Category Archives: glacier moraine

Solo Acts

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Morning clouds hide the Mendenhall Towers and the top of Mt. Stroller White. They do lift enough to offer a filtered view of Mt. McGinnis. From the pocket beach of gravel where Aki and I stand, Mendenhall Lake looks like a solid, gray-colored mirror. I am tempted to test the mirror’s strength. If it could hold my weight, I could stroll across reflections of McGinnis and the blue glacial ice to Nugget Falls. 

Something hidden swirls the lake’s surface, rippling the glacier’s reflection. Ten meters off shore the head of a harbor seal breaks water. After snatching a quick look at us it is submerges. When the seal next comes up for a breath, it will be fifty meters away. There must still be some salmon working their way across the lake to their spawning stream.

            The seal’s presence is as unexpected as the lack of rain. We must be in between Pacific storms. Hoping to complete our walk before the skies let loose, I join Aki on a trail through the woods, leaving the seal to hunt for salmon. We pass two braces of bufflehead ducks on a kettle pond that quickly put as much water as they can between them and us. I wonder if they are reacting to our presence or the sound of rapidly fired rifles from the nearby gun range. 

            When the shooting stops an eagle screams in the way they do when another eagle invades their personal space. I expect it to fly off when it spots us, but the eagle keeps its talons wrapped around branches in the top of a young spruce tree. For the rest of the walk we will hear it scream every few minutes, as if calling out to a missing child or wandering lover. 

Organic Symapore

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No birds bounced through the small waves that marched across the Fish Creek Pond. No eagles or herons roosted in the spruce trees. No salmon swirled the pond’s surface, no other people or dogs walked along the shore. This doesn’t bother Aki. The little dog has plenty of scents to sniff. Even though I looked forward to seeing some wildlife, the absence of it this morning doesn’t bother me either. I have the absences created—solitude.

            We head out toward the mouth of Fish Creek, blown down the trail by the strengthening wind. No ducks work the close in waters of Fritz Cove. A few gulls keen and then ignore us. We are surprised by a flock of siskins feeding near the terminus of a tidal meadow. They fly into the sky above our heads, turning and diving in tight formation. At the end of each maneuver, their flock forms a different shape.  Then they disappear. 

            I should just enjoy the beauty of the flock in flight, like I am enjoying the changing light on the meadow and the Mendenhall Glacier across Gastineau Channel. But I can’t help wondering if the shapes formed by siskins’ maneuvers were an attempt to communicate—an organic semaphore wasted on the ignorant.    

Brief Cameo Appearance

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Aki must think I am crazy. All morning I’ve led her over, through, and around the Troll Woods looking for fish. She waited with patience as I made a few fruitless casts at each spot hoping to lure a fish to strike my hook. The little dog could have told me after the first three stops that the time for catching fish on the moraine is over for the year. Perhaps she is too polite. 

            Occluding fog reduced our view shed to fifty meters when we first arrived at the trailhead. Now the sun is burning through. The snowy peak of Mt. Stroller White suddenly appears. Dark, duck-like forms cruise in and out of the fog bank still floating over Moose Lake. 

            We move on until met by a trio of golden retrievers that show little interest in meeting Aki. She shrugs off the group rejection and follows me to a fog free Moraine Lake.  Above the lake, a circle in the clouds forms frame around the upper half of Mt. McGinnis. By the time we circle around the little lake, the fog has returned, banishing  the mountain. 

Peaking Through the Fog

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On a windless morning, Aki and I crested a small rise, which normally offers views of mountains and glaciers. Fog shrouded all these marquee things. It also framed a line of spruce trees and softened their reflection in the lake, without effort creating an impressionist scene. 

We could hear the honking of Canada geese over the roar of an invisible Nugget Falls and the scolds of a hidden Stellar’s jay. Behind us, the sun burned a silver disk in the marine layer.

Aki led me onto a small trail that paralleled the lakeshore. I didn’t try to hurry the dog, letting her linger as long as she pleased over each piece of pee mail. I was happy for the delay. It might give the fog time to part.

The little poodle-mix almost dragged me through the woods and onto the road through the campground.   When thickening clouds blocked out the sun, I stopped looking through openings in the forest for views of the glacier.

Aki spirits picked up each time we ran into another dog. She was trotting a few meters in front of me when we returned to the lake, which now reflected a blue strip of glacial ice. Soon we could see the mountains behind the glacier. Then the fog closed in again, returning us to a soft, white world. 

Bad Habits

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Aki and I are using an elevated boardwalk near the glacier visitor center. It has heavy wire sides designed to keep the local bears safe from the tourists. During bear season you have to pass through gates to enter the boardwalk. They have been removed for the season so I assumed that it is safe for the little dog and I to use the boardwalk as a shortcut to the car. 

            A yearling bear cub ambles under the boardwalk. Its mother walks closely behind. I grab Aki but there is no danger for either of us. The bears are old pros as at this. All summer tourists have watched them fish for salmon in a nearby creek or dig for chocolate lily roots in the meadow. It has become their habit to ignore the smelly creatures trapped behind the boardwalk fences, which form a people zoo. 

            Two days ago I watched another habituated bear gorging itself on my neighbor’s garbage. It has learned to identity people with food. That bear now knows that it can ignore our efforts to scare it away from garbage. As much as I enjoy watching a fat bear sauntering along a salmon stream, I’d give up any chance of seeing one again if it meant that bears would never lose their distrust of humans. But now many Juneau bear have.

 

Saying Goodbye

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It’s been three week since the last tour buses released their hordes onto the Mendenhall Lake trails. Aki and I are the only ones using the lake margin this morning, if you don’t count a pair of eagles and one very vocal raven. Last night’s rainstorm ended just before we arrived. The ground, leaves, and eagle feathers are still soaked.  

            There is no wind to ruffle the lake’s surface so it can’t mirror the glacier. Only the swirls of a school of silver salmon mess with the reflection until the head of a harbor seal appears about the surface. It must have followed the silvers up the river and into the lake. I wait near the salmon to see if the seal can snatch one until Aki begins to keen. 

            Even after days of heavy rain the lake level has dropped enough for us to beach walk around a peninsula where the arctic tern nest during the summer. The terns have long ago left for their 10,000-mile migration to South America. But the little dog and I still avoid walking over their nesting area, which still feels like holy ground. From the beach I can see scattered feathers, relics of an unfortunate bird who didn’t live long enough to make the long flight south.  

            A large iceberg has come to ground off the tip of the peninsula. Last winter Aki and I might have walked on its surface when it was still part of the glacier. These days I find myself taking many photographs of icebergs. I will not have an opportunity to do it in a few years after the glacier has completed its retreat from the lake.  

Big Beak, Bigger Heart

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We have just turned our back on a great blue heron, leaving it standing tall among gulls on a gravel bar. The heron was looking toward the glacier, not the gulls or Aki, when we slipped around a rocky headland.

            Now we are walking along a strip of gravel between a forested island and Fritz Cove. Inside the island crows and several bald eagles bicker and scream. Apparently having enough of the crow’s harassment, two of the eagles fly out of the trees and over our heads, startling ducks and gulls into flight. While the little dog and watch the eagles fly towards the Chilkat Mountains when we hear a sound like a rock plunking into the water. 

            Looking toward the sound, we spot a belted kingfisher shooting out of the water. It lands on an offshore rock just as another plunk sounds. This one is made by the first bird’s mate. The first guy flits onto another rock, drawing attention away from the other bird. It stands in profile with its huge beak pointing down the beach. Each time we move a few meters away from the second bird, the first one glides down the beach.  When we are thirty meters from the second bird, the first guy circles over the water and reunites with its mate. 

             I wonder why the Creator burdened the diminutive kingfisher with such a massive beak that looks so like that of the heron. The spear-shaped beak is a well-balanced weapon on the large heron’s head. It forms a projectile the heron can shoot forward with its powerful neck muscles.  The kingfisher must use his whole body as a spear, driving beak-first after fish swimming feet below the surface. 

Symmetry

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Yellowing grass lines both sides of this dike trail. At a place where high water has eroded the dike, I follow Aki down to the shore of Moose Lake, drawn by the reflections of cottonwood trees in the lake’s surface. It’s a gray day but we are between rain showers. No drops shatter the mirror. It reminds me of a recent comment to an earlier post—that symmetry is beauty. 

            The reflection creates the perfect parody of the thing reflected. It’s not a mocking parody. It enhances, rather than diminishes the appeal of the strip of yellowing trees lining the lakeshore.  This morning the way the grays, greens and yellows complement each other ramps up the beauty. 

Aki gives me her “let get a move on because I have dog butts to smell” look. Maybe its her’ “come back to Earth Major Tom,” glare. I get the two confused. Either way, her hard look lets me know that she is almost out of patience. There is not much she could do if I chose to stand and ruminate. But we are partners in this incursion into bear and beaver country so I return to the trail.

Sucking Mud

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I am slipping and sliding through lakeside mud. Aki, no fool she, stays on a nice mossy path that parallels the beach. I could join her on the easier trail. But the views of mountains, waterfalls, and a glacier keep me on the beach. 

The morning mist has melted away so nothing blocks my view of mountains McGinnis and Stroller White reflected on the lake’s surface. The lake also mirrors lines of cottonwood trees, each bearing a load of leaves fading from yellow to rust. The glacier slices between the mountains like a blue snake.

On our last visit to the lake, I was forced by high lake levels to use Aki’s forest path. Now, in spite of all the recent rain, those levels have dropped, revealing a wide strip of gravel for walking. It offers a variety of mud. Some of the yucky stuff is as greasy as lard. In other places the mud forms a thin patina over beach gravel. In one spot my boots making a sucking sound each time I take a step. Forced off her forest trail by a beaver pond, Aki joined me just before the sucking mud. She convinces me to carry her the mess.  

We seem to have all the beauty to ourselves. No ducks or geese ripple the lake surface. No eagles, ravens, or even jays comment on our passage from lakeside tree roosts. There might be mountain goats on the high flanks of McGinnis or bears in woods. A deer could be peaking out from the Troll Woods. But only the sun shows itself just long enough to reverse for a few minutes, the cottonwoods’ autumn fade.  

Changing to Mud and Dew

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It froze hard last night. Early this morning frost covered the wetlands. Aki and I missed the show while we waited for the fog to burn off. Now only pockets of frost meadow remain. The sun has already reduced the frost to dew on most of the wetlands. As it thaws, the trail mud turns greasy. 

            Patches of fog still cling to the surrounding hills. Otherwise we have blue skies. The little dog and I squint when the trail makes us face the sun. Maybe this is why she throws on the brakes when we reach a trail that would take us back to the car. Maybe the almost 13 year-old is feeling her age. 

            After Aki sends her brief strike we walk along the Mendenhall River. I had been scanning the river for herons without success. We’ve yet to see any water birds or land birds. A gang of waterdogs approaches from downriver and I wonder if they are responsible for the bird apocalypse. 

Looking for another source of beauty, I lead the little dog down onto the beach and find my self five meters from a heron. It looks as awkward and I feel. It is airborne before Aki even realizes it was there.