If the weatherman hasn’t been fooled by nature, Juneau is about to be snowed in today. Such a prediction can create panic in large Northern cities. Here in the Alaskan rainforest, people just accepts each snow storm as it comes.

            Aki and I don’t need to leave our home neighborhood to find snowy beauty. It hangs like Christmas decorations from every house or spruce tree. The low blanket of snow clouds hide most of Gastineau Channel and all of the mountain ridges. Aki takes every opportunity to read the scent trails. I take advantage of the resulting delay to appreciate the little beauties of mining ruins and rusty cars trimmed with pure, white snow. 

This forest is normally a little shelter from the storm, protected by the walls of trees and a thick canopy of spruce needles. Usually, Aki and I can pass through without being soaked. Today, a cold winter storm almost buried tree branches with snow, bending down evergreen limbs. Usually, the minute the temperature rises in the woods, snow sluffs off the tree branches, letting them snap back into place. Not today.

It’s warm enough this morning for the tree to shed last night’s snow. But white stuff still holds on to the smallest branches. I have to duck and dive my way down the trail to the sea. It all becomes more clear when I snatch some snow from a little spruce limb. It holds the same shape it had when attached to the tree branch as I slide it into my thirsty mouth. Last night rain fell and then mixed with the snow. The rain drops froze as they combined with the snow, helping it cling to exposed trees.

The last weather report I read predicted a heavy snow storm. But instead of spending the morning shoveling snow, I mosey around Downtown Juneau hunting for places where the sunshine is burning through heavy fog. It’s a surprising little gift from nature before the snow storm begins a big dump on the state’s capital.

Nature is imposing a price for sharing beauty. Sub-freezing temperatures cover the streets and sidewalks with slick ice. But my boot cleats make it safe to drop down to the Alaska State Museum where sunshine, weakened by thinning fog, is reflected in the in the museum windows. In a few minutes we reach the Egan Expressway, which borders Gastineau Channel. Just this side of the channel, I spot a raven snacking on something tasty. With its back to me, the raven stops eating. It looks down channel where sunlight from the rising sun powers through the clouds.

The sun finally breaks through the clouds as we head back up the hill to home. It casts big, dark shadows onto the snow-covered sidewalk while making the colorful houses on Main Street sparkle.

The sun rose this morning over Gastineau Channel at 8:30 A.M. No clouds hide it. Where not blocked by houses or office buildings, the sunlight made the ice-covered walkways sparkle. Thankfully, I noticed this before leaving the house with Aki. I was wearing ice grippers when we started down the hill towards the channel.  

            The sun hung like a Christmas light above the Douglas Island Mountain Ridge as the little dog and I crossed Egan and headed toward the channel. I wanted to hurry there but Aki refused to rush ahead and fail to check out all the smells. Eventually, we make it to the whale statue just as the sun was about to drop behind the ridge. It was 10:15 A.M. it disappeared.

A tiny golden eye duck, female, the size of a very young one, moves slowly across a small river inlet.  Then a bald eagle flies over the little duck, starts to dive on it, then flies off. 

Neither Aki or I will see another bird. They have all taken shelter from the rising storm. A little sunlight works though the cloud layer then disappears. When the storm arrives we turn back to the car, already wet from the new rain.