Even though many of our neighbors are avoiding the Perseverance Trail during this avalanche season, I am letting Aki lead me onto an old wooden bridge that marks the start of the trail. We are here even though a heavy avalanche once covered the nearby road. A few feet onto the bridge, my phone rang. I took the call since the man making it and I have known each other for 40 years. We shared many kayaking trips, hikes, and holiday meals. After learning that Aki and I were crossing the old bridge, my friend warmed me to watch out for avalanches.
“I remember that in early April 1972 a heavy avalanche plunged down Mt. Juneau, across Gold Creek, and over this trail,” he said. While my phone friend is telling his story, I watch a tiny avalanche fly down Mt. Juneau. That’s when I decide to turn around. On the way back to downtown, I run in to a man who had known me and my phone friend for a long time. He was working in a downtown school when the 72’ avalanche rushed down the mountain to cover Gold Creek and the road Aki and I had just left. In the minutes after the slide, the sunlight disappeared from Downtown Juneau, blocked by a thick blanket of fine snow.
We hadn’t seen the sun shine for a week, maybe two. Every morning my computer weather app. had predicted another gray, snowy day. Every morning during the past two weeks, the temperature climbed above freezing and stayed there until late in evening. The warming weather didn’t stop the snow from falling, only made sure that it would melt just as it hit our streets and trails. Last night the sun did appear, causing me to check the weather app. It promised that tomorrow would be a sunny day, followed by at least another week of snow.
Waking this morning, and hoping to find confirmation of the weather app prediction, I looked out the window at the top of Mt. Juneau, and found it lit by early sun under a blue, cloudless sky. Even though she was sleeping on the family bed, I grabbed Aki’s warm wrap and slid it around her neck and shoulders. She was immediately awake and reading for a hike.
We drove through the empty streets of Downtown Juneau and across the Douglas Island Bridge to the Gastineau Meadows trail head. The tiny parking lot was empty. Aki followed me up the steep approach path and on to the main trail. We saw no one, animal or human, during the hike. I could hear blue jays complaints and complicated speeches of ravens. I sought and then spotted a wood pecker wounding the side of a giant alder tree. As always happened after we reach the open meadow, I was almost overwhelmed by the sight of sunshine on the snow covering the meadows and mountains that surrounded the little dog and I.
Deep snow covers the trail to Sandy Beach. It’s dense enough to has enough to support Aki’s weigh. But, I have to keep on the narrow trail to avoid wearing myself out on the soft, deep snow that borders it.
The beach is lined with dark and naked tree trunks. They still look pleasing but I am wondering whether spring will ever arrive. Then I spot one willow tree displaying a cloud of white. It’s not snow, but cotton-like flowers called pussy willows. I should take photographs of the blooms but don’t want to tromp my way through many meters of deep snow to reach them. Believing that there are more blooming willows, I follow Aki toward the beach’s end.
None of the other willows along the beach are blooming. I wonder if the flowery one is a wise predictor of winter’s end, or a short-lived fool. Then I leave the beach and climb a steep trail toward an eagle’s nest. One of the nesting birds calls out on our approach. But none of them make themselves visible from the trail.
Aki and I are not getting along. Maybe she overheard me speaking about today’s hike with her other human. At the time the driving roads were bare of snow. I told the other human I would drive Aki and I to a little used trail out the road. Then the snow started.
By the time we were ready to leave, four inches of fresh snow covered the car and the road we would have to use to get the car out of town. The continuing storm brought beauty by dumping even more snow on the roads. I knew that the little dog and I would be better off walking on the Juneau streets rather than challenging the snowy roads in the car. After we left the house, the little dog pouted and poodled her way down the snowy hill to town.
According to the government, the season of Spring replaced Winter last week. Ads that accompany the national news on TV push purchases of gardening supplies or Easter candy. Last night the temperature dropped to below freezing, like it has done every night for what seems like months. This morning snow is falling through warming skies. Soon it will turn to rain. Clouds block our views of local mountains. But there might still skiable snow near the Mendenhall Glacier.
Aki, our other human and I drive out to the glacier in hopes that the snow covering the lake’s beaches hasn’t softened to mush. We find it perfect for skiing. Recognizing that we have finally gotten a break, we use our cross country skis to work along the beach and bays. No people, birds, or bears share the lake ice with us. In no time we make it to the Mendenhall River and ski down it to where it almost touches the campground ski trail. We will use that trail to return to the car. I am once again disappointed not to see the swans that normally feed in the river this time of year. Perhaps, they are waiting for Spring to finally appear.
We were promised more rain and snow today. But sunshine was sparkling on Gastineau Channel as I brewed my second cup of coffee. We headed out to the trail earlier than usual in case the sun is soon blocked by clouds.
There were no cars in the parking lot for the Gastineau Meadow trail. We soon learned why. Yesterday, rain had flooded the trail, covering it with an inch or so of water. Last night, a one inch layer of ice formed over the rain water. In an hour or so, after the temperature rises well above freezing, hikers will return to their cars with water-soaked boots.
It’s been a couple of months since we last hiked on this trail. It was icy then, and there was little snow on the meadow. Today, it is covered by a couple feet of snow. It’s not hard to move up from tidewater and onto the meadow as long as we stayed on the pounded trail. Any time I move off of it to take a photograph, my boots sink a foot or two into the still soft snow.
Yesterday a storm dumped over a foot of snow on Chicken Ridge. We joined our neighbors in shoveling out driveways for our cars and pathways to reach them. In these Covid times, people in Juneau town keep to themselves most of the time. That changes when the snow falls. The morning following an overnight storm, the people living in our house and others grab their shovels and join the neighborhood to push away a deep layer of snow.
t snowed most of last night. It’s scheduled to snow more this afternoon. But right now, in late morning, no rain or snow falls. The sun is even breaking through the clouds for minutes at a time. Aki is more than ready to walk along Sandy Beach.
Four inches of new snow cover the trail to the beach. But it gives, rather than makng up slip and slide, when we walk on it. It takes us little time to work through the woods and onto the beach. The tide is reducing Sandy to a narrow trail. In a few minutes tidal water will close it to traffic.
By slipping under alders hanging over the beach, we are able to make it to the end of the beach where an immature bald eagle seems to sulking in a beachside cottonwood tree. I wonder, for the tenth time this winter, whether eagles will nest again in the Treadwell Woods that border Sandy Beach. We climb a snow-covered trail off the beach to where we can see an eagle nest built into the framework of a cottonwood. For the time since last summer an adult eagle is stationed above the nest.
It seems strange walking without Aki this morning. The weather isn’t keeping her home. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, no wind to discourage the little poodle mix. In a few minutes the temperature will climb above freezing. No, weather isn’t the problem, it’s the little poodle mix puppy in the car that’s picking me up. Our 14 year old Aki won’t put up with much from any pup. Almost all dogs tree yield to our10 pounder’s wishes. I just wasn’t sure about my friend’s new puppy.
Aki won’t lose out on a walk this morning. A few minutes after I leave, she and her other human will head out to glacier for a ski with family friends. Yesterday, the CDC lets us all know that people who had received the Corvid vaccinations could meet without masks. All of Aki’s ski partners qualify.
There are a lot of places to visit on a sunny March day. We could be out the road, climbing between snow-covered meadows to reach an almost perfect beach. I might be leading Aki around one of the tidal islands accessible at low tide. But we are back at shore of Mendenhall Lake, getting ready to ski around the campground.
The little dog is fine with the idea. It gives her the chance to catch up on the peep mail messages left by other Juneau friends. But I have my doubts. It froze hard last night and we were just told that the snow machine needed for resetting the trail is broken. Aki couldn’t care less even though it might mean me having to struggle on an ice slick trail.
As always happens, Aki wins. But when we start down the trail I realize that I am also a winner. The trail is just soft enough for me to ski without slipping. I can fly down the trail. In record time we reach a little path that we can use to ski along the Mendenhall River and back to the car along the edge of the lake. Even though strong spring sunshine had been hammering the snow trail, it is still rock hard. This doesn’t bother the little poodle-mix, but toughens my skiing. That’s until I drop onto the lake, which is covered with a thin layer of snow. It lets me glide back to car by simply pulling myself forward with my ski poles.