Yesterday they closed the Basin Road Trestle Bridge to automobiles so no one can drive to the Perseverance Trailhead.  Basin Road is now a quiet walking path into the woods.  Aki and I head out to measure the impact of the bridge closure.

It’s a day with full sun, no wind, and the temperature at 37 degrees and climbing. The first thing noticed —- we know almost everyone we pass — all are Downtown Juneau neighbors. Owners of the Craftsmen houses on Lower Basin Road are outside cleaning and repairing in preparation for winter.  They squint and smile hello as we pass.

The change from town to country that comes when we reach the trestle bridge is more dramatic today because of the sun, which floods Mt. Juneau down to the old water flume with light strong enough to wash out the remaining fall color. The cottonwoods lining the flume are half in shadow, the rest light. They have dropped many leaves, allowing for greater appreciation of the strong curves of their limbs.  Beneath this line everything is in deep shadow. Minutes later, when we climb out of the shadow of Mr. Maria everything is bathed in sun.

We start climbing now, gaining downward views of a sloping spruce wood decorated by bright yellow devil’s club plants. Their leaves look as spread out as tourists on a Mexican beach.  A steady stream of hikers begin to pass us. I mess about with the camera, Aki with the hiker’s dogs. Wanting a little solitude we drop down to the trail head parking lot and for the first time find it empty of cars. The road leading to it is empty of people for everyone has taken the more direct footpath to the mountains.

Gold Creek spreads out here forming a braiding of channels over gravel tailings from the old mine. Light sparkling off the water gives me a head ache so we move back into the woods to a little used trail where we only hear the creek and an occasional raven complaint. Fall has advance enough here to shrink devil’s club leaves and reduce other leafy pants to nude stalks. For the first time since last Spring I have no problem finding the way home.

All our favorite trails end at a beach. They usually begin at the edge of an old growth forest. Today’s starts with a crossing of this grassy marsh. It would be a great place to be late this afternoon if the sun breaks through the marine layer to bring shadow and light to this expanse of grass, now more yellow than green.

After crossing the marsh we take a path bordering it and a spruce forest.  Large alders line both sides of the trail. The sun breaks through to throw a haphazard pattern of light on their grey and white trunks before we turn into the forest and start to climb a long low hill. Autumn is well advanced here. The now rot brown leaves of large skunk cabbage plants lay splayed out in circles around their centers where small young shoots makes foolish attempts to grow.

The sun finally breaks free of clouds as we crest the hill, Here a young spruce grows despite a large scar made by porcupine teeth. It will die unless the tormentor moves on. I can’t find  teeth marks on any of the surrounding trees so I wonder if it has been chosen for sacrifice or simply tastes especially good to the spiny rodent. Aki leaves the trail often now on secret missions while I try to capture with the camera the translucent of willows and devil’s club leaves being backlit by the low morning sun.

I’m the first to reach the rocky beach I set for our goal. While waiting for Aki to catch up I inspect the remains of a river otter’s meal—a sea urchin shell picked clean of meat and an equally denuded mussel shell. They are such tidy eaters.  When Aki arrives I plot down on a flat toped rock offering views of a short promontory jutting into Lynn Canal and a pocket beach now exposed by low tide. Aki takes station behind me where she can watch the forest. She leans against my back, a pleasant weight, and we settle down to see what there is to see. I spot something first—two things actually—a pair of seals moving cautiously around the rocky point. I manage to snap a picture of them before they disappear.

We come to expect solitude on Juneau’s trails, especially in October. No one has bothered to count the number of pocket beaches like the one in front of us. If inclined, Aki could be the the first after last nights high tide to spot its sand with paw prints. Today there is a bonus. No boat transits past us on Lynn Canal, no floatplane or helicopter competes with the sound of small waves washing over mussel encrusted rocks. The seals never return but we watch a double kayak move slowly up channel toward the Eagle River bar. I run my hand over Aki’s soft grey fur and we move back into the woods for home.