Category Archives: Bald Eagle

Winter Victim

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For the past few weeks, Aki and I have spotted a pair of Sitka blacktail deer does walking near a road that leads to Sheep Creek. We drove out there this morning to walk around a delta exposed by the low tide. We didn’t see any deer along the road or even any  had eagles.

            It had snowed while the tide retreated early this morning. Today’s incoming tide will melt the fallen snow. But now, with the tide at its lowest, a thin blanket of white still coveres the exposed beach. The snow enriches the view by emphasizing the curves and dips of the tidal ridges. I can’t remember seeing this before.

            We walked out to the edge of the now exposed wetlands and then to the beach’s end, where amateur gold miners have parked their makeshift dredges. One was made from the body of a tired looking pickup truck.            

A collection of eagles and ravens had gathered along the road side. We drive past them on our way back to town. I stop the car and head toward the collection of hungry bird. They let me get within twenty feet before flying to roosts across the road. Then I spotted one of our Sitka black tailed deers lying dead on roadside snow now tramped by the thorny feet of the hungry birds.  

Grumpy Eagle

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I didn’t expect much when we left the house this morning. Recent weather changes made the snow-covered trails slick. I solve that problem by wearing metal cleats on my boots. Thy will make the walk to Sandy Beach safe for me. Aki won’t need them. Her nails bite nicely into the slick trail.

            We walk through the Treadwell Ditch woods where much ice still clings to the trees. Chunks of clear chunks lay where they fell from tree branches during a recent thaw. But much of the transparent ice still clings to alder branches and even to the tops of brown leaves.

            It’s low tide when we drop into Sandy Beach. One bald eagle is sleeping on the top of the old mine ventilation shaft. He doesn’t wake up until a minute while I wait near the foot of the shaft. Then he turns toward Aki and I, looking as bored as a student during a biology class in high school taught by a teacher with no sense of humor.

Freeze Up

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It happened too fast. Last week Mendenhall Lake was open during our last visit. We watched two kayakers paddle just off shore, working their way around a shrinking iceberg. Ultra-thin, clear chunks of ice floated near the shore. In an hour they melted away. Today solid ice covers the surface of the lake.

            The appearance of winter hasn’t driven birds away from the lake. In the top of a shoreside spruce tree, an adult bald eagle squawks at an approaching magpie as it tries to land in the same tree. There is a partially eaten wild animal nearby. The birds are fighting over who gets what’s left.   

Finally Some Clarity

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The weather forecasters promised sun this morning and calm skies. After a long stretch of rain and cloudy conditions, the little dog and I were ready for the change. We headed out to the Mendenhall Glacier as soon as the sun rose.

            There was a scattering of clouds in the mountains around Mendenhall Lake when we arrived. Twenty feet away from where we parked the car, an adult bald eagle groomed itself while perched on top of a covered area where people sometimes marry on high summer days. The eagle ignored me as I had to come quite close to grab poop bags from a government dispenser. I wasn’t sure why the big bird tolerated our near presence. Maybe it was too lazy to care.

We walked down to the lake. No wind blew, not even a slight stirring. Without wind the lake surface was a perfect mirror reflecting the surrounding mountains and even the few remaining clouds in the sky. But confusions of wafer-thin ice melted slowly under the rising sun. Early winter can’t be too far away.

Things are looking up

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In a half-an-hour, I could harvest a pint of cranberries from this muskeg meadow. The berries would be wet but bitter sweet. I’d eat at least a handful raw and slip the rest in one of the plastic bags we always carry. Aki would follow close behind me, ready to munch down a few red berries from my hand if given half a chance. But I want to make it to Peterson Bay before low tide rather than linger to harvest.

            Aki doesn’t seem to mind if we stay or go. She can always find worthwhile scents to sample further down the trail. A nervous cluster of mallards bursts into the air when the dog and I slip onto the beach. Further out in the bay I can just make out a big raft of goldeneye ducks, just back from a summer on the coast. 

            Low clouds rapidly rise to reveal a thick layer of snow on the mountains above Mendenhall Glacier. The summer time workers would call the first snow, “termination dust,” and speed up their return to the Lower 48.  For me and the poodle dog, the arrival of coastal ducks and the first snowy enrichment of our glacial mountains, tells us that things are about to get interesting. 

Standing its Ground

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Yesterday a nasty storm prevented me from giving Aki for a proper walk. Her other human followed her around our neighborhood. They were back in the house, soaking wet after ten minutes.Today, the rain held off for a few hours, enough time for a return to the woods.

            Rain forests, like the one we entered this morning, seem to dry out just minutes after a storm ends. But drops of water will still cling to red or yellow leaves. Each drop sparkles as it shrinks. In a few hours, the forest loses its beauty unless the rain storm returns. 

            The beach is still dry when we reach it. Battens of clouds cover Fredrick Sound or hang over the mountain sides. No clouds cover Shaman Island but I can make out two bald eagles perched on the top of island spruce. Suddenly, a murder of crows heads toward the eagles, driving off one across the channel. The other eagle refuses to let the crows flush it away.

A Few Hours of Sun Before Weeks More of Rain

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Careful government experts, men and woman who reveal information about sun and rain, expected me to wait until three in the afternoon before going for a walk. After three in the afternoon, the sky would clear. I’d walk with Aki along the Sheep Creep delta. The skies might cloud back up for in a few hours. Then the rain would return for another week. 

            But today, the skies lacked patience. At nine in the morning, the clouds melted away. Crisp sun flooded Gastineau channel. The beach trails were soon bare. We expect clouds but found sections of the beach still covered with scatterings of fish bones. 

            We took a long, circular route around the delta, coming near to gulls nests, and ducks. Twice, a hundred gulls exploded into the air, flew in a circle around us, and returned to the delta. For a few seconds, over whelming light transformed the gulls into transformed gods.

Dry, But Grey, With Flashes of Sunshine

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I was prepared to walk through heavy rain. It seemed the only way to reach Gastineau Channel. It could be like yesterday when strong winds drove heavy wain into the rain forest. You see such things a lot in September. But this morning, no rain fell. I left behind my rain pants but made sure that Aki wore a rain-safe wrap. She tends to shiver during heavy storms.

            We dropped off of Chicken Ridge toward Gastineau Channel through a dense, but dry fog. I wore a facemask but would never come close to another walker during the trip.  As she always does during the first part of a walk, Aki stopped often to catalogue other dog smells. This gives me a chance to study leaves fading from summer green to autumn reds or oranges, then pulls me away just after I snap a picture of it. 

            The little dog and I stumble on a small birthday party being carefully celebrated near the humpback whale sculpture. A handful of senior citizens have formed a circle that leaves six feet between each of them. They all wear high quality rain gear and masks they made at home from scrapes of cloth. The little dog and I keep the whale between ourselves and the party and stumble on a seal fishing the channel. Ravens, gulls, and ducks watch the seal do its thing and then fly away.

            Further down the beach, the little dog and I find an eagle. It’s perched on top of a bare tree, watching a Stellar’s jay land in an adjacent tree. The jay stays for a few seconds and is then replaced by a large raven. The new pair of big birds stare at each other and then fly off in opposite directions. 

Together Again

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Yesterday afternoon, our plane could barely land on the Juneau Airstrip. Clouds from a heavy fall storm almost force us to fly on to Anchorage. But we bounced and slowed on the runway and were soon deplaning at the airport. Forty-five minutes later we left the airport while calming down the nerves in our nostrils after being tested for Covid. Then we started a mandatory quarantine. 

            This morning, while the town was enjoying a brief brake between heavy rain storms, Aki and I took the car out to a remote trail where we could walk without risking any contact with other humans. As it turned out, we would have lots of contact with wild birds. The dog and I fell into the old ways—watching out for each other. 

            Most of the action took place along a little creek, where it crossed it’s tidal meadow. More than a dozen bald eagles huddled together along the creek bank, eating salmon scraps. Ducks and gulls hung about them, ready to grab anything that floated away from the eagles.

            Suddenly, a pair of belted kingfishers dashed over the eagle’s hangout, chanting intimidations before diving for food in the creek. A raven drove off one of eagles. Two merganser ducks sulked off. The other eagles fled. When the kingfishers flew to another section of the stream, Aki and spotted a black-billed magpie, acting like it had just driven off the other pesky birds. 

Waiting Out The Fire

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LUCKY BREAK

He would be up early, drinking rich expresso
at the cabin window as a strengthening sunshine
sparkled the frosted meadow grass and the usual
hometown deer worked his latest attempt at kale.

He would turn on the radio and listen to morning’s
new complaints about followed politics and the
latest baseball scores. He would be bored but
he would be free to putter and push for change.

He’s up but there is no bear to search for, no sun melting
a satisfied frost, no desire to do anything than monitor
the fire, the smoke that thickens and soaks the morning
air like a sarcastic joke as it has for the last week.

The kale still grows as if it cannot feel the gray
heat. He passed it while carrying survival things to his car,
an older Toyota almost filled with stuff he can’t abandon
or burn, like fresh ground coffee. He now drinks instant.

Will the fancy cut street houses catch first, or will
the abandon old growth forests burn? A northerly gust rips
across the meadow, driving away smoke, turning the air
crisp and clear, letting the sun pierce and reveal.

The survival road clears. He starts to return his coffee maker
from the car, plans on re-furnishing the cabin with needed gear.
Then the thick smoke returns, a nearby forest fire renders the air
almost impossible to breath so he repacks the car and waits.