Monthly Archives: December 2020

Eagles Seem Fine With the Rain

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Rain but no wind driving it. Hoping that the wind isn’t about to rise, Aki and I head over to Sandy Beach. The forest we must pass through to reach the beach should protect us from being washed away by the rain.

            We work our way through the woods. I’m grateful that the rain has washed the trail clean of ice or snow. The rain has also powered up the normally puny streams and filled a half-filled pond. The last time we were here, ice covered it. 

            We see no birds or animals in the woods. But a soaking-wet bald eagle is eating something on to roof of an old mining vent. It turns around to get a good look at the dog and I. Is it expecting me to deliver some tasty dessert?   

Bad Weather, Good Views

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My last post described the minor adventure Aki and her human family had walking toward the glacier. When not checking out deposited dog scents or playing tag with a Jack Russell terrier, she guarded and tried to guide her people. She stayed on station even as rain soaked her fur. Today, I want to explain why I found the wet and gray landscape beautiful enough to enjoy the walk even if the dog stayed home, warm and dry.

            City, farm or dessert people should be blown away, like an old rain forester, by yesterday’s pure-white clouds as they slow danced across the face of a mountainside of Sitka spruce? They would have enjoyed looking at our snake of blue glacier ice slip between mountains to touch the lake? I know they would miss the appearance of full sun against winter-blue sky. I do. But they’d appreciate the more subtle beauties? 

            I am saddened by how the string of warm, wet days have reopened the glacier’s lake by melting away covering ice. It also melted almost all the snow that just last week decorated the glacial forest. But now all eyes will be drawn to the parts of the lake now reflecting mountain peaks and the glacier’s blue-green river of ice.  

After the Storm

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I wasn’t even sure why we drove out here. For days, inches of rain slammed the rainforest. Six people from a nearby village disappeared when muddy landslides hammered their little town. No one died in Juneau but there were some close calls. 

            When we left the parked car, Aki’s other human and I were expecting more snow or rain to fall. The just finished storm melted the lake ice, which surprises us. So does the absence of wind that would otherwise prevent the lake surface from reflecting the glacier and its surrounding mountains. 

            Slick ice still covers most of the glacier trail. I’d fall often if I wasn’t wearing ice cleats  until we leave the main trail to walk onto an ice free peninsula. I thought that we were the only users until Aki stumbles onto a tiny Jack Russell dog and its human owner. After the sniffing each other, the dogs tear around us, taking turns chasing and barking. Later, they will ignore each other when we meet on another icy section of the trail. They just lead their human charges slowly back to their cars.    

Five Inch Storm

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Last night one of those five-inch-rains deals started. This morning it is still a storm, not a rain shower. Strong wind shivers the car as we drive out to North Douglas. It turned out to be a bad choice. 

            A few thousand feet into the forest, we hit the first problem—ten feet of flooded trail. Aki started to cross it first, slowly planting each step. He seems to think that if he slipped he’d be carried downstream by the little flood. This slowed me down, allowing more water to slip into my boots. 

           We had to pass through many similar puddles, each one soaking Aki’s fur and my boots. The rain soaked my parka and Aki’s head and back. It drove away most of the ducks and gulls. But we did spot the little trio of harlequin ducks nestled near a pile of rocks on the beach. 

Harvesting Before the Storm

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We are out to collect seaweed for the garden, not look for stunning sky or breaching whales. As we left the house the weatherman said we were about to be hit by a couple of days of heavy rain. This time of year, with the temperature well above freezing it, rain would wipe out the snow layer. When the temperature dropped back, ice-slick ice would cover our streets and trails. I wanted 20 gallons of seaweed spread around out garden before that happened. 

            Other gardeners had already carried off all the seaweed from the first beach we checked. I’d gotten lots of seaweed off this beach before the covid virus reduced job opportunities for the local. Now they do more hunting and gardening. They must have snatched away all the seaweed from this and every other roadside beach.

            We find a thick blanket of detached seaweed on the last beach we could check. It required a bit of a walk but it was worth it. In a few minutes we filled four big buckets with rock weed, leaving me plenty of time to watch bald eagles circling in the nearby sky before diving down to pluck edible things from the sea.