Slim Stretch of Sun

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The sun rose this morning over Gastineau Channel at 8:30 A.M. No clouds hide it. Where not blocked by houses or office buildings, the sunlight made the ice-covered walkways sparkle. Thankfully, I noticed this before leaving the house with Aki. I was wearing ice grippers when we started down the hill towards the channel.  

            The sun hung like a Christmas light above the Douglas Island Mountain Ridge as the little dog and I crossed Egan and headed toward the channel. I wanted to hurry there but Aki refused to rush ahead and fail to check out all the smells. Eventually, we make it to the whale statue just as the sun was about to drop behind the ridge. It was 10:15 A.M. it disappeared.

Flocked by New Snow

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Before heading over to the Gastineau Meadows Trail, I had to shovel away several inches of snow from our driveway. There might be more on the trail so I slipped my ice grippers into a jacket pocket. The sun was only a few inches above the Douglas Island ridge when we started the drive. It rarely rises more above the ridge this close to our shortest day of the year.

            Two ravens are waiting for us when we reach the trailhead. One clings to the snow-covered branches of an alder tree, its pure-black body standing out against the flanks of Mt. Juneau. The ravens fly just in front of us as we head up the trail, then stop just before we can see Mt. Jumbo. They will be waiting at this spot when return from our swing through the meadow.

            Thirty minutes later we reach the meadow. The sun has already disappeared behind Mt. Juneau even though dusk will last for three more hours. I often wonder why naturalists haven’t named this place “Dusk” rather than given it the name of an early explorer. 

A Good Snow

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“Aki. How long has it. Been since snow whitened our street?” The little dog ignores the question. She’s too busy following a new scented trail. We are heading towards sea level where this time of winter the lights along the cruise ship dock are always burning. 

            There is no wind to confuse the snowflakes. The resulting white cloud softens the abrupt edges of office buildings. It feels like we are trapped in a rich person’s snow globe. 

            The usual cloud of ravens is waiting for us when we arrive on the dock. A few minutes ago, Aki threw on the brakes so I am carrying her in my parka-covered arms. This seems to have upset the ravens, who circle around us a few times before gathering around a snow covered tree. Some seemed to be flirting. Others pouting. One roosts high in the tree to resolve any disputes. 

Winter Gift

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Early this morning, while crouching next to our kitchen heater, waiting for the coffee pot to finish its waking magic, a local radio announcer promised listeners a day of wind, rain and snow. 

For three hours I expected first snow, then rain to blur our house windows. But the sun flooded the neighborhood, making spruce trees throw shadows onto the moss-covered roof across the street.  We might just have enough time to walk to the mouth of Fish Creek while the sun still lit up the glacier and mountains rising on the other side of Fritz Cove. 

            This close to the shortest day of the year, much of Douglas Island sits in gray light. But on clear winter days, unblocked sunlight brightens the snow covered mountains on the mainland, making them almost too bright to view from Fish Creek. 

            The little dog and I walk across a creek bridge still slick with winter ice and cruise through a grey forest towards Fritz’s Cove. Normally, I’d be frustrated by the flat, dull light and the lack of birds. I’d be aggravated that we can hear the cries of hidden eagles and another bird of prey but not see them.  But when we reach a spit that offers views of the glacier reflected in the creek waters, the absence or presence of birds no longer seems to matter. 

Aki Doesn’t Forget When it Was Dangerous

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“There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
Long before the white man and long before the wheel…”

Gordon Lightfoot’s Canadian Railroad Trilogy

As Aki and I moved up Basin Road and cross the old wooden road bridge, I feel like we are almost entering wilderness. Behind us, a string of old miner’s homes line the road that in a few minutes would take a hiker past 100-year-old churches to Downtown Juneau. Ahead is a gravel road lined by a deep creek valley on one side and a steep, tree covered slope on the other. Mount Juneau seems to be climbing out of the creek. Two strong streams flow down the mountain side to dump into Gold Creek.

You can barely hear the creek today. Only a raven’s croak breaks the true silence. Years ago, mining trucks hauled gold ore down this wide trail. You wouldn’t be able to hear the trucks over the sound of ore crushers that operating 24 hours a day. Later water blasters reduced the valley to gavel rubble to get the last hidden grains of ore to market. The signs of such attacks on nature are just hidden beneath layers of new growth.

We take a little footbridge across Gold Creek and start downstream on the old flume trail. A channel under the trail still carries water from Gold Creek to a small hydro plant on the edge of the old Native community. Aki throws on the brakes shortly are we head down the flume. Fifteen years ago, she smelled a bear walking up the trail. Even though she has chased many of them away while walking other trails, she froze when she smelled the Gold Creek bear. Each time we start the flume trail I hope she will have a change day and keep moving at me side. But each day, including this one, I have to carry her to the trail’s end. The little poodle still honors that powerful bear. 

Caught by the Storm

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A tiny golden eye duck, female, the size of a very young one, moves slowly across a small river inlet.  Then a bald eagle flies over the little duck, starts to dive on it, then flies off. 

Neither Aki or I will see another bird. They have all taken shelter from the rising storm. A little sunlight works though the cloud layer then disappears. When the storm arrives we turn back to the car, already wet from the new rain.

Getting a Brief Brake in the Weather

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Last week more than five inches of rain fell here. We probably received another five inches in the last three days. Aki and I dressed in our best rain dear and headed out to Auk Rec Bay. I hope the forest will protect us from the rain. 

            We don’t need any protection when we arrive at the trailhead. The grey skies aren’t dropping any rain. It almost makes me shout joy. I don’t. I might be tempting the rain to return. 

            The beach is almost empty of pups and their people. Maybe this is why tight knots of surf scoters and Barrow golden eyes work the surf line. In seconds, one of the groups disappears by diving into the water. Seconds later the ducks pop back up, tiny fish already settling into their stomachs. They the heavy rain returns. 

Eagles Seem Fine With the Rain

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Rain but no wind driving it. Hoping that the wind isn’t about to rise, Aki and I head over to Sandy Beach. The forest we must pass through to reach the beach should protect us from being washed away by the rain.

            We work our way through the woods. I’m grateful that the rain has washed the trail clean of ice or snow. The rain has also powered up the normally puny streams and filled a half-filled pond. The last time we were here, ice covered it. 

            We see no birds or animals in the woods. But a soaking-wet bald eagle is eating something on to roof of an old mining vent. It turns around to get a good look at the dog and I. Is it expecting me to deliver some tasty dessert?   

Bad Weather, Good Views

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My last post described the minor adventure Aki and her human family had walking toward the glacier. When not checking out deposited dog scents or playing tag with a Jack Russell terrier, she guarded and tried to guide her people. She stayed on station even as rain soaked her fur. Today, I want to explain why I found the wet and gray landscape beautiful enough to enjoy the walk even if the dog stayed home, warm and dry.

            City, farm or dessert people should be blown away, like an old rain forester, by yesterday’s pure-white clouds as they slow danced across the face of a mountainside of Sitka spruce? They would have enjoyed looking at our snake of blue glacier ice slip between mountains to touch the lake? I know they would miss the appearance of full sun against winter-blue sky. I do. But they’d appreciate the more subtle beauties? 

            I am saddened by how the string of warm, wet days have reopened the glacier’s lake by melting away covering ice. It also melted almost all the snow that just last week decorated the glacial forest. But now all eyes will be drawn to the parts of the lake now reflecting mountain peaks and the glacier’s blue-green river of ice.  

After the Storm

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I wasn’t even sure why we drove out here. For days, inches of rain slammed the rainforest. Six people from a nearby village disappeared when muddy landslides hammered their little town. No one died in Juneau but there were some close calls. 

            When we left the parked car, Aki’s other human and I were expecting more snow or rain to fall. The just finished storm melted the lake ice, which surprises us. So does the absence of wind that would otherwise prevent the lake surface from reflecting the glacier and its surrounding mountains. 

            Slick ice still covers most of the glacier trail. I’d fall often if I wasn’t wearing ice cleats  until we leave the main trail to walk onto an ice free peninsula. I thought that we were the only users until Aki stumbles onto a tiny Jack Russell dog and its human owner. After the sniffing each other, the dogs tear around us, taking turns chasing and barking. Later, they will ignore each other when we meet on another icy section of the trail. They just lead their human charges slowly back to their cars.