We return to the woods along Eagle River with skis rather than snowshoes. Yesterday’s heavy snow fall followed by equally heavy rain transformed the trail. A weak crust covers 2 feet of heavy wet snow. Aki tries her luck on the crust but it is too weak to support even her diminutive frame. Soon she takes up station behind my skis as I slog along.

Sections of the trail are craters as if shelled by tiny mortars and I wonder if the beavers are escalating their battle with the U.S. Forest Service.  I dismiss the silly notice but can’t ignore the carters, some 10 inches deep and 2 feet across. Looking up I find the answer in the now bare spruce branches above the trail.  The weekend storm loaded down the branches with snow which was released in great masses by the heavy rain. It must have been frightening for any wandering these woods during that wet storm—snow release, violent upward snap of the newly freed tree branches, explosion of snow on snow.

This morning as nature regroups from the storm, the gray marine layer fragments into irregular shaped clouds willing to show us a little sun and blue sky. Still, at 11 AM the colors of sunrise are all we see until reaching the tidal meadow.  There the full rich tones of our winter sun make us squint but we can’t resist keeping our faces turned toward the source of irritation.

Tired of breaking trail I lead Aki onto the beach to where tide has washed away the snow.  As I empty my boot of snow an eagle cries out and five Canada Geese fly over our heads. Aki (proud dog owner speaking) doesn’t bark or break down the beach as they fly over.

Two puzzling terraces of snow border the frozen beach. I reject the first explanation that comes to mind—that the last high tide overrode snow forming the lower terrance but left a three inch blanket of it intact. Then I remembered the intensity of yesterday’s storm that covered footprints leading to our house in minutes. Rain must have given way to snow in the early morning as the tide receded, leaving behind this fine white blanket glistening in the sun.

Since the tide was out I had hoped to walk around the meadow on the bare river bank but it was too steep so we return to the meadow where I break new trail for Aki until we find one set by other skiers.  For the first time since May I enjoy the kick, glide, kick of classic skiing.

I am thankful that this dry forest trail offers firm footing for the steep descent to the wetlands. Aki, with her soft paws and hard nails doesn’t care. She shoots ahead, encouraged by the conversation of Canada Geese filling the air. The shot of a 10 gauge shotgun silences the geese and dampens Aki’s ardor.

We picked this trail for its lack of hunting opportunities.  I’d tell Aki shotgun pellets can not reach us here but she wouldn’t believe me. The geese must understand since 300 of them have hunkered down on a mud bar just offshore.

It’s dead calm with high overcast skies when we reach the beach, A scattering of snow flakes float by on the their way to the beach, now expanding with the ebbing tide. The flakes promise a storm as do the pure white clouds quickly obscuring the glacier and its mountain escorts. It hits faster than I thought possible, covering the beach with potato chip sized flakes. We spot a small skiff floating down on the geese on the outgoing tide. “Somebody is going to bag a Christmas Goose,” I tell my self just before as snow shields the birds from the hunter’s view.   Their boat passes by without a shot.

I’m loving the fat flakes of snow and the way they quickly transform familiar beach shapes. This spruce stump, roots facing the sky turns into a frosted Hobbit hole; that plane of sand, a winter stubble field.  The snow silences everything but the ocean swell, which produces a surprisingly deep base sound when it hits the beach.

Just offshore a seal moves above the water surface, in this light a body-less head.  Closer in a common loon pops to the surface then floats off with the tide. The storm is passing now and the clouds over Douglas Island part enough to reveal a rough patch of pale blue sky. Then, hunters embedded across channel restart their war on birds. This doesn’t bother the geese in their splendid isolation on the mud bar but it does worry Aki. She insists on continuing down the beach, which would mean walking a five mile loop to get back to the car. We reach a compromise that has me carrying her to where the forest trail begins. She looks foolish and I feel the same as 300 geese cackle at our passage.