Category Archives: Dan Branch

Rain on Snow

Leave a reply

4

The little dog shivers at my feet, hunching her shoulders like a homeless man might while warming himself by a barrel fire. She stands in the footsteps I just made in five inches of new snow. We just crossed over wetlands to reach the mouth of Lemon Creek. Normally, she’d be tearing out and back, leaping her way through the fresh snow. Two hours before that is exactly what she would have done. But it wasn’t raining two hours ago.

3

The snow covering on the wetlands acts like a sponge, soaking up water from the retreating tide and the rain. Rather than expanding, the snow shrinks as the rain and tidewater condense fluffy flakes into thickening cement. It will rock hard if the temperature drops back below freezing. But the forecast is for warmer temperatures and heavy rain. Then the snow will melt away.

1

The rain and snow conditions don’t bother a water ouzel (American dipper) that just landed near us. The dipper bounces up and down along the edge of tiny watercourse, apparently looking for a meal. Look at the little bird, little dog, dancing in the rain. Aki just shivers until we turn back to the car.

2

Helped by Snow

3 Replies

1

Aki sniffs tentatively near the bell of an old growth spruce tree. It is one of a small island of mature trees in a hilly second growth forest. For some reason the loggers who had clear cut the forest 60 or 70 years ago let this clutch of spruce live. The last time we visited the grove the little dog found the body of a newly dead bald eagle. The forest seemed full of complaining eagles that day, driven from the nearby landfill by cracker shells. This morning, we only hear ravens calling out to each other as fine snow falls through the canopy.

3

The snow simplified finding the grove by painting the faint access trail white so it stuck out against the greens and browns of the forest floor. We followed the thick white line as it twisted around standing spruce and wind-fallen hemlock. It guided us through gaps in downed logs, under a canted hemlock tree serving as a nursery for the next generation of trees, and down to the eagle grove.

2            It was summer when Aki and I found the dead eagle. Broad, thorny leaves of devil club plants hid the trail. We were forced to climb over dozens of wind fallen trees and carefully slip through devil’s club thickets. There was once a decent trail from the grove back to the trailhead but much of it had been washed away during a fall storm or blocked by downed trees. I felt like a shipwreck survivor when the little dog and I finally managed to find the trailhead. Today, the magic white line painted by the snow helps us skirt all the obstacles.

4

A raven near the trailhead stops crocking to watch me retrieve the plastic bag I had use at the start of the trip to contain Aki’s poop. It calls out to his fellow forest guardians and then flies along with us back to the car.

5

 

Showdown at the Old Flume Trail

Leave a reply

2

Aki is in disgrace at least in my eyes. She probably sees herself as a hero for saving me from the imagine danger that awaits on the flume trail. It’s 16 F. degrees but we are both dressed for the cold. I can wait here at the start of the trail all day. So, apparently, can she.

1

We both I hear the hum of water flying through the flume—a squared wooden tube that feeds a downtown hydro plant with water from Gold Creek. The little dog could feel the vibration of moving water if she were standing on the flume boards. With a look that could melt a tax auditor’s heart, she tries to convince me to abandon my reckless plan. Frustrated, I pick up the ten-pound poodle mix and carry her 50 meters down the trail.

3

She skulks behind me until I lead her off the flume and down a rough trail that leads to Gold Creek. She flashes past to take up point, looking back often to make sure I haven’t fallen or worse, wandered off on some dangerous adventure. Runoff from an early January rainstorm gouged out a foot deep staircase that facilitates the descent. Above us, foot thick ice sickles hang from the flume. Ahead is a fine and stable bridge across Gold Creek. I am alone when I reach it. Aki stands 25 meters behind me on the trail. She looks back, apparently to convince me that we should climb back to the Flume Trail rather than cross the bridge. Guess who backtracks so he can carry a little dog across the bridge.

4

(Note that the gorse is still green even when partially coated with a layer of January ice.)

Hope on Ice

Leave a reply

4

Aki has to be very patient today. She is leading one our human friends and me down the icy beach that borders Mendenhall Lake. Snow as fine as confectioners’ sugar collects in the little dog’s curls and obscures the lake ice. With her strong, sharp nails, Aki could trot comfortably down the beach. But her humans have been reduced to duck walking by the ice. Our grippers offer little help.

2

Snow clouds cover most of the glacier and almost all the surrounding mountains. But Mt. McGinnis stands separate from the clouds. I want to ask our human friend if he knows why the snow can’t defeat McGinnis but he leads the conversation into a discussion about victims and violence. He has just finished Sherman Alexie’s memoir about his mother. I am reading that honest book about love surviving violence. It could be one of those conversations that leave everyone feeling helpless. But we remember stories of victims overcoming violence, people speaking out against it, young people insisting on change. Aki, who had been keeping her tail at half-mast lets it rise to its “happy dog.”

1

Aki Gives In

1 Reply

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I am ignoring Aki’s agenda for this morning’s walk. She stands and stares at me from a strip of grass that borders the Sheep Creek beach. It is obvious to her that we should follow the worn dog-walking path down channel toward Juneau.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Wanting to take advantage of the ebb, I keep walking away from her over exposed tidelands. Since no eagles skulk in the beachside spruce trees, I can safely stretch the invisible rubber band that connects me to the little dog until it pulls her onto the tidelands.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Fifty meters out I turn around. Aki, who has halved the distance between us, freezes. I keep walking, wishing the wind wasn’t driving down the wind chill. The next time I turn around, Aki is right behind me. Then, she sneaks ahead to conduct a nasal survey of the exposed ground.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A small raft of mergansers splash in Gastineau Channel. But the local murder of crows dominates the tidelands. At first they flit around. When neither Aki nor I chase them, they return to their search for food and fun.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Mountain Fog

Leave a reply

1

Aki and I start up the service road that leads to Gastineau meadows as the fog that had recently engulfed the Douglas Island ridge retreats back to Gastineau Channel. Two people and their dog pass us on their way back to the trailhead. The man, smelling a little of old liquor and sweat, warns me about an icy trail ahead. He and the woman look like they just woke from sleeping rough. Their leashed dog almost pulls the woman off her feet. After they slide on down the hill a chocolate Labrador retriever climbs out of the fog to join us. Later we will meet the lab’s owner, ending his search for the missing lab.

2

We are still too deep into winter to expect sunshine on the meadow. But, now that the fog is gone, sunrays do reach the forested hills that border it. Sheep Mountain and Mts. Juneau and Roberts are painfully bright from the sunlight hammering their fresh coats of snow. The sun has reduced the fog to a glowing white snake over Gastineau Channel.

3

I hurry up the icy trail to get a photograph of Mt. Juneau underlined by a strip of fog. Aki and the chocolate lab lead the way. Together they catalogue scents left by animals that passed through during the night. The lab gives off a reassuring sense of confidence that my little poodle mix can never master. Aki can project a bossy demeanor, but she always assumes a submissive posture when meeting strange dogs.

5

At the highest vista spot on the trail, we stop to watch the fog swallowing up the view. I expect this move will be fatal for the fog, making it easier for the sun to burn it away. But the sun has already slipped behind the Douglas Mountain ridge.

6

As we descend the trail, the fog obscures more and more of the mountains. By the time we meet the owner of the chocolate lab near the service road, only the top of Sheep Mountain glows above the fog, looking like the stern of an ice-struck liner about to slip into the sea.

Slavic Birds

5 Replies

1The Russian Orthodox Church is celebrating Christmas today. In the Yup’ik country of Western Alaska, believers called it Slavic. To celebrate Slavic in Russian Orthodox villages along the Kuskokwim River, everyone processes behind a Christmas star from home to home. They crowd into each house to sing and receive small presents like socks, gloves, or candy. In larger villages it might take several nights to complete the circuit. Peace comes easy during Slavic.

3

Aki has never seen anyone celebrate Slavic but this afternoon we both watched an eagle and raven negotiate peace in the presence of a Christmas tree. The tree, lit by blue and gold lights, stood on a floating fish-cutting barge in the middle of Amalga Harbor. Fifty meters away a raven and bald eagle perched on a boat ramp railing. Even nearer was the tide soaked carcass of a deer. At least three more eagles and a half dozen ravens watch from nearby trees.

2

All the evidence suggests that the carcass, not the decorated tree, drew these two competitors together. When we first arrived, a knot of ravens and eagles were bickering over the dead deer. All but one raven took to the air. The Christmas eagle moved over to the boat ramp railing, refusing to move even after the raven flew toward it. After the raven took up station a few feet away from the eagle, both birds held their ground. A few minutes later, the eagle and raven turned their backs on the carcass to gaze on the tree as if posing for a Christmas card.

4

Blink of Beauty

2 Replies

2

Aki slips on slick ice, her right rear paw sliding sideways, and then recovers. I follow behind her, taking care to avoid falling. I could not have made two steps down the trail without my ice grippers. As I was pulling the ice cheaters onto my boots the sun broke through the marine layer to hit the Mendenhall Glacier and Mt. McGinnis like a spotlight.

6

I want to rush down the trail and past a wall of alders that blocks my view of the sunny scene. Aki slips again. Seeing her misstep reminds me to slow down. I do and still make it through the alder screen in time to catch the show.

3

The first sunlight I’ve seen in days enhances the vivid robin’s egg blue of the glacial ice and makes the remaining fall color on the flanks of Mt. McGinnis pop. Reflections of both in the ice-free portions of Mendenhall Lake are more intense than the scene reflected.

4

Aki and I slip and slide out to Nugget Falls. It’s a boring trip for the poodle-mix since no other dog walkers are willing to try the trail. Over our shoulders a blue wound forms in the gray cloud cover. I want to reach Nugget Falls before the wound heals and shuts out the sun.

5

While I am photographing the shrinking image of Mt. McGinnis reflected in open water, the patch of blue disappears. Low clouds obscure the mountains and all but a thin strip of blue glacial ice. After carrying Aki up a slick slope of ice, I turn back to the car. I should be disappointed by the loss of sun and the beauty it brought. But it could never last, not with a series of storms heading our way from the Pacific. Without the beauty to distract me, I can concentrate on safely traveling over the treacherous trail.

7

 

 

Water on Ice

Leave a reply

4

If not for the ice there would be no drama and little beauty to be seen on this rainy day walk. Yesterday’s 20-foot high tide broke up the five-inch thick ice sheet covering the Fish Creek Pond and carried pans of it up the creek where it now forms a temporary dam. More ice pans ended up on the meadow. Several large pieces came to rest athwart the trail.

3

Aki is happy that we have the Fish Creek delta to ourselves. The little dog is always shy when wearing her “Elvis Presley in Scotland wrap”—a pink and gray fleece number with an argyle pattern and a large collar that curls up toward her ears. I’d share a picture of it but she refuses to pose for portraits today. The Elvis wrap keeps her warm, even when wet, so she wears it.

1

Before arriving at the pond, we stopped to watch a raft of scoters drift over the waters of Fritz Cove. In the foreground a red-breasted merganser bobbed to the surface with a sand lance wriggling to escape the bird’s beak. Disheveled with head feathers all ahoo, it still looks more at home than some little dog I know.

2

On the Margins

4 Replies

1

Rain-slick ice covers the trail into the Treadwell Ruins. Thin strips of grass form margins on both side of the ice. Aki and I watch an older hiker maneuver down one of the grass verges, using a walking stick to keep from falling. The little dog and I follow, she sniffing, me dancing around islands of ice or dog poop. It’s the only way to add excitement to this gray, wet visit to the ruins.

3

I manage to descend through Treadwell to the ice-free beach and spot a bald eagle perched on an old mine ventilation shaft. The eagle ignores us, which is not surprising as 100 meters of seawater separate us from the bird.

4

After we move down beach a raven lands on a short piling 10 meters ahead. Turning its back on the little dog and I, it looks as relaxed as a drinker on his favorite bar stool. When we’ve halved the distance, close enough to make out the patterns of purple and black feathers on the bird’s back, an Australian shepherd dog dashes past us and chases the raven off its perch. The raven calmly lands on a 3-meter high piling. Another raven occupies the top of a similar piling a few meters away. The shepherd circles one of the occupied pilings. Neither raven move even when the shepherd dog rises up on its hind legs and reaches up the piling with its front paws. In seconds they could both be perched high in a beachside alder, away from the pesky dog. But that would end the excitement.

2