Aki and had this dike trail to ourselves the last time we used it. Rain must have discouraged other folks from getting in an early morning trail hike. I felt rewarded with a close and prolonged view of Greater White Fronted Geese. They must already be at the northern summer range. I know we will not see any geese, exotic like the white fronts or as common as the local Canada geese. There are two many people and dogs walking the trail. But we can still see the exposed front of the local glacier, and a very blue sky. 

No cars were in the Treadwell Forest parking lot. That seemed strange, given the weather. It wasn’t raining. A very round, fuzzy ball hung in the sky. With an expectant rise in the day’s temperature the ball might turn into the sun and glare down on Juneau is an hour or so. 

            We didn’t see many birds in the forest or Sandy Beach. A robin made a show to distract us from its new nest. Junkos flicked around the top edges of cottonwood trees. Down the beach, a small group of golden eye ducks splashed like grade school kids on the very deep bay. In the woods, I could spot the head of a bald eagle nestled on top of it eggs.

The song birds arrived this week. Trails once dominated by silence and not overwhelmed by opinionated jays, junkos, and robins. They just arrived at end of the last storm, like they were blown here by the wind.

            On today’s walk I saw many other birds, but only for a second at a time. They would fly off just as I focused the camera on them, chirring as they moved off.  I never got their names.

The sun is back and it brought warm skies. Juneauites are walking around with happy faces, like children entering Disneyland. Aki and I drop off of Chicken Ridge and head toward the humpback whale statute. One raven watches us approach, jerking his body side to side as if tossing out a threat. When I come nearer it flies in front of the dog and I, makes a snap turn, and passes behind our backs. After we walk twenty feet away, the raven returns to where we first saw it. 

The temperature finally ramped up into the high 40’s, enough to tell Mt. Juneau it is time to shed all its heavy winter snow. This afternoon, I could hear, for the first time this Spring, the sound of a white river of snow powering down the mountain. It was so warm that I didn’t have to slip a jacket on to keep from getting too cold when I went out to watch. 

            While the snow shower continued, two American Robins landed on a nearby tree. They stared at me as I stared at the mountain avalanche. Then they turned up their beaks in judgement, as if I had failed to give them a proper welcome to the neighborhood. 

The snow is working hard to simplify our walk through Downtown Juneau. Snow clouds obscure the mountains and ocean channels. Snow flakes fall on the streets like they want to turn them white. But no one flake survives the fall. We walk up Gastineau Avenue and run into a huge gang of ravens. Most of them are roosting on sidewalk rails, ignoring our approach. One looks at the little dog and I, throwing at us the stiff bodied eye of judgment. 

Aki, it’s a nasty day. We are in the living room, looking at wet snow coming out of the sky. In a few minutes it turns into rain. It’s going to come down as rain for the rest of the day. Hoping that the weather will be better, if not colder, near the glacier, we drive out the Mendenhall Campground. 

            Aki’s other adult owner has come as well. Even though the ground at the parking lot is covered with five inches of new, wet snow, the other adult human clamps on her skate skis. Given the soft snow conditions, I figure that she’d do better on her classic skis. As I slide easily in a nice ski track at the beginning of the trail, she struggles. Then we reach the place where a snow machine packer has started to pack down the trail. He wiped out the classic ski tracks, forcing me to bounce over snow made bumpy by the snow machine. That turns the rest of my stay at the campground into a scrabble for the best surface for my skis. But Aki and her other human are able to fly down the packed trail.

The most recent weather report promised us a Sunny, if below freezing day, followed by a week of snow. A storm will dump up 10 inches of heavy white stuff to cover everything in this rain forest town. Aki and I need to see some spring-like beautiful before the storm descends. 

            We drive out to Fish Creek and start down a snow-covered trail. The tide is almost at flood stage when we arrive. It has already cut off the sections of the trails that will lead to the mouth of the creek. Tidal waters cover most of the creek wetlands, creating a plush little lake for ducks and geese to rest. Some feed in the flooded grasslands. Others sleep on the water’s edge until, out of caution, they take flight. 

It’s getting close to the middle of March, when people in the 48 states start to put away their skis. In southern states, like Florida, college kids are drawn to beaches and swimming pools like Winnie the Poo toward honey. This morning, the ski Aki and I took through the glacier campground made dream of Spring. The temperature rose, melting ice crystals that had formed on the ski trail during last night’s hard freeze. When we started, I worried that I’d be dealing with ice-slick trails the whole way. But the sking was firm but fine. 

This morning a helicopter carrying a dangling cable flew along the flanks of Mt. Roberts. The cable produced explosive sounds that encourage small avalanches to drop off the mountain flanks. The snow flew down the mountainside, reaching salt water and covering Thane Road. We must be one of the first cars to drive between Mt. Roberts and Gastineau channel after ploughs pushed it off the road.

            Sunshine broke through the clouds as we headed toward the little Sheep Creek delta. plotches of light lit up the mountain ridge on Douglas Island. For few seconds it looked like the same thing would happen to the delta. One shaft of light did strike a patch of dead beach grass near Aki as she peed on the beach, then faded away, letting the beach return to gray. Down channel, sunlight make Juneau town sparkle. It offered no help here.