Russia transfered the Alaska Territory to the USA 144 years ago today. Happy to be part of America, many of us take the day off from work. At first it looked to be a day best spent in the museum. A nasty rain storm had hammered Chicken Ridge all night and didn’t slow down until mid-morning. That’s when Aki and I drove out to North Douglas for a low tide beach walk.

The rain holds off as we pass through a tunnel of alder trees and on to the beach.  Weak shafts of sunlight brighten irregular patches of the water near Smugglers Cove but  disappear as the wind builds. Storm darkness moving up Lynn Canal quashes any hope for blue sky. Through a shower of wind blown alder leaves we watch the tendrils of a serious rain squall dangle over the sea.

Driven by a south wind the storm heads north toward Haines. Only its edges will touch us—-wind mostly and a back eddy of brief rain.  Surf builds on the shore as we round the main point. Its too small to disturb the large colony of gulls and crows hunkered down on the point. Nothing will move them to flight, not even my clumsily approach on rain slick  rocks. The sea is empty beyond the gulls. No boats, planes, sea birds or cruising eagles.  We hear rumors that sea lions are fishing off shore but never see them.

We usually see ravens and eagles here jockeying for perches in the spruce lining the beach. Today a lone eagle could have his pick of places.

An alder in full leaf lies across the beach path and I wonder if it fell during last night’s storm. Standing at what was once the tree top I take a bird’s eye of the tree.  Cones for spring and miniature leaves fill the highest branches that are wrapped in unlucky lichen and moss.

While some trees and bushes still show fall color I am drawn to fallen leaves stuck to the wet beach rocks and cliff sides. One strong red crab apple leaf appears to hide from winter between two flat surfaced stones. I am also drawn to a field of basketball sized rocks that have been rounded by the sea. They remind me of the story the architect I.M. Pei told how his father planted large rocks in the sea to harvest them 15 years later after the currents had made them something to admire.

I can see the beach as a sculpture garden—a place to display the sea’s work. Its currents have decorated the beach at the high tide line with long golden brown rolls of sea weed and purple middens of empty mussel shells. The sea’s storm surges have pull sharp edges rocks from the cliffs to mix with surf rolled pebbles in interesting patterns.  Only the boulders left by retreating glaciers stand against the currents. Even these are incorporated in the sea’s. Aki uses her nose, not eyes, to appreciate the ocean’s work. She adds to it with a lift of her leg.