Aki and I find the moraine a land of contrasts today. I feel it more than she because her light body travels equally well over transitional snow and ice. I struggle to keep on the thin strip of ice running the length of the trail for new snow makes it slick. Only a contraption of small chains held in place with rubber makes passage possible. I feel the contrast of hard and soft each time my boot slips off into the still weak snow bordering the ice path.

The temperature dropped during the night as snow replaced rain over Juneau. The rotten layer of ice covering this lake strengthens by the minute but watercourses draining the lake still run clear and dark.  Over all the storm deposits pure white snow flakes. They make their best show on top the charred limbs of cottonwoods still standing after last summer’s fire.

The contrast of thaw and freeze is strongest where the beavers flooded the trail with their dam. Here a thin dark water channel must be crossed unless we back track to the Troll Wood trail.  The end of a mid-winter thaw offers great opportunities for foolishness that if indulged can lead to danger.  I could carry Aki across the open water but it would means a soaking for my boots. Unless the temperature drops. I could make it back to the car with nothing to regret but wet socks. If it dropped quickly and I become immobilized by  a twisted ankle—. Years ago I would have plunged ahead and into unpleasantness that often ended with my frozen clothes thawing by the fire while I promised myself to stop taking stupid chances with my extremities.

We do back track and enter the Troll Wood where the winter storm has yet to breach it’s defenses. All is green except for a patch here or there were a dusting of snow whitens the yellow-green moss. We’ve taken shelter in a poorly maintain barn. When the trail takes us along the edger of another ice covered lake I look out at the snow and wind with smugness happy to have joined the trolls weathering out the storm. Aki relaxes too, apparently happy to have dry feet and no wind stinging her muzzle.  Neither of us jump when we hear the bang of an avalanche breaking loose on Thunder Mountain. It will never reach this wood.