Category Archives: Dan Branch

Tucked Away

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Wind drives Aki and I into the woods. Using the Rain Forest Trail, the little dog and I enjoy the protection of an old growth forest. In addition to defeating the wind, the forest, with its thick canopy, has kept snow from accumulating on the trail.  Snowy patches of the forest floor mark where wind-fallen trees have opened up holes in the canopy. 

            We can hear the sound of small but steady surf when we approach the beach. It doesn’t bother the harlequin ducks. The males seem too intent on breeding to take much notice of us. But something has stirred the golden eyes to flight. 

Merry Christmas Little Dog

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December 25th is one of the days on which I wish Aki could speak. What does the little dog make of Christmas, with its gifts and extra visitors? Does she hate holiday music? She shows her appreciation during Christmas dinner for scraps of meat secreted to her under the table. But does she wish everyone would leave the house as soon as the turkey or lamb is put away?

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If she could understand, I’d tell her that humans need something to celebrate during this, the darkest time of the year. People living closer to the equator may not get this. But since last summer we northerners have had to wait longer and longer for the daily sunrise. Those of us wintering in Juneau suffer even greater reductions in daylight because of the Douglas Mountain Ridge. Five days ago on the solstice, the earth began slowly rotating its north pole to the south.  Merry Christmas little poodle, spring is just three or four months away.

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Mountain Meadow

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Looks like the fawn is still alive. Aki’s responding look implies that I am  stating of the obvious. We both can see the little deer’s fresh tracks in meadow snow. I wonder if the stuck-up little dog bothered to note the tracks madeby an adult deer that I spotted near the tree line. She definitely recognized the ones left by a wolf as it leaped seven feet across a half-frozen watercourse. These she marked with her pee. 

            What will the wolf think when it returns this way tonight? Will she honor the little poodle-mix’s territorial claim or douse Aki’s scent with her own stream? 

            It’s a day to enjoy the mountain meadow’s beauty, not to predict a predator’s behavior. Because it is in the shadow of the Douglas Island Ridge, the meadow will spend the day in the shade. But the sun shining off Mt. Juneau and the other peaks that line Gastineau Channel almost blinds. The sun rich mountains are rich in beauty when seen when standing here in the half-light of dusk. 

Just Right

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This is more like it little dog. By her actions, Aki must agree. I am crunching along the snow-covered edge of Mendenhall Lake, my boot sinking in three or four inches with each step. The dog charges ahead, her little paws only sinking in half as deep. Since we are near the glacier, the snow is too cold to form balls on Aki’s curly coat. But more often than not, patches of snow cling to her muzzle and cheeks when she looks back at me. 

            To our right the glacier snakes beneath the Mendenhall Towers. She is snow white except for sections of exposed aquamarine-colored ice. I wish I had brought skis. But then I may have been tempted to slide onto the still-too-thin lake ice.  

First Ski of the Year

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This chance to ski is an unexpected holiday gift. Everywhere but along Montana Creek is bare of snow. Thanks to Montana Creek’s microclimate, it received snow while the rest of town saw only rain. But the recent string of warm days and freezing nights have iced over sections of the trail and exposed rocks. This might be the only chance for the little dog and I to get in a ski until we receive a new blanketing of snow.

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Aki and I sneak by the gun range, thankful that no one is blasting away. The sound of a shotgun or rifle can send the poodle-mix into a panic. We won’t hear gunshots until two kilometers up the creek. Mostly we listen to the sound of skis shushing on the trail and water pouring over creek boulders and windfalls that have fallen into the stream. At first Aki dashes ahead as we climb up the creek valley. When she tires, the little dog trots just ahead of me on the set classic ski tracks.

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Peace

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Rain is falling, dimpling Auk Lake and melting the remains of last week’s snowfall. Mt. McGinnis stands above the lake against a featureless sky. These rain doesn’t bother Aki or I. The little dog is excited to be out of the car and free to sniff and pee.  While I’d prefer sunshine on snow, the soft grayness of the scene offers a calm alternative to the noisy world of man.

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Just before leaving the lake, I spot a common merganser paddling away from the little dog and I.  He moves fast enough to raise a wake. Calm on top, frenzy underneath. We drive out the road and take the Breadline Bluffs trail. The path crosses a small stream with snow-covered banks and then rises to a small muskeg meadow. In minutes we follow it into an old growth spruce forest.

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The noise of airplanes and road noise ceases. After an eagle calls out to its mate from a nearby tree, the only sound we will hear will be that made by a small surf collapsing into the base of the bluffs.

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Mixed Feelings

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When Aki barks. I look up and see two large dogs muzzle to muzzle. They growl at each and soon might fight. My little dog wants to investigate. With tail wagging, she approaches the two combatants. We are in the Treadwell Ruins near a side trail I have been wanting to take. I do now and ask Aki to follow. To my relief, she does. The trail leads to a 100-year-old junkyard.

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When the waters of Gastineau Channel flooded the Treadwell mine tunnels in 1917, all mining on Douglas Island stopped with the exception of that carried out in the Ready Bullion Mine. That too closed in 1922. We are heading toward a small train of ore cars that were abandoned here when the mining stopped.

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Most of the cars have already rusted into components.  Aki sniffs at the one intact car. It looks fit enough to haul ore. The sight of the car triggers conflicting feelings about the ruins. Without human intervention the forest will eventually reclaim the land. In a few generations, old growth spruce and hemlock trees could replace the cottonwoods and alders that are now repairing the ground. But I find a beauty in the steel rails that lay rusting on the forest floor, the giant iron gears disappearing under moss, and this one intact ore car.

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Overdressed or Confused

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The forest plants seem confused. Skunk cabbage must think it is already spring. They have sent up fragile green shoots through the bog waters. The next freeze will turn them dead brown. On the trunks of rotting spruce trees, still green sorrel plants try to shake off yesterday’s snow. Only the berry plants have gotten the weather memo.

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The blueberry and huckleberry plants have gone to rest for winter. They dropped their berries and leaves last fall. Here and there bright red spheres cling to the dead sprigs of the famine berry plants.  But, as their name suggests, they are suppose to make themselves available until the hardscrabble time of late winter.

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Nothing on the exposed beach suggests an early spring. No green shows on the brittle beach grass or cow parsnip plants. The dull-green sea and a raft of party-color harlequin ducks riding the swells provide the only natural color. Aki, in her yellow wrap, looks as overdressed as a tuxedoed groom at a baseball game.

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Raiding Raven’s Cache

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Last night, at the end of Aki’s before bedtime walk, the little dog lingered in the cold to smell a spot in the yard crusted over with snow. Before this morning’s sunrise, she asked to let out. It was 24 degrees F. at the time. Since she usually likes to sleep in, I was puzzled. When she didn’t return right away, I went out side and found her munching on a piece of sliced bread. I stopped her half way through the feast and brought her back inside the house. Minutes later one of the neighborhood ravens carried away the remains of Aki’s found meal. I had just been trying to work out how Aki managed to find a slice of bread buried in the snow. Mystery solved. She had raided the raven’s cache. I doubt if the bird will make that mistake again. Too bad for you, Akio.

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Singing the Blues

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It’s below freezing. A light wind makes it feel colder. But for the first time in a week, the sun shines down unimpeded on the rain forest. While watching golden eye ducks splash after fish in Gastineau Channel I hear a strange cry. It is faint and very close. It is not a mimicking or sarcastic sound so I rule out ravens. It is far from a mallard’s maniacal cackle, the gull’s tattletale scream, or the eagle’s scolding screech.

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I wonder, for a moment, whether a nearby great blue heron is singing the plaintiff song.  Then I remember that herons squawk like barnyard chickens.

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Looking down, I discover the source of the noise at my feet. Aki, squinting under the unfamiliar sun, is singing to herself.

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It’s a blues song. The little dog dislikes walking along Gastineau Channel. I think she only agrees to join me out on the exposed gravel because she knows that we will soon be walking along the edge of a grass-covered dune where many people walk their dogs.

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