Post-expedition Interview
  Conducted by Michael Heasley


MH: Did your trip meet the expectations you laid out in our pre-expedition interview?

Joyce: Oh, it met those expectations and exceeded them. When you get there and have a look at this wonderfully misty, cloud-shrouded forest of Sitka spruce and hemlock, it’s almost overwhelming, especially when you come by boat, as we did.


To the untrained eye Tongass looks as pristine as it might have 100 or 200 years ago. But when you go in with experts, as we did—with naturalists Sam Skaggs and Richard Carstensen—you learn that it’s been changed significantly by human hands.


 

MH: Speaking of humans in the Tongass, could you tell us about the village you visited, Tenakee Springs?

Joyce: Tenakee Springs is a subsistence community. A single path—not even a road, and certainly not paved—connects the houses. There are no cars, and people generally live off the land. They plant gardens, they hunt. The only way to get there is by boat or floatplane.

We visited a woman named Molly Kemp there. She and her family built their house over a 20-year period, log by log. It’s a magnificent house, as full of light as any place surrounded by 100- or 200-foot [30- or 60-meter] old-growth trees can be. It’s remarkably civilized. It has electricity provided by batteries, and by solar power, whenever the sun dares to show its face.

The residents of Tenakee Springs have chosen to be removed from civilization, but as we all know, civilization seems to encroach everywhere. These people can look across the Tenakee Channel and see the clear-cut areas, patches of fallen trees looking like mange on a dog’s back. They don’t want that to take over the rest of the island.

MH: What were your guides, Sam Skaggs and Richard Carstensen, like?

Joyce: Sam and Richard are what I like to call muddy-boots biologists: Neither holds a Ph.D. in biology, but both are field biologists by avocation. They put together this landmark tree project, and they take people into these stands [www.alaskavoyages.com]. People actually pay to help record and measure the trees, to categorize their value as habitat for large mammals like deer, as well as for fish, insects, and plants.

MH: What do people get out of paying to help map trees?

Joyce: They get wet! Very, very wet. They get stuck with thorns from devil’s club shrubs. They get perhaps the thrill of seeing a bear—or the anxiety of walking in bear country. It’s for people who like to spend their time and money doing more than just going to the beach or hanging out at a hotel. People who would really like to see and help preserve some of the most pristine areas on our continent.

MH: What was the bear situation?

Joyce: Midsummer is a prime season for grizzly bears, as the salmon are coming upstream to spawn. And this whole area is crisscrossed with tens of thousands, if not more, salmon streams. At one stream near Juneau you truly could walk across the backs of the salmon to the other side of the stream. The bears know that, and they’re there.

We made a lot of noise and watched our backs, because you end up following bear trails. These are big animals and they leave quite obvious trails through the grass. We saw quite a few spots where they make their day beds. They have no predators, so they lie where they want.

MH: How do you measure the landmark trees? With a tape measure?


Joyce:You can use a laser range finder to measure distance to the tree, then you can use certain calculations to get the height. Sam and Richard also devised an ingenious method of using calipers to achieve the same result. Sometimes they actually go up to the tree and measure its circumference, but it’s hard to get to some of these trees.


 

MH: How did you get all of your recording gear to the landmark tree stand you featured in the show?

Joyce: Marcia Caldwell, the sound engineer, gamely carried a 40-pound [20-kilogram] pack of equipment all the way up this very difficult 4-and-a-half-hour hike-in the rain. And keeping an eye out for bears as well.

MH: Did you record any unusual or unexpected sounds?

Joyce: There’s a lot of sound in a place like this. There’s rain on leaves, rain on trees. It’s a lovely sound, it’s a very peaceful sound. And we made lots of noise pounding through mud and bogs.

There were beautiful bald eagles, which sometimes the Alaskans refer to as their local rodent, because they’re so numerous. Even as we approached the stands we saw them sitting up in the trees looking for their next meal, and they’re quite noisy. We didn’t get to record a bear, but I think we’re actually kind of happy about that.

MH: Why exactly do they call them landmark trees?

Joyce: Well, they used to call them temple trees, because that reflected the way people view these places. The trees are massive and numerous, and there is an even distribution of these huge trees. There’s very little growing on the ground, just this wonderfully soft bed of pine needles. It gives you a sense of being in a place of worship.

I think that they decided to change the name from temple trees because it smacked of environmental zealotry. “Landmark trees,” I think, represents what they’re trying to do: mark down where these great old stands are so that everybody has the same information. The logging companies know where they are—we assume they do, anyway. But the people who are interested in preserving them don’t. At least not yet.

MH: What’s your outstanding impression of your time in the Tongass?

Joyce: What I remember most about it are the people, much more than the landscape. People are creations of their geography. And I think it’s utterly true that Alaskans are shaped by this landscape. They are rugged people, they are proud-minded people, they are people who are very proud and protective of their independence and self-reliance.

Everyone I met there does eight or nine things. I don’t mean playing the guitar and going bicycling. I mean they fish for a living some of the time, they do their own carpentry, they know all the plants—because they have to depend on themselves more. I think one of the things that draws people to Alaska is an opportunity to be more self-reliant than they would in places where things are “too easy.”


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