We are halfway through January and snow still does not cover the beach around Mendenhall Lake. Aki has no problem crossing the now-shallow stream that still pours over a beaver dam. No did a red fox that just trotted down the trail. Our little dog sniffs around the fox’s prints and finds no reason to follow it into the woods. But she does shift her focus on her people for the rest of the trip.
The Mendenhall Lake ice has become as thin as Italian pizza. If things don’t chill down, we should be able to reach the glacier in our kayak over ice free water. The glacier expresses solid beauty this morning thanks to its turquoise ice. I find myself standing still as rain drops soak the little dog and I. I’m drawn by the shapes of dying lake ice and the reflection of glacier and mountains in an open section of the lake.
We turn away from the beach and cross a sandy meadow and find a little trail still covered with snow. Aki stands on edge of the trail. Melt water covering the old trail discourages her from continuing. I thought she was waiting for me to carry her over the shallow flood waters to sold ground. But, after making sure we are standing at the edge of the water, the little poodle mix leads us on the shallowest path back to the trail.
Last year Aki and I would have spent part of the morning on a cross country ski trail. It would have been cold, below freezing. Sun shine might have thrown dark shadows on to the snowy, forest floor. If we went walking the woods the next day, I might have had to wear boot cleats to avoid the slips and slides of winter.
But this is a year of early spring, not winter. The temperature hasn’t dropped below freezing for weeks. No snow or ice touches the trails. No snow weighs down the branches of trail lined trees. Every morning I check the local weather app. It always gives the same prediction for the following week: wet snow or rain, low clouds, and temps well above freezing. Winter seems to move a little further north each year.
It’s a miserable day for a beach walk. Strong, fast winds make snowflakes tumble and turn. They catch on my parka but not on Aki, who walks just under the snow flake zone.
We keep to an old growth trail, passing several saddened fallen spruce and hemlock trees. A 19 foot high today covers the beach but leaves us a narrow lane across a small peninsula that leads to a tiny island. I came here to watch sea lions feeding or lots of waterfowl. But only a single bald eagle shows it self until I reach the very tip of the island, where several rafts of golden eye ducks swim, tucked together just off the beach.
During these short winter days, when sunlight can never reach the upper reaches of Perseverance Trail, I always appreciate Gold Creek’s bare cottonwood trees. I lead Aki off the trail and onto the creek shire. Next spring, the new leaves of the surrounding cottonwoods will hide the mountains. But today, the naked frame of my favorite cottonwoods stands black and barren, too thin to block any view of the steep, snow-white walls of our mountains climbing out of the Gold Creek Canyon.
I didn’t really want to leave the house today. I wasn’t looking forward to splashing under heavy, wind-driven rain falling out of clouds that cover the mountains along Gastineau Channel. It’s a day of grays, not blues. It’s the time for catching up on a good book. But a poodle like Aki is owed a small adventure a day so we slide into the car and head out to north end of Douglas Island, where the heavy forests can protect us from the worst of the rain.
When just a few miles from the trailhead, I spot gangs of sea lions hammering herring just off shore. Two whales do the same out in the middle of Fritz Cove. I park the car and step out. Ignoring heavy rain bouncing off my parka, I take photos of the hungry and aggressive sea lions.
In a few minutes I switch and watch the two whales conducting a similar hunt out in the cove. I think they are humpback whales, who sometimes winter over in the rain forest waters. A little gang of sea lions run just in front of the whales. The sea lions must be snatching at the herring being chased by the humpback.
I get back into the car before rain soaks through my parka. We drive to the end of the road and walk to the beach, now flooded by the high tide. Just off shore surf scoters have tightly tucked themselves into a tight raft. Are they stumbling over each other to harvest food or just enjoying a tight hug? In a few minutes they disburse as Aki and I head back to the car and then home.
Aki and I are home after a whippy walk through Downtown Juneau. It was a morning for appreciating the black and white shapes of neighborhood trees and mountains. Except for one dense strip of Franklin Street loaded with bars and homeless folks waiting for lunch, we saw little until we walked onto the downtown cruise ship dock.
Gulls lined the dock railings in a posture similar to that of the hungry pre-lunch crowd over at the homeless shelter. But one raven landed near us. It waddled across a decorative, if tiny piece of grass, stopping often to scream out a complaint. On this low-light winter day, all the screaming photos I took of it were blurred. But twice, the crusty gull moved until I could clearly see its profile and froze so my camera could capture the wild-bird distain it had with town on this wind-blown day.
This was supposed to be a practical, not a glorious day. We left early to reach St. Vincent DePaul’s while they were still accepting donations. Then, the other chores kicked in. We were running low on milk and bananas, bread and bean burgers so we hit the store after dropping off the donations. Two friends that appreciate good cookie baking each received a tasty dozen. After that we took the patience little poodle for a walk.
It was a sunny day, at least at first. Early in the morning, sunlight reached the tops of Mt. Juneau and Gastineau Channel. It enriched the sun-covered mountains along the Western side of Lynn Canal. We had to squint in the light when we unloaded stuff at the St. Vincent’s and then pointed the car toward the first cookie drop.
Gray clouds blocked the sun by the time we reached Amalga Harbor. There was still a small patch of blue in the Southern sky, but it faded to flat and then dark as we worked our way to the Peterson Lake salt chuck. We usual visit here in spring to fish for Dolly Varden or in July to watch salmon climb the salt chuck on their way into the salt chuck. Today, we could only enjoy the sound of the steep rocky water course dumping water into Lynn Canal and the view of a kingfisher longing for spring.
We stop near the bottom of Main Street to watch an eagle. It sits on top of a pylon, trying to ignore the rain. After flashing me a judgmental look, it turns away to watch the now-empty Gastineau Channel. You rarely spot an eagle this close to downtown Juneau. They go where the food goes. A small raft of ducks just moved down channel. Maybe the eagle will soon follow them.
I stopped to photograph the eagle because it is rainy, the kind of rain that usually keeps eagles off Sandy Beach, where are heading. We drive over to Treadwell Woods and have the place pretty much to ourselves, at least until we reach the beach and spot a very wet bald eagle. It stands on the roof of a mining vent tower, looking quite bored.
While Aki catalogues scat sign, I walk over the tower. The eagle watches my approach but will not move, even when I get very close. Nearby mallard feed just off the beach sand, heads buried in the water. They wouldn’t have time to escape of the eagle attacked. But the big bird just ignores them.
This is a weird day, typical of a year of weird weather. One day six inches of snow falls. A few days later, the temperature rises well above freezing and all the snow falls off all the trees. Maybe in a week or even a few days, snowy winter may return.
There are positives about today’s conditions even though wind and rain slam the car while I park it along the edge of Fritz Cove. Rain starts to soak my parka as I walk to where I can get a good view of a half-a-dozen sea lions. They are chasing feed near the mouth of a small creek. I’ve caught silver salmon while trolling past this sight on summer days. Today sea lions are doing something similar. Three or four of them pull up half out of the water and caste me hard stares. Don’t worry my hungry friends, I’ve already put away my salmon gear for the winter.
We grabbed our snow shoes when we left the house this morning. With snow accumulating in glacier country, Aki’s other owner and I wanted to make sure we could still travel over the moraine. There was no need for the snowshoes. Others before us have already stomped a nice little trail around Moose Lake.
Heavy snow clung to all the trees and bushes lining the trail. The snow pulled down the thinner trunks, forcing us to slip under some of them if we wanted to make it round the lake. If the temperature continues to drop, we will be able to cross the lake ice. Aki doesn’t care. She is on fire today, dashing down the trail then flying back toward us. When not running, she stops to sniff spots under trees where snow can’t reach.