Monthly Archives: November 2014

Tough Old Trees

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old treeI’ve taken many pictures of the bull pines and mountain hemlocks on this meadow. None have captured the life force that drives their struggle on poorly drained soil. Their ability to root in soil too marginal to support the tall spruce gains them an open place in the sun. It also slows their growth and leaves them to face harsh winter winds alone. The old ones have the twisted limbs of an arthritic. They could have stood here when Joe Juneau and Richard Harris stumbled up Gold Creek and later when gangs of Chinese laborers dug out the nearby Treadwell Ditch. They have managed to survive long enough to watch Aki pee on one of their brothers. But, given the number of dying trees on the meadow, I wonder how many more winters they have left.reflection

Fishing for Images

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MLThis is supposed to be a fishing trip. With the trees now bare of leaves, clouds blocking the mountains, and rain discouraging the use of a digital camera, fishing seemed to be the best use of the day. Since it is small, I slipped the camera into the day back at the last minute.

CLAki is wet in minutes. My gear holds up better but she doesn’t appear to care. We have the place to ourselves until we run into the volunteer beaver patrol. Armed with sturdy, three-pronged rakes, they are opening up a key waterway so late run coho salmon can reach their gravel spawning beds. This involves deconstructing beaver dams. Since they concentrate on building up their winter woodpile, the beavers won’t undo the patrol’s work until the salmon have moved through.

stumpThe patrol’s efforts also allow recently submerged human trails to dry out. Aki and I take several to various fishing spots around the moraine. We are too early or too late for catching dolly vardens. At two of the lakes I watch trout rise in the center of lake. I was tempted to wait for them to swim to us but Aki looks bored and, since she is wet, a little pathetic.

CL IIThe clouds rise during our walk to reveal Thunder Mountain and the sharp peaks that surround the glacier. Standing on a still intact beaver dam, I watch the wake of a bufflehead duck and two companions ripple the image of mountains, clouds, and fog enriched by lake waters. This time of year, the surfaces of lakes provide the richest beauty.

Speed of the Stream

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meadowWe leave Chicken Ridge early hoping to get in a hike before the arrival of forecasted 60 miles an hour winds and rain. A thick cloud layer blocks the morning sun like a leaden cover. When we start up the road to OUR mountain meadow trail, a cosmic hand lifts the cover and let the sun shines on the car and the freshly white mountain peaks to the north. Not trusting the strength of that hand, I fret that the sunlight will vanish before we reach the meadow trail.

darkThe yellow light still shines on the meadow when Aki leaps out of the car but fades to gray before I’ve taken more than a few photographs. Sunlight will blink through for a few second at a time during our hike but only it will confuse my digital camera. Without its rich distraction I can appreciate reflections of the bordering mountain ridges in the meadow small ponds, even those broken by fading lily pads.

board walk refAki finds little to distract her on this walk. No dogs come charging up the trail; no squirrels declare the forest a no trespass zone. She still dashes about, tail wagging, nose to the ground as we climb to higher ground. She shows surprising patience when I stop on a flat section of trail and start Tai Chi warm-up exercises. It’s the prefect place for it—the edge of a pocket muskeg meadow separated from a mountain wall by Fish Creek. I face the mountains at commencement, offering an invisible globe to the avalanche chutes. Am I performing a pagan liturgical dance? Aki stands by as I single whip, wave hands, brush knee, parry, punch, block, and finally, push the mountain. I offer another invisible globe to the mountain and pet Aki. For the first time since entering the meadow, I feel in sync with the place, as if my life energy flows at the speed of the stream.

Gastineau Stroll

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crowToday Aki and I take a route I usually travel by car. We walk from the town of Douglas, cross the channel bridge and climb up to Chicken Ridge. This is new ground for Aki to read so we stop often so she can sniff and pee. A stream of cars rushing by at 45 mph gives our walk an urban feel. I have a camera but find little use for it in the day’s flat light. fenceThere is a fence, bare of paint, aged by lichen that has somehow managed to stay upright. A few maple leaves cling to otherwise empty trees. On the bridge, one crow preens while perched on the Gastineau Channel sign after covering ground with crow poop and empty mussels shattered after he dropped them from height.

The sun breaks out as we reach home. A shaft from it illuminates a bowl of ripe persimmons, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.persimmions

Reflection

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Aki The sky fills with gulls when we break out of the woods. They glide as a squadron with the tips of their hinged wings pointed downward. Two harlequin ducks burst from the beach, stretching their necks forward. Nothing remains on the water. “What’s the deal, little dog?”

gullsDown beach I spot a flash of white cross a slower moving patch of turquoise. In a few minutes a young woman with two energetic dogs comes into view. The woman ignores the beach, the birds, and her own dogs while she speaks into a cell phone. She steps over a small stream, apparently not hearing the song of water moving fast over beach pebbles. I am a little angry after she passes me while focused only on her phone. But the stream song soothes me close to where I was when watching the gulls.

JellyBending over I see my judgmental face in the shinny surface of a Lion’s Mane jellyfish that has collapsed on the beach. She was happy. She must have been talking with someone she loved about something she loved. Why should I resent her for enjoying a magical connection with another human being because her voice flushed the beach of birds and shattered a few minutes of my solitude?

Aki’s Mouse

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Glacier In a hiatus between rainsqualls, Aki and I cobble together an outing along Mendenhall Lake. Fall has finally buried the summer that recently lingered along the lakeshore. Gray, not falling leaf yellow is the color of the day. We’d find winter’s snow by climbing halfway up Mt. McGinnis.

Rose

While we walk along the paved access road to the West Glacier Trail, just past where a pothole reflects the top of Mt. McGinnis, Aki breaks after a deer mouse. In seconds she has it in her mouth but drops it as soon as asked. The little mouse trots away, apparently unharmed. Aki has chased squirrels but stopped, nose down, tail up and wagging, when one turned to face her on the trail. She used the same tactics to get a porcupine to play and never received a punishing quill. I wonder why she let loose the wild poodle on this little mouse.