Category Archives: Beavers

Beaver Logging

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Aki 2Aki and I pass some new fallen alders along the glacial moraine trail. Large wood chips, marked by beaver teeth, surround the resulting tree stubs. We never heard or seen a beaver drop a tree until today.

beaver teethThe snow is gone but a strip of smooth ice covers the trail. I slide down it while Aki checks the peemail. She sniffs something on one of the beaver dams near Norton Lake and then starts a wide sweep of the area. When a tree crashes onto the frozen lake, the little dog flies across the ice to investigate. I grow uncomfortable waiting for her to return, thinking about what a beaver’s teeth can do to a tree trunk. But Aki dashes onto the ice before I can head over to the beaver’s logging site.

AkiAn hour later, while we circled one last lake in the troll woods and hear another tree crash. Two years ago Aki broke through this lake’s ice when we heard several beaver tail slaps. I thought I had lost her that time. Today she runs to where the tree lays on the lake ice but is back before I can worry.ice

Auras

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aki

This morning Aki again exhibits her fascination with land otters. I just stopped trying to ski on a mostly bare meadow normally covered with deep snow this time of year. Now, I’m walking into the otter country. Aki is ahead, already on thinning stream ice, nose now, tail up, temporarily deaf to my command to return.

Aki 2

This is not a life or death situation but I am still worried. If she brakes through the ice, I can rescue her. But, what if she noses into one of their den doors? She does look lovely in the early morning sun, which highlights the edges of her fur, covering her with an aura of light. The sun does the same thing and a little more to the streamside willows and alders. They glow and sparkle.

willowGiving up, I turn and walk toward the big beaver house neared their ruined dam, stretching to the braking point the invisible tether that connects me to the little dog. In seconds she snaps back and walks beside me on the way to the abandoned beaver town.

cranberries

River Annex

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fog

I can tell no one has walked this moraine trail for a while. My boot cleats are the first to chip the trail’s hard, slick ice. My admiration for the effective cleats is exceeded only by a fear that the worn rubber strapping will snap. After side slipping a couple of times Aki now travels on the trail margin where the ice tapers onto bare ground or snow. Smart dog. Mt. Fog blocked all mountain views when we entered to the moraine but is melting away into the spruce covered hills. Through breaks in the trailside alders I can see Mt. McGinnis, its snowy outline barely contrasting with the white sky. We are heading to a frozen mud bar on the Mendenhall River that offers an unencumbered view of the mountain.

lodge

With the white sky, flat light and narrow variation in hue, the scene is a disappointment. But, when I follow Aki down the mud bar we find a beaver lodge, its three entrances open and apparently unprotected. My little dog sniffs around a bit and pees the beavers a greeting. I can’t see evidence of that a predator tried to dig its way into the lodge but the paths up to the entrances look well used. No wonder the moraine beaver population seems to be expanding. Aki and I pass the beaver’s current logging plot on the way back to the car and are startled by two splashes made by the day crew.

 

logging

Fishing for Images

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MLThis is supposed to be a fishing trip. With the trees now bare of leaves, clouds blocking the mountains, and rain discouraging the use of a digital camera, fishing seemed to be the best use of the day. Since it is small, I slipped the camera into the day back at the last minute.

CLAki is wet in minutes. My gear holds up better but she doesn’t appear to care. We have the place to ourselves until we run into the volunteer beaver patrol. Armed with sturdy, three-pronged rakes, they are opening up a key waterway so late run coho salmon can reach their gravel spawning beds. This involves deconstructing beaver dams. Since they concentrate on building up their winter woodpile, the beavers won’t undo the patrol’s work until the salmon have moved through.

stumpThe patrol’s efforts also allow recently submerged human trails to dry out. Aki and I take several to various fishing spots around the moraine. We are too early or too late for catching dolly vardens. At two of the lakes I watch trout rise in the center of lake. I was tempted to wait for them to swim to us but Aki looks bored and, since she is wet, a little pathetic.

CL IIThe clouds rise during our walk to reveal Thunder Mountain and the sharp peaks that surround the glacier. Standing on a still intact beaver dam, I watch the wake of a bufflehead duck and two companions ripple the image of mountains, clouds, and fog enriched by lake waters. This time of year, the surfaces of lakes provide the richest beauty.

Better in Black and White

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RiverAki must be getting used to gunshots. She trots down the trail toward booms that grow louder as we near the moraine lake. Most sound like they were fired by shotguns pointed up at passing ducks. A few had that lingering echo of a gun discharged over water.

ice bergThe shots stop a few minutes before we reach the lake where the wakes of three Bufflehead ducks move toward its center. A newly stripped log bobs on the lake like a corpse—the remains of a beaver’s meal eaten in last night’s fog.

pondWe head toward the Mendenhall River, thankful that the guns are gone and there is no rain. Aki leads me over to a beaver pond that has captured the top of Mt. Stroller White. If Aki and I could walk on water, the pond would be an avenue to Mendenhall Lake. We can’t, so we continue down a muddy trail to the river. Fog moves with surprising speed through the riverside forest, hiding, then revealing the glacier and surrounding mountains. I wish I had my old Nikon loaded with Pan X and the patience I once used to take analog black and white photos. It’s all here for a master like Ansel Adams—the hard and soft textures, shades of white, black and gray; rock-river-ice.eagle

Cosmic Imbalance

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Dredge LakeAki dances around as I prepare for this afternoon’s expedition. God blessed her and all dogs with a weak short-term memory. She seems to have forgotten yesterday’s windy walk through the woods.

Soft, sparse rain falls as we walk onto the moraine. A fog ghost rises from a grove of yellow leafed cottonwoods and climbs up the spruce green wall of Thunder Mountain. Recent weather has put me in an Old Testament kind of mood so I pretend that the rising white form proves cosmic acceptance of our sacrifice during the just ended wet summer. (Juneau set a seasonal record for rainfall). But I know better.

Years in Alaska have taught me that bad weather never guarantees future stretches of good. Last summer’s monsoon season didn’t produce any cosmic credit that we can cash for a dump of snow followed by weeks of winter sun. I also know that a good stretch of summer sunshine creates a debit that can only be paid while wearing rain gear or arctic gear to block the icy Taku winds.

Aki at Beaver work site   Aki doesn’t worry about cosmic imbalance or even the rain. She bounds around the moraine playing with a heard of water dogs that gallop up to her with wagging tails and goofy grins. I urge her to let them go and move on to the shore of Moose Lake so I can enjoy the reflection of the blue iced glacier underlined with a jagged line of yellow cottonwoods. We reach it just in time for a few quick photographs of the ice reflected in gently dimpled lake. Then, a deluge destroys the reflective power of the water. I wonder why this won’t earn us any points. Moose Lake

Urban Beavers

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P1010735Partially surrounded by the Chugach Mountains, the City of Anchorage Bowl retains its impurities until rain washes the air clean. It has not rained for several days so the new sun shows above the mountains like a weak light. This early, the sun lacks the strength to burn fog off Mosquito Lake. I ride past the lake and over moose browse to the bike path that cuts through Anchorage’s industrial strip. The path also runs along Ship Creek, now filling with spawning salmon and a swarm of fisherman. The men had better be mindful of bears drawn to the salmon.P1010746

To the north, the Alaska Range shines white with morning light, what I can see of it over an idle Caterpillar earthmover. After a train full of tourists sounds a mournful warning to car commuters, I hear a splash. In the front of a sheet metal shop, three beavers gather their winter supply of food wood. Maybe they are at home in this gritty part of town where men and women work hard for their families. But they collect their alder and birch in polluted waters. The sun is too low to light their world. In the pre-dawn gray I only see soft swells and curves and ears but they swim strong and disturb the surface of their pond with their tails. I couldn’t hear the splash because a nearby machine started up for the day.P1010753

Cruising

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L1220890Back from an Aki-less visit to the Montana wheat country, I take the little dog out on one of her favorite moraine trails. A long stretch of rainy weather ended in Juneau yesterday and we have a windless, sunny morning, which we don’t have to share with other hikers.

L1220891The Alaskan summer had raced along during my absence. The purple of lupine blossoms have faded and I found fireweed, that magenta harbinger of fall, in full flower. A nesting robin jogs along the trail to lead us away from their hatchlings. Now mated up, the beavers have switched into construction mode. Every day they add stripped tree branches and mud to dams that back water over our hiking trails.

L1220996We manage to arrive, with wet paws and boots, to a remote lake on the edge of the Troll Woods. A young beaver, fur slicked back with water, cruises 30 feet away. He swims back and forth in front of Aki, who watches with partially submerged paws. When she doesn’t plunge in, the beaver slaps his tail on the water and disappears under the resulting splash. I think the beaver is trying to drive us off, so I lead Aki away from him. The beaver follows our progress around the lake. Each time we stop, he starts cruising back and forth in front of Aki, like a teenager trying to screw up the courage to knock on a pretty girl’s door. The little dog loses interest long before the beaver, who punishes the lake with a series of tail splashes when we finally reenter the Troll Woods.L1220865

Back to the Land of Beavers

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P1000958It’s good to be back in Alaska, reunited with Aki after a trip to Washington D.C. and the UK. Taking advantage of jet lag, I take the little dog on an early morning walk over the moraine to the troll woods. It rained most of the night but now sun enriches the green of newly unfurled poplar leaves, which perfume the air with their balsam.

P1000927We are here before the daily startup of Juneau’s industrial tourism machines so no helicopters fly. No buses roar along the edge of the moraine. Only thrush song brakes the silence until reach a lake owned by two beavers. Aki, who fell through the ice covering this lake during an ill advised attempt to visit them one spring, whines as she watches a beaver approach. The beaver spots her and then slowly swims toward the little dog. I watch for several minutes as the beaver swims to within 40 feet, slaps the water with its tail, then continues its approach. It tail slaps the water again when much closer and then disappears.

Barbican Tube Station (Thunderstorm)

Barbican Tube Station (Thunderstorm)On the way back to the car I think about our visit to London, a place yet undiscovered by beavers, where we rarely heard the local language spoken on its streets. While walking from the Seven Dials to Tottenham Court Road tube station, we heard stories told in French, jokes in Italian, and children chastised in Russian. German bounced off the tube station tiles to mix with Swedish and Spanish. Back in Stratford, where we stayed, we only heard when the birth languages of its immigrant population. Pedestrians kept to the right of oncoming traffic like Europeans, not left like Britons. Where, I wondered we’re the English. We found them in Hastings, where words on sandwich boards advertised Devon cream teas or fish chips, and tourist questions were answered in the Queen’s English.