I am missing Aki. But she hates to travel on airplanes. I needed half-a-day of that to get to Montana.

            Aki would have loved hanging out with our family cousins in Missoula but probably would have interfered with my long conversations with them. But then again, little scraps of food did tumble off picnic plates without me noticing. Aki would have been more than happy to nibble it up after it hit the carpet.

            Now my sister and I are visiting our grandfather’s homestead wheat ranch. The locals tell us this year’s crop needs more rain. Dark clouds in the sky could take care of that problem if the wind wasn’t moving them toward the mountains.

            We spotted bison and deer a couple of days ago when passing through Flathead Indian land. Here, in the ranch’s bench top country we spot antelope. A small clutch of six of the tan and white critters is grazing on a fallow wheat field. They move slowly off when I get out of the car for a better view.

Aki and I have split up, at least for a week. She is home in Alaska, enjoying a small stretch of sunny weather. Every morning she is probably curls up on a bright section of front room carpet, feasting on invading sunshine. I’m in Montana, spending time with the relatives. It rained harm this morning, but stopped before dinner time. Now, when we are close to sunset on a spot near the Flathead Indian Reservation, the sun is producing powerful reflections of the surrounding mountains on a small lake. Two swans feasted on the lake waters then took off to look for a quiet place to spend the night.

This dark, wet summer, every sunny, warm day is joyful. It rained yesterday and will rain again tomorrow, but not today. Aki and I make an early start down a trail to Sandy Beach. The strong morning sun pierces through the thick fabric of the trail side skunk cabbage leaves.

            We listen to hidden birds, including several eagles but see none. No ducks or geese hunt the beach for food. As the tide recedes, I look for some drama. Something grabs my attention, It’s a tiny weed, growing near the top of a rotting wharf piling. A shaft of morning sunshine pierces through the weed’s green flesh.         

It rained hard last night. It’s still raining as I attach a waterproof wrap around Aki. The weather man claims that the rain will stop this afternoon and the sun will shine. But given this situation, we leave now so we can have the Outer Point Trail to ourselves.

            The rain starts to lighten up as we park the car and start down the trail. We have the parking lot and the trail to ourselves. After slogging down twenty feet of flooded trail, we reach a beaver dam. I can’t spot any beavers but the pond’s water lilies make the walk worth it. Most are yellow. For some reason, one is the red color of an Irish rose.

            The tide is once again out when we reach the coast. Two eagles watch us from beach spruce trees. My attention is drawn toward Shaman Island, where an eagle is chasing an osprey away from what might be the eagle’s nest.

This summer, I’ve heard woodpeckers pound against the tops of spruce trees but never saw one until this morning. It happened as Aki and I were returning from the shore of Fish Creek. The dense collection of scents was keeping Aki happy. But I was disappointed in the absence of birds, deer, or fish.

No eagles sulked in the tops of the forest trees lining the north shore of the creek. Later, I’d spot one along the edge of a bay. No salmon splashed or knocked about in the creek. I couldn’t sense anything in the water until I heard a merganser splashing and squawking on the creek. Somewhere upriver, it’s mate was carrying their chicks on its back as it moved into a wall of tall grass.

            The little dog and I turned our backs on the poorly performed play and headed downstream. Suddenly, a woodpecker flew low over my head and landed a few feet away on the lower trunk of an alder. Finally, a beautiful thing to photograph on this flat, gray day. Aki spotted the bird just as I did and charged it. The woodpecker flew off.

            The rest of the morning was spent looking at the reflections of glacier and mountains in Fritz Cove or telling myself that I was lucky to take the walk when purple, yellow, or yellow wildflowers lined both sides of the trail. Sometimes I would stop and close my eyes, trying to count the number of eagles, just born, that were screeching about the day.

The sunshine is back, at least for a couple of days. We pass many people hiking or biking on the town trails. But only one van is parked near the Crystal Lake trail head when we arrive. It should be a great day to wander across the glacial wastes.

            Aki stops often as we head toward the lake. I don’t mind. It’s warm enough to make a standing in the sun a gentle and welcome gift. I know the wind is about to rise. But it is flat clam when we reach the lake. The reflection of the oddly shaped Thunder Mountain covers the lake’s surface. We would be able to enjoy a perfect double image of the mountain if not for one merganser duck that quacks and splashed back and forth across the lake.          

We’ve stirred bears here on the moraine this time of year. We’ve seen swans eating while floating on the surface of Moose Lake. We’ve watched ducks feed there as well. But today is for listening, not seeing things that produce beauty.

Hidden by thick leaves of cottonwood trees, small birds are filling the air with music. That’s all we need to enjoy this mostly dry walk around lakes and through new forests. Toward the end of the hike, the rains starts to fall. I wouldn’t have even noticed if the drops weren’t creating expanding circles when they hit the surface of the lake.

In past years, before the spread of Covid, this morning I’d be packing for my annual trip to Skagway for the North Words Conference. In the day after packing, I’d ride an Alaska State Ferry from Juneau north to the old gold rush town. If rain pounded the ferry deck, I’d hunker down in the ship cafeteria and sip coffee. Many times, I’d share a table there with a friend or two, or work on some writing. Since she hated boat rides, Aki the dog would be home in Juneau.

            Hoping that most of the flames from the Covid pandemic will be out by then, the North Words folks have postponed this year’s conference until Labor Day Weekend. I’ll probably go if I can. A good friend and I need to drink a toast in front of the Onion Bar for another friend and North Words writer who died last Winter.

            To spur thoughts of other things, I take down to the Sheep Creek Delta, now almost totally exposed at low tide. After parking, we skirt a small gang of dog walkers happily chatting with each other near the trailhead. I am always a little jealous of hikers so willing to turn their backs on the natural beauty surrounding them to enjoy each other’s company. Aki starts to head over to the group then turns to follow me onto the exposed beach.

            Normally the place is full of ducks and eagles. But this is early summer when many waterfowl move out to the coast to nest and get fat harvesting food. I only spot crows and ravens on the beach. Just offshore, a bald eagle is perched on a navigation warning light. It doesn’t fly off as I walk to the edge of the exposed beach, close enough to photograph him with the mountain crest of Douglas Island in the background.

The heavy rain clouds were still an hour away when Aki and I started down a trail into the woods. We had to maneuver around people returning with their dogs to the trail head parking lot. Rain clouds started filling the sky with mist as we escaped the crowd. We saw no birds, and heard no eagles as we worked our way to Sandy Beach. But the now falling rain made the leafed out cottonwood trees sparkle rather than pout. 

            I was hoping to spot a small pod of killer whales swim past the beach, like they often do on rainy May mornings. But on this one, all we see on Gastineau Channel is a commercial troller from Seattle chugging toward one of the downtown fishing docks.