Day 13 -- to Lake Clark National Park

We were supposed to meet the pilot for our trip to Katmai National Park at 7:30 this morning. But the trip was delayed, due to low clouds, rain and poor visibility.

By 9 am, we were moving ahead with Plan B: Instead of flying to Katmai National Park, which is about 100 miles southwest of Homer, we would fly to Chinitna Bay in Lake Clark National Park, which is only about 50 miles west, across Cook Inlet. Since visibility was low, a flight to Lake Clark was still possible because Chris, our pilot, could keep land in sight at all times. He even altered our course to the north, so that we could fly over Kalgin Island — another spot of land to aid in VFR navigation.

(Natalie, unfortunately, was not feeling up to joining us. This morning she was still feeling weak and a little queasy. We missed her terribly, and wished she could have accompanied us. But the entire trip — an hour flying to Chinitna Bay, about three hours hiking around on a remote beach, and another hour getting back — likely would have been unpleasant for her.)

The view of the Homer Spit from the airplane.

Clare flew this time!

Before landing, Chris did a fly-by of the Chinitna Bay beach where we were to land, to make sure the beach was clear. As we circled the area, we saw three brown bears in the tidal flats, digging for clams. After the plane landed and we disembarked, we got a closer look. One was about 50 yards away in the mud flats, and he slowly made his way toward the beach as we watched. 

This airplane helped shuttle the camera crew and equipment for the DisneyNature film "Bears." The plane shows up in the end credits.  Look for it!

He eventually turned and, with incredible power and speed, took off running toward another bear digging for clams in the middle of the bay. We wondered if they would engage in a territorial brawl, or if they were just playing. Before too long, the second bear took off running, as well, and we realized that perhaps they weren’t just playing; bear #2 had been scared off. 

Eventually, this second bear, a shaggy, brindled adolescent, drifted toward the beach, and we stood still, breathless, as he ambled toward us. As he got closer, we all got down on our knees in the sand to show submission to the bear, so he wouldn’t feel threatened. The bear stood and considered this, and then sat down himself, acknowledging our submission in an apparent gesture of goodwill. Chris, our guide and pilot, said this was kind of like shaking hands.

After several seconds the bear got up again, and drifted a few feet closer — he was within 40 feet of us by this point. He seemed aware of us, but he didn’t appear to be too concerned about us. After a couple more steps, though, Chris said, quietly, firmly, “No, bear. No, bear. No, bear.” And a few seconds later, the bear turned and sauntered into the tall grass that edges the beach.

There's no bear in the picture. Just a gorgeous meadow -- part of Lake Clark National Park.

In a nearby meadow, we observed another large brown bear. And as we made our way down the beach in the stinging rain and whipping wind — in single file, so we didn’t appear like a large, intimidating mass of human to any bears up ahead — we saw a few more bears foraging in the tidal flats, or ambling from the beach into the grass. At the north end of the beach, we turned and hiked a short trail through the woods to a meadow, where we saw two more bears grazing in the distance. The National Park Service has set up boundaries — really, just logs at the end of the path that we are not to cross — for our safety and the safety of the bears.

In all, we saw about eight or 10 brown bears, including a momma bear and her cub at the opposite end of a meadow. By the time we trekked back toward the plane, most of the bears had abandoned the area and had moved inland, to the woods, out of sight, perhaps where they would be protected from the wind and the rain. 

The flight back to Homer was especially nerve-wracking for me. While Keith, Charlie and Clare snoozed behind me, I sat in the copilot’s seat and was keenly aware of the low visibility. Chris flew at about 6,000 ft, which seemed high to me — almost completely in the clouds — but he explained that a higher altitude gives him a longer gliding distance to land if we need it. Still, I had a hard time finding the horizon, and kept stealing peeks at the attitude indicator to make sure we were level. I fretted more than usual because Natalie was not with us; I just wanted to get to land so I could be with my Baby Nat. And I was so relieved when the Kenai Peninsula finally materialized in the haze. 

We made it back to the cabin to find Natalie feeling much better. She’s perky, sassy  and sarcastic— the Nat we all know and love! She even joined us for dinner at Two Sisters, an excellent bakery and fine-dining spot in town. It’s so good to have her back!