Slim Slice of Icy Beauty

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The little dog and I were driving to a quite little lake hike trailhead, hoping that the skies would open, as promised by the weather service, for at least an hour or two. Fog and low clouds hugged Gastineau Channel as we headed out the road. Ten miles north, the morning sun was powering through clouds and fog and striking the glacier. When we identified this magnificent December gift, we drove there.. 

            On times like this, I always wonder if the 14-year-old poodle mix can see as far as the glacier flowing out of sharp-peaked mountains. She keeps her nose glued to a trail that will eventually lead her to a handful of dog food dropped during a recent rain storm. That’s her idea of a perfect poodle holiday gift. Sun reflecting on tiny sections of flat-calm water makes her squint. 

            We cross two small streams and continue down a snow-covered beach. Aki gets frustrated about how many times I stop to take pictures of the lake, the glacier, and the surrounding mountains. Then I stop to take another photograph of Mt. McGinnis and find it hidden in fog. So are the other mountains and the glacier. Maybe, if the lake ice was strong enough to support the little dog and I, we could walk through the growing wall of fog and see all that sunny beauty again. But I have proof in camera of the gift of almost too-rich beauty we already received this Christmas Eve. 

Over Confidence

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“Crap.” I should have taken the little path around the flooded part of the wooden trail. But my feet were protected by rubber boots. Only a few inches of dark water covered the plank trail. Piece of cake. Then things were very wrong.

            Passage over the first part of the walk filled me with too much courage. While Aki had had to be carried over flooded sections of the forest trail, my rubber boots kept me dry. Then we had to cross an icy meadow trail to the beach. But we managed work arounds so man and dog made it safely to the ocean. I could relax and think about the dozen sea lions we watched feed as we drove to the trailhead. We were circling back through the forest to the car when things got very wet. 

            Once, Aki and I could have easily walked over a now-flooded wood trail. When she reached it, the little poodle-mix took the rough work-around path that requires us to squeeze through drenched blue berry brush. Aki had already finished the side path by the time I had reached the sunken part of the wooden trail. To show off, I continued down the trail, trusting my boots to stay on the submerged trail planks. Less than a foot from the finish, my right foot slipped off the trail and dropped into a deep, mucky pool. Water filled the boot and soaked my jean leg. After watching the drama, Aki turned and trotted toward the car. 

A Last Little Present

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The parking lot for every trailhead is full this morning. It makes me wonder if most of hikers in Juneau are linked via their phones to a fancy app. A flat, gray sky hangs over the oceans, and cuts off views of the mountain sides. Today’s high tide chokes off the trailside beaches. We do pass a small gang of sea lions but no one is stopping to watch them.

            We drive to the end of the North Douglas Highway and are happily surprised to find the parking lot for the Peterson Creek trail empty. Knowing what to expect, I slipped grippers onto the souls of my hiker boots. They made it possible to walk down a narrow, ice covered plank trail without slipping. 

            Sunshine broke through the clouds just before we reached a small beach. It lacked the power to clear the skies. But enough holes in the sky appears to deliver drama. On the way back to the car, I found a single, red-ripe cranberry still clinging to its evergreen mom. Since nobody was around to talk me out if it, I picked the little berry and swallowed it. My last Christmas present?

Valuable Slices of Sun

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This morning, while I was finishing up my morning cup of coffee, a stray streak of sunlight lit up the middle of Gastineau Channel. Before it died, the sunlight hit a few of the spruce trees growing on the side of Mt. Juneau. I managed to take a few pictures of the sun struck spruce before they all faded back to subtle green. Twenty minutes of unexpected sun is always enough to get a rainforest guy through a stormy day.

            In an hour or so, Aki and I started to enter the Treadwell Woods. Recent rain and above-freezing weather has cleared most of the trails. But a slick slip of ice covered the trail. The little dog and I slipped our way down to Sandy Beach. I expected eagles but saw only ducks, all hunting in shallow water near to the beach edge. 

Irish Tea

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Before sifting through today’s photographs, I put the kettle on to boil and drop a bag of Barry’s Irish Breakfast Tea into a mug. Then I start the music from the Chieftains first album playing on the stereo. Aki follows me around the kitchen after the water boils. Something about the smell of Irish tea raises her expectations for treats.

Most Americans wait until St. Pat’s day in March to connect with their Irish roots. They drink more whiskey or beer then, rather than good cups of the Irish tea. This time of year, they prefer coffee drinks laced with peppermint or eggnog. But the Daughters of Mary and Joseph who ruled my grammar sky in Los Angeles, missed their Irish families most in December. They shared their dreams about the joys of Christmas in Cork. Maybe that is why I asked the little poodle mix to walk with me around the little Sheep Creek delta on this late December day.

Small rafts of Mallard ducks were hammering the shallows when we arrive at the delta. At first I took them for scattered rocks. They must be capturing the baby salmon that try to leave fresh for salt water each fall. Even more birds fish in the creek or along the shallow edge of the beach. They don’t care about Aki or I, just about each other. A few gulls even make low surveillance flights over our heads. Suddenly shafts of strong and clear white fill the sky over Gatineau Channel, looking like bright light escaping the room where a good mother just gave birth to a must-loved Christmas child.

Surprising Splashes of Light

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The temperature has stayed above freezing for several days and nights. Such a winter let down often occurs when a cold weather snow storm hammers the east coast of the United States. That’s what happened this week. In Juneau, if you drive more than 20 miles north of town, you can often ski there. We did that yesterday even though we had a good chance of being hammered by rain. This morning, the sky was temporality dry. But our weather app was predicting the return of snow. We grabbed Aki and our ski gear and headed out to the Mendenhall Campground. 

            Heaps of soft snow covered the campground. But thanks to work done by the groomers, the ski trail was solid. In fact, it was still icy. Aki’s other owner and I had spent more than 10 years skis cross country skiing down wind-pounded paths in Bush Alaska so today’s Mendenhall path should be a piece of frozen cake. 

            I didn’t expect any decent views of the glacier or its surrounding mountains. But the lower clouds lifted and pulled apart to allow shafts of morning sunshine to light up parts of the ski trail. Clouds would soon bury the sunshine with blankets of grey. For half-an-hour, we could suck up the sunshine.

Beating Back the Rain

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Aki’s other human and I planned a cross country ski adventure for today. But heavy rain was hammering our windows when we woke up. I thought there might be enough snow on a Mendenhall Lake trail for us to sneak in a trip before the rain melted it away. But that trail is reserved for cross country ski racers. 

            Unless we want to pay a high fee to use the commercial ski trail, we will have to drive north to Eagle Beach. After breakfast, we dropped Aki into the car and then loaded in the skis. Even the little dog was wet from the rain that hammered us while loading the car. In a half-an-hour, we humans parked next to the Eagle River and slapped on skis. 

Rather than being washed away by last night’s rain, a layer of still thick snow covered the trail. Our skis slide easily down the trail over snow we would have punched through if just traveling in boots. We enjoyed traveling through the still snowy woods, not bothered by the layer of low clouds that hid most of the mountain peaks and all the blue sky.  

Gifted by the Storm

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If the weatherman hasn’t been fooled by nature, Juneau is about to be snowed in today. Such a prediction can create panic in large Northern cities. Here in the Alaskan rainforest, people just accepts each snow storm as it comes.

            Aki and I don’t need to leave our home neighborhood to find snowy beauty. It hangs like Christmas decorations from every house or spruce tree. The low blanket of snow clouds hide most of Gastineau Channel and all of the mountain ridges. Aki takes every opportunity to read the scent trails. I take advantage of the resulting delay to appreciate the little beauties of mining ruins and rusty cars trimmed with pure, white snow. 

Holiday Snow

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This forest is normally a little shelter from the storm, protected by the walls of trees and a thick canopy of spruce needles. Usually, Aki and I can pass through without being soaked. Today, a cold winter storm almost buried tree branches with snow, bending down evergreen limbs. Usually, the minute the temperature rises in the woods, snow sluffs off the tree branches, letting them snap back into place. Not today.

It’s warm enough this morning for the tree to shed last night’s snow. But white stuff still holds on to the smallest branches. I have to duck and dive my way down the trail to the sea. It all becomes more clear when I snatch some snow from a little spruce limb. It holds the same shape it had when attached to the tree branch as I slide it into my thirsty mouth. Last night rain fell and then mixed with the snow. The rain drops froze as they combined with the snow, helping it cling to exposed trees.

Sweet Surprise

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The last weather report I read predicted a heavy snow storm. But instead of spending the morning shoveling snow, I mosey around Downtown Juneau hunting for places where the sunshine is burning through heavy fog. It’s a surprising little gift from nature before the snow storm begins a big dump on the state’s capital.

Nature is imposing a price for sharing beauty. Sub-freezing temperatures cover the streets and sidewalks with slick ice. But my boot cleats make it safe to drop down to the Alaska State Museum where sunshine, weakened by thinning fog, is reflected in the in the museum windows. In a few minutes we reach the Egan Expressway, which borders Gastineau Channel. Just this side of the channel, I spot a raven snacking on something tasty. With its back to me, the raven stops eating. It looks down channel where sunlight from the rising sun powers through the clouds.

The sun finally breaks through the clouds as we head back up the hill to home. It casts big, dark shadows onto the snow-covered sidewalk while making the colorful houses on Main Street sparkle.