We return to this riverine forest, an old friend, and find it covered up in green. She‘s shown us everything before — mud and gravel, bare branch and twigs, rodent holes and glacier erratics. Today, the hottest of the summer, she hides everything behind a living wall.

If there are animals here they hide themselves as well. Once I hear a raven grumble then an eagle complain. Then only the buzz of insects. Without wind to blow them away, the mosquitos swarm over me when I stop to take a picture. The pest’s work shows in the resulting photos with their awkward framing and lighting problems.

The bugs don’t bother Aki, nor does the blinding effect of foliage.  A creature of the nose, the forest is still rich in smells. Only many hikes she trots behind me but today prefers to patrol ahead. Fortunately she passes a huge porcupine just off the trail without seeing him.

Startled by our presence the porcupine makes a lumbering escape deeper into the woods, the forest of sharp quills on his back the only thing showing above the grass. His noisy passage draws Aki’s attention and soon she is by my side watching the porky get away. She wants to give chase but honors my request to move on, saving both of us from an expensive visit to the veterinarian for quill removal.

Years ago, when I had a dog team in Northern Alaska, I’d keep them on a breezy beach in the summer where they could relax in the sun while wind kept the mosquitos at bay. Each morning they would howl when I approached with breakfast then immediately devour what food was placed in front of them. One day, after everyone’s food dish was full I noticed that one dog, the one dead center of a circle of dogs, was not eating. He couldn’t because of a mouth filled with porcupine quills. Somehow a porky had walked past the parameter dogs up to the victim dog, and then after filling his mouth with quills, passed back out of the circle to the woods.  The porcupine could have easily walked around the dog yard. Maybe he was trying to win a bet with the beaver or one of the weasels that lived downriver. Fortunately with a set of pliers and scissors to cut off the quill tips I was able to remove them all. The dog was finishing his breakfast as I was walking back to the cabin. I can’t see Aki being patience enough to allow me to remove quills from her mouth.

After our near brush with the porcupine we move over to the riverside meadow, now sporting a good display of blue lupine, yellow buttercups, and magenta shooting stars. The sun is high now, robbing the scene of its usual drama. While the river, grass, and flowers shimmer and shine, the mountains look to be painted on backdrop canvas. Two mature bald eagles appear to doze over by the riverbank until one flies away. The other tries to hide behind a clump of glass before making her own escape. Later we see them upriver sharing the top of a mid-stream snag.

Aki loves snow above most things—not more than cheese but most other things. I brought her back to this chain of meadows for a chance to charge down a snowy trail before summer takes a firm hold on the mountains.

Summer must still be south on vacation judging by the snow load and the way sleet thickens the falling rain. Blueberry bushes, some still buried in white, are setting a creamy cloud of blossoms that promise a good berry harvest in August. The skunk cabbage, apparently losing patience with spring push up through the snow. 

I stop often to gauge the slowed transition to summer, how ice still overs ponds in the higher meadows and the lily pads in those now thawed remain tightly curled up beneath the water surface. No buds have set on the muskeg plants. Last year we found the magenta shooting stars and bog rosemary flowering here.

There are signs of summer. Mountain avalanche shoots have turned a deep green that stands out about the dead brown color of the meadow below them. Robins sing when not trying to distract Aki and I way from their nests.   Other birds, wrens and the sweet songed varied thrush fill the air with music. Even water bugs skate the surface of the meadow ponds. 

On the trail we find the mostly white feather of a ptarmigan. These grouse-like mountain birds change color with the season.  A beautiful chestnut brown decorates the tip of this one. The bird better be a quick change artist. He would really stand out on this dull brown carpet while wearing his white coat.

Again I say goodbye to a sad Aki and head to the harbor for another try for King Salmon. Just one fish will feed us for awhile. Like our last attempt on Saturday there is rain and a bay full of herring. These beautiful silver fish draw a gang of sea lions and one very forward humpback whale. The sea lions alone almost eliminate any chance we have of caching a king. If we did hook one, a sea lion would probably bite it in half before we could boat it. I still enjoy watching them find so much fun in chasing their lunch. The gulls hang about them when they surface with a herring in mouth. One cheeky bird tried to pull a fish from the sea lion’s mouth. 

We trolled for seven hours without receiving a single bite. From the rolling boat deck I grew even more frustrated trying to photograph the whales and birds and sea lions. By the time the camera focused, they would be gone. Sometimes the sea lions would surface right next to the boat, then swim away underwater. The whale pulled the opposite trick. A young whale, it headed right at our boat, giving me a start when it appeared in my view finder.  (It is not as close as it seems as I using a zoom lens). 

Leaving Aki with a promise of an afternoon adventure, I’m out the door with everything needed to catch a king salmon except luck.  A low marine layer of clouds block out the mountain tops but there is no rain. It waits for us at the harbor.

For a few weeks in early spring large king salmon, some over 30 pounds, fatten themselves on herring where we fish. They don’t care about the rain or the cold air temperature. We try to ignore these things as well.

Distracted by the eagle ballet I stop caring about the rain and cold.  While I watch the birds, the captain calls out in alarm.  A humpback whale has just surfaced near the boat. Attracted by the concentration of bait fish, the whale spends the next hour hoovering up herring along the cove’s inner shore.  We don’t get in its way but other boats have to take evasive action to keep out of the whale’s path. 

This time of year it takes 144 hours of fishing to catch a king salmon. We put in our first four and call it quits. Driving home in the heavy rain we pass a large black bear grazing on road side vegetation.  A driving rain can give any fur bearing a pathetic bearing, this bear included. It doesn’t keep him from the task at hand.

For Aki this canoe ride is as boring as one in the car. She doesn’t mind the weather — light rain falling from gum metal clouds.  It’s the lack of smells. On this large salt water lake our bee line course keeps us far away from shore with its promise of adventure. She moves nervously from side to side of the canoe straining to hear some promising sound, trying to catch an enticing scent.

If she looked down she would see grey bodied sole flattened into the sandy bottom. One bursts away when my paddle comes too close. We could easily catch a dinners worth.

Eventually Aki settles into the arms of the forward paddler, staying there until we reach the great sand bar that protects the lake, really a cove, from ocean swells. Normally a dog landing here could hope for a throwing stick to chase or some interesting flotsam to smell.  But a recent large tide sterilized the bar by sweeping it clean of objects useful to a dog.

After tea and sandwiches I walk to end of the bar. Aki stays with the other adult in her life until I cross a flooded section of the bar. Then she races, ears flapping, down the sand, across the wet break and to my feet. Satisfied that I am fine, she retraces her course to the canoe. 

As I return to the canoe a small barge, loaded down by a yellow school bus passes by, its outboard engines straining against the out going tide. Such things are common in this island region and I only question why a school bus is on the move on Sunday, when students have a day off.

Perhaps frustrated by the ride Aki misbehaves after we return to our starting point and charges after a raven, making it drop a crab shell it was carrying in its talons. She has never done such a thing before, the little brat. I hope the ravens forgive her and us.