2008 Copper River Delta Shorebird Festival, Journal Entry
May 5-8, 2008
The Copper River Delta is a sixty-mile arc of river delta, marshes, sloughs, mountains, glaciers, and rainforest just east of Cordova in Southeast Alaska. The delta is formed not only by the mighty Copper River as it enters the Gulf of Alaska, but by more than six glaciers and their melt waters. As part of the Chugach National Forest, the 2.3 million acre ecosystem is managed primarily for fish, wildlife, and their habitat. It is home to a wide variety of animal life including moose, black and brown bears, wolves, mountain goats, and many small furbearing animals including beavers, minks, and river otters. But it is the presence of fish, spawning coho and sockeye salmon, Dolly Varden, cutthroat trout, euchalon (known locally as hooligan), and the entire marine web of life that makes the area most famous for its diverse and large population of birds, both locals and transients.
As part of the Pacific Flyway, one of world’s most impressive spectacles occurs each spring in the delta as millions of migrating birds stop over in these vast, fertile, and untamed wetlands to refuel themselves during the long journey between their wintering grounds in South America and their summer breeding sites in the Arctic. This migration includes swans, geese, ducks, eagles, seabirds like gulls, terns, and jaegers, and a wide variety of shorebirds.
This year was my first chance to observe and photograph the bird migration since coming to Alaska two years ago. Partly to beat the crowds of tourists and photographers, I arrived by ferry from Whittier on May 4, a few days before the official start of the Copper River Delta Shorebird Festival which this year was held May 8-11. I could not have asked for better accommodations in all of Cordova by staying at Bear Country Lodge. Located at approximately the 5-mile marker on the Copper River Highway along Eyak Lake, this two-cabin lodge is beautifully furnished, stocked with all the amenities of home, reasonably priced, and immaculately kept. I stayed in cabin #2, a two bedroom house which used to be the home of the lodge owners. The view of the lake and the surrounding mountains outside on the deck was spectacular (see ak0285_Ds3 and ak1629_40D).
Monday, May 5, my first full day of photographing, turned out to be a day of nearly non-stop rain and strong winds. Of course, this is not uncommon since about 160 inches of precipitation falls annually in the delta and surrounding rainforest. Hartney Bay, part of Orca Inlet, located several miles southwest of Cordova on Whitshed Road, is the most popular spot for photographing migrating shorebirds. Not familiar with the patterns of feeding for the shorebirds, I decided to visit Hartney Bay at low tide. My thinking was that low tide would expose the banquet of marine life on the mudflats for the birds to feed on. When the tide is out the expanse of Hartney Bay is very impressive. The receding water forms a narrow channel in the middle of Orca Bay, quite a distance away from shore (ak0221 and ak0237). Even though I was wearing hip waders and walking on the tidal mudflats was quite easy, I decided to stay close to shore. While I did see some flocks of shorebirds flying around, they were too far away to photograph even with a 600 mm lens. A couple of thoughts occupied my mind. Perhaps I had arrived too early and the birds would not come until later that week. Or, the long drawn out winter in much of Southeast Alaska may have delayed their arrival. Nevertheless, I decided to make the best of the day and explored the Copper River Highway in the hopes of seeing Childs Glacier at mile 48 and the Million Dollar Bridge spanning the main channel of the Copper River.
Cordova, like Juneau and so many other communities in Alaska, is not connected to the rest of the state or country by road. So, to call the Copper River Highway a “highway” is a misnomer. But there is another reason “highway” is a misnomer. While it provides access to Cordovians to the Cordova airport -- their only other way in and out besides the Alaska Marine Highway (i.e., ferry system) -- not far from the airport the paved highway turns into a gravel road complete with pots holes, washboard, and in early to mid-Spring, lots and lots of remaining snow. As it turns out, so much snow remained that I met up with the highway maintenance crew at approximately mile thirty-five feverishly working to clear the remaining thirteen miles of the road (ak1532). Along the way I ran through a gauntlet of the largest snow drifts I have ever seen since I was a kid growing up in Buffalo, New York in the ‘60s and ‘70s; they dwarfed my vehicle by comparison (ak1525 and ak1551). Needless to say, four wheeled drive vehicles are recommended for traveling this “highway.” I was amazed at the amount of snow this close to the Gulf of Alaska and upstream from the Chugach Mountains. On further thought, however, the snowfall that Whittier, Portage and Girdwood receives closer to my home, but in a similar proximity to the ocean as Cordova, is about the same. The mountains surrounding Cordova were loaded with snow, and in some places several feet still remained at sea level. It’s easy to see why this area has a reputation for serious avalanches (Snowstruck by Jill Fredston, Harcourt, 2005). All in all, even though photographically the day was a bust, it was fun to “play” in the snow and reminisce of an earlier time.
The previous day’s rains, having wrung the moisture out of the air, made the next day, Tuesday, May 6, a day to relish -- full of sunshine and warmth. I made my way to Hartney Bay at low tide for a second time, again to be disappointed by the lack of shorebirds. With one full day of shooting left, I was beginning to get worried that I would not return with the photos I was seeking. However, as a full time professional photographer for almost two years now, I have been learning how to “make lemonade out of lemons” when plans do not turn out my way. Once again I turned my attention to the Copper River Highway, however, this time turning off at mile 17 to visit Alaganik Slough. Nearing the end of the three-mile dirt road, I could tell immediately by the raucous sounds of the seagulls that something exciting was happening there. What I found were large flocks of seagulls circling overhead, almost like vultures signaling carrion on the ground. A few minutes observation of the water, the frenzy of the gulls, and their dives into the water indicated that one of their favorite foods, the fish called hooligan by the locals (technically known as euchalon), were now readily available. For me, the essence of the day was to capture them in their environment, especially circling the waters of the slough, and framing them with the mountains as backdrop for perspective (ak303, ak326, ak385, ak425, ak427, and ak444). A flock of Northern Pintails quickly passed over the slough. However, without a blind to provide cover, it is difficult to capture up close and detailed shots of most water fowl, with the possible exception of the prevalent and widespread Canada Goose. At the day’s end I felt satisfied that I had made some “lemonade.”
In Alaska, one gets used to frequent weather changes, so as fast as the sunny weather arrived, it departed and brought clouds and intermittent light rain to my last day of shooting. I decided to get some photos of Heney Creek and the Heney Creek trail near the entrance to Hartney Bay at low tide. Heney Creek is a fresh water stream which originates from the melting snows of the mountains of Heney Ridge. At sea level Heney Creek flows into Hartney Bay. The tidal swings reverse the flow of the creek and flood the surrounding marshy areas. At low tide, the water soaked stream banks drip drain into the creek (ak0481). The contrasts of colors and forms of the water and land make a wonderful up close shot of erosion in action. As I was wrapping up photographing Spring’s new growth (ak0514), I ran into two trail maintenance workers. Bemoaning my bad luck getting shots of shorebirds feeding in Hartney Bay I learned from them that high tide is better than low tide for photography because it brings the feeding birds closer to shore. Now it all made sense. The birds were there all along, but mainly feeding right at the interface of the receding or advancing water. At my low tide visits they were so far away into the middle of Orca Inlet that I was not able to see them without walking a considerable distance. I felt some consolation that I had not seen any photographers make the long walk during low tide either. My disappointment turned to elation knowing that I had one chance left that day when high tide arrived at 4:05 p.m.!
Most tourists and photographers, myself included, come to a place like Copper River Delta to see one iconic bird, symbolic of the great migration of shorebirds and the feeding frenzy which must occur during their stopover if they are to make it to the Arctic, in fact if they are to even to survive the long, highly sapping journey just completed. That bird is the Western Sandpiper. I’ve had a chance to see migrating sandpipers along the Atlantic Flyway on the east coast in Bombay Hook Wildlife Refuge, so I knew the treat I was in for if I could just find them. So many words and phrases could be used to describe the spectacle of their flying: poetry in motion; aerial ballet; synchronized flying; synergistic cooperation -- a living organism composed of hundreds, sometimes thousands of individuals, acting in harmony to create a whole greater than the sum of its parts. The list goes on, but words fall short. Photography comes closer, and videography comes closest, to fully capturing the wonder and awe of seeing such an event in person. And so I was fortunate to capture images that I came for, both during the advancing and receding of the high tide, along with several other photographers and bird watchers (remaining images). Even the light rain could not put a damper on several hours of intense photography. I later found out that I only missed out on one good day, Monday, when the weather was its worst. On sunny Tuesday, the birds were not present even at high tide, so I did the right thing by going to Alaganik Slough. And my last afternoon, well I’ll let you decide whether I was successful or not. Whatever you decide, I know that getting this close to feeding Western Sandpipers is a privilege that I will never forget.
The Copper River Delta is a sixty-mile arc of river delta, marshes, sloughs, mountains, glaciers, and rainforest just east of Cordova in Southeast Alaska. The delta is formed not only by the mighty Copper River as it enters the Gulf of Alaska, but by more than six glaciers and their melt waters. As part of the Chugach National Forest, the 2.3 million acre ecosystem is managed primarily for fish, wildlife, and their habitat. It is home to a wide variety of animal life including moose, black and brown bears, wolves, mountain goats, and many small furbearing animals including beavers, minks, and river otters. But it is the presence of fish, spawning coho and sockeye salmon, Dolly Varden, cutthroat trout, euchalon (known locally as hooligan), and the entire marine web of life that makes the area most famous for its diverse and large population of birds, both locals and transients.
As part of the Pacific Flyway, one of world’s most impressive spectacles occurs each spring in the delta as millions of migrating birds stop over in these vast, fertile, and untamed wetlands to refuel themselves during the long journey between their wintering grounds in South America and their summer breeding sites in the Arctic. This migration includes swans, geese, ducks, eagles, seabirds like gulls, terns, and jaegers, and a wide variety of shorebirds.
This year was my first chance to observe and photograph the bird migration since coming to Alaska two years ago. Partly to beat the crowds of tourists and photographers, I arrived by ferry from Whittier on May 4, a few days before the official start of the Copper River Delta Shorebird Festival which this year was held May 8-11. I could not have asked for better accommodations in all of Cordova by staying at Bear Country Lodge. Located at approximately the 5-mile marker on the Copper River Highway along Eyak Lake, this two-cabin lodge is beautifully furnished, stocked with all the amenities of home, reasonably priced, and immaculately kept. I stayed in cabin #2, a two bedroom house which used to be the home of the lodge owners. The view of the lake and the surrounding mountains outside on the deck was spectacular (see ak0285_Ds3 and ak1629_40D).
Monday, May 5, my first full day of photographing, turned out to be a day of nearly non-stop rain and strong winds. Of course, this is not uncommon since about 160 inches of precipitation falls annually in the delta and surrounding rainforest. Hartney Bay, part of Orca Inlet, located several miles southwest of Cordova on Whitshed Road, is the most popular spot for photographing migrating shorebirds. Not familiar with the patterns of feeding for the shorebirds, I decided to visit Hartney Bay at low tide. My thinking was that low tide would expose the banquet of marine life on the mudflats for the birds to feed on. When the tide is out the expanse of Hartney Bay is very impressive. The receding water forms a narrow channel in the middle of Orca Bay, quite a distance away from shore (ak0221 and ak0237). Even though I was wearing hip waders and walking on the tidal mudflats was quite easy, I decided to stay close to shore. While I did see some flocks of shorebirds flying around, they were too far away to photograph even with a 600 mm lens. A couple of thoughts occupied my mind. Perhaps I had arrived too early and the birds would not come until later that week. Or, the long drawn out winter in much of Southeast Alaska may have delayed their arrival. Nevertheless, I decided to make the best of the day and explored the Copper River Highway in the hopes of seeing Childs Glacier at mile 48 and the Million Dollar Bridge spanning the main channel of the Copper River.
Cordova, like Juneau and so many other communities in Alaska, is not connected to the rest of the state or country by road. So, to call the Copper River Highway a “highway” is a misnomer. But there is another reason “highway” is a misnomer. While it provides access to Cordovians to the Cordova airport -- their only other way in and out besides the Alaska Marine Highway (i.e., ferry system) -- not far from the airport the paved highway turns into a gravel road complete with pots holes, washboard, and in early to mid-Spring, lots and lots of remaining snow. As it turns out, so much snow remained that I met up with the highway maintenance crew at approximately mile thirty-five feverishly working to clear the remaining thirteen miles of the road (ak1532). Along the way I ran through a gauntlet of the largest snow drifts I have ever seen since I was a kid growing up in Buffalo, New York in the ‘60s and ‘70s; they dwarfed my vehicle by comparison (ak1525 and ak1551). Needless to say, four wheeled drive vehicles are recommended for traveling this “highway.” I was amazed at the amount of snow this close to the Gulf of Alaska and upstream from the Chugach Mountains. On further thought, however, the snowfall that Whittier, Portage and Girdwood receives closer to my home, but in a similar proximity to the ocean as Cordova, is about the same. The mountains surrounding Cordova were loaded with snow, and in some places several feet still remained at sea level. It’s easy to see why this area has a reputation for serious avalanches (Snowstruck by Jill Fredston, Harcourt, 2005). All in all, even though photographically the day was a bust, it was fun to “play” in the snow and reminisce of an earlier time.
The previous day’s rains, having wrung the moisture out of the air, made the next day, Tuesday, May 6, a day to relish -- full of sunshine and warmth. I made my way to Hartney Bay at low tide for a second time, again to be disappointed by the lack of shorebirds. With one full day of shooting left, I was beginning to get worried that I would not return with the photos I was seeking. However, as a full time professional photographer for almost two years now, I have been learning how to “make lemonade out of lemons” when plans do not turn out my way. Once again I turned my attention to the Copper River Highway, however, this time turning off at mile 17 to visit Alaganik Slough. Nearing the end of the three-mile dirt road, I could tell immediately by the raucous sounds of the seagulls that something exciting was happening there. What I found were large flocks of seagulls circling overhead, almost like vultures signaling carrion on the ground. A few minutes observation of the water, the frenzy of the gulls, and their dives into the water indicated that one of their favorite foods, the fish called hooligan by the locals (technically known as euchalon), were now readily available. For me, the essence of the day was to capture them in their environment, especially circling the waters of the slough, and framing them with the mountains as backdrop for perspective (ak303, ak326, ak385, ak425, ak427, and ak444). A flock of Northern Pintails quickly passed over the slough. However, without a blind to provide cover, it is difficult to capture up close and detailed shots of most water fowl, with the possible exception of the prevalent and widespread Canada Goose. At the day’s end I felt satisfied that I had made some “lemonade.”
In Alaska, one gets used to frequent weather changes, so as fast as the sunny weather arrived, it departed and brought clouds and intermittent light rain to my last day of shooting. I decided to get some photos of Heney Creek and the Heney Creek trail near the entrance to Hartney Bay at low tide. Heney Creek is a fresh water stream which originates from the melting snows of the mountains of Heney Ridge. At sea level Heney Creek flows into Hartney Bay. The tidal swings reverse the flow of the creek and flood the surrounding marshy areas. At low tide, the water soaked stream banks drip drain into the creek (ak0481). The contrasts of colors and forms of the water and land make a wonderful up close shot of erosion in action. As I was wrapping up photographing Spring’s new growth (ak0514), I ran into two trail maintenance workers. Bemoaning my bad luck getting shots of shorebirds feeding in Hartney Bay I learned from them that high tide is better than low tide for photography because it brings the feeding birds closer to shore. Now it all made sense. The birds were there all along, but mainly feeding right at the interface of the receding or advancing water. At my low tide visits they were so far away into the middle of Orca Inlet that I was not able to see them without walking a considerable distance. I felt some consolation that I had not seen any photographers make the long walk during low tide either. My disappointment turned to elation knowing that I had one chance left that day when high tide arrived at 4:05 p.m.!
Most tourists and photographers, myself included, come to a place like Copper River Delta to see one iconic bird, symbolic of the great migration of shorebirds and the feeding frenzy which must occur during their stopover if they are to make it to the Arctic, in fact if they are to even to survive the long, highly sapping journey just completed. That bird is the Western Sandpiper. I’ve had a chance to see migrating sandpipers along the Atlantic Flyway on the east coast in Bombay Hook Wildlife Refuge, so I knew the treat I was in for if I could just find them. So many words and phrases could be used to describe the spectacle of their flying: poetry in motion; aerial ballet; synchronized flying; synergistic cooperation -- a living organism composed of hundreds, sometimes thousands of individuals, acting in harmony to create a whole greater than the sum of its parts. The list goes on, but words fall short. Photography comes closer, and videography comes closest, to fully capturing the wonder and awe of seeing such an event in person. And so I was fortunate to capture images that I came for, both during the advancing and receding of the high tide, along with several other photographers and bird watchers (remaining images). Even the light rain could not put a damper on several hours of intense photography. I later found out that I only missed out on one good day, Monday, when the weather was its worst. On sunny Tuesday, the birds were not present even at high tide, so I did the right thing by going to Alaganik Slough. And my last afternoon, well I’ll let you decide whether I was successful or not. Whatever you decide, I know that getting this close to feeding Western Sandpipers is a privilege that I will never forget.