Alaska Photo Tour with Tropical Birding June 9-June 25, 2017 Susan Post

In Alaska “the Bush” is roughly 90% of the state and includes all the mainland that lies

beyond the road system, plus the western islands. The Tropical Birding Alaska Photo Journey

afforded us an opportunity to experience the bush first-hand, with its midnight sun, tundra, and

pack ice and to photograph the organisms associated with it. Our cards filled with shorebirds,

auklets, eiders, loons, a polar bear and musk oxen. The tour visited Barrow and Nome, while

Brooks Falls and the Pribilof Islands were added as extensions.

Barrow, high above the Arctic Circle, is the northernmost community in the United States.

The sun will not set from mid-May to August. Barrow has been called the “ballroom for breeding

birds.” Nome, still a magnet for gold-seekers, is bordered on the West and South by the Bering Sea

and the East and North by miles of road-less wilderness. Nome’s road system provides the best

access to the bush, without an airplane. “There is no place like Nome,” with its mix of special

breeding birds on the tundra and migrants at Safety Lagoon. The Pribilofs, 5 islets that are tiny,

green and treeless, have been called the “Galapagos of the North.” Twelve species of seabirds nest

on the Pribilofs. Our time would be spent on St. Paul island, a misty, seabird nesting, paradise.

By the time we returned to our Illinois home we had taken 18 flights—from float planes to

a 727. We were weighed with our gear numerous times —so there were no unannounced pounds

here! As we flew from area to area, Tropical Birding used the Coast Inn as our base. The hotel

offers storage, so unnecessary items could be stored and laundry done. The hotel is also across the

street from an aerodrome (float-plane landing area). In addition to watching the planes the lake,

was home to Pacific and Red-throated Loons, Red-necked Grebes, and White-winged Scoters.

During our flight to Anchorage as I thumbed through the airline magazine, a quote from an

article about Dr. Seuss would be prophetic, “Oh the things you can find if you don’t stay behind.” At

each destination of our journey, whether waiting on an ice flow in Barrow, trekking up scree in

Nome, or roaming a dirt track in the Pribilofs, adventure, organisms and photos were plentiful.

Prior to our journey, I was concerned about footwear and equipment. In Alaska what to

wear on your feet is an unanswered question. There were no right or wrong answers—just the

simple solution of dry feet. Rubber boots are not a fashion statement here, but practical footwear.

I ended up bringing a pair of chest waders with detachable wadding boots and waterproof, ankle-

high hiking shoes. The chest waders were indispensible in Barrow, but spent the rest of the trip at

the Coast Inn.

A note about photography: This was our seventh Tropical Birding Photo trip. There are no

“feeders” to sit, watch and wait for species to appear; most of the photography was pure field

photography—position yourself in a good spot and wait, or stalk and wait some more. The birds

were skittish, but if you listened to your guide, followed his instructions, and were patient we had

no problems filling our photo cards.

Anchorage

My husband, Michael and I, arrived 2 days prior to the “official” beginning. We rented a car and

explored Potter Marsh and the Seward Highway. This afforded opportunities to photograph

Cackling Geese with goslings, nesting Mew Gulls and Arctic Terns with chicks, a singing American

Dipper, a moose with twins, and plenty of Bald Eagles. We met our guide, Iain Campbell, that

evening and mapped out a plan for a walrus adventure the next day. Michael wanted to

photograph masses of walrus, so Tropical Birding arranged an extension to Cape Siniavin, a

walrus haul out area. We would travel via a small plane over the tundra and land on the beach.

The plane stopped just behind a dead, bloated walrus carcass. It was a sunny blue-sky day on the

Cape. We followed wolf tracks up to a peaty path to the top of a lookout where we sat and waited.

We can see walrus in the water, resembling fishing buoys, feeding and bobbing. We watch and

wait, but there will be no haul out today. Walrus spend 80% of their life in the water, and

unfortunately today was one of those days. While this was not what we had imagined, the warm,

blue sky day, solitude and organisms still made it a good day—bobbing walrus, a fly by flock of

male Harlequin Ducks, a Parasitic Jaeger, and Arctic White butterflies. The walrus disappeared

from view and so did our time on this strip of Alaska wilderness. We were back on the plane with

the beach as a runway—no need to call the "tower"—and gulls scatter as we take off.

Barrow

We have an early flight to Barrow, where the temperature upon arrival is 29 degrees. When we

land, I see the Arctic Ocean with pack ice and Snow Buntings flitting about piles of snow. Our hotel

is right across from the airport, so bags are rolled across the street for check in. The hotel has one

rule, “No dirt and mud should be tracked in! Boots and shoes are to be stored in the cubbies

provided. Booties are provided.” It is a cold, gray day. Gusts of wind blow grit in our faces. The

town has a “wild west” look and feel. The ubiquitous January thaw comes to mind. Two thoughts

run through my head—"Did I bring enough warm clothes, and why did I come here?" Our first

photo foray at 9 pm captivates me—the golden light of a never-setting sun, Greater White-fronted

Geese calling everywhere, and Red Phalaropes spinning like prima ballerinas in roadside puddles.

Our days here would have a pattern. We would begin at 4:30 -5:00 am, assess the available

light, and photograph until hungry. After breakfast we would go out until 11 am and then break

until 7 pm. Dinner would be at Oska (a great Japanese restaurant—who knew?). After dinner we

would don our waders and photograph anywhere from midnight until 2 am, depending on light,

subjects, and if Iain could keep his eyes open. Then return to the hotel for a quick download and

battery recharge for cameras and rest for us. Late, we would repeatedly drive the short circuit of

roads—Cakeater Road, the Dump, the Array, and Freshwater Lake. Each time we gleaned new

discoveries and observations as the sun exposed more and more tundra. By the time we left 4 days

later, my bad first impression had disappeared like the melting snow. We watched as summer

arrived in Barrow on the wings of eiders. Each day more ice and snow disappeared, leaving behind

its footprints as freshwater ponds and lakes, gathering grounds and a social club for birds to rest,

court, and mate. Nome highlights included:

Spinning Red and Red-necked Phalaropes at midnight.

Pectoral Sandpipers mating in a cemetery.

Snow Buntings on a snow bank.

A puddle of Steller's Eiders (9 females and 11 males)

Snowy Owls— like a pair of flying snow banks

The Pacific Loon finally arriving at the school lake—is this like Elvis?

Long-tailed Ducks arguing, splashing, calling.

Polar bear walking on the cold, crusty, Arctic Ocean with a halo of gulls

Sabine Gull—black head/yellow bill tip.

Watching and waiting for King Eiders to wake up.

Two pair of Spectacled Eider's floating about

Listening to calling Pectoral Sandpipers and Dunlins.

Front row seats to courting Long-billed Dowitchers.

A roadside pond feeding Steller’s Eider.

A contemplative Red Fox on the tundra.

Shorebirds—Pectoral Sandpipers with the their inflated, throat pouches and hooting call,

Dunlins with black bellies, Semipalmated Sandpipers running about, dancing Phalaropes

and American Golden Plovers, their feathers glistening in the midnight sun.

What was my favorite Barrow organism? Hard to choose, but is it the eiders—King and

Spectacled— that we sat watching and photographing on a frozen spit of land, leaving a melted

imprint of our bottoms? Or is it the polar bear perusing the edge of the Arctic Ocean? All three

organisms were foreign to my Illinois cornfield eyes.

Nome

Our flight to Nome from Anchorage allowed views of snow-capped Denali. There is no snow in

Nome. It is green, the rolling tundra dotted with accents of blooming plants and the roadsides

supporting a narrow tangle of stunted willow. This wild, vast landscape is full of possibilities. An

advantage of having Iain as guide is his geological knowledge. Here in Nome he explained we were

not stumbling through scree but “lichen encrusted gneiss that is heavily cleaved,” and making sure

we appreciated the solifluction (permafrost slides) during another uphill trek.

The native word Quviannikumut means feeling deeply happy and describes my four days spent in

Nome. Each day we were out by 5 am to bird/photograph until breakfast, sleep until 6 or 7 pm,

have dinner and then out until 2 am—and repeat. We drive the roads Teller, Council and

Kougarek—mining them for photographic treasures—seeking, searching, hopping out,

photographing, climbing back in the van, and repeating the process. Highlights included …

Tundra butterflies—an alpine, a fritillary and a swallowtail, wind ballerinas pirouetting

just over the next rise.

Semipalmated Plover pair with chicks the color of schist.

A pair of musk ox, their fur flowing in the wind.

A trio of Long-tailed Jaegers on the road.

Fox trifecta for the day—Red, Arctic and Fox Sparrow.

Lapland Longspurs were plentiful subjects.

Pacific Golden Plover performing its broken wing routine.

Getting too close to an Arctic Tern nest results in being pecked on the head.

Common Eiders.

Aleutian Terns in early light, preening, drawing their long tail across their bill like a concert

violinist.

A pair of Willow Ptarmigan sitting along the roadside.

Pursuing a red fox, only to have a Bluethroat pop up

A pair of Varied Thrush feeding at the side of the road.

Spending the night in the van at mile marker 72, so we could trek up the tundra at first light

(3:30 am), to look and listen for Bristle-thighed Curlew.

A close up view of a poking, probing Whimbrel

Illinois has its borrow pits, but Nome has dredge ponds that pockmark the area, populated

by Arctic Terns, Ravens and Red-throated Loons.

A pair of Surfbirds perfectly camouflaged against the skree with four chicks.

My favorite Nome organisms—the musk oxen with their flowing fur and a gangly calf, the

unexpected discovery of a Surfbird family high atop a hillside, and the look of the other bird tour

groups when they discover that we were successful in the quest to see the Bristle-thighed

Curlew—priceless.

Brooks Falls

We spend 7 hours here looking/watching for the famed grizzly bears to fish for salmon. During

our stay the bears were mainly absent and we encountered more park rangers than bears. We

have a brief glimpse of a mother and 3 cubs—a blur of brown soon hidden by trees. Signs of bear

were everywhere—abundant scat, some so fresh it was still wet and a log ripped apart for

sustenance. Our time passed quietly watching salmon leap the falls, a Glaucous-winged Gull poised

like an Olympic swimmer at the blocks ready to leap in but never did, and a male Harlequin Duck

swimming about. Varied Thrush and Wilson Warbler calls surround us.

Pribilofs—St Paul Island

On St Paul Island we have not only Iain, but also guides (Cindy, Phil and Cameron) from the St Paul

Island Tour Company. They will guide us wherever we want to go. Here our schedule will be

regulated not by daylight, but by the time the cafeteria-style meals are served at the Trident

Cannery. We are met by Cindy and quickly stow our non-existent luggage (it will arrive 24 hours

later), and begin a tour of the island. St. Paul is 13 miles by 6 miles; the entire island is volcanic

and the Nootka lupines are in full bloom. We are not to get close or walk down to the fur seals.

(The Pribilofs have the greatest concentration in the world of Northern Fur Seals. The noise they

make sounds either like dirt bikes without mufflers or 5th grade boys having a belching contest).

During our stay we will have un-Pribilof-like weather, sunny and clear, for 2.5 days. The end of our

stay the weather is what we expected—drizzle, rain and fog. Highlights include:

Close and personal views of Horned Puffin and Parakeet Auklet.

Red-necked stint with its reflection.

Side-by-side comparison of Red and Black-legged Kittiwakes

Arctic Fox with kits.

Hanging off the edge of a cliff and not falling off!

Profuse blooms of Nootka lupine.

Rock Sandpipers the same color s the lichens on the rocks.

Bathing kittiwakes.

Reindeer hoof prints littering the road.

Clusters of Least Auklets.

Walrus skulls.

Parakeet Auklet poses.

Feeding Rock Sandpipers camouflaged in the kelp-strewn surf.

My favorite Pribilof experience—Auklets and puffins, cormorants and kittiwakes, throw in a

fulmar or two to a backdrop of murre squabbling, and you have a well-spent morning at Ridgewall.

Rescuing a Rock Sandpiper chick from the rutted track was a truly AWWW moment.

In each town we visited—Anchorage, Barrow and Nome—we made time to visit cultural history

museums. At the Anchorage Museum, the Smithsonian Native American exhibit provided words

that summed up our Alaska “bush” experience.

"What you do not see

Do not hear

Do not experience

You will never really know"

Iyaaka

Note from Tropical Birding: we have not edited Sue’s report above, but on the following pages we

have added a selection of photos from the trip. Photos by Sue Post, Michael Jeffords, and tour leader

Iain Campbell.