Aki and I wander around a now-empty Mendenhall Campground. In a normal, snowy winter, cross-country skiers would be whipping past us. But this is not a normal winter. In a few months the place will be jammed with motor homes and tent campers. Today, even through it offers a chance to walk under full sun in spring-like temperatures, the campground is empty of all but the little dog and I.
Aki hunts for scent and snacks dropped by other dog walkers. I philosophize. Aki, there are two kinds of people—clumpers and loners. The clumpers gather with their kind, like those that form an ant-like line on the trail to the glacial ice cave. Loners, we like to stroll alone through beauty. Neither clumper nor loner she, the little dog ignores me. She is happy when alone with me and happy when surrounded by other dogs.
When we finally reach the Camping Cove trailhead, the poodle-mix flies out of the car. I follow her down a newly graveled trail that winds to the beach through a mature alder grove. It’s the perfect day for this walk, which takes us along beaches and over the headlands that connect them. Perfect because last night’s cold temperatures have firmed up the boggy portions of the trail. Excellent because full sun floods the beaches with light, making the surf line burn with a silver light.
It’s not all sweetness and light. The little dog disappears and then returns with a “he will never know” look on her face. In the car I smell the evidence. She rolled in something long dead. I see bath time in her near future.
My soul gaze with the water ouzel didn’t break the rhythm of its bobbing in and out of the pond water. I doubt if I had known of the stare down if not for the evidence provided by the camera while it recharged for the next photograph. While Aki, who showed no interest in the ouzel, sniffs for sign of yesterday’s dog traffic, I wonder how much more I might see if I wasn’t distracted by my camera. Minutes later the camera battery dies, allowing me to answer the question.
The little dog alerts when a Stellar sea lion splashes just below us. We hear barking. Instead of dogs it’s six more sea lions swimming up the little bay toward our lookout. They swim back and forth beneath our roost. Aki eases to the steep edge of the point and barks a couple of times. The sea lion gang members all head in our direction and stop long enough to life the top quarter of their bodies out of the water. My little dog gives out one more bark and quietly returns to my side. In another minute they are all gone, all but the merganser and the handful of gulls.
Ice holds all the moraine’s beauty today—the turquoise-blue glacier and the crystal-clear ice formed around fallen blades of grass and river rocks. An insistent-green clump of grass forces it way through a shrinking ice lens. Skunk cabbages will blossom soon.
Walking with Aki 