By Philip L. Fradkin
Natural forces have continuously ruled Lituya Bay. huge storms, strong earthquakes, large landslides, and huge waves larger than the world's tallest skyscrapers pound the whale-shaped fjord. Compelling for its lethal good looks, the bay has attracted viewers over the years, however it hasn't ever been mastered via them.
Its seasonal occupants all through recorded history—Tlingit Indians, ecu explorers, gold miners, and coastal fishermen looking a harbor of refuge—have drowned, long gone mad, slaughtered fur-bearing animals with abandon, sifted the black sand shores for minute debris of gold, and murdered one another. just a hermit chanced on peace there. Then the writer and his small son visited the bay and have been haunted by way of a grizzly bear.
As an environmental author for the Los Angeles occasions and western editor of Audubon magazine, Fradkin has traveled from Tierra del Fuego to the North Slope of Alaska. yet not anything ready him for Lituya Bay, a spot so robust it grew to become one person's hair white. This tale resonates with echoes of Melville, Poe, and Conrad because it weaves jointly the human and typical histories of a pretty and wild place.