I enter here under obligation like someone attending a friend’s acting debut. Last night’s wind storm drained all the excitement from the moraine leaving it to recover under stubborn gray clouds. In this awkward time of transition no snow brightens the forest, no fresh growth shows in the willows and alders. Not even the watercourses bring drama.

Expecting floods trails we find a dry path all the way to the beaver village. We pass mallards and other local ducks paired up and showing  reluctance to move from their chosen nesting ground. Approaching the village we find newly attacked spruce trees, gnawed more than halfway through by beavers. It’s as if they were preparing a barrier to protect the series of their dams beyond. They were too late. Government workers or volunteers have disassembled the upper beaver dam and breached the lower one with deep wide notch.

Aki and I walk on recently submerged ground then drop into the now dry bottom of a deep channel the beavers cut into the mud to offer safe underwater access to the lower dam. They lost this spring campaign but I suspect they will rebuild the dams in time to catch the fall floods.

We are neutrals in this government versus beaver battle. While neither of us wants to join the fight, Aki does enjoy the dry passage offered by man’s recent victory and I fear what would happen if the beavers flood this part of the forest and turn it into the kind of watery wasteland we pass through on the way to Mendenhall Lake. We head there next and discover that the water level has dropped enough to allow safe passage over a long serpentine beaver dam.  From here to the Lake a series of beaver dams have formed a stairway of ponds.  The trails takes up along the seldom traveled shores of the ponds.

This deep into the woods we only hear the song of nesting song birds and trees rubbed rhythmically together by a building wind storm.  Aki moves impatiently toward a glimmer of light off water coming through the trees. It’s another pond opening up as we approach the shore.  Too remote to be wasted on nesting ducks, the pond promises a view of transit swans or geese gathering strength before continuing north. That would be good theatre after the emotional rise and fall accompanying the trip here. Unfortunately, someone forgot to cue the swans.

Today we wish winter could last forever or at least until King Salmon season.  After weeks of thawing days followed by freezing nights the moraine snow pack offers unlimited access to seldom seen places. It will soften in this strong sunlight but not before Aki and I can take one last stroll through the beaver lands.

First we cut through the Troll Woods where morning sun once again infuses tree moss with vivid green light. Aki almost runs out of patience waiting for me to abandon efforts to capture it with the camera. Rather than frustrate, my failure pleases. There is still some beauty capable of defeating digital machines and may only be  captured by the human eye. 

We find what looks like the twisted remains of a child’s plush toy fashioned into a small rug. It’s the frozen scat of a wolf who recently enjoyed rabbit for dinner.

The troll trail skirts some small lakes covered with ice that has captured the tips of shoreline alders. Greedy for light, the trees reached out over the lake in summer and remained too long. Heavy winter snows bent their tops under water to be captured by rapidly freezing water. It will take weeks of warm weather to win their freedom.

At the edge of the woods we drop down onto the flat beaver country and abandon the trail for a chance to move among the standing dead spruce to Mendenhall Lake.     With Mt. McGinnis as our guide we pass through the desolated country where only the stubborn willows have a chance to grow. Where exposed to full sun the ice is pockmarked by deep sided holes made by leaves or twigs that fell there during the winter. We find the grave of a small alder branch that it dug with the help of the sun. 

After rejoining the main trail we pass the massive two tiered beaver dam complex that provided so much transformation. Only a small trickle of water seeps out from underneath the last dam to only partially fills a winding stream flowing toward the lake. The once navigable watercourse is now too small to capture the glacier’s reflection.  It can only mirror the tips of two Mendenhall Towers.

Today we look down for beauty but up for sound. Wet snow the consistency of stiff oatmeal covers the moraine trail. Snow shoeing over it tires. Even Aki plods behind in my tracks. What moisture falling from the sky arrives as rain. From their tracks in the snow the beavers, with their nifty waterproof coats, are not bothered by the slop.

After crossing a flooded portion of the trail we head over to the big beaver damn and find a hole in the lake ice near it. No tracks show in the surrounding snow, just a C shaped gap in the low white wall bordering the hole. River otters? There are juvenile king salmon wintering in the lake. 

Aki jumps a bit when we hear an avalanche rumbling down Thunder Mountain. This is not the roar made by Mt. Juneau avalanches but a manufacturer sound like that used to mimic thunder during a stage production of the Tempest. No Prospero here.

The trail deteriorates when we leave the damn. In places my snowshoes sink into water under the snow that soaks my boots. Aki manages to prance around this wet zones. The warm weather has flooded trail side watercourses which reflect spectral shapes of bare alder branches. Dripping water shatters these deep mirrors with rings of concentric waves. On a day stripped bare of sun and most color the effect is stunning.

Fresh snow this morning followed by sunshine drives us to the open spaces of the wetlands. Three or four inches of new snow almost covers everything, Enough straw colored grass and mud show through to provide an interesting contrast. A few weeks ago we tried to reach Gasteneau Channel from here only to be blocked by Duck Creek. Today I hope to cross the creek where it is still narrow.

Nothing has passed over this land since the last snow though we do spot the gull tracks in a tiny mud bar. Brightly colored plastic objects — buckets and bottles mostly, poke out from under the snow. I count myself lucky that I haven’t seen such flotsam on other parts of the wetlands.

The weather changes as we reach Duck Creek, which unfortunately is still impassible without rubber boots. An east wind rises, pushing clouds down channel to close over the diminishing blue sky. Aki takes shelter in my lee but I am exposed on this flat white plane. Ducks complain on the far side of the creek then take flight for more remote country. In minutes we received a replacement flight of Canada Geese fleeing from the direction that drew the ducks. Some form the traditional “V” shape while the rest fly as an organized gang.

On our retreat to the car we cross through a large patch of Fireweed plants that presented a brilliant magenta show late last summer. The dead stalks bent almost to the snowy ground by weather  offer a sad beauty. As a cold wind rises and snow begins to fall I join the stalks, as pathetic as the remnants of  Napoleon’s army retreating from Moscow, shouldering into the wind and make for the comfort of the car.

Today I am thankful to find a thick layer of snow still covering the moraine. Others have stomped down the trail so it’s easy traveling until we get to the beaver lands. Any concern Aki may have after yesterday’s wet and windy stroll disappears as she races down the trail. She only stops to check her messages and leave her own with pee.

I would be surprised to find so much of the snow pack intact after the extended period of warm wet weather we are having. But here near the glacier the snow cover acts like a great sponge to soak up the rain as it shrinks into a compact, sustainable mass. We will be back on skis following the next snow storm.

Only ice covers the trail through the beaver lands. In places this is covered with thin sheets of water. Aki dances around these spots but I get a shower of rain drops hanging on the trail side trees if I try to follow her. Fortunately I’ve brought ice grippers, which I pull on boots to save my dignity and possibly my aging bones.

The rain has reduced these flooded lands to broken plains of milky ice. Here and there  we find areas stained muskeg brown by springs which must be avoided in warm weather if you want to keep your boots dry.  In this low morning light we can make out the ghosts of tracks left by others —- snowmachines, skis, boots, and the tracks of a northern dog pounded two inches into slush during the height of the recent heat wave. Soon this history will disappear beneath inches of new fallen snow.

Returning through the Troll Woods we find that they have already conquered winter. Here we move once more on mossy ground.

Its been all snow and no rain since the last hard freeze—that one that firmed up the beaver flooded trails through the moraine. Not knowing when a Pacific low might ruin everything with warm temperatures and rain we return, finding more than a foot of unsettled snow covering the trail. Fortunately Aki’s other human skis with us. The dog, no fool she, allows us to break trail so she can trot along behind.  I wouldn’t mind the sun to blink through storm clouds to light up the mountain tops or this abundance of snow. But today the sun leaves us alone in a land of white and gray.

When the trail begins to parallel a cashew shaped lake we leave it and plow into the thiner snow covering the ice and move toward the lake’s far end and the beaver village. It has been awhile since I skied in such deep stuff and it takes me time to fall into the slow backward leaning style that turns the task from work to meditation. Still we are happy when we come upon recent snowshoe tracks that offer a packed surface for skiing.

Interesting animal tracks cover the beaver village grounds. Some were made by predators. We find a “U” shaped trough amount 20 feet long. It stops at a point where a beaver could observe the lake we just crossed without exposing himself to view. Aki finds it too interesting to ignore. Dropping her nose to the trough bottom she sniffs her way from the observation post to its other end. I head over expecting to find a hole in the ice for we stand over the deep water between two beaver dams.  Then a great black Labrador Retriever comes galumphing through deep snow to visit Aki. Wanting to avoid further disturbance of the beaver’s ground I lead Aki and her new friend out to the lake.

Skiing on we find a path laid down by other skiers and follow it through frozen flooded lands to another lake. Our presence disturbs a roosting hawk which launches itself up from a lakeside spruce, gains altitude, gives three quick beats of its boxy wings to fly directly over us. In this land of the eagle we rarely spot the hawk.

Last weeks storm managed to penetrate the Troll Woods canopy but only left six inches of snow on the ground. Looking for an easier transit we leave the lake for the woods and take a short cut back to the car. It take fie minutes to pick all the snow balls off Aki before we start the short drive home.

Something wonderful happens when a rapid drop in temperature follows wet weather. Its freezing hand transforms open water barriers to ice avenues and firms up soft snow so we can walk where ever it suits us. Last night the temperature dropped to 11 degrees F. on Chicken Ridge and close to zero out at the Glacier. Taking advantage of the resulting firm tread Aki and I pass over hard crusted snow in the moraine and then drop into the slough country that borders Mendenhall Lake.

Here frost feathers decorate each blade of dead grass, every bare willow limb, all newly frozen water courses. They all sparkle in the low angle sunshine that illuminates the glacier and her mountain guards. It sounds as if half of Juneau is on the lake skating past the thin ice warning signs or sledding on the steep sloped sand dune near the visitor center.  Like the ravens, I’m attracted to shinny beautiful and click picture after picture with a right hand quickly stiffening in the cold. Aki stiffens too and uses telepathy to convince me to move on. My favorite subject is a tiny backlit block of translucent ice come to rest on a mud bar then decorated by hoar frost.

Eventually hard dog looks and people noise from the lake drive me out of the sun to the young moraine forest. Here we follow a trail winding through willows and cottonwoods thick enough to offer  privacy and silence. We find sparkling beauty here too, but in smaller doses. The sudden cold snap caught the moraine moisture unawares—-freezing to crystal little bags of rain about to drop to ground and transforming water on the trail to a solid state as clear as window glass. All glows in the low winter light as does a sagging of Spanish moss caught in the act of drying by the sudden return of winter.

I am excited this morning to use the cross country skis. The trail should be perfect. Yesterday someone with impeccable style skied a perfect parallel trail through the moraine woods. Now it is just discernible under three inches of newly fallen snow.  I move onto the trail, Aki close behind but after a few glides my skis slow and then stop, glued to the trail by sticky snow.

This happens in Southeast Alaska where snow can turn to rain on a slight shift in the wind. They call it “icing.”  In an hour or maybe minutes a temperature change will erase the problem but that won’t help me now. Aki has her own icing problems as snow balls form in seconds on her fine hair.

Last year I would have pushed on, forcing my skis down the trail, pouring all energy into movement until sweat mixes with new fallen snow on my bare head. But wisdom arrived in the first hours of this new year so I remove the skis then realize we are on a snow covered beaver house. Falling snow fills the sky from here to the Ice Fields several miles away. It transforms in silence,