Category Archives: Autumn

Between Storms

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We are on the moraine between storm pulses. The last one ripped away most of the fall color from the tall poplars. Their living skeletons line Moose Lake. The more protected willows still provide a yellow contrast to the dull color scheme created by last night’s high winds.

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Newly born cascades of rainwater carve out channels in the Thunder Mountain avalanche chutes. Fog mist rises from evergreen forests like campfire smoke. Heavy rain has raised lake and river levels. Aki and I have to detour around large sections of flooded trails to get to the heart of the moraine. As a result we have the place to ourselves except for a bald eagle roosting in the bare branches of a poplar tree.

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With all the watercourses running high, silver salmon can now reach their spawning grounds. From its vantage point the eagle can spot potential meals as they struggle to complete their long swim.

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Only the Wrens Danced

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The storm caught us halfway through the walk. Delivered by an atmospheric stream from the South Pacific, it announced its arrival with a gusty wind. Heavy rain followed to confirm its presence. Aki, who was uncertain about the trip to begin with, turned back toward the car each time I looked in her direction.

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There was little reason to continue. It was low tide and all the sea birds were 500 meters away. There was an eagle guarding the Fish Creek Pond. But it and the mallards flew off as soon as the first shotgun blast. Far on the other side of the wetlands, someone was hunting ducks.

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We passed wild rose bushes still rich with fall color. But the rain dampened even their beauty. Dead fireweed stalks were pulled toward earth by their water soaked seed down. Only the winter wrens showed any joy. They bounced around the interior of an elderberry bush, singing in the rain.

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Aki’s Second Walk

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This is Aki’s second walk of the day. She is considerate enough to act excited when we enter the Treadwell ruins. But I have to stop often for her to catch up. She may be tired, or just really really interested in all the trail smells.

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(Aki’s only burst of speed)

The local running group is staging a race through the ruins this afternoon. I’d like to be on the beach before they charge through the forest. Aki is not interested in working with me on this. Just before the race starts, the little dog drops finally agrees to drop down onto Sandy Beach where she resumes her idle ways.

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Another high tide has reduced the normally broad beach to a sliver of itself. Resident ravens fly over us but the two eagles that usually perch on the old ventilation shaft are gone. After the ravens leave we have the place to ourselves. As if orchestrated by a house manager, a shaft of sunlight hits the ventilator shaft, giving it crisp lines. Then the light moves on, striking random portions of the mountain ridge across Gastineau Channel.

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Wanting to adopt Aki’s lazy approach to the walk, I doddle in hopes that the lighting engineer will highlight a copse of balsam poplar trees that are in high fall color. But she keeps the spot on the flank of Sheep Mountain so I have to be content with the smaller beauty brought by reflected light.

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Fish Creek Sheriff

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There is still an hour before the tide crests at 18.7 feet. Already it has turned the Fish Creek delta into a lake. Whether to escape the shrinking beaches where they had been hunting for food, or because they just feel like it, a large murder of crows retreats to the forested island that we are attempting to circumnavigate. Aki  ignores the verbal battle that erupts between the crows and a handful of eagles that already occupying the island’s canopy.

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On the other side of the temporary lake, a bald eagle swoops over a raft of mallard ducks, flushing them to flight. Failing to snatch one for a meal, the eagle returns to its roost in an old growth spruce tree. One of the crows flies over to flush the eagle from its roost. I wonder if the crow’s squawking speech would translate, “How does that feel tough guy.” The eagle holds to its perch, sending up its own verbal abuse.

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None of this ruckus disturbs a local song sparrow. The diminutive singer moves along side of us as we try to reach higher ground before the tide floods out the path back to the trailhead. Even though it could fit comfortably in my breast pocket, the sparrow shows no fear. It lands on an old piling just a few feet and stares us down like a sheriff about to tell two trouble makers to move along.

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Another Meadow

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Aki and I are crossing another meadow. This one should be free of bears. The river that divides it is almost free of birds. One bald eagle roosts on a driftwood snag. Close by, a small raft of mallards hugs the shore.  Noise from the nearby airport blocks out the song of sparrows sheltering in the grass. Aki is bored and looks at me often with an “it’s time to turn around” look. But I feel at home.

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It’s the grass, which has the height of color of wheat at harvest time. Turn away from the glacier and the river and it could be late June on a Montana bench like the one homesteaded by my grandfather.

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Thank You Bears

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Thank you bear, I say while securing Aki to her leash. The black bear had been digging up chocolate lily roots when we approached. It spotted us when we were only 30 meters away and slipped into a nearby copse of spruce. Aki never saw it.

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We are on the return leg of the Boy Scout Beach Trail. It was raining when we started toward the beach. Now we walk under full sun. A stiff westerly blows at our backs, stripping yellow leaves from the riverside poplars and pushing waves up Eagle River. The wind has a fall bite to it.

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On our way downriver Aki dashed from grass clump to grass clump trying to find relief from the breeze. To make our return trip easier on the little dog I lead her over a beach berm and onto a protected meadow. We bailed on that route after walking through large patches of trampled grass and pot holed ground. Tall grass and the dried stalks of cow parsnip plants prevented me from seeing more than a few meters in any direction. A whole work gang of bears could be within claw reach and we would never know it until it was too late.

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To avoid a nasty surprise for bear, dog and man, Aki and I left the meadow to take a trail through the woods where no bruin had reason to occupy. It was just after we walked out of the woods and onto a small meadow that the day’s second bear spotted us.

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Earlier, while on the opposite side of Eagle River Aki and I watched a different bear foraging for roots. Reaching to a noise from upriver, the bear sat up and stared toward the disturbance. This got Aki’s attention and she let out with a quiet growl. Now we had the bear’s attention. It was time for our retreat across the river.

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Missed the Autumn Bus

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What are you doing here? I ask this of a lone, white daisy. One of the flower’s petals is folded over it’s yellow-green center, like it fell asleep at the end-of-summer party and missed the last bus.

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The daisy is the only sign of summer along this mountainside trail. Months ago the its lupine neighbors dropped their purple flowers. Now their armored seed pods sling to dead stalks. Grass leaves have turned to straw. Willows, poplars, and even the lowly alders show fall color.

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The rain forest animals are also in autumn mode. Red squirrels carry giant chunks of mushrooms up trees and into their winter stashes. Tundra swans have already refueled on our lakes and beaches and continued south. Just now Aki and I watched a black bear root in a riverside meadow for roots. With summer berries and the salmon spawn now just memories, the wild bear’s menu is severely limited.

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Little Tattetales

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Hoar frost still decorated most of the muskeg meadow when we approached the beach. But it softened into dew the instant sunlight stuck it.

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Aki usually manages to break out of the woods first. But this morning she hangs back. Through a small opening in the forest wall I spot a Stellar’s jay hunting for scraps left by kids at a recent picnic party.  It flies off when it notices the little dog and I, warning the beach of our approach with a harsh squawk.

That little tattetale!

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Aki ignores the interfering bird like she did the varied thrush that rested on a sunny spot on the forest floor as we rounded the beaver pond. It also squawked as it flew off. I wished it a good winter, even though it sent a mix flock of thrush and robins into hiding with its warning.  If it survives the thrush will confirm the arrival of next spring with its blurry song.

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Waiting For Rain

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Some swirling in the lake waters during my last visit encouraged me to take along a fishing rod on this visit to the Troll Woods. We are close to the glacier, walking on moraine recently colonized by fast growing poplars, willows, and alders. It must ten degree colder here than at home in Downtown Juneau. The little dog and I are underdressed.

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Gray mist crawls over the lake surface, which is yet to feel the morning light. I make a few half-hearted casts but stop when I notice that Aki is shivering. I can see the promise of warmth in the sunlight that brings out the fall color in the shoreline cottonwoods and makes Mt. McGinnis stand out against the blue morning sky.

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Silver salmon splash and roll in the smallest lake on the moraine. They are waiting for the next storm to raise the water level of their spawning stream so they can get on with their deadly mating rituals. At least one salmon has paid a stiff price for waiting. We found it’s severed head on the trail. Last night a bear ate the fish’s body.

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Fortunately for the salmon, rain is forecasted for next Thursday. We will miss the sun but are willing to walk in the rain—a small price for living in a rain forest drained by salmon streams.

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Small Town Sunday Morning

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You’d have to say that he sashayed towards up. He carried his lit cigarette low and away from his rayon Seattle Seahawks jacket. He smiled beneath his Seahawks’ hat, dropped the cigarette, and reached down to pet Aki. He has his own little dog back in his downtown apartment.

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Aki accepts the pets and ignores the smell of beer and burning tobacco. Our new friend is heading down to the Rendezvous Bar. He is in a hurry to catch the kickoff. He doesn’t mind stopping to talk and extending the delay long enough to tell me that his team is doing poorly this season.

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Earlier on the walk we listened to a hymn sung with conviction by the Holy Trinity congregation and the exuberant conversation of some homeless guys sunning themselves in front of the Rendezvous. Above, on the bar’s roof, a raven delivered the morning sermon. On this soft September Sunday, Juneau town seems more like a village than a city.

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