Category Archives: Juneau

Waiting and Wishing

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        At 9:15 this morning, the sun climbed above the Douglas Island mountain ridge and lit up the glacier and mountains on the north side of Gastineau Channel. Aki and I waited at the mouth of Fish Creek for the sun to climb high just a little higher so it could shine light on the tidal meadow on which we stood. 

         Trailside grass protected the diminutive poodle from the wind. But nothing prevented the breeze from carrying away my body heat. Just offshore, a small circle of gulls rolled and splashed in the water. It was time for their morning bath. Further out, over a hundred mallard ducks lazed. 

          Feeling totally out classed by the birds and unwilling to let my hands go numb as they held my camera, I pulled on a heavy pair of mittens and turned to search for the sun. Even though it was only 9:30, the sun had already slipped behind the mountains for the day.

         Aki needed no encouragement to join me on a return hike to the car. No ducks paddled on the pond but we did see a red-breasted merganser caught out in the open on the creek. The exposed fish duck powered through the current to reach the wooded shore where it disappeared under the overhanging limbs of a spruce tree.              

First Real Snow

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A bald eagle flies over our car as I steer it into our driveway. Look at that, little dog, we spent hours walking over semi-wild lands and saw nothing but pine siskins. If we had stayed home, we could have seen that eagle being covered with snowflakes as it sulked on our neighbor’s roof. Aki, hoping to find some abandoned food morsel on the kitchen floor, urges me to stop second guessing myself and let her into the house. 

           We have just returned from a visit to the glacial moraine. An inch of squeaky snow covered our trail. Quarter-sized flakes drifted down as we walked out to Nugget Falls. We could just make out the glacier and Mt. McGinnis through the falling snow. 

          I usually look forward to deciphering tracks made by animals in snow. But those left light night were already buried with newly fallen stuff.  Near the lakeshore, we found fresh tracks that could have been left by a small black bear.  Maybe someone is late to hibernate.          

 Aki and I enjoyed our first snowy walk of the year. Even during a storm, the white stuff brightens the day. But the appearance of the sun could have added a crispness to the scene. This morning, while preparing to drive out to the moraine, the sun did muscle out from behind snow clouds to light up the waters of Gastineau Channel. It happened as an ocean tug pulled the weekly freight barge from Seattle toward its moorings. I wondered what dreamed for goodies rode on the barge.  

How Smart Are These Seals?

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        While driving through the avalanche zone on the way to Sheep Creek, I wanted to stop and photograph the southern end of Gastineau Channel. A rising wind had broken up the gray mass of clouds that hung over the channel. Sunlight infused the clouds above Lucky Me. But there was no place to stop safely and we were only a few minutes away from the creek. When we arrived, the light was gone and the clouds were beginning to heal their wounds. At least it wasn’t raining. 

          I followed a dune of gravel out toward the channel where a raft of Barrow golden eye ducks fed. Aki held back to stare at me from a fringe of beach grass. Then came rain. It feel in sporadic drops at first then followed by and a wind-driven deluge. 

          After the little dog joined me on the dune, we moved toward the channel for a better view of the ducks. The golden eyes were keeping close to the shore even as we approached them. Usually they would edge out into the channel, like shop lifters moving slowly out a store’s door to avoid looking suspicious. This morning, when they tried to edge out a little, they quickly returned and to the shallows. That’s when the seal head appeared. It wasn’t the first time that we had been used without our knowledge to herd ducks in a seal’s direction.  

Counter Punching

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Snow no longer covers this trail through the old growth. Yesterday it did. Yesterday snow drifted down through the forest canopy. Today it’s rain. The rain forest is once again the venue for the annual fight between fall and winter. 

         While Aki hangs back to investigate a stain of urine near the trail, I push on to the beaver dam. Water spills over the dam through layers of newly severed tree branches dragged there by beavers. There is still a paper-thin layer of ice covering parts of the pond. But it is already melting as the temperature climbs and the rain falls. Snow still covers the mountain backdrop for the pond. But winter lacks the strength to counterpunch the warmth of fall here where the beavers sleep.   

Scofflaws

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I smell the smoke from his cigarette before I see a man heading towards us on an informal meadow trail. It’s deer hunting season so I expect to spot a rifle slung over his shoulder. But where a hunter would carry his rifle, he carries a small crosscut saw. After introducing himself to Aki, he says he is looking to cut down one of the meadow pines for a Christmas tree: “I used to take my grandchildren with me, but they have moved away.”            

          We share stories of taking kids into the woods to hunt for Christmas trees until Aki starts to shiver. Wishing the tree hunter good luck, we head out across the meadow. It’s a place of weather-stunted trees, tiny ponds, and patches of red cranberry moss. A thin layer of hoar frost binds the scene together.  

        Looking up, I spot Mt. McGinnis at the far end of the meadow. Used to seeing the mountain reflected on the surface of Mendenhall Lake, it takes me a while to identify McGinnis. It’s as if we are in the boarding area of a crowded airport when spotting someone familiar standing in flight to board a flight. Without the context of home, it takes time to convince myself that it really is my old friend. 

           A Stellar’s jay lands in the top of pine tree with a peanut trapped in its beak. The peanut is the size of the jay’s head. Its only chance of cracking the shell is to set it on the ground. But then a nearby raven would be on it in a New York minute. Aki needs to keep moving so we can’t wait to see how the jay cracks the nut.  A half hour and a mile later the jay lands on another tree near the little dog and I. No longer burdened with the peanut, it squawks and gives us the evil eye. Since we haven’t offered up a nut with which to pay for our use of the meadow, it wants us exit his domain. As we enter a belt of trees bordering the meadow, a raven does a low fly over, as if to make sure we are not overstaying our welcome. 

Waiting For Winter

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     As three mountain goats climb the south flank of Mt. Juneau, I bend down to bag Aki’s scat. I want to ignore the steaming pile of poop so I can watch the goats approach a frozen waterfall. But the poop scoop needs to be done. 

        Aki watches with a look of pride on her face. She trots along to a nearby trashcan where I deposit her morning’s work product. 

       We are hiking up the Perseverance Trail, which was dusted with snow last night. Gold Creek still runs free but ice covers the creek’s tributaries. Not one leaf clings the trailside trees. It feels like a land waiting for winter.             

Industrial Beauty

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There is no point in denying it. Today’s flat light robs even this mountain meadow of most of its beauty. Not even the scattering of new snow on the muskeg can brighten the scene. It’s a day to appreciate forms of the meadow’s stunted pines and the bare limbs of willows. 

            It is also a day to envy Aki’s powerful nose. With it she can read recent stories written by passing animals. Taking a clue from the little dog I ignore the surrounding mountains to concentrate on tracks left on the meadow snow. Here the hoof of a black tail deer cut deep into the muskeg when the deer leaped in panic. Near the deer tracks are the shallower one made by coyote by a predator that knows the conditions favor him. 

           After we leave the meadow, the little dog and I visit a beautifully made dam that curves across a small, but deep creek valley. It was poured with care long ago and given a fine, concrete finish. The dam was designed to channel the creek into a flume, harnessing the water to run a mill. Aki eyes me while I stand on the top of the dam, amazed that on this flat light day, this industrial fabrication exceeds the beauty of God’s surrounding mountains.        

Wolverine

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Aki’s on to something. We are thirty miles out the road from Juneau where three inches of hoar frost covers the trail. It collapses under Aki’s paws as she trots toward a line of animal tracks. The thing that made the tracks recently left the old growth forest ten meters from where the little dog stands. 

I didn’t notice the tracks right away because I was distracted by the sun-sparkled frost that radiated out from every blade of grass, willow twig, and spruce branch. Like a raven, I’m attracted to shiny things. We are the first visitors to walk on the frosted trail so the tracks are still pristine. Who ever made them stomped down the trail like she owned it.

I quickly rule out canines, wolf or coyote, and lynx. They are too big for marmots or mink, too small for bears. The mysterious animal lacked hooves so I eliminate deer and moose. I can think of only one animal that would makes a line of tracks like the one that Aki is following. Little girl, did you find us a wolverine? 

The tracks look fresh and I remember how a few weeks ago Aki’s other human saw a wolverine a few miles from where we are today. Nothing good would come from meeting one of the big weasels here. They one of the few animals fierce enough to back off a bear. I encourage Aki to move on down the trail in the opposite direction from that taken by the wolverine. 

Industrial Beauty

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         Aki looks at me like she might at a dog ignoring a cooling chunk of king salmon. Have you lost your mind, man of mine? I’m squatting close to the meadow grass, trying to aim my camera so that it will capture a picture of the glacier but not the string of airport runway lights that slice across the bottom of the frame. I want to use some driftwood logs in the foreground to cover up the lights. 

I want to use some driftwood logs in the foreground to cover up the lights. 

I manage to depress the shutter button without falling on my face. But the resulting picture will end up in the deleted files folder. On a gravel bar on the other side of the Mendenhall River, a hundred Canada geese seem to be laughing at me. Standing up, I capture the best view of the scene—the one that includes the airport lights and the reflection of the glacier in the river. It’s a view remarkable for its beauty but also because it demonstrates how close our machines of commerce are to the river of ice.

To get to this wetlands trail, we had to drive past a lumberyard, welding shops, boat storage lots, and a warehouse. Jets flying to Anchorage or Seattle and floatplanes traveling to Angoon or Hoonah flew over our heads during the walk. So did an eagle. A seal broke the surface of the river while the beep-beep-beep sound of a truck backing up reached us from water treatment plant.

I head over to the river to where the salmon pens are anchored. The Mendenhall Towers and boats on blocks for the winter rise above the river.  Almost anywhere else in North America, the land under the boat storage lot would be packed with luxury houses that offered river and mountain views. Our city planners realized the value of providing fishing boats easy access to the sea. 

First Snow

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        The clouds lift this morning, just after sunrise. They revealed Mt. Juneau and the Douglas Mountain Ridge white with new snow. Aki and I drove up to a mountain meadow. From Gastineau Channel we could see the sun burning off the remaining clouds. Some lingered in the valley we drove through to reach the meadow, glowing with backlit sunshine. 

       Even though it was only 10 A.M. the sun had already drifted between a gap in the ridge and disappeared. This time of year, the sun couldn’t linger more than an hour on the meadow.  But sunlight still brightened the jumble of mountains that rose up on the east side of the meadow. 

       Aki has always loved walks over snowy ground. This morning she seemed more reserved than usual, staying near rather than running orbits around me. Just before we returned to the car she took off, following tracks down the meadow. She still answered my summons, undulating like a porpoise through the fresh snow.