Category Archives: Southeast Alaska

She Always Falls For It

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Aki and I have been cross country skiing all week. It’s time for a break. So, we suit up at the front door and walk down the hill to the Douglas Island Bridge. I am glad that I attached some cleats onto my boots. No one has been able to clear the streets and sidewalks of this week’s snowfall.

            I figured that we would spot a lot of ravens on our walk down to Gastineau Channel. A nesting pair have been gathering nest-building stuff in our neighborhood all week. But we don’t spot any of the smart birds until we reach a state office building down near the water. We see only one, which lands a few feet away from Aki. The little dog falls for an trick. She shoots out to the end of her lead and vibrates as the raven stares her down. Then raven lifts off the ground and circles my little dog.

            We move onto the trail that parallels the channel, surprised not to see a single crow or raven. We will find two dozen of them blocking the road in front of the local grocery store. Someone inside the bus passenger stand is feeding then chunks of day old bread. 

Keeping it Simple

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A new snow storm moved over Juneau last night. This morning, it blocked our view of mountains, islands, and clouds. But I was ready to accept what we could see—clouds of snow flakes clinging to the neighborhood spruce or fluttering to the ground. 

            It took an hour to shovel out a path for our car to reach the street. From there, with care, we were able to creep down the steep downtown streets and work our way out to Montana Lake. We normally head out there on sunny days when we can see the glacier and its surrounding mountains sparkling with sunshine. 

            We push ahead though the forest on a newly laid ski trail. It’s a time for enjoying the simplified view. Any thoughts or concerns I carried as I stepped into my skis disappeared a-half-mile down the trail. From there I just enjoyed the ski’s rhythms, stopping for time to time to look at surprising designs in the trail-side alders that were almost over-burdened by the fresh snow.  

Cold Beauty

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I am writing this after walking a very cold beach on Groundhog’s Day. It’s a meaningless pocket holiday designed down south to distract folks in the middle of long U.S. Winters. Before heading over to Sheep Creek, I heard the radio announce that a Pennsylvanian groundhog was caught standing in early morning sun. This, the local expert said with a smirk, meant six more week of winter. 

            We have ground hogs in Alaska. But none will be seen until the spring, after they end their winter hibernation. For us, this February is a time for birds to splash in the stream shallows and fish. This morning, mallards and golden eye ducks are hard at it when we arrive at low tide. 

Rather than drying on the gravel, the little rocks and shells on the Sheep Creek beach are each covered by clear ocean ice. The ice is thicker in low spots on the beach. Because we are so close to the Sheep Mountain Ridge, it dominates our view. The ridge starts to disappear after a city snow plow flies down the road, filling the air with the pure-white snow we drove through to reach the trail head.

Cruising Downtown

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We could have gone cross country skiing this morning. It seemed an even better idea after the sun rose in a cloud-free sky. Then I thought about all the new legislative aides who brought their skis to town. They will soon be driving to a ski trail from their downtown apartments. After breakfast the little dog and I should have the capital city to ourselves.

            The sun was centered over Gastineau Channel when we left the house. Lines of clouds were drifting up channel, framing the blue sky. Every few hundred feet, we passed a car warming up. I walked out in the street most of the time to avoid slipping on the ice-covered sidewalks or passing too closely to a purring car. 

            There was a surprising number of empty parking places at the tail end of Gastineau Avenue. Some of the parking places were covered with piles of the kind of gear that homeless people tend to keep in their cars. The city must have hauled many of them away.

            We dropped down to South Franklin Street where the clouds were started to obscure the southern sky. The sun still shone to the north and no wind ruffled the channel surface. I tested Aki’s mood by leading her down a trail leading over the cruise ship docks. The little dog put on her brakes. I was about to return to the street when I spotted a bald eagle perched on a dock railing. I had to carry Aki to a spot there I could photograph the eagle. She whined and seemed to shiver. I thought to eagle would fly off but it didn’t. Probably enjoyed watching the little dog’s little whinny sideshow. It must have realized that I would not get close enough to photograph it.

Sticky for a Minute

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Aki’s other care keeper and I took our time leaving the house this morning. It was Saturday morning, our day for pancakes. It takes a long time to make, cook, and enjoy pancakes. It takes almost more time recovering from the big breakfast feast. Aki was squealing when we finally loaded her and our skis into the car and headed out to Eagle Beach.

            Snow fell for most of the drive, covering the road with a thin, slippery jacket. Even more snow fell onto the ski track.  Aki shot out of the car right after we parked it next to the river. In a minute snow started building up on her fury front legs. Snow also built up on our skis, making them stick to the trail. 

            I was about to head back to the car when I noticed that snow no longer clung to Aki’s legs. I rapped my skis against a small spruce tree. When done, the skis suddenly slid comfortable on the trail. Aki charged down the trail as heavy snow continued to fall. We had no problem making it to a hard-find-find river shore where newly acquired snow pulled the shoreside spruce trees toward the water.

Eagles or Ducks

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            Aki and are standing on the edge of a shrinking beach. An hour ago, we could have walked far out onto the Sheep Creek delta, passing mallards and crows feeding in the shadows. In another few minutes, the trail we are on will disappear under the incoming tide. The pup and need to move now or have to deal with soaked feet and boots.

            The remaining beach lands are still frozen, even sections covered by water during the high tide. We can fly across it. Down the beach two bald eagles seem to pout onboard a floating gold dredge.

            They ignore us as we approach the edge of the beach. I secure telephoto lens on a battered peer post. While his friend sits hunched on the tiny dredge, the eagle turns to stare at me. A few hundred years from him, a small collect of mallards float together in a tight, and tiny island. I wonder if the eagles were about to divebomb the ducks when we showed up. 

Stiff Winds

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The incoming tide has covered all the beach sand and is now eating into the snow-covered beach. Aki and I are the only ones here if you don’t count a small covey of mallards bobbing about in the beach’s small surf. While she spends her time smelling pee and then covering it with her own, I walk onto Sandy Beach. 

Strong morning light is enriching everything, making even the soaking wet logs sparkle as the surf bangs them up and down on the beach. By keeping the stiff wind at our backs we can move in comfort. While standing on a sunny stretch of beach, I look for more ducks or even an eagle or two. None appear until a little golden eye plops into the water just off shore.

Finally, A Stretch of Sun and Snow

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Yesterday Aki’s other human and I spent an hour or so shoveling snow off our driveway. It was still snow-free this morning. But it took twenty minutes to free the car before we could drive off. The temperature dropped well before freezing last night. Now thin ice covers the street. We have to take the long way down the hill to avoid a wreck.

We drive out the southern side of North Douglas Highway. Sunshine beats down the mountains on the Northern side of Gastineau Channel. It is still dark on the southern side of the channel. We are hoping to find a snow-covered meadow seven miles out the road. It isn’t at first. But the sun will soon pop out from behind a mountain ridge before slipping behind another ridge.

            I think that I preferred the unlit meadow because it seemed to set a stage for the string of mountains rising in the sun on the northern side of the channel. Besides, we were also going to drive over to Nine Mile Creek before heading home. It turned out to be the most beautiful place to visit on this sunny day. We walked along Gastineau Creek which was almost full of salt water. It reflected startling-white mountains on the other side of the creek.

Lucky

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We normally never visit the Eagle River on a Saturday afternoon, especially on the first Saturday of the state’s legislative session. On such day, the road out to the river would normally be jammed with young legislative aides, trying to something to do on their first free weekend. 

            But this morning, a snow storm dropped on us, hiding mountains and even the little islands that fill Lynn Canal. Aki is still excited to climb in the car. It takes twenty, maybe thirty miles to reach the river. We see few cars on the ride. We are the first one to arrive at the river’s parking lot. 

            Aki is slow at first, to follow me down the trail. I wonder if she wants to wait for other dogs to arrive. Now that she is 14 years old, she has greeted many of hiking dogs. There is none to greet her as we move down river. The little dog cheers up when we reach the mouth of the river and watch a small catch of ducks burst into flight. 

Before the Next Storm

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Some Sundays, when wet, wispy clouds cling to the Douglas Mountain Ridge but refuse to release the day’s predicted dump of rain, Aki and I wrap up in winter gear and walk down to the humpback whale statute. It provides a target for birds and people, and a passage for the poodle to search for scent. 

            The big iron whale statute flies nose-first out of a tiny people park, looking out of place so near the Douglas Island Bridge, state office buildings, and cheap-by-the-week apartments. After giving the whale a quick glance, Aki and start across a wooden walkway. We are alone except for a small gang of ravens. Most are jumpy. But one, perhaps one of ravens that nests in our neighborhood, doesn’t react negatively as we walk past it. It just turns calmly in our direction and nods.