By Mary Richardson

“Look, look!” cried LaDonna McKnight, pointing starboard (right) as she watched a humpback whale breach in front of us. “Look, look,” cried her husband, Don, as he pointed port (left) at another humpback, leisurely showing off the underside of its tail before diving deep into the Alaskan waters of Stephen’s Pass.

There were six of us from Lake Charles on the David B — my husband, Joe, and I, Don and LaDonna McKnight, and Jim and Ann Meyer. We continued to point left and right, forward and aft, wanting to share every sighting of the abundant whales. “You all look like a three-ring circus,” laughed Jeffrey Smith, captain of the David B, “pointing every which way.”

But only I was standing at the bow when the biggest, most beautiful, whale breached in front of me. “Look, look,” I cried, just as it dove. “It’s the best one!” Jeffrey turned and looked at the calm sea where the whale had been a second ago. He raised an eyebrow. “It was really big, huh?” he said. “The biggest ever?” I nodded in agreement, ignoring that raised eyebrow. I can recognize jealousy when I see it.

We had boarded the 65-foot boat in Juneau on July 20, walking past mammoth cruise ships to get to the “regular” boat dock where the fishing boats and cabin cruisers were moored.

We would be spending eight days on the waters of Alaska, poking our nose into quiet harbors and coves where big cruise ships couldn’t go.

Our ultimate destination was Dawes Glacier, but, on our way, we were going to experience the awe and wonder of the Alaskan wilderness. Plus, we knew that Jeffrey’s wife, Christine, was not only a talented naturalist and photo- grapher/author, but an amazing chef. We might be living in close quarters, but we were going to eat well!

We met bears on the same afternoon we met the whales. I had asked to see salmon running upstream, so Capt. Jeffrey loaded us onto the skiff for a walk on Admiralty Island. More than 1,600 brown bears live on this island, so Christine kept her bear spray handy. All of a sudden Christine moved her bear spray from her belt to her hand and told us all to “gather round” so we would look “big.” Just across the grassland was a mother bear and two cubs.

They looked adorable. However, bears in this remote place had probably never seen people, and we knew we needed to respect the potential danger. Also, Christine said she thought there was a male bear in the woods, making the mother nervous. We walked in a close group back to the shore, keeping our eyes on her and marveling at the cuteness of the cubs.

During the week of traveling to Dawes Glacier, Christine led us on walks every day.

There were no trails. Instead, we donned high rubber boots and slogged across the rocky coastline into the deep silence of ancient, intact rainforests. Christine would softly sing-song “Hello bear, Hi bear, How are you bear?” to warn any bears of our presence. The forests were deep green and soft with moss. One day, it was raining hard on the David B, but the dense canopy of the forest diffused that rain into a gentle mist. The forest, Don McKnight said, was “suitable for fairies.” Then we came across a tree that had been deeply scarred by big bears marking their territory. We modified our assessment of the forest to “suitable for fairies and bears.”

After the cathedral-like quietness of the forest, a raucous herd of sea lions lounging on a spit of rocks hurt our ears. Captain Jeffery said all of them were males, some old and some young, and none of them could mate. “The old guys are bragging about their exploits in their youth and the young guys are complaining because they’ve heard the stories too many times already,” he explained.

Our schedule aboard the David B was punctuated by food. Christine served a “pre- breakfast” every morning about 6 a.m. when she would take muffins or sweet rolls out of her wood-burning oven. The “real” breakfast of eggs, meats, fried potatoes, fruit, and yogurt came around 8 a.m. One morning she served a quiche made from Dungeness crabs that Don McKnight and Jim Meyer had caught the night before.