Aki isn’t bothered by the east wind that chills my skin but I am. We have just left the wooded Treadwell Ruins where over a foot of wet snow covers the ground. The trail was sloppy and partially flooded. But it was almost Spring-warm. A junco sang what sounded like a love song.
We couldn’t leave the woods for the beach because the tide was flooding over all the portions not covered by deep snow. Perhaps for this reason, the golden eye ducks we saw swam close to the shore.
It was cloudy when we entered the woods but the sun burned through to light up the south sides of the ruins’ alders. As the sun melted the remaining clouds, the east wind rose. In the rain forest, like in Mary Poppins’ London, the east wind precedes changes in the weather. This one is suppose to bring low temperatures and high winds. Aki doesn’t know that so she can ignore the rising wind.
Aki shows more enthusiasm for this adventure than I feel as we leave the trailhead. Snow is turning to rain as the little dog and I head into the Treadwell woods. Aki minces down the trail, each step pushing through soaked snow to a thin layer of water beneath. Glad I am wearing waterproof boots, I slosh along behind her.
The poodle-mix dashes toward a urine-yellow Rorschach design in the snow left by the dog of an early morning walker. Similar splotches mark the way to the beach. We slog past roofless ruins and twisted rails of the mining car tracks, all made almost beautiful by mantles of fresh snow. White on rust makes a pleasing combination.
From its perch atop the old ventilation tower, our resident eagle watches us leave the woods and move onto the snow-covered beach. His puffed up chest feathers make me think of Buck Mulligan descending Joyce’s Dublin tower. Aki cares little for literary references so I don’t mention it to her.
When a golden lab approaches, Aki waits in silence rather than barking her usual welcome. You are learning some caution little dog. The meeting goes well and she acts more like her old self when we meet a black-husky-mix. Maybe you are learning to discern rather than to trust that all dogs are potential friends.
After the husky-mix follows its people into the woods, Aki and I have the beach to ourselves. The two ravens that usually greet us have flown. No belted kingfisher chits at us from an overhanging branch. No wind hurries away the loose pans of ice that float around the ruined wharf pilings. If I turn around I could see trucks being loaded at the barge dock across Gastineau Channel and the blocky shapes of the Juneau skyline. But ahead to the south there is only the white-covered beach dotted with broken pilings, Gastineau Channel, and glaciated mountains partially obscured by mist. We move south until we run out of beach.
Aki flies down the snowy trail blown along by a stiff wind. The same wind is chilling the back of my legs like it did my front when we walked into the Treadwell ruins. My nose and right cheek stiffen, heading towards frostbite. We will be back in the car before my skin on those exposed parts turns from pink to white.
This morning a high-pressure zone keeps storm clouds away but also delivers the strong winds. They started blowing when the rising sun lit up the glacial ice sheet. In response cold air roared down the mountain valleys and up Gastineau Channel when they whipped up waters in front of Sandy Beach.
The little dog and I keep to the shelter of the woods. But each time I slip down onto the beach for a photograph, we feel the bite of the wind.