Sea Parrots…by Brad Marks

We did it! I am proud to say the Haunted Trail of Fears 2025 is officially in the books. All that is left is to haul it all back out of the woods, let it dry and then pack it away until next September. It is practically impossible to add up the number of effort hours this event requires as it extends well over 10 months when you add in all the project planning, prop building, assembly and tear down. Add in all the incredible help we get (including my brother Ron who spends weekend after weekend down here leading up to the event itself). Long hours starting early in the morning and rarely ending before well into the next day. This is what we live for here at Life Intrigued’s Haunt Department so through it all we are wearing big smiles (unless absolutely too tired to make those muscles move ha). Overall, I can proudly say it was a great success. Rain did move in on us the last night, but all but two guests made it through the nearly a mile haunt completely dry (even the two who didn’t make it out of the valley until the rain started had a great time as the drizzle coming through the tree canopy upped the eeriness in the dark woods). I’ll be posting some pics and likely videos from the event in future posts. For today, Brad is going to bring you one of his adventures from the northwest while I try to give the body a badly needed rest before starting tear-down tomorrow.

Take it away Brad…(note, Brad is still on his latest assignment)

Regular Wildlife Intrigued readers may remember a birding adventure Jan and I took out into the Atlantic Ocean in unstable seas (here).  We were chasing a “must see” bird; one of those “life” birds that are usually only seen on nature shows.  You know the ones, where the producer has a huge budget and dozens of cameras and weeks and weeks of time to sit and wait for the money shot.

A year ago, we were on a 65-foot boat out in the Atlantic that was bobbing like a cork on rough seas (4-6’ waves) for almost three hours.  I had taken a double dose of Dramamine and wished I’d taken a third.  Jan was getting bounced around and bruised from the fiberglass benches we were seated on.  I couldn’t see anything because of the zero-visibility fog we were sailing through.  The sky was various shades of dark grey.  I vowed I’d never get on a boat that was less than 500 feet long ever ever ever again when it is out of sight of land.

And I haven’t, except for a quick tender trip in Hoonah, AK, but that was for only 100 yards on flat calm water.  The last ship Jan and I were on was 1,083 feet long when we sailed from Alaska to Vancouver last August.  That ship had some great nature programs on board given by The Ship Naturalist Robert Raincock (find him here or here).  He was very popular helping to point out various birds, whales, and pinnipeds (seals) as the ship cruised the Inside Passage south from Alaska.  BTW, what’s the difference between a boat and a ship you may ask?  We were told, in no uncertain terms, that ships carry boats.  Clear enough to me.

Our morning started with a slow and careful cruise into Glacier Bay National Park.  We wanted to be sure to see glaciers while we still have them; we were not disappointed (may be a future story).  Margerie Glacier is one of the few glaciers that is still advancing in North America, even though it detached from the Grand Pacific Glacier in the 1990’s.  This 21-mile long glacier is about 1.25 miles wide at the waterline and 250 feet tall.  In other words, it is roughly 7 times the length of our ship and nearly half again as tall above the water.

Hit the jump to learn about our new +1 enjoying the Alaskan waters.

After visiting the Margerie Glacier, the ship continued its journey south towards Ketchikan, AK.  As the view of the glacier receded (pun intended) into the distance, the majority of the passengers headed back inside to warm up.  August at home is rather warm.  August in Alaska on the Pacific can be a chilly 50 degrees before we factor in the ship induced wind.  Plus, the 24/7 buffet has a strong pull on cold and hungry passengers.  A few hearty souls stayed on the aft-deck listening to an impromptu Q&A session with Robert. 

When there was a gap in the questions, I asked if we would see any cool birds on the trip.  He said, “Yes, in about two hours, when the strait narrows you should be able to see . . .“  naming a rather intriguing species of bird.  It seemed a shame to not make a bit of an effort to find some in their natural habitat to photograph.

(I can hear it now through the screen, “You were doing a Big Year!”  Not true.  We will chase an unusual life bird, if we are near its habitat.  Once.  Maybe twice if I don’t have to be on water to see it again.  Besides, I don’t think our tally of 189 birds in 2024 qualifies as even an Average year, more like a Small-ish Year.)

Jan and I set alarms on our watches, grabbed a warm cider and headed to explore more of the inside (warm part) of the ship.  When the appointed hour approached, we went back to our cabin and took turns going to the balcony to scan the water’s surface. 

Just about when we thought we would see something, the skies became grey and thick.  Not quite fog, but certainly not very much visibility beyond a ½ mile or so.  There was a light mist in the air, moving right to left, stirred by the ship’s forward motion.  Ship’s time was 4:30pm (which may or may not match the time zone it is currently sailing in) but the sky looked like 7:30pm from our balcony.   There was precious little light passing through the heavy clouds.  The ship had slowed a bit because of the narrow passage, but we were still moving about 10 knots or so (best guess on my part).  You get a small sense of speed when the ever-present vibration on-board changes pitch.  It’s not unpleasant, but it does remind me I’m on a very large moving object. That’s when Jan spotted this little black lump bobbing on the ocean wavelets.

A quick review on the camera LCD confirmed this is what we were hoping for:  a Tufted Puffin (Fratercula cirrhata).  It is a +1 for us.  Within seconds, we had both 200-500mm lenses pointed at the tiny spots on the parts of the ocean we could see under the clouds.

At this point, Jan and I couldn’t see land because of the heavy skies, but we knew that land wasn’t very far away based on the ships radar map.  Our cabin was on the 10^th deck about 100 feet above the water.  The Puffins were having nothing to do with the ship while swimming about 100 yards away at the edge of visibility.  Every now and then one would venture a bit closer, but we were still looking at birds that weren’t much more than a few thousand pixels on our camera sensors.  That didn’t stop Jan and I from collectively taking hundreds (being optimistic here) of photos in hopes that a few would be recognizable.

Contrast these conditions with those of our Orca sighting the next morning.  For that encounter, we had time to get to within a few feet of the waterline on a crystal clear and dry day (here).  The entire Puffin encounter was only a few minutes long, at best, in the swirling mist.

We needed every millimeter of our lenses to capture these tiny aquatic birds.  Vibration reduction helped a bit to keep image steady.  The birds only covered about 1/50^th of the camera sensor area.  That is well above my rule for taking photos in the first place (more than 6 pixels), but also below what I normally consider good enough to post online.  The subject matter is so compelling I’m hoping you forgive me for the less than perfect and highly cropped photos. 

Legend has it that Puffins, both the Atlantic and Tufted varieties, do make landfall every now and again.  Jan and I have not been fortunate enough to encounter them while we have both feet on terra firma.  While Puffins do spend much of their lives in the water, they actually do stay on land for nesting and raising their broods.

Tufted Puffins, sometimes called Crested Puffins, aren’t rare, but they have experienced significant population declines in certain locales.  They live an average of 20 years (high end approaching 35 years) in the wild if food and nesting areas are plentiful.  These stocky little football-shaped, crow-sized, birds are similar in size to their Atlantic cousins.  Their coloring is completely different though.  Tufties have an all-black body with a white mask.  Their mostly orange bill isn’t nearly as colorful as their Atlantic cousins.  Tufted Puffins normally forage near their nesting sites.  However, they are known to fly up to 60 miles round-trip, and dive to over 300 feet, for productive feeding grounds.  Both varieties can hold between five and twenty fish crossways in their bills.  Oh, can’t forget that the Tufted Puffins have the gorgeous “blonde” plumes (Fabio-esque) flowing back from their heads. 

It’s a good thing Puffins are great swimmers, because if they stop flapping their wings in flight, they plummet like a rock.

Soon, the outside temperature, wind from the ship moving, and lack of Puffins forced us back into our toasty cabin.  It’s hard for the vibration reduction to work when the photographer is the one causing the vibration by beginning to shiver.  Time to head back to that 24/7 all you can eat buffet and hot chocolate bar.

We’ve reached the end.

Thank you for reading.  If you want to see more Tufted Puffin photos, please visit here.

Credits Thanks again to Jan for proofreading and editing.  Thanks to Jan for some of the photos in this article