With Aki hunkered down at a neighbor's house we flew over to Sitka yesterday for a long weekend away. The rain followed us and now pounds the surface of Sitka Sound with an admirable consistency. I'm on a trail following the Indian River to Sitka Sound. On this inland stretch big alders crowd the shores. Humpbacked pink salmon occupy the river with military precision. From time to time, a platoon of them shifts position and then drops back into formation while gull screams block out all other noise.

The gulls, fat on salmon carrion know why they are here. The salmon, made simple by lust, treat the gulls like unwelcome witnesses to procreation rather than the clean up crew.

Gull noise grows as we near salt water where a new wave of salmon is clearing the barrier gravel bar to move into the stream. Most of the birds feed on the recently deceased but some burst suddenly into a short upriver flight, land on the water and ride the current back the their starting point. One turns tight circles on the water during the float.

A blue heron, apparently worn out by the gull’s antics, slowly climbs to a tree branch high above the river for some “me” time. Following his example I follow a trail of totem poles that lead through a thick old growth spruce forest toward Sitka. The trail bisects an area of destroyed trees being colonized by a new generation of spruce. The downed trees had solid form when first nurseries for the new growth. Now they have rotted to pulp and then eroded away from the roots of the new trees, leaving them free standing, apparently supported by air.