Category Archives: Nature

Empty Summer

The rain is trying to wash away all signs of summer from Downtown Juneau. I wonder if it makes Aki worried. She may not finish her catalogue of dog smells before they all wash away.The little poodle-mix keeps her nose to the cement as I wait in the rain.

            Most of the flowers have gone to seed. Ruby colored thimble berries have replaced their white flowers. Rain drops hang from purple monkshood and orange nasturtiums. But low clouds block any view of the mountains. 

            Even on such a dreary day, in a normal August, Downtown Juneau would be packed with cruiseship tourists. It’s empty this morning. There is no one posing outside the Lucky Dog Saloon. No one is queuing up for whale watching tours or helicopter rides to a glacier. Just two downtown workers walk down the cruiseship dock, carrying orders of Philippine barbeque from Bernadettte’s.   Last night, someone must have stumbled out of a bar and wrote “Be Happy Again” in a space on the Before I Die sign.

Time for the Little Guys to Shine

Most walks this summer, have offered chances to watch some of the rain forest stars. Today, the little dog and I will see whales and eagles. But the lesser known actors will shine today. 

            We start out crossing a tidal meadow animated with tiny frogs. Each amphibian is less than an inch across. Alaska’s severe winters make the state a discouraging place for amphibians. But, perhaps thanks to global climate change, we are seeing a lot more frogs this summer. 

            The other little guy that got my attention was a huge dragon fly. The insect looked as large as a swallow as it cruised over the meadow grass. Later I will watch an iridescent-blue dragonfly bounce past. But this one looked dulled by camouflage armor. It landed on a stalk of grass and froze in place. I waited for the sun to punch through the clouds and make the dragonfly’s wings sparkle. But it doesn’t cooperate. Still, I am thankful that the dragonfly holds on to the grass stalk long enough for one good photo. 

Mountain Berries

This late in the summer, we need to head into the mountains to find ripe berries. That’s why the little dog and I are searching the edge of a mountain meadow for blues. A pair of Stellers’ jays complain about our presence and them move fifty meters away. When they stop squawking, we can hear the chirp-like call of a ptarmigan. 

            We will never spot the ptarmigan but do find small, but well-endowed caches of blue berries. Most are large and plump with juice. Some are shaped like little balloons. A few are home to worms that will abandon their berries after we dump our harvest into a mixing bowl of salt water.             

            This is one of my favorite times to cross a mountain meadow. Many of the berry plants display the reds and yellows of autumn. A choice few take on an almost lavender shade. It’s easy to spot the blue berries hanging on plants already in the end game that comes before the fall monsoons.

Plato Had it Backwards

Rain drops sparkle like costume jewelry on each blueberry leaf. Blue berries hang among the sparkles like planets in a model solar system. I have to step around red-tinted bear scat to reach the berries. The bears must be ignoring blueberries and concentrating on the red-colored high bush cranberries.

             Before seeing the bear poop, I had been feeling a little guilty about picking berries that the bears might need to get through the winter. I never worried about that in past years when the bears had plenty of salmon and berries to harvest. But the red salmon they usually fatten up on have not returned to their spawning grounds and this has been a bad berry year.

            After picking a quart of berries, I follow Aki onto a bear trail and walk to the edge of a small forest pond. A high bush cranberry bush dominates a small island in the middle of the pond. The limbs of the bush stretch out over the pond ‘s surface, which reflects the red leaves. The reflected leaves are the color of claret. The original ones are as pale as paper mâché. 

Harvest Time

Aki ignores the pink salmon swirling around Fish Creek. So do three great blue heron. The long-necked birds stand like statues in shallow water as salmon boil past them. They must be targeting smaller fry.

            A year or two ago we had to restrain Aki while walking along a salmon stream. Otherwise she would charge into the water, tail wagging, to try to play with the big fish. This year, she just ignores them. This is a relief for me. Now I can relax and watch all the birds drawn to the creek by the salmon or meadow grass bent over by rip seeds. 

            Usually the shore side trees are full of bald eagles. But only one watches us from a nearby spruce today. They might be over at the hatchery, where the first silver salmon of the year are cueing up at the bottom of the fish ladder. 

            After watching a stalking heron, I turn toward the meadow and watch a small flock of sparrows land on the leads of dried plant stalks to harvest seeds. One tried to land on a cow parsnip stalk while flying at top speed. The stalk whips it around like sock toy before throwing it back into the air. 

It’s the Moss

Aki shepherded her other human and I off the main moraine trail and onto a faint one leading into the Troll Woods. It’s a good choice for this flat-gray day. Without invasive sunshine reaching into the woods, it feels like the place has lifted far away and taken us with it. 

            With its ground cushioned by thick moss, which also decorate the trees, we could be on another planet. Only when the trail brings us to a lake shore, can we find mountain landmarks that let us know we are still in an earthly rain forest. 

            It is a very quiet place. The moss sees to that. When we see ducks, they are moving quietly across the water. The resident beavers sleep in their dens. No thrush or jay sings or squawks. You can almost hear the sounds of your own thoughts.

A Little Luck

Aki is still sleeping as I leave the house. She must be worn out from yesterday’s berry picking adventure. It’s been a long time since she has run that far. I am off to chase silver salmon on the back side of Admiralty Island.

            Thin lines of blue sky slice through the grey cloud cover as we leave the harbor. It’s calm, so no waves ripple the reflections in the harbor water. No other boats leave with us. In a half-an-hour our boat is slamming into waves. Just ahead we will face a nasty tide rip if we try to reach Admiralty. 

            Since the fast moving silver salmon seldom pause on their way to their spawning grounds, we won’t know if pounding our way to the back side of Admiralty will gain us a chance to catch one of them. Instead we change course and head to the eastern shore of Douglas Island.

            Within minutes of sinking our baited hooks, my friend lands an ocean-bright silver. We will boat two more before we head back to the harbor. At least one eagle will fly low over the boat while we fish and more will watch while perched in shoreside spruce. But we will see no whales, orca or humpbacks. 

One More Liter

We need at least another liter of blue berries to get through the winter. This late in the season they are becoming hard to find. But two days ago, I received a hot tip from someone with fingers stained blue by berry picking. 

            To act on the tip, Aki’s other human and I load our bicycles, picking buckets, and the little dog into the car and drive almost to the north end of the Juneau road system. The weather man promised us a dry afternoon. After assembling the bikes, we headed up the trail that cut through salmon berry brush and devil’s club already starting to yellow, just as rain began to fall.

            The tipster told us to ride past 1930’s car rusting alongside the trail and the two spots were the trail almost touches the river bank. After that we should cross through a long, long stretch of devil’s club to where a fiddler’s green for berry pickers spreads out from both sides of the trail. 

            At the start of the berry patch we looked without success for berries. All we saw was wet berry bushes, empty of berries. In a few minutes of riding past barren bushes I spied little blue spheres hanging on a bush six meters off the trail. My cotton pants were soaked through with rain water by the times I reached the patch. Aki’s other human thought to wear her rain pants. Aki and I had to ignore water soaking through to our skin. The little dog was a good sport as long as we feed her berries. But after her two humans had gathered their liter of berries, she was ready to return to the car. 

Close Call

It might be the largest porcupine I’ve ever seen. Just a few meters away, it waddles towards the protection of an alder thicket. I’ve just passed through a similar thicket. Luckily, Aki has stayed back to check out a smell, probably the scent of this huge porkie.

            The last time Aki ran into a porcupine, it decorated her face with quills. This time, Aki’s luck holds. After giving the porcupine’s hideout a wide birth, we continue on towards Nugget Falls.  Shafts of sunlight slide from the cloud cover to illuminate parts of the glacier or Mt. McGinnis. 

            When a shaft of light hits the ground where we walk, stop, closes my eyes, and wait for the sun to warm my face. But it’s too late in the summer for that to happen. Now is the time for sunlight to strengthen the colors of fall. 

A Lot of Flapping

We would have passed the beaver pond without seeing the mallard hen if she hadn’t been flapping her wings. The lady was tucked deep in the reeds, invisible to old eyes like Aki’s and mine if she hadn’t moved. We had already seen a lot of wing flapping this morning. 

            On the drive to the trailhead we stopped at Three Mile to count eagles. More than a half-a-dozen crowded around a small pool in the creek. Most stood in the steam, flapping their wings in the water like song birds do in a bird bath. Other eagles powered down their wings for lift as they climbed from wetlands crowded by the incoming tide.

            As we moved down the beach a juvenile varied thrush flit off the trail to land on top of some driftwood roots. If it was its cousin the American robin, I’d suspect that it was trying to draw us away for its young. But that is not the thrush’s way.  Sometimes they are just stupid-brave. 

            Most folks would never call deer does brave. But the one we passed this morning held its ground as it stared at the little dog and I. It must have been enjoying something tasty when we disturbed its meal. I hope it shows more discretion than valor when doe hunting season starts.