Week 5 - When the Wild Comes Close

Two eagles, one moment—one calling out, one coming in to land, both moving with a rhythm all their own.

Seen in My Lens: Alaska — Week 5

A Tremor in the Night

By this point in the trip, the rhythm at Silver Salmon Creek Lodge felt familiar—bears, meals, cards downloaded, bed. We had just gotten ready to turn in for the night when the cabin began to shake in a slow, steady way.

It wasn’t a brief shake. The cabin vibrated in a slow, even way—enough to make us sit up and wonder. My first thought was that one of our housemates was playing a prank. My second thought was an earthquake.

When the shaking finally stopped, we were wide awake, listening for footsteps on the porch. None came. With no clues and no more noise, we laughed nervously and tried to fall back asleep.

We didn’t yet know what had really happened just outside our door.

Our cabin at Silver Salmon Creek Lodge—the quiet little spot that shook in the night.

A Clear Morning

The next morning felt brand new. The storm had passed, and the mountains—hidden the day before—stood crisp and blue beyond the flats. Bears wandered the open landscape, gulls drifted overhead, and everything looked freshly washed.

But the strange nighttime shake lingered in my mind. I asked our guide if there had been an earthquake, and he said there hadn’t been. Our cabinmate also confirmed it wasn’t him—he had still been at the lodge at that time.

So the mystery remained.

A clear morning at last—a brown bear crossing the tidal flats beneath the mountains that had been hidden the day before.

Eagles in Tandem

Later that day, on our way back toward the lodge, a different kind of movement caught my eye—two bald eagles circling high above the meadow. At first they were only shapes against the sky, but as they drifted closer, their wings seemed to move in perfect time with each other, banking and turning as if they were one bird split in two.

I followed them with my camera, frame after frame of synchronized flight. It wasn’t dramatic in a loud way—more a quiet show of connection, two birds sharing the same air and the same invisible rhythm.

Our guide explained that mated pairs often fly this way, reinforcing both their bond and their claim to the territory.

A quiet choreography—two bald eagles sweeping low across the flats, their wingbeats mirroring one another frame by frame.

“Bald eagles often mate for life. Their synchronized flight is both communication and connection—an aerial way of saying, ‘We’re here. Together.”

The Mystery Solved

Later that afternoon, the answer appeared on the deck:
tufts of brown hair snagged along the railing.

Suddenly everything made sense.

A bear hadn’t knocked anything over or run past the cabin.
It had used the edge of our deck as a scratching post.

The Morning Clue

The clue left behind—evidence of our nighttime visitor.

I laughed—and groaned. If I had simply pulled open the curtain the night before, I might have captured one of the funniest photos of the trip: a massive bear rubbing its back or shoulder into our deck while we sat inside, convinced the earth was shaking.

Living Among the Bears

That night, as I pulled the blackout curtains closed, something shifted. I wasn’t just visiting anymore—I was living, however briefly and carefully, inside their world.

Inside Their World

I wasn’t just observing wildlife — I was living inside their world

The lodge staff kept us safe with simple rules: look both ways on the paths, stay with your guide, follow instructions, and give the bears space. Within that structure, a quiet rhythm formed. The bears grazed, clammed, and wandered as they always had. We watched, learned, and tried to move in a way that respected the trust that made this experience possible.

I didn’t know yet that the next day would bring a different kind of lesson—about pace, exhaustion, and what happens when you try to say yes to every single moment. That’s Week 6.

A bald eagle watching the shoreline as the tide shifted and the day came to a close.