Category Archives: Dan Branch

Sun Break

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The weatherman promised Aki and I a sun break this morning but warned of heavy rain arriving just after the dinner hour. After that it will be rain and rain for days. How should we squander the promised light, little dog? Thinking that the sun will arrive at the higher mountain meadows first, I drive Aki up to one of our favorites. Fog-like clouds obscured the mountaintops when we arrive, threatening to make the weatherman a liar. Then a perfect circle of silver light begins to burn through the clouds. Maybe the man told us the truth.

             Last week the meadow was a carpet of bright yellows, reds, and oranges. It now looks faded in the gray light but starts to brighten as the sun burns its way through the cloud cover.

Aki initially refuses to follow me off a gravel trail and onto the wet muskeg.  She’d rather keep her paws dry, thank you very much. Ignoring the little anchor, I squelch my way deeper onto the meadow, pull a small plastic container from my pocket, and begin dropping bog cranberries into it. Each firm little berry makes a plopping sound when it hits the bottom of the container. Having developed a taste for wild cranberries, Aki is drawn onto the meadow by the sound. Soon she is nuzzling berries from my palm. By the time the sun has driven off the clouds I am picking to fill her stomach, not the little plastic container.   

Lights Going Out

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Yesterday I was surprised at the lack of waterfowl on the Fish Creek Delta. Today, I was more surprised to see mix rafts of mallards and Canada geese feeding in the shallows near the mouth of Peterson Creek. Further down the beach four harlequin ducks plucked young mussels from barely-submerged rocks. Soon they will be joined by golden eyes and the other winter residents of Fritz Cove.

            I have mixed feelings about these developments. It means a richer fall and winter for fans of water birds like the parti-colored harlequins. It also means a ramping up of the fall bird hunting season. The sound of shotgun blasts will once again mix with the sarcastic cackles of mallards and eagle screams. 

            The return of the winter birds usually accompanies the fading of fall colors in beachside woods. Yellow devil’s club leaves now brighten the dark under the forest canopy like reading lamps in a college library. I don’t look forward to the day in a week or two, when those lights go out. 

Gone to Rest

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No salmon swirl the surface of Fish Creek Pond or leap from it into the air. No scavengers bicker over salmon scraps on the pond beach. The time for that passed when last week’s high water swept the remaining pink salmon back into the sea. Last week three eagles, the little dog and I watched a dozen mergansers plop onto the lake. This morning only one of the redheaded duck works the pond. It looks to be a day of ones. 

             We will see several eagles, but all but one will be roosting alone. One gull will squawk and glide alone over the exposed tidal flats. I will watch a single dark eyed junco bounce on a thin elderberry branch. Toward the end of the walk we will spy on a dipper dancing in the pond shallows. Then we will watch the merganser abandon its monopoly on the pond.  

            Like merganser and the other loners, Aki and I don’t mind having the place to our selves—a land gone to rest after the salmon spawn. Gone, for now, are the clouds of eagles, crows, ducks, and gulls. Here, until the winter ducks return, is a place dominated by peace and the persistent wind.

Crisp

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No car was needed to reach the starting point for this morning’s walk. Nor did we need rain gear. The little dog and I just walked out the front door and headed toward Basin Road. The well-painted Craftsmen homes on that ancient Juneau street sparkled in the morning sun. Late summer flowers still bloomed in gardener boxes. If this weather continues, they will soon fall to our first hard frost. 

            We cross the old wooden trestle bridge and head toward the Perseverance Trail. I was hoping to enjoy the Gold Creek cottonwoods in full fall color. But last week’s windstorm stripped all the taller trees of leaves. Those that remain had already dulled to a pale yellow. Dramatic lighting made up for the faded colors. Light just skimming over the shoulder of Mt. Roberts splashed the bare-trunked trees with harsh light. 

First Frost/ Last Berries

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This morning broke clear with blue skies dotted with scattered islands of small clouds. After breakfast the little dog and I head out to the mountains. We rush to the catch of the Mediterranean-like light that will fade as the sun arcs toward noon. The sound of excited children greet us. It seems like every school child in Juneau is berry picking on the mountain meadows. 

            There are many berries and many meadows so we will rarely run into any of the kids. A pleasant surprise did wait for us when we crest a mountain shoulder and drop into a pocket meadow—frost. It is the fragile first mountain frost, soon turned to dew after a few seconds in sun.     

 I find a patch of frosted blueberry plants, none standing more than six inches above the meadow muskeg, each leaf a calico of reds, yellows, and oranges. The sun climbs above a protecting stand of mountain hemlock trees to turn each berry into a Christmas ornament dangling on a party-colored tree. I filled my hand with blues and offer them to Aki. The little poodle mix lifts each into her mouth with her clever tongue.  

High Water

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This morning a porcupine watched the little dog and I leave for a hike. This American version of a hedgehog had tucked itself away among the limbs of our apple tree. I probably should have used a water hose to drive it away. But the little guy looked so peaceful, almost saint-like. Besides, at the moment it wasn’t breaking branches or eating twigs. Porky would leave on its own time, before Aki and I returned from today’s adventure. 

            We drove out the North Douglas Highway to Fish Creek. No salmon fought for spawning space beneath the walking bridge. None could hold their own against the rain-swollen creek current. The high water had flushed the gravel bars clean of decaying fish. There was nothing to attract eagles or ravens. When we moved toward the pond I could hear an eagle scream but saw only clouds reflected in the surface waters. 

            A strong tide flooded the creek side meadow, creating a temporary reflecting pond that captured clouds trying to block out the run above the Douglas Island ridge. Two eagles sulked in creek-side trees. One turned its head, as if to ignore us. The other dropped low over the inundated meadow and flew off toward the glacier. 

Being Herded

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Aki is snoozing, worn out from herding another human and myself around the Treadwell Ruins. She was much less opinionated than when the two of us walk the ruins alone. She didn’t stall and stare, as she normally would, when I started up a trail that leads to a junkyard of gold mining stuff. She dutifully dogged at the heals of our human friend, waiting without complaint when we stopped to take photographs of an ore car in its rusting glory.

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            Sunshine powered through the forest canopy, raising the candlepower of yellowing devil’s club leaves beyond what my old DSLR could handle. Aki must has been squinting her eyes. We moved to an overlook where through a double chain link fence we watched a stream plunge several hundred feet into the flooded glory hole. Anywhere but here, where every mountain hosts at least one waterfall, this one would be mentioned in tourist material. Only locals can find this waterfall, and only those willing to climb the fence can see it’s entire length. 

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            When Aki herded us onto Sandy Beach it seems packed with dog walkers, each smiling as their border collie or husky dog trotted along the water line. Forgetting her duties, my little poodle-mix dashed toward them. When they ignored her, Aki ran full speed down the beach, turned a wide arc and dashed back to her human charges. Break over, she dropped behind my human friend’s heals and monitored our progress back to the car. 

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Wet Beauty

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There is beauty this morning in the Troll Woods. I can see it after wiping rain from my glasses. It comes from the rain that coats the reddening leaves with shimmering shellac and forms crystal globes of light on the bottom of high bush cranberries. Aki, a more than willing participant in this adventure, shivers as I study the leopard pattern of a cottonwood leaf that has lodged itself in a tangle of tree moss. She is fine as long as we keep moving, so I try not to stop often. 

            We cross a young forest, visiting a series of lakes that were formed by men removing gravel from raw glacial moraine. Nature eventually repaired most of the damage. Now salmon smolt and trout hide from merganser ducks in lake reeds and grass. Cottonwoods, alders, and stunted spruce fill the spaces between lakes.  We have to keep an eye out for wandering black bears. 

            The flat light of this gray day dampens the beauty of the yellowing cottonwoods that line the north end of Crystal Lake. They will stun when seen on the next sunny day, as long as an October storm doesn’t strip them bare first. 

Above Tree Line

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Aki is staying at home today. It’s a good thing. She wouldn’t have liked this porcupine. She hasn’t liked porcupines since one of them flung a shower of needles into her face. I can’t blame the porky. It didn’t know that Aki wasn’t a mean spirited predator. 

            A friend and I are above the timberline on Mt. Roberts. We took the tram up from salt water and then climbed up through a thin line of timber before reaching the alpine. On a clear day we could see up and down Gastineau Channel and across the Douglas Island ridge to Admiralty Island. This afternoon, obscuring mist opens and closes off views from the mountain. Any disappointment from the lack of views is made up by this chance for a close up observation of a baby porcupine. 

            It hangs from a tangle of alder branches like a jungle sloth, nibbling on tender shoots. A cruise ship tourist joins us and expresses intent to stroke the porky’s spiny back. We move on before the disaster happens and in minutes stumble on a willow ptarmigan in its chestnut summer plumage. It freezes in place until startled to flight by two tourists who never knew the bird was there.  

More Humans Than Herons

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Fisherman have displaced heron on the Sheep Creek Delta. A line of humans with fishing poles lines Gastineau Channel. A cloud of gulls surrounds the successful ones that are already cleaning their catch. Scattered across the delta, eagles watch the action like judgmental policemen. 

            Silver salmon are powering their way against the creek current, driven toward their spawning ground. Aki wants nothing to do with the fish or the fishermen. She dashes down the beach toward a golden retriever. The golden breaks off from playing catch with its owner to run circles around our little poodle-mix. Aki leans into each turn, like a Formula One racer, throwing up sand in her wake.            

 For a second or two, sunshine breaks through the cloud cover that has darkened Juneau skies for a week. When it disappears, I lookdown the channel, to where the southern tip of Douglas Island pushes into Taku Inlet. The forest there is almost painfully bright as sunshine sparkles on the needles of rain-soaked trees.