The snow stopped but soon we will have rain. Aki and I walk the crescent-shaped beach in front of the old Auk Village site. Blaise gulls crowd the deltas of small steams draining into Auk Bay. Just off shore a knot of harlequin ducks bob in small surf. Further out, between Point Louisa and us a small pod of Dahl Porpoise dance along the water surface. But is it the light breaking out above the Chilkat Range that holds my attention. After days of wet, gray skies, fingers of light reach through the marine layer to explode on the surface of Lynn Canal. Each seems to promise a better day or two of weather, maybe a better year than the one just ending.

It’s raining. We are walking around Auk Lake. The trail takes us through the little university campus where totem poles and a large raven sculpture carry burdens of snow. The lake looks like a Nordic skiers ideal. No tracks mar the lake’s thick snow covering except those made by a passing deer and, of course, the ravens. I don’t dare Aki to leave her paw prints on the clean white sheet. Even she might fall through the hidden spots made soft by current or warm water up swells.

It’s not raining when we reach the spruce forest that crowds the lake’s southern shore. But snow flakes falling from overhead tree limbs flutter onto the little dog and I. The snow that still clings to the trees and covers the ground brightens the woods with a gentle light.

We probably should not have taken the Mt. Roberts trail today. Ice formed since the last thaw has made it treacherous. We don’t have any problem on the climb up but I know there will be some falls during the descent. Trusting my old ice grippers, I follow Aki until we reach the place where winter still survives. While last week’s storm washed away snow from the lower mountain, it covered the upper shoulder with a couple of feet of snow. My little dog softens some with her paws so she can rub her muzzle in it.

A thick icing of snow weighs down the branches of the spruce at the tree line. Each twig is further stressed by small icicles that form prisms in the late afternoon sun. The life we temporarily left behind along Gastineau Channel rushes on. People crowd Foodland, making last minute purchases for their Christmas Dinner. Some haunt the downtown stores in hopes of rescuing their holiday morning with the perfect present. Here, on the snowy shoulder of Mt. Roberts, is the peace promised, but often not delivered by the holiday season. All we have to worry about is trail ice and the dying light.

Today could be a holiday for the two sea lions surfing off this rocky beach. While we stand in shade, slipping on frost-slick rocks, they glisten in sun. Were they resting on nearby rocks when we broke through a screen of devil’s club plants and onto the beach? Maybe they would rather be dry and asleep. Maybe they see surfing as a chore that burns off calories they need to survive another winter’s day. After a few quick glances in our direction they move around a rocky point to where they might make a bed with sun-warmed stones.

Two ducks, harlequins I guess, also surf a breaking wave. Rather then bob, letting the swell lift and drop them, these birds knife down the face of a small wave like dudes in board shorts. What possible purpose can this serve birds that must work for their living? Party on dudes.