewarded with the excitement of a distant adult male snowy owl, several singing Pechora pipits, and a delightful nest of a Lapland longspur.
Once back onboard we began our morning’s lecture series with George’s talk entitled The Russians in Siberia and the Far East and followed by Ron Wixman on The Eastward Movement of Russians and the Impact on the Natives. The timing of the lectures could hardly have been planned better, for as we crossed the deep drop-off of the continental shelf, several sperm whales, Laysan albatross, and other seabirds put in an appearance between the two morning sessions, causing much excitement on deck, and only a short delay to Ron’s lecture.
Sperm whales are the largest member of the order Odontoceti, or “toothed whales,” and are readily distinguished, even at long range, by the characteristic blow originating from the left side of the head and that angles forward. We watched them “logging” on the surface, floating like a massive beam of wood, showing their blunt-nosed massive heads, which make up a third of their overall body length. Between deep dives, which commonly last forty to sixty minutes, in search of their main prey of squid, including the mysterious giant squid, the sperm whale needs to lie on the surface for up to 15 minutes at a time in order to replenish its oxygen stores that are depleted during its dives. It is only during this period, when they are logging on the surface, catching their breath, that these massive animals allow us a brief glimpse into their aquatic world, for 80 percent of their time is spent underwater, invisible to nondivers.
Our educational day at sea continued after lunch with Roger’s presentation entitled Taiga and Tundra and Mark’s The East Asian Flyway: Bird Migration in East Asia. back to the top Day 7
July 1
Ossora Village / Karaginskiy Islands, Kamchatka Peninsula  O for the swiftness and balance of fishes!
—Walt Whitman
On a somewhat damp, cold, and gray morning we went ashore either on nature walks or directly to the cultural performance arranged for us at the back of the beach. Close to our first landing site the stream was a scene of frenzied activity. The presence of so many slaty-backed gulls clamoring there was clear evidence of fish running, and from Peter’s excitement it was obvious that something more important than birding was in the offing!
Arriving at the stream, the birders found that pink salmon were returning to the river in large numbers. We stood calf-deep in water and watched as literally hundreds of fish poured in from the sea and splashed their way into the freshwater currents that would lead them back to their ancestral breeding grounds. Before long we were literally wading amongst pink salmon, feeling the rush of their movement past us, or even feeling them knocking into our rubber boots. Some even stooped to catch them in their bare hands (released immediately of course to continue their battle upstream to spawn). A few of the fish ended up stranded in shallow water and were rescued, and then put back into deeper water to continue their journey. There are six species of salmon in Kamchatka and pink salmon is one of the smaller species, reaching three to five pounds in weight. Unlike some of the larger salmon, it only spends two years in salt water before returning to spawn in the river. The females make a shallow depression, called a redd, in the gravel of the river’s shallows, and the males then fertilize the eggs with their milt. After spawning, these salmon are destined to die, and their rotting flesh then provides the nutrients for the hatching embryos later in the fall.
A woodland of willows lined the valley of the Ossora River, while on the slopes above, the darker, shrubby form of the stone pine was evident. In this region of permafrost, even small trees like these willows can only grow in the riparian corridors where the residual warmth of the water in the stream melts the frozen ground deep enough to allow the trees to sink their roots into the active layer. Elsewhere around the village of Ossora, the landscape was one of low shrubs and herbaceous meadows. The birders were delighted by excellent views of east Russian specialties such as rustic bunting and red-throated flycatcher.
Meanwhile back at the main landing site, folks were gathering. This Russian fishing village of Ossora (pronounced Os SO ra) was populated primarily by peoples from the western USSR (Belorussians, Ukrainians, and Russians), who moved here in the early to mid 1930s during the Great Famine. Starvation and poverty led them to accept fishing jobs throughout Kamchatka.
As we gathered around on shore we were treated to tea, fish soup, friendly smiles, and a variety of dances and ceremonies. Evocative scenes of men herding and catching reindeer, of courting youngsters, and of women sewing garments were all captured in the dance form accompanied by song and chanting. The Koryak performers who entertained us were from a village (Tymlat) some forty kilometers north of Ossora along the coast. Koryaks are culturally and linguistically related to Eskimos. The Koryaks engage in reindeer breeding and fishing, and traditionally wore clothing made largely of reindeer hide; the performers were decked out in superb reindeer costumes with bells and amulets tinkling as they danced. The dances and rituals performed for us were culturally authentic, but some were so subtle that they were easily overlooked. As one woman demonstrated the swift and efficient way of filleting salmon for open-air drying, the elder lady of the troupe chanted and drummed a ceremonial “prayer” over the salmon, out of respect for receiving it and to ensure nature’s provision of more in the future. She was the esteemed maker of the costumes and now in her 80s. How much longer she will continue the tradition is anyone’s guess. Her handiwork was much in demand, and two complete Koryak woman’s costumes were purchased by those among our group. In contrast to the Aleuts we had encountered in the Bering Islands, all the Koryaks were fluent in their own language, as well as Russian. Koryaks were considered by both Russian explorers and their neighbors as extremely skilled hunters and warriors. They are one of the few native peoples of Siberia and the Russian Far East to have retained much of their culture and language.
Leaving Ossora, we set off for Verkhuturova Island in hope of walrus, but as news came back from Sergey’s advance vessel, the Tayfun, that no animals were present, we diverted instead to Karaginskiy Island for our first exploration of the tundra.
Large patches of snow were evidence that spring had only recently arrived on the magnificent tundra of Karaginskiy Island. In some places, the vegetation was still brown, where the snow cover had melted off only a few days before. But on closer inspection, even these patches were bursting with activity. The spring buds of the pussy willows were ready to open. Tundra plants live in incredibly harsh conditions with an extremely short growing season. To jump-start their activity in the spring they pack energy into buds in the fall, then these remain dormant throughout the winter, but as soon as the spring sun melts the snow, they are ready to sprint into flower. The warmer slopes were carpeted with crowberry, a tiny shrub less than five inches high. Crowberry looks like a miniature pine tree with its needlelike leaves, but is a true flowering plant whose berries persist over the winter (at least those that are not consumed by bears, foxes, or birds in the fall). In the early spring, the remaining berries emerging from beneath the snow are an important subsistence food for various creatures. Punctuating the carpet of crowberry were the tiny, white flowers of dogwood, dwarf azalea, dwarf raspberry, red lousewort, and the delightfully frothy white flower clusters of Labrador tea, with larger leathery green leaves of golden rhododendron. None of these plants were much more than ankle high, although elsewhere, in sheltered gullies or on the lee side of the tundra hills there were stands of waist-high stone pines, the tallest plants on this stunted landscape.
The group who went on the long march on Karaginskiy Island followed Sergey all the way to the upper end of the valley. Nothing held us back. We crossed snowfields and ice-covered lakes. We crossed copses and tundra. We fought our way through pine thickets where there was no trail. In the end, we did not see the bear, but then again, perhaps fortunately, the bear did not see us. We did find the berry patch, however, and enjoyed some of last year’s cranberries before returning across the snow. back to the top Day 8
July 2
Yuzhnaya Glybokaya Bay / Lavrova Bay  This morning, as we slipped along the silent fjord of Yuzhnaya Glybokaya, thick fog blanketed everything. The Clipper Odyssey dropped her anchor, and the scout boats with our staff aboard disappeared into the wall of whiteness, navigating by GPS. The sides of this deep fjord were close, however, and with improving weather and plentiful bear trails to follow, we were soon ashore joining our respective groups of long, medium, short, and birding walks, though the focus of attention for most of us was the slowly decaying wooden ghost town of a herring-fishing village abandoned in the 1960s. Bleached and grayed by the wind, sun, and snow, all of the wooden buildings had achieved a natural gray coloration and were in varied states of advanced decay; another few decades and none will be left standing. As the fog bank burned away with the sun, the splendor of this setting was revealed. Steep, jagged peaks arose on both sides, ancient nunataks from a time of ice when montane glaciers slid down-valley towards the then much lower sea level. Up-valley a domed and now-well-vegetated terminal moraine blocked off the lower portion of the upper valley, a babbling brook snaked around it and hosted pretty harlequin ducks. In the distance, at the head of the valley, more jagged mountain peaks rose, streaked with snow, each erosion gully still packed with a full winter’s snowfall. We were so fortunate to walk amidst such dramatic beauty. Did the people who worked here in the herring fishery have time to contemplate their surroundings? Did they find them beautiful, or merely remote and harsh?
A large male bear had been resting on a knoll overlooking the village when our staff first arrived to scout the shore.The lower slopes of the fjord sides were crisscrossed with the deeply sunken lines of bear trails, here and there like holes punched through the turf in typical bear “post-hole” fashion. Droppings of varying ages were scattered around, and in one place, signs of where “father bear” had sprawled and rested on the grass were evident. We needed neither whistles nor flares to keep him away. Bear hunting occurs in the Russian Far East, so not surprisingly the bears are nervous of people.
Thickets of birch and alder clothed the valley bottom. These shrubs had been pruned to a more or less uniform shoulder height by winter winds carrying ice crystals, which abrade the dormant buds. Here and there a few willow branches had bolted above the prevailing height of the other vegetation, but these branches were mostly dead, subsequently killed by the winter winds. Among the wildflowers were the succulent roseroot, diminutive but fragrant; magenta-colored pixie eyes; and cheery purple-blue-colored Jacob’s ladder.
Our birding groups ashore were excited by a fistful of species: little bunting, Siberian rubythroat, Siberian accentor, dusky warbler, and bluethroat, any one of which would have been a star in North America or Europe, but here formed the typical small-bird avifauna of the Russian Far East’s mixed alder, willow, and stone pine woodland. Not far up-slope, the vegetation gave way to a low tundra/alpine flora and soon above that, bare rock. Scan as we might we saw no signs of snow sheep, and a second bear slipped out of sight too quickly to be watched. The scenery, though, was as stunning as a trip through the west-coast fjords of New Zealand or Norway, but of course without roads on shore, without other vessels on the water, and with no flightseeing aircraft buzzing overhead. This was pristine fjord land, and we had it all to ourselves. Leaving the mouth of the fjord, we headed northwards up the coast along a staggeringly beautiful mountainous coastline in unbelievably clement weather. Amazingly, it became better and better.
Our afternoon excursion was in Lavrova Bay, a larger, more extensive fjord that once supported a 5,000-strong summer-worker gang processing fish at the enormous (now moldering) factories that stretched across the lowland at the mouth of the two inner rivers. Our planned excursion ashore was delayed by the sighting of a sow bear with her two cubs grazing along the grasses at the head of the northern arm of the fjord. With a swift change in plans, Expedition Leader Mike soon had us all in Zodiacs and heading carefully in convoy towards the bears. With engines cut for silence, we drifted in closer, knowing that at some point the unfavorable wind would carry our scent to them. Nevertheless, at binocular range we could watch as she led her cubs back and forth, as she caught a salmon and shared it with them, and finally as she raised her muzzle, snuffing in the wind, and led them away into the all-obscuring bush.
Bear excitement over, we returned to the low spit of land with the crumbling fish-processing plant and marveled at the volume of lumber that must have been imported here to build such enormously extensive structures. Wild rye had grown in, covering the village and processing-plant area, giving the derelict landscape a natural, muted blue-green hue complementing the bleached and weathered wood of the derelict buildings. While Pechora pipits and yellow wagtails called overhead, Arctic ground squirrels scurried hurriedly from burrow to burrow, culminating with one bold creature that stood alert and gave its alarm calls from atop a pile of old fish-packing boxes. Miraculously the weather had blessed us throughout the day. Walking onshore was even hot at times, and we left shore in the late afternoon more concerned about sunburn than biting insects, which were mercifully scarce, impressed by the grandeur and magnificence of this fjordland coast of remote eastern Kamchatka.
Back on board, with Clipper chipper cookies at hand, we were treated to another of Peter’s enthralling lectures, his new title about the Arctic Seasons. back to the top Day 9
July 3
St. Peter Bay, Northern Kamchatka and Koryakskiy Peninsula  Come wander with me, she said, into regions yet untrod; and read what is still unread in the manuscripts of God.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Our day began at an unusually leisurely pace as we continued to steam northwards bound for St. Peter Bay. A steady swell through the night slowed us somewhat, and our arrival was delayed until mid morning, which under the circumstances seemed a good thing. The cloud base was low, and the day seemed to promise nothing brighter than dull, and perhaps even rain. However, as we made our way to shore at the head of St. Peter Bay, the clouds began to lift, and as we set off on our long, medium (well, longish medium), short, and birding walks, the sun came out and revealed an extraordinarily dramatic landscape of coastal tundra. We were once again exploring.
Our short walkers, with the benefit and insight of Meryl, explored the beach, examining the assorted items that had been deposited along the wrack line, named after a particular group of seaweeds commonly deposited on beaches. This loose ‘line’ is where waves of the incoming tide deposit a beachcomber’s delights. At an older upper beach line, our doctor found a glass fishing float, one of the treasures we all hope for. Looking carefully, we soon observed several types of seaweeds; some were crisp, dehydrated and beginning to bleach, while others were still moist from the sea. This is fruitful line not only for human beachcombers, but also as a habitat for organisms, such as beach hoppers and kelp flies, who live in and feast on the detritus. Other treasures included two species of sea stars, sea urchins, clam and mussel shells, and whelk egg-case clusters. Sponges, hydroids, and bryzoans, fish and mammal bones were also uncovered. Our wrack-line walk and examination of signs and remains was a kind of detective agency work, providing us with an opportunity to learn about what lies beneath the waves in the shallow waters beyond our view.
Those of us who hiked up on to the tundra towards the hidden lakes that sit nestled in raised valleys were treated to enormous vistas opening up as the clouds lifted and as we gained altitude. These views revealed immense bowls and valleys, with obvious evidence of montane glaciers having gouged their way downwards towards the sea, scouring out classical U-shaped valleys. The peaks had remained above the ice as nunataks, and the upper mountains were alpine, steep-sided, and jagged. Scattered shrublands of birch and alder delighted the birders with singing bluethroat, while out on the tundra there were gorgeous carpets of golden rhododendron, dwarf azaleas, and much evidence of the burrowing activities of Arctic ground squirrels.
For all of us it was difficult to tear ourselves away from such a beautifully grand and dramatic landscape, but lunch and destinations farther north beckoned, and unbeknownst to us a most exciting afternoon and evening lay ahead. With soaring temperatures it was more than warm enough to sit outside and eat lunch in the sunshine, to idle and soak in the awesome landscape off our starboard beam. Our afternoon’s landing in Natalii Bay was swiftly diverted to an extended Zodiac cruise when walrus were sighted, and we spent an exciting couple of hours following several dense mobs of these animals as they foraged along just offshore. Their bizarre, blunt, bewhiskered faces were comical as they spouted and blew in front of us, opening their nostrils to release a whale-like ‘blow’ of condensing warm air, then closing their nostrils and opening their oddly rounded mouths to suck in gulps of air before submerging. These thigmotactic creatures vasoconstrict in the water and take on a rather deathly, pallid appearance, but the group we found on land lying on the rocky beach in a shady cove between rock crags had been ashore for some while, and had vasodilated, shunting blood through blood vessels closer to the surface, thus taking on a rosy-pink hue. As our Zodiacs passed from strong sunshine into the shade of the coastal mountains, it was clear why the well-insulated walrus preferred to swim there rather than out in the full sun—it was deliciously cool there.
Blunt-faced, and sporting a range of long and short, dulled and broken tusks, the walrus entertained us with their lithe movements through the water. These creatures dive to the ocean bottom to feed on invertebrates, mainly clams and other shellfish that they can suck out the contents of or crush. A second hard-to-tear-yourself-away experience in one day left us with little time for recap; however, Bill and Peter informed and entertained us with facts and tales about the life and times of walrus and of cameramen who pursue them.
When the call came for dinner, it seemed that we had already experienced the most exciting day of the trip, but it wasn’t over yet! During dinner we had continued northwards and entered a sheltered, shallow bay; there we found whales. Not in ones and twos, but in dozens, and these were gray whales. These baleen whales feed in shallow water by diving to the bottom and dredging through the silt lying there. As we watched them breathing at the surface and taking shallow dives, we could see blows from a half-dozen animals at a time, and we estimated that the bay must have been filled with at the very least 50 of these cetaceans. As we watched them, eager voices giving directions were soon interspersed at intervals with other voices saying they had run out of film, out of memory chips, or out of battery power. There was just too much excitement to take it all in. Every surfacing animal presented the expectation of a raised tail fluke before it dove again, but some slipped away without presenting us with flaglike display. These animals were taking advantage of the shallow waters and the nutrient-rich bottom sediment feeding on amphipods by creating large depressions due to sucking in the mud and filtering it through their baleen plates. It is hard to imagine the quantity of inch-long amphipods a thirty-five-foot, sixty-thousand-pound animal needs to consume on a daily basis. We were lucky to witness them feeding in these high latitudes as they gently rolled on the surface, taking a breath every three to five minutes. The entertainment continued throughout the evening, with bright sunshine until well after 2330 making for an extended, exciting, grand finale to an extraordinary expeditionary day. back to the top Day 10
July 4
Gabriel Bay, Northern Kamchatka and Koryakskiy Peninsula  This we know, the Earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood which unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
—Anonymous
Our daily program this Fourth of July said “Expedition Day,” and it didn’t say too much else. We were once again exploring! After a morning at sea, sailing past the dramatic mountainous coastline of Chukotka, Captain Mike Taylor and Expedition Leader Mike Messick had a treat in store for us with a lunch spot amidst ice picked out for an Independence Day picnic. We sailed into Gavriil (or Gabriel) Bay, which was filled with floating chunks of pack ice, in time for our Fourth of July barbecue out on the pool deck in warm sunshine!
The sunshine continued unabated, allowing us after lunch to enjoy a leisurely walk on the tundra, or a more energetic assault on a nearby hill. But the excitement began even before we reached the shore with a half-dozen beluga whales cruising about near the shore. Fireworks are grand on the Fourth, but how many people ever get to see belugas? These snow-white whales are unique, not only because of their white skin, but also because they have a large bulbous melon on top of their heads, which can change shape, and unfused neck vertebrae, allowing them to actively turn their heads like river dolphins. Other whale species must turn their entire bodies in order to get a full view of their surroundings. These extraordinary creatures slipped gracefully to the surface, barely breaking a ripple, and showing their absence of a dorsal fin before slipping silently away again.
Onshore we encountered a Chukchi family fishing for the summer, and visited them at their salmon-drying racks to learn of their subsistence lifestyle here on the edge of the Arctic.
As we had traveled northwards, the overall annual climate had become harsher and the tundra vegetation more prostrate in its growth habitat. At Gabriel Bay, we found coastal stone tundra, the plants mere patches of green amongst the gray of exposed stones. In somewhat damper areas of the hills, the tundra vegetation was a carpet of perennial plants barely three inches high. Among the flowering plants was the small flowered forget-me-not with its cheery baby-blue blossoms. The most common plants were the miniature cranberry with juicy red berries, crowberry with black berries, and dwarf azalea with tiny pink blooms. The berries were left over from last summer, having overwintered under the snow. Other blooms included roseroot and at least four species of dwarf willow. Besides the flowering plants, we encountered more and more lichens and mosses, typical of the ground cover in the Arctic.
The ground was pocked with the burrows and dens dug by Arctic ground squirrels. Each burrow entrance was about three inches in diameter with an apron of freshly excavated earth in front. A sign of likely occupancy was the swarm of mosquitoes buzzing around the open hole. As we walked along, we heard the ground squirrels giving their chirpy alarm whistles, but it required the good fortune to be looking in just the right direction at the right moment to catch a glimpse of one of these cheeky rodents before it ducked down into its burrow, until, that is, one decided not to be shy and sat peering at us from above its den.
While the long hikers were away and off over the hills once more, the birders and medium walkers moved at a more leisurely pace, encountering yellow-billed loon, a greater white-fronted goose with its brood of young, and a small colony of Eurasian house martins nesting beneath the eaves of an abandoned building. back to the top Day 11
July 5
Tymna Lagoon, Chukotka Region  I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life. To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife. And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover. And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
—John Masefield
Today was the day for the birders. Our early-morning landing at the mouth of the Tymna lagoon proved to be an avian paradise, with endless excitement from the moment we went ashore until after the time we should have been back in the Zodiacs to reboard the ship. Every step of the way as we walked along the coastal marshes backing the shingle spit was filled with distractions, and the telescope was much in demand as we enjoyed fabulous views of shorebirds and waterfowl. Three species of geese were in the area, with pride of place going to the emperor goose, a Beringian endemic. Of the seven species of duck we encountered, the pair of king eiders took first place. Sandhill cranes were much in evidence, but shorebirds stole the show, with no fewer than eleven species. Great knot and long-billed dowitcher were just passing over on their way north, perhaps still yet to arrive on their breeding grounds, while a Temminck’s stint was already guarding its four fluff-ball chicks and leading them away from its nesting area. Half a dozen long-tailed jaeger and a pair of fly-by Sabine’s gulls vied for “most elegant bird of the morning,” but for all that, it was the emperor goose that was the number one bird.
The eager swarms of mosquitoes were an indication of the summer ahead, and we were fortunate that their numbers had not yet swollen to their peak; nevertheless they were an insight into the insect abundance to be encountered in the Arctic. Along the gravelly beach, we found the beautiful sea bluebells of Mertensia in the borage family. The bell-shaped flowers were a subtle blue-pink, and the somewhat fleshy leaves were an attractive blue-green. Seabeach sandwort, with small white flowers and succulent leaves and stems, was also growing along the beach just above the wrack line. On drier ground the heath family was well represented with dwarf bog rosemary, and Labrador tea was also plentiful. Adding to the palette of colors were the red and yellow louseworts, and the tiny white-flowered Diapensia. back to the top Day 12
July 6
Itygran / Arakamchechen, Chukotka Region  I’ve lived in a good climate, and it bores the hell out of me. I like weather rather than climate.
—John Steinbeck
Can there be any more remote a World Heritage Site than Itygran? This extraordinary archaelogical site, discovered and investigated only as recently as 1976, dates back several hundred years, with some considering that it was used by hunters of the old Bering Sea culture as far back as the first century until perhaps the 17th century. A gathering place for Chukchi peoples hunting bowhead and gray whales on their spring and autumn migrations, it was essentially a hunting camp. For some reason these people not only constructed dwellings and storehouses from whale bones, but they also erected an avenue of raised jaw bones, several of which still stand in mute testimony to the peoples who hunted here. Some of the standing bones were desecrated by Russians during the Soviet era, but fortunately others were miraculously spared. We will never know how or why.
Clambering over the packed pebble beach, which had been flattened in places as if bulldozed (well in a sense it is each year by the winter sea-ice), we reached the rows of whale skulls and jawbones, and gathered for a fantastic photographic opportunity in glorious sunshine. With the sun behind us and no one in the foreground, the pictures convey the remarkable remoteness of this place. Evidence that hunting continues in the area was apparent by the presence of fresher walrus skulls along the upper beach line.
Backing the site are rugged hills with plentiful evidence of the constant freezing and warming of the rocks of this area—piles and runs of fractured stone spill down the slopes, and somewhere atop those hills are traditional Chukchi burial sites.
Our extreme hikers set off with Sergey for the far hilltops, gaining panoramic vistas over the whole region, encountering sandhill cranes and lush tundra flowers along the way. Meanwhile, down below we explored the ruins, brushing through fragrant wormwood, admiring the gorgeous tundra flowers in the drier areas, the pebble-lined, winter meat store, and some of us, not content with the many Arctic ground squirrels running about the place, sought out the maker of the higher-pitched calls, and ultimately saw the creature making them: Asiatic pika. These primitive lagomorphs particularly like old rock falls and boulder slides, and that is exactly where we finally found them, perched atop rocks, basking in the morning sun, and calling. Across the bay, several gray whales were cruising steadily, and the birders encountered the only northern wheater of the voyage. The diversity of the flora here entranced the botanists: the white tufts of cotton grass stood out (neither a grass nor a kind of cotton, the seed heads of this sedge have cottony filaments to help disperse the seeds in the wind). There were pink flower heads of bistort, an attractive member of the buckwheat family; showy purple primulas; nodding, yellow arctic poppies, poisonous purple monkshood, elegant shooting stars, and tall Jacob’s ladder, amongst the carpet of heaths. In lusher areas, wormwood and coltsfoot were common, the aromatic wormwood providing the dominant scent, while the coltsfoot leaves were broad and shiny green.
After being archaeologists at Itygran, we became big-game seekers on Arakamchechen Island. A traditional walrus haul-out was our target, and this site has not been open to visitors for more than ten years. Despite that, the walrus remain nervous, skittish, and reluctant to be observed because they are regularly hunted by people from the nearest settlements in the region. Our approach to the site over about one and a half miles of tundra was planned carefully, so as not to disturb the animals in any way. We set off in groups of about 20 and headed up-slope to basecamp one, the vacant hut overlooking a small pond. Beyond there we went into silent mode, having been briefed on how to behave when close to these nervous animals. We continued in silent single file towards our expedition leader, Mike, who was at basecamp two, and from there we crawled and wriggled our way into vantage points along the ridgeline, making sure that no more than heads and camera lenses protruded over the skyline. For animals down below in the sea and looking up at an angle, any alteration in the visible horizon represents potential danger to them. Our plan proved remarkably successful, and though the animals were swimming back and forth along in the surf off the beach on our arrival, within an hour the first individuals were venturing out of the water and up on to the beach. We were then treated to a fabulous encounter with the walrus, as about 80 of them heaved themselves out into the shallows, then found places to loll. They looked like a club of bewhiskered gentlemen each nervous to be out of contact with his neighbor. They literally piled up, lying beside and over each other, occasionally facing off or jabbing with their tusks at an overly pushy beach-fellow. At sea a pair floated vertically in the water, their tusk tips almost touching throughout the whole procedure, while another rolled and scratched his back on the wave-washed shingle. The sun shone down on tundra flowers, on the blue-gray sea, on us and the walrus, and we were privileged to be able to enjoy watching and photographing them for as long as we wanted. The final success of the whole operation was confirmed when we left, for all the animals were still hauled out on the beach, undisturbed by us or our departure. Long may this remarkable spectacle last in our memories.
As an additional point of interest on Arakamchechen Island, as we walked back over the rolling hills (we were wandering across a carpet of colorful tundra blooms—yellow and pink louseworts, crowberry, arctic poppies, arctic buttercups, pussy willows, bog rosemary, coltsfoot, and bluebells) we could see across on the bluff above our landing beach a number of sites where indigenous Chukchi people had traditionally returned time and again to live and hunt. The sites of more or less permanent yaranga dwellings were marked by the upright whale ribs that served as corner poles of the yaranga. Judging from the age of the whale bone, the site may have been used even hundreds of years ago.
On board the Clipper Odyssey we relived our big-game adventures then gathered for our “Russkie” Cocktail hour with Zegrahm Expeditions, Smithsonian Journeys, and National Audubon Society, an opportunity for each to introduce enticing future travel programs across the world. back to the top Day 13
July 7
The Arctic Circle / Cape Dezhnev / Lorino Village  I have a seashell collection; perhaps you have seen it? I keep it scattered on beaches all over the world.
—Steven Wright
Mike Messick gave us an early start today; his voice came through on the intercom at 0555 to announce our impending arrival at a very significant spot, the convergence of the Arctic Circle, the International Date Line, and the international border between Russia and the USA. Celebratory early-morning drinkers soon crowded the sunny bridge and bridge wings—mimosas were the offered toast—as we imagined the convergence of the lines at sea. One bright spark suggested we should be looking for an imaginary sea lion. The crossing of the "sea lions" having been duly celebrated with drinks, it was then honored with a simultaneous plunge into the pool by Chief Engineer Peter Millington and trainee Cruise Director Julie Christensen. No sooner completed than we turned and began heading southwest for the easternmost point of Asia: Cape Dezhnev.
The limestone cliffs of Cape Dezhnev (pronounced Dnyzh-NYOV) were glinting in the morning sun, and as we sailed towards them we were able to see the Russian island of Big Diomede and nearby Little Diomede, which sits just across the border in the United States. Far off in the distance, some forty miles or so away, we could just make out the tops of mountains of Alaska. As we neared the cape, the tall lighthouse-monument dedicated to Dezhnev (1605~1672) came into view, and we could make out the buildings of the abandoned polar research station and signs of various generations of habitation. The village site dates back to circa 3,000 years before present day and was occupied until about forty years ago. Here, overlooking the Bering Strait, the indigenous Eskimos lived in sight of the migration route of the bowhead and gray whales they subsisted on.
With yet another glorious sunny day at our disposal, there were many takers for our first excursion of the day, an archaeological one, despite the somewhat steep slope up to the village site. At the back of the beach, signs of ancient habitation were immediately visible in the form of stone embankments. Higher up, on the first terrace above the beach were stone-walled dwelling sites set into the ground; stone yarangas, some still partly roofed over with driftwood logs; and massive whale rib bones and an overlying layer of earth and plants. We wandered amongst the ruins of a settlement that had been peopled by some of the hardiest folk on earth. A rushing freshwater stream separated the two halves of the settlement, and up-slope inland and to the north lay the remains of the newer village and the monument. More recent dwellings, built as a result of Russian influence, were recognizably rectangular, with wooden beams to hold up the roof and incorporating milled wooden planks. We also found the remains of deep pits where the Eskimos stored their food for the winter.
Steering clear of radioactive batteries (powering the lighthouse) we pottered across a stony tundra landscape dotted with forget-me-nots, moss campion, and saxifrages. The tundra vegetation at Cape Dezhnev was similar to our other destinations, with the addition of a lovely sky-blue-colored anemone. However, as we progressed farther north, the prevalence of mosses and lichens had increased.
The bust of Dezhnev on the monument showed him as a handsome, determined-looking figure gazing out across the straits that by rights should bear his name for having sailed around the cape in 1648, some eighty years before Bering! Of course countless others must have done much the same, as peoples have passed back and forth across the strait for millennia. George, a historian and Russian specialist, translated the text on the Dezhnev monument for us. back to the top Day 14
July 8
Off Providenya, Chukotka Region  We all know that good things must end, and today, as if the weather understood that proverb, we lost the sun and woke to thick fog blanketing the Providenya region. A heavy swell in addition to the fog had slowed us down during the night, hence our arrival was delayed nearly an hour for our very last disembarkation ashore, to the moldering ruins of the old whaling station near the entrance of Providenya bay. There, 35 stalwart hikers, birders, and explorers wandered for an hour in unrelieved grayness, bewildered by the presence of a partly vandalized aircraft. Could we really believe Sergey’s story, that a friend of his had had plans of opening a restaurant in it? It seemed so unbelievable, but then much of what has happened and what happens in Russia seems hard to fathom for us outsiders.
Back on board the Clipper Odyssey, disembarkation briefings, packing, and final lectures were the order of the day. Peter gave his captivating life story in Seven Years and Seven Continents in the morning, and in the afternoon Mark gave an overview of the region we had traveled through in his talk Beringia: A Natural History Perspective.
That evening we gathered in the lounge for our final briefing and recap, followed by Captain Mike Taylor and his crew’s farewell cocktail party and farewell dinner. We found ourselves mingling with a bunch of clean, combed, well-dressed semi-strangers, who bore little resemblance to the rough-and-ready voyagers with whom we had shared this expedition. But if we needed any reminders of those people and the things we had done together, Peter’s "You Are the Stars" slide show provided it. Even seeing it all up on the screen in pictures, it was hard to believe just how much we really had experienced during this remarkable voyage.
Then it was almost time to say farewell to fellow travelers, to the crew and staff of the Clipper Odyssey, and with long hours of flights ahead we would have time to reflect on the remarkable journey we had just made, from Petropavlovsk to Nome, by way of the Commander Islands, the Arctic Circle and Cape Dezhnev. We have encountered Russian, Koryaks, Chukchis, and Eskimos, and visited modern cities, dwindling outpost towns, thriving villages, and abandoned settlements. We have wandered flower-studded lush and stony tundra, explored made-for-mosquitoes swamps, and seen more than 130 species of birds and 18 mammals. Most of us were fortunate enough to watch sperm, gray, humpback, and beluga whales; brown bear; largha seal; Steller’s sea lion; northern fur seal; Arctic fox; and Arctic ground squirrel. What an array of wildlife and peoples we encountered during our amazing journey through the Russian Far East, the Realm of the Russian Bear.
Day 15, July 8
Nome / Anchorage, Alaska
Our final traverse on the Clipper Odyssey took us across the border and the date line, meaning that despite having had a full day of travel on July 8 already, we arrived in Nome harbor in the early hours of the 8th (again). Our disembarkation first required clearing U.S. immigration, so we returned to lining up, this time for our face-checks. With a little time in hand, the birders were alerted to the discovery of a single immature male spectacled eider bobbing in Nome harbor not far from the ship. An indication of its rarity and local distribution in Beringia was the fact that it was a life bird for both Peter and Mark.
Once ashore some boarded the early flight, while those on a later departure were treated to a whistle-stop tour of Nome, the highlights being a visit to the main street, to see sled dogs, and to have a try at gold panning. But our final flights were approaching, and soon the last of us gathered in tiny Nome airport in readiness for our flights to Anchorage and then to the four corners of the world, with many of us heading home within the USA, but with some of us departing for destinations in Europe, Australia, and Japan. Farewell, safe travels, and see you on another expedition in the not-too-distant future. back to the top
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