It’s 60 degrees F. We are walking along a small lake covered by a cloud-free sky. A very thin blanket of ice still covers the southeast portion of the lake where Aki and I stand.
Many of the waterfowl birds are taking advantage of the sunny day to sleep on the grassy beach along the northern lake shore. Having winter ice on the lake’s south side but not on the north makes me wonder if the little dog and I wandered into the Southern Hemisphere.
It’s a rich day for bird viewing even if you ignore the ducks. Two geese flew past us on the beach as did a heron. Just before returning to the car I walked to the auto bridge and spotted two other Canada geese standing together on the creek shore. One looked fine. The other had an odd looking tail. Was it damaged or just catching the light in an odd way.
The weather report I read before going to bed last night promised cooler weather and overcast skies. That seemed fair. We have had a nice series of warm, sunny days during which all of our crocuses bloomed and the snow in our yard disappeared. The sky is graying up right now, but was charged with sun when Aki and I walked along Sandy Beach.
It was a morning for watching gulls, but not eagles or even ducks. That didn’t really matter to me. My eyes were draw across Gastineau Channel where sunlight splashed sections of the mountains. Weak clouds lost control of sunlight shafts. Some lit up miles of beach and then disappeared. Others threw patterns of shadow and light on the snow covered mountain sides.
Our car claims that the air is currently 61 degrees F. But we still have to use a lot of caution to work our way down the ice-slick trail along Fish Creek.
There’s lot of reasons to believe that it is spring. Gangs of robins bounce about the meadows. I Even spotted my first varied thrush of the year. It’s low tide so there is a long of ground exposed between our trail and the ocean water. We watched two eagles leave their spruce tree roosts and glide out to sea. One just misses a mallard. The other eagle snatched a fish from the water and carried it to the beach to eat.
People in this tiny, Alaskan capital city are had a dogs. Folks who haven’t owned a puppy since their own childhood started buying them when Covid force them to work from home. Today, a six or eight month old pup accompanies every human walking down Eagle River.
Perhaps to teach all the new dogs a lesson, Aki ignores them. I try to do the same. It’s low tide so a great deal of the river delta is exposed. For this reason I am surprised to see hundreds of Canada geese feeding nearby.
Aki and I leave a river meadow and walk a little closer to the geese cubby. Several 100 feet down the river, I spot an immature bald eagle sleeping on the beach. It’s just a few feet from the river. Many dogs would charge the goose, Aki ignores it. I swing wide around it rather than get too close. Eagles need their space. As I watch it, a human couple with a dog on a leash, walk close enough to the eagle to wake it up. It still doesn’t move, which makes me wonder it is sick or undernourished.
I tell the human couple that eagles need more space than they are currently giving this one. One of the humans smiles and says that always give eagles this much space. They continue walking towards the ocean, flushing geese and ducks into flight on the way. I apologize to the eagle and tell it that more invasive couples would soon be walking past it. It appears to stare at the couple but doesn’t fly off. I take a few more photos and turn my back, When I turn around again, the immature eagle is gone.
In a minute or two a patch of geese that the friendly, if obtuse humans flushed off the beach, fly back to their original spot. As Aki and I sit where we can enjoy the sunshine, a series of hikers with dogs walk toward to geese. When a new couple approaches, the geese takeoff, honking, as they had when the first human/dog gang approached them. A few minutes after those people pass, the geese return to their spot. This happened three or four times before there is a break in human visitors. No wonder the Canada geese population seems to be exploding. They are wise, like a fox, but hide their wisdom by sounding like fools when they fly away.
Aki and her other human joined me on the Dredge Lake trail this morning. Aki’s humans had talked about using the cross country skis but decided just to walk. By now the recent stretch of warm weather should be melting the trail free of snow. Boy, we were wrong.
After parking near the trail head, we slipped and slid our way along Mendenhall River, happy not to find clouds covering the glacier and surrounding mountains. But a grey mist covered most of the other mountains. We could hear geese and noisy gulls flying overhead, out of sight. We passed areas containing robins and what sounded like swans. But they never broke out of the grey.
This morning, the temperature has already risen to 46 degrees. No rain or snow falls from the Juneau skies. Aki’s other human and I drive out to the Mendenhall Campgroup, hoping to secure one more use of our cross country skis before the snow disappears. We expect to come home and exhausted from our efforts. But it should still be worth it.
As we pull into the parking lot, I worry about how Aki will be able to handle marginal trail conditions. Only two other car are parked here. We might be the only locals not to get the message—that rising temperatures are melting away snow on the ski trail.
The number of other skiers on the trail is low. But the conditions are great in spite of the rising temperatures. Our skis slide well. Aki can run without struggling down the trail. In an hour to two, the heat of the day may turn the trail system into a sloppy mess. But that won’t happen until we are back home eating lunch.
Aki and I are more than ready for spring. It’s just too late this year. Rather than being muddy, this trail is icy and solid. Above the high tide line, a three inch deep blanket of snow covers the meadow grass.
As Aki pees and poops, I spot a short eared owl. It’s flying back and forth in long swaths across the tundra. Each time it reaches the end of a swath, the owl turns and starts a new one a little closer to Aki and I.
Because we freeze into place, the owl glides closer and closer to us. After the third or four glide path, the owl is only twenty feet away. It drops one wing down and gives us a penetrating stare. Then it makes a gentle turn and flies away, only a few feet above the dead meadow grass.
This must be our hundredth day of snowfall this winter. I still find it beautiful. But Aki, the poodle who sometimes acts like she was raised in Paris, is disappointed. Still, she doesn’t protest when I dress her in a waterproof coat and let her lead me out the door.
We must be close to the end of winter. The snow has no power to survive on the bare neighborhood streets. I let her chose the route and she drags me down the steepest portion of Gold Street and into the bar district of Juneau. I am feeling cold and a little bored with the thick snow fall.
As we pass the downtown coffee shop, a young woman pops out to drop a chunk of dog cookie in front of Aki. Torn between eating the cookie and walking home, the little pooch looks up at me. I grab the cookie fragment, thank the nice coffee shop person and walk toward home. Then a friend pops out of her car and shouts out my name. While standing in the snow, we bring each other up to date, sharing the happy stories and the sad. She was always a huger but we could only bump fists in greeting.
What is going on little dog? We are approaching the middle of April, a time when crocus flowers normally bloom and daffodils spike toward the sky. Yesterday, the purple blooms of crocuses had punched through the snow. I expected to enjoy the crocus flowers the today if the sun breaks through the clouds.
Yesterday, a blizzard heaped snow on Juneau most of the afternoon. It returned this morning. The crocuses sink deeper and deeper under the snow. This morning, snow continues to fall. Three to four inches of new white stuff now cover the crocus plants, our porch, and driveways. On the side of Mt. Juneau, it is snowing harder, increasing the risk of avalanches that can rip down the mountain sides and then plunge into Gastineau Channel.
On days like this, when sunshine, rather than the predicted snowfall, sets the tone for a walk, Aki and I are more than happy to use the Downtown Juneau streets. Heavy snow from last night’s storm still weigh down spruce and the otherwise bare lilac trees. As the temperature rises with the sun, all the tree limbs will be snow free.
The little dog and I move down wet sidewalks to downtown, slipping past a small gang of homeless people, each of them with closed eyes on faces pointed toward the sun. We cruise by this group almost every time we walk downtown, shouting out a “good morning” on the way. Normally, homeless folks like them would ignore us. But one of them loves dogs, including my little poodle-mix. If he wasn’t stunned by warming sunshine this morning, he would have shouted out his usual “hello.”
Walking with Aki 