A Siberian Dream

Japan, February 2026
Hokkaido

For many years, I had watched with keen interest the documentaries in which dozens of Steller’s Sea Eagles could be seen hunting on the ice in northern Hokkaido. One thing I learned was that these birds winter there and spend the rest of the year in Siberia. 

Steller's Sea Eagle

The dream of seeing one of those beasts grew and took shape. Even more so when one turned up on the east coast of North America in 2021. At the time, I followed with interest the procession of people who came from all over the continent to see it. It was interesting but, the best thing is to go to the source and, since Siberia is almost impossible, I started thinking that one day I would have to go to Japan. It was difficult and expensive but, perhaps, that trip might actually be possible.

After a long search, I eventually found a company that ran shorter tours than usual, focused on the most iconic species. During the Flock to Marion expedition — see The Longest Day — I had the chance to speak to the owner, Gunnar, and a few weeks later I made up my mind, just under a year before the trip was due to happen.

The tour started on the southern island of Kyushu, then moved on to Hokkaido and, finally, Tokyo and its surroundings. I marked one day on the calendar: February 17th, D-Day for the sea eagles. That was the day the pelagic trip was scheduled to go out and meet them. As with every boat trip, there are many variables and there is always the risk of a straightforward cancellation. But life is a risk and, on the appointed day, off we went on a long journey, almost a full day, to Tokyo.

The tour was memorable, with plenty of adventures along the way but, in this chronicle, we are going to focus on one of the longest day, D-Day, Tuesday, February 17th, 2026.

Steller's Sea Eagle

The day before the pelagic, the 16th had ended rather comically, to say the least.
When we arrived at the hotel, I discovered that, in the rooms, apart from the bed being one of those traditional where, basically, you put a thin, rolled-up mattress on the floor, there was no shower or bathtub in the bathroom either. I realised it was one of those hotels with hot spring baths, or onsen in Japanese. In these hot-spring hotels, even the luxurious ones, that is simply how things work. As tired as I was, I started cursing my luck.

Not entirely convinced, I went to bother the two Japanese men and the Japanese woman at reception. With the serenity of people who had probably dealt with the same problem many times before, they politely explained that, to have a shower, the appropriate place was the communal showers upstairs, after which I could use the hot springs as much as I liked. When they asked me, “OK?”, I merely shrugged and nodded, looking half sad, half resigned. The three of them burst out laughing, clearly thinking they had yet another maladjusted foreigner in front of them. I could still hear them laughing when I got back to my room.

It took a while but, in the end, I ended up surrendering. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. A very useful principle when travelling and, particularly, when there is no alternative.

So off I went to take a shower where showers actually existed. It was communal, yes sir, but it was luxurious. Towels, combs, creams, brushes, hairdryers, drinking water, lockers and God knows what else. Everything included. And, on top of that, I had the whole place to myself. An experience, in every sense of the word. I came out completely converted to the concept.

Blakiston's Fish Owl

And so, after a restorative night's sleep, we reached Day 17, the day I had been dreaming about for so long and the main reason for this expedition to Japan.

The struggle began exceptionally early, when we went to try, for the second time, to see the most famous owl in the area. It's called Blakiston's Fish Owl and it is the largest owl in the world. It had not been particularly friendly during the previous attempt, before dinner. The wait had been fruitless and the cold absolutely brutal. Very, very hard to endure, even with the multiple heaters in the hide. The temperature was well below freezing. What we might call, back home, "weird heat". We left defeated to go to dinner but, there was no time to lick our wounds and discuss the failure. Gunnar promptly opened the door to a second attempt, at four in the morning (!).

Work is work. I immediately said I was interested. As someone once said, I'll rest when I die. Sandra and several others in the group decided to stay in bed but, four of us, the more persistent ones, were there at the appointed time.

We didn't have to wait long. I wasn't even sitting down when I heard someone say the owl was in the tree, next to the feeder. I had barely looked when, there she was, already on stage, staring at the little pond full of fish. I never bothered to look up the Portuguese name but it could well have been called Giant Fish Owl, so enormous was the creature. With its wings spread, it barely fitted into the camera frame.

It stayed for less than a minute. It grabbed a fish and left as if it had a train to catch. I managed to get a few photographs, not even enough to fill a tooth cavity.

It wasn't much but, right next to me, there was a companion who hadn't even taken a single photograph. That's the risk you take when you always keep the camera buried at the bottom of your backpack. The sadness was obvious, written all over his face. Out of solidarity but, also out of self-interest, we all agreed to wait a little longer to see if the star would return. Less than an hour passed and there she was again. The second time she stayed longer, carefully choosing her fish and eating it at leisure. When she left, everyone was happy.

Rose dawn in Rausu

We got back to the hotel at around 5:30 a.m. but, when you do what you love, you don't get tired. I still managed to sleep for more than an hour before heading down for the excellent breakfast. In between, I went up to the top floor, to the hotel's panoramic terrace, to take in the views. Nothing like a pink-toned dawn, with frozen mountains on one side and the sea on the other, to awaken the soul. And the best part was that I had to go back up there a second time, when someone posted in the trip's WhatsApp group that they were seeing Harlequin Ducks. A duck with an almost unreal plumage, living up to its name. With the breakfast, the view and the ducks, it was one of the best dawns of my life. I had already forgotten that the night had been badly slept.

The highlight of the trip was approaching at full speed. I had been dreaming about Steller's Sea Eagles for years. These enormous eagles were the main reason I had spent a total of eighteen hours inside a metal tube.

Gunnar had, meanwhile, told us that we could leave our luggage in the room, since the cruise lasted two hours and started at 9:00 a.m. The hotel was about ten minutes from the harbour. The maths made sense, but... I looked thoughtfully at the packed and closed suitcases in the middle of the room. Should I take them? Leave them? They stayed in the room, but I wasn't at ease. The devil, as we know, hides in the details.

White-tailed Eagle

We went to the harbour in one of the cars, while Gunnar went to collect the tickets from the office in the other. When he arrived, at around 8:30, he gave us some brilliant news, in his usual calm manner:

—Ah, well, it turns out the cruise is two and a half hours. We have to go back and get the luggage from the hotel.

I felt like killing him but, instead of starting to shout, I decided to be pragmatic and do the maths. Ten minutes one way, ten back, five to get the bags. That still left five minutes to spend.

—Let's go!

There wasn't much traffic and, when we reached the hotel, we promptly fetched the luggage and loaded the car. A few minutes passed and there was still no Gunnar. Where was our driver? I stayed in the car waiting, while Sandra promptly went to see where he was. She came back in a panic:

—We're not going to make it! We're not going to make it!

She explained that she had peeked into his room and everything was still spread out all over the floor.

Things weren't looking great but, the truth is, not even a minute later he appeared, perfectly calmly. We headed for the harbour. Less than fifteen minutes remained. Traffic was tricky, but in a land of law-abiding citizens, the lawbreaker reigns supreme. With half a dozen overtakes and just as many transgressions, we reached our destination three minutes before nine. We got out of the car and ran to the boat.

Steller's Sea Eagle

One of my companions, who spoke a little Japanese, told me later that, from the moment we parked until we boarded the boat, the loudspeakers repeatedly announced in Japanese:

—Hurry up! Hurry up!

Apparently the stress all over the place, for us, for the other passengers and even for the crew. We boarded and, less than a minute later, the boat left the pier.
So, in the end, everything was under control. I took a deep breath and thought, Next!...

And the next challenge came immediately. Would we have floating ice? The eagles can always be seen, one way or another, but if there is floating ice they come almost right up to the boat and the photographs are indescribable, with the spectacular scenery, the morning light and the atmosphere free of distortion.
Over the previous few days we had been following the company's blog and the ice had been appearing one day and disappearing the next. Would luck be on our side?
While I contemplated life and the boat moved on, I started getting my gear in order: down jacket, thick jacket over it, beanie, hood, two pairs of gloves. I was ready. There was only one thing missing, the most important one: the birds.

We hadn't even been sailing for ten minutes when it became clear that we'd hit the jackpot. We were going to get everything. The floating ice was right there and stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun was shining brightly and the air was crystal clear. The sea was an absolute lake. And the eagles were everywhere. Dozens of White-tailed Eagles and Steller's Sea Eagles, my Siberian dream.

Steller's Sea Eagle

There are moments like this, beyond imagination. The spectacle was such that the difficult part was deciding where to look. Some eagles were so close they wouldn't fit in the frame. There were birds perched alone on the ice. There were groups of the same species and groups where the two species mingled, without telling us whether it was by mutual agreement or simply so they could steal from one another. There were eagles in flight against a blue sky, in flight over the ice and in flight with mountains in the background.

With the breathtaking landscape, the floating ice and the eagles surrounding us, the senses were overloaded, and quite rightly so. For two intense hours we shot non-stop. Hours that were worth at least two years.
I took more than eight thousand photographs but, even the most perfect ones are nothing more than an imperfect reflection of what happened that morning. A shadow of a shadow. What a time to remember this Allegory.

When we began the journey back to the harbour, with the creaking of the boat fighting its way free of the ice, I realised immediately that it would take me many months to digest the previous two hours. 
As if my head had to be convinced that my body had actually been there. Had I really lived through that? Even today, I need the photographs to make sure.

The ice stretching as far as the eye could see

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