Category Archives: Dan Branch

That’s It

Leave a reply

That’s it, I tell the little dog while sliding my skis into the car’s ski carrier. Aki looks puzzled. Perhaps I’ve chosen words with too many possible meanings. “That’s it” could mean, “that’s the skiing experience I have awaiting since first buying skis.” Since we are parked near the gun range, I could have meant, “the just concluded chorus of high powered rifle discharges precisely mimics the 1814 Battle of New Orleans.” I don’t have the heart to tell Aki that my words signal intent to put away the skis until winter’s return. 

            We just completed the 6-kilometer Montana Creek Trail. This time we didn’t have to dodge deep ruts made by a fool on his or her four wheel all terrain vehicle. The groomer did a great job leveling out the snow. But he wiped out the classic track in the process. I wouldn’t have minded skiing without a track. But the snow was icy-slick except where it had been softened by the strong spring sunshine. 

            I shouldn’t whine. We had solitude and a chance to listen to the creek chuckling and singing it’s way to sea, drowning out the sound from the gun range.

Thanks

Leave a reply

This morning broke sunny and blue. Three mountain goats grazed above us on Mt. Juneau as Aki and I headed out for a cruise around downtown I needed a light jacket at first but soon found myself carrying it. Crocuses opened to the sun in south facing yards. I silently thanked the gardeners who squatted down to plant bulbs in the rain last November. 

            We pass the tiny Russian church, thankful for the person who refreshed the gold paint on its onion dome. I seem to be giving thanks often this morning. Aki looks thankful for the sunshine warming her curls and the chance to check the trap line of scents she maintains on the downtown streets. 

            On South Franklin Street, a man carries a Styrofoam container from the homeless shelter to the stoop of the Red Dog Saloon. After taking a seat, he raises his face to the sun. His takeaway breakfast sits uneaten beside him. It will fill his stomach even when it loses its heat. Then he will have at least two things to be thankful for.

Signs of Spring

Leave a reply

The snow is gone from the rain forest, washed away by rain and spring-like temperatures. It left behind bare ground covered with dead hemlock leaves and dissolving piles of dog poop. I tend not to look down this time of year unless necessary to avoid smearing my boots.  For the nose-driven dog, the opposite is true. 

            While Aki sniffs and pees, I scan the woods surrounding the Outer Point Trail, looking and listening for signs of spring. No thrush or robin or chickadee sings or even flits away at our approach. Only my boot taps on the trail boards breaks the silence. Buds on the red-limbed blue berry bushes are swelling. In a week or two, if the weather holds, pink or white blossoms, each a tiny Japanese lantern, will dangle from each branch. They will draw rufus hummingbirds when they arrived from the south. In a swampy area near the beach, skunk cabbage shoots, battered by their efforts to break through softening pond ice, provide the strongest evidence of spring. 

Aki has to squint her eyes when we leave the woods. A newly arrived sunlight brings a spring-like clarity to the scene.  Alders still wet from this morning rain glimmer, naked drift wood logs look as white as desert bones. 

Skunk at the Party

1 Reply

At least a foot snow still covers the Montana Creek Trail.  Thanks to the recent stint of spring weather the snow is soft but still skiable. Ahead, Aki’s other human starts down the chicane of three hills that starts the trail. The little dog chases her, charging down a deep grove cut by the wheel of an all terrain vehicle. 

            Early this morning some yob drove his or her four-wheeler up the trail, ripping it up. The anger I initially felt at having to ski in the resulting mess fades, calmed by the sounds of the creek and the Zen rhythm of skiing.  By time we reach the turn around point I am no longer wishing great bodily harm on the person that chewed up the trail out of boredom or a desire to destroy something that provides an entry into the woods for those willing to make the effort. 

Philosophical Moods

Leave a reply

On days like this, when the sky looks like dirty sheep’s wool and there is no wind to create drama, my mind wanders. I forget for moments to monitor Aki. There is little to endanger the poodle on this trail to Nugget Falls. When she finishes her most recent exploration, she will catch up. 

Even though fuzzy catkins decorate bare willow branches, it doesn’t feel like spring. There is no sign that bears have stirred from their winter dens. No wolf tracks mark the remaining snow. No eagles bicker in the nearby spruce trees. Only the falls, now unfrozen, makes any sound. 

Across the lake Mendenhall Glacier snakes down through rocky cliffs. We walk toward the falls in gray light until the sun breaks through the marine layer to give the dog and I crisp shadows. It forms faint rainbow prisms on the falls for a second and then disappears. High above the glacier a large mountain goat rests on a ledge. It appears to be looking at Aki and I rather than the glacier or the shafts of light glistening the lake ice. It appears to be in a philosophical mood. 

Evidence of Spring

Leave a reply

The mallards are still here, settled in along the banks of Fish Creek. But the widgeons that we watched last week are gone. I can’t find one, nor can I spot a green wing teal. Those transients must have moved north. Other migrants has arrived. 

A pair of American robins try to decoy us down the trail. It is too early in the spring for their rich nesting songs. Today we will only hear discordant birds songs: crow grumbles, the harsh threats of Stellar’s jays, and screams of frustration from touchy eagles. 

            Two half-foot slabs of pond ice still lay athwart the trail. They won’t last long in this warmish weather. Only a thin skim of ice covers the pond. All of it will be carried away by this afternoon’s eighteen-foot high tide. 

            Other than the mallards, the creek is empty of waterfowl. A small scattering of golden eye ducks dabble in Fritz Cove. We can’t spot a raven. On a tiny island in the creek’s mouth a murder of bored-acting crows ignore us and the incoming tide.             

Very Early Spring

Leave a reply

Sunshine tempted the little dog and out the door early this morning.  No wind stirred the neighborhood spruce trees so we headed over to Sheep Creek. I hoped to enjoy reflections of the Douglas Island ridge in the still waters of Gastineau Channel. 

            Thanks to the near presence of the Juneau Icefield, sunny days are often windy days. Not this morning. The resident mallard drakes can admire their reflection in the tidal ponds scattered around the Sheep Creek delta. Aki can walk without wind flattening her fur. I can enjoy the reflections. 

            Just offshore gulls crowd onto a shrinking gravel bar. I measure the progress of the tidal flood by the number of gulls forced to flight. The remaining gulls lift off in a group, moaning and complaining about the thoughtless tide, forgetting that soon they will feast and fight over food that it will leave behind.  

            A cloud of fussing gulls flies over two seals that splash and swim around each other. One of the seals appears to climb up on the back of the other. Is this a frolic or something more serious? Are the voyeuristic gulls invading the privacy of the seals while they try to mate? It’s way too early in the year for seal sex in normal times. But we rarely, if ever, have 60 degree F. temperatures on a mid-March day. Is climate change changing everything?  

The Looking Glass

Leave a reply

Aki splashes along a trail of covered by ice and a thin layer of water. Before I left for my weekend trip to Anchorage it offered skiable snow. Now I have to struggle to stay upright on my cross-country skis. I follow the little dog, thinking that we should turn around. Each time I do, the glimmer of water on Mendenhall Lake draws me forward. 

The water covering the still frozen lake reflect a gray ski, clouds, mountains, the glacier, and surrounding trees. The captured reflections are outlined by the glow from the underlying ice.  To eye them is to see into Alice’s looking glass. 

After almost falling a few times, I follow Aki into the relatively snow free woods and onto the edge of the lake. Here a border of windblown snow offers a skiable surface. The little dog walks behind me on my ski tracks. I still have to take care to avoid skiing over the tops of emerging rocks. 

The temperature has reached 54 degrees F. I unzip my parka and remove my hats and gloves.  The snow, already reduced by a recent deluge of rain, can’t survive long in these conditions. Is winter dying, little dog? She offers no opinion. 

Judgmental Eagle

Leave a reply

This morning only one bald eagle roosts on top of the old Treadwell mine ventilation shaft. Small waves slap at the base of the shaft. Rain soaks into the eagle’s feathers.  It focuses one eye on the little dog and I and forces its eyebrow into a shallow “u.” I’ve seen a similar look on policemen and teachers about to scold a troublesome student. 

            Aki trots over to the beach’s grassy verge, apparently unaware of the eagle’s mood.  A few yards away, a rusted piece of ore car railing emerges from the sand. Further down the beach, the tide has exposed a hundred-year-old engine block. In between chunks of shattered pottery and bricks lay on the beach. Maybe the eagle is upset with the men that left all this junk behind when the mines closed after World War I.

            We walk on down the beach into the wind and exposed to the rain. When Aki and I reach the little bay formed by collapsing mine tunnels, we move into woods that have grown over the mining town of Treadwell. Steel cables, car springs and ore cart railings emerge from the flesh of spruce trees. The trees, not the things manufactured by men, are the aggressors. This is not right. The trees aren’t attacking, just tiding up the mess left by the men who moiled for gold. (“Moiled for gold” borrowed from “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service).  

Storm Light

Leave a reply

Suddenly, Aki has a shadow. It’s the last thing I expected on this grey morning. We are approaching the old Auk Village site on a beach exposed by the retreating tide, trying to get a walk in before it rains. The shafts of sunlight piercing the marine layer are a surprise. 

            We’ve seen this kind of storm light before. Sometimes it appears as rain clouds breaks up. I suspect that today its presence confirms the weatherman’s prediction of rain. In minutes the light disappears and is replaced by a cooling wind. The strong breeze blows us past the village site and out to Point Louisa. 

            We’ve seen eagles, seals, and tight clusters of ducks at the point. Today’s wind has blown away the usual rafts of scoters and golden eye ducks. Crows bounce up one at time into the air, as if playing a game with obscure rules. Four of the crows take shelter behind a nearby boulder. Aki disappears behind her own sheltering rock, as smart as a crow.