Like a Red Red Rose

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While Aki dashes off to investigate a pee mail message, I stop to study what looks like a red rose growing at the end of a willow branch. The rose is formed by willow leaves, not flower pedals, changing from green to an autumn red.  

            Last spring, after the winter snow melted but before willow buds burst, a female willow gall midge laid an egg at the tip of the willow branch. A wormy little grub emerged from the egg and burrowed into a willow bug and started feasting on the new green bud. Rather than unfurling,, leaves from the bud morphed into the shape of a rose flower. 

            Shafts of sun break through cloud cover to brighten the reds in the willow rosette and the rosette growing at the tips of the surrounding willow branches. I feel like we are in a rose garden, not standing at the edge of a willow-lined pond that was formed when beavers dammed a small stream. 

            By turning around, I could see a reflection of a glacier in Mendenhall Lake. I could watch a merganser sunning itself on an offshore rock. I could study Nugget Falls or take in the flight of a kingfisher. Those are natural things. Their presence doesn’t surprise anyone. So I can’t turn my back on these red, red willow rosettes.

Bad Bear

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Yesterday morning we were mugged by a bear. It’s was the pleasant, perhaps too casual bruin that we caught a few days before shaking apples out of our tree. Yesterday, it toppled over our wheelie bin and cheery-picked our garbage. Then he strolled away, swaying from side to side as he headed towards the next garbage bin.

            After sampling our garbage, the bear walked right past our neighbor’s bin. Later I learned that she fills it on the morning of trash day with kitty litter. After the bear walked on, she dropped in the real garbage.

            This morning the bear has moved on to a neighborhood this is having its scheduled garbage day. We are left to skirt piles of bear poo and pick up scraps that it left behind. I can’t get too mad at the culprit. Since the local berry crop failed and few salmon made it to the downtown spawning stream, they are forced to search our garbage for the sustenance they will need to hibernate through the winter. 

Time for Gulls

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It is hard this morning to find a parking place near the Sheep Creek delta. The tiny parking lot is full. Both sides of the road are lined with parked trucks. We find a place to put our car on the southern side of the creek. The guys who parked the trucks are fishing for silver salmon on the Gastineau Channel shore. They are only outnumbered by gulls. 

            The last time we visited the delta, eagles greatly outnumbered humans. Only two guys tried their luck at fishing. Dozens of eagles ripped flesh from spawned out salmon.  This morning there is only one eagle perched above thousands of gulls. The birds wade in the stream or hover on the exposed gravel, all waiting for pink salmon to die.

            One gull screams at a small female pink salmon as the fish rolls on the beach. After minutes of flopping, it goes still, letting the gull start its feast. Newly arrived pink salmon power their way up the stream. Some males with grotesque humps, try to shove each other off the spawning ground. The gulls keep watching. They will watch until the spawning is done and the dying begins. 

Messy Eaters

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This morning, the weather offered little promise for good photographs or even a decent walk. Wind whipped raindrops around the yard as the little dog and I headed to the car. We drove out to the old Tlingit village site where an old growth forest offered some protection from the storm.

            It was almost cozy in the woods but inclement on the spit we had to pass over to reach Point Louisa. Three guys in heavy weather gear fished for silver salmon on the spit. Just off shore several harbor seals had more success harvesting salmon. 

            At the end of the spit we ducked into a sparce forest before reaching the point. On the other side of the woods we watched a trio of harlequin ducks sped across the water, heading toward Favorite Passage. A minute later they reversed course and returned to Auk Bay. 

            A loud croak made me look away from the ducks to where two Stellar sea lions seemed to be cuddling in the small waves. Another sea lion shot its head out of the water with a salmon in its jaws. It flung its head back and forth, trying to break the fish’s spine. Several gulls soon arrived to pick up the scraps flying from the sea lion’s mouth. They know that sea mammals are messy eaters. 

A Magic View

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We are enjoying the end of a high energy storm. Just an hour ago it was hammering the Treadwell Woods with rain. Some of it hangs on the leaves of cottonwood trees or drips onto the trail. When Aki and I leave the woods, the wind flings scattered drops of it into our faces. 

            A merlin, one of our tiniest birds of prey, clings to the roof of the old mine shaft ventilator. As I try to wipe rain drops off my camera lens, the merlin flees down the beach and lands on the top of a ruined wharf piling. 

            When I raise my camera to photograph the merlin, a plastic poop bag flies out of my pocket and flutters down the beach. If I take my picture of the bird, the bag may fly out into the channel. If the seconds that it takes to grab the bag, the bird moves. I search without success for the merlin and then take pictures of other ruined pilings on the off chance that the bird is perched on top of one.

 Sunshine breaks through the clouds hanging over the east end of Gastineau Channel. I give up my search for the merlin and walk towards the drama. When we get home and I check through the photos, I find one of the merlin staring at me from atop a piling.   

Spiritual Beings?

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Offshore, a bald eagle stands with his lowered, as if in prayer. I know this is done in response to a heavy shower that soaking the eagle, Aki and I. But seeing it makes me wonder whether animals have a spiritual component in their lives. 

            Eagles are too practical for religion. They are always looking for their next meal. But Aki, who never has to worry about food, has the time to reflect on the meaning of life. 

            Further down the beach, a belted king fisher lands on a rounded rock. Feisty little dudes like him could benefit from a broader perspective. They could be mother nature’s cops. The rain seems to have taken the starch out of this kingfisher. Rather than buzz off the competition, it lowers its head and watches a clutch of gulls snatch baitfish from nearby water.  

Repurposing

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While Aki pees, I study a collection of rubber boots. Once children wore them for splashing through puddles or crossing shallow streams. Now leaky with rot, they’ve been turned them into flower planters and set in a line on the top of a fence rail. As the little dog drags me toward the next good smell, I wonder if the parents of the booted children couldn’t bear to say goodbye to the used up footwear. Do the purple flowers poking out of the tops of camouflage wellingtons remind them of a four-year-old’s laughter.

            Excited by the unexpected appearance of the sun, Aki and I walk to the shore of Gastineau Channel, were the sculpture of a breaching humpback whale points to the blue sky. Two women with masks circling their necks talk while sitting in chairs six feet apart. A salmon seiner motors past them as it heads down channel to Taku Inlet. 

            We use the sea walk to reach the mouth of Gold Creek, passing a small gathering of homeless men. The men face the sun. No masks circle their necks or hang from one of their ears. But they laugh with the joy of children splashing through puddles or adults whose faces are almost always wet with rain.

Empty Summer

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The rain is trying to wash away all signs of summer from Downtown Juneau. I wonder if it makes Aki worried. She may not finish her catalogue of dog smells before they all wash away.The little poodle-mix keeps her nose to the cement as I wait in the rain.

            Most of the flowers have gone to seed. Ruby colored thimble berries have replaced their white flowers. Rain drops hang from purple monkshood and orange nasturtiums. But low clouds block any view of the mountains. 

            Even on such a dreary day, in a normal August, Downtown Juneau would be packed with cruiseship tourists. It’s empty this morning. There is no one posing outside the Lucky Dog Saloon. No one is queuing up for whale watching tours or helicopter rides to a glacier. Just two downtown workers walk down the cruiseship dock, carrying orders of Philippine barbeque from Bernadettte’s.   Last night, someone must have stumbled out of a bar and wrote “Be Happy Again” in a space on the Before I Die sign.

Time for the Little Guys to Shine

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Most walks this summer, have offered chances to watch some of the rain forest stars. Today, the little dog and I will see whales and eagles. But the lesser known actors will shine today. 

            We start out crossing a tidal meadow animated with tiny frogs. Each amphibian is less than an inch across. Alaska’s severe winters make the state a discouraging place for amphibians. But, perhaps thanks to global climate change, we are seeing a lot more frogs this summer. 

            The other little guy that got my attention was a huge dragon fly. The insect looked as large as a swallow as it cruised over the meadow grass. Later I will watch an iridescent-blue dragonfly bounce past. But this one looked dulled by camouflage armor. It landed on a stalk of grass and froze in place. I waited for the sun to punch through the clouds and make the dragonfly’s wings sparkle. But it doesn’t cooperate. Still, I am thankful that the dragonfly holds on to the grass stalk long enough for one good photo. 

Mountain Berries

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This late in the summer, we need to head into the mountains to find ripe berries. That’s why the little dog and I are searching the edge of a mountain meadow for blues. A pair of Stellers’ jays complain about our presence and them move fifty meters away. When they stop squawking, we can hear the chirp-like call of a ptarmigan. 

            We will never spot the ptarmigan but do find small, but well-endowed caches of blue berries. Most are large and plump with juice. Some are shaped like little balloons. A few are home to worms that will abandon their berries after we dump our harvest into a mixing bowl of salt water.             

            This is one of my favorite times to cross a mountain meadow. Many of the berry plants display the reds and yellows of autumn. A choice few take on an almost lavender shade. It’s easy to spot the blue berries hanging on plants already in the end game that comes before the fall monsoons.