Sometimes things just come together.  For the first time in years, Rory and Kellee were going to be in Juneau at the same time, and they both crazily decided they wanted to have an extended visit to Snettisham.  Having taken Monday off of work to finish a 3-day boat camping trip, I decided I may as well take the rest of the week off and have a little vacation myself.  Chris and I made it home Monday night at 6:00 pm and, after showers and fish processing, I did as much packing as I had energy for.  The next day I rose early, bone tired, and ran errands, stopping by the store for perishables, the hardware store for more spar urethane, and the liquor store for beer.  At home I finished packing and loading everything, then Chris and I headed to Taku Fisheries on the way to the harbor to fill up coolers for the week (it was the peak of the sockeye run at Sweetheart).  Along with our personal gear and food for four people for six days, we had three coolers (one large one), a miter saw borrowed from my parents, and a whole load of trim for the inside of the lodge.  Thankfully, I'd done most of the prep work the week before the camping trip during lunches and in the evenings, so most of the work was done.  Among the errands that week was a trip to look for interior trim to place around the windows and doors and along the floor and corners of the lodge.  I wanted to do some comparative shopping to see what was available at different hardware stores, since there was some matching/aesthetics involved in the choice.  I started at Home Depot, figuring I'd wind up at Valley Lumber where I prefer to do business (I try to patronize local stores), but, I wasn't sure how much variety Valley Lumber would have.  Anyway, I found my way through the ridiculously large Home Depot store to the interior trim section, full of oak trim.  I'd brought a couple of hemlock boards with me and was pleased to see that the oak matched them rather well.  Just as I was starting to pull out some pieces, I realized that the trim section extended into the neighboring area, and in fact, one or two more sections after that.  So much trim!  To my surprise and delight, most of the rest of the trim was hemlock, just like my siding.  Maybe that's a pretty normal wood for trim, but I was surprised.  So I decided I wasn't going to find anything better rummaging through the considerably less user-friendly warehouses of Valley Lumber.  I sat down and started doing calculations on one of my pieces of trim to determine how many feet I'd need of each kind.  Eventually an attendant came around and measured some of the pieces for me so I knew what lengths I could work with.  I sat down again and calculated how many actual pieces I'd need, then pulled out enough of each and went in search of a cart and helper.  I found one in the vicinity of the pressure treated lumber (PT lumber inside!) so quickly decided to also purchase a 2x8x12 and a 2x8x10 to make joists for the triangular deck extension.  We loaded those up, then fetched my trim, and I checked out.  It was a marathon run, but I was very pleased with the purchase.

So Chris and I loaded all of this lumber as well as the gear to the boat.  Naturally it was low tide, so we wound up humping the boards to the boat rather than using a cart (the ramp was too steep).  The rest of the gear took about four separate cart loads, but we eventually loaded everything in, snug like a glove, and got underway around noon.  The lumber (some of which was 12' long) lay along the center of the boat, through the console hatch, and onto the bow; thankfully we could still close the center windshield over the top of it, so we were still protected.  The whole boat was packed except for a nice little cuddy for Nigel behind the driver's seat between the trim and the side of the boat.  He seemed content enough.
 
Day 1
As you can guess, I was pretty worn out by then, having just returned from a three day boat camping trip following a long week of preparation following a weekend at Snettisham, etc.  The weather was gorgeous, so naturally I had staining in mind.  Rory and Kellee were to show up the next day and I wanted to get as much done as I could before they arrived so I would feel less pressure to work while they were there.  The more I pondered it, though, the more I realized that I needed to back off my expectations.  In the end, I decided that I'd be satisfied if I stained the three stain-ready walls of Hermit Thrush and leave it at that.  Chris and I arrived and unloaded; I stuck around longer than usual to help haul the prodigious assembly of gear up to the lodge, then anchored the boat.  Lunch was the immediate need when I returned, and I set about making quesadillas....and immediately realized that I'd forgotten to bring cheese.  This is the risk I take when I over-prepare, putting all the perishables together in the refrigerator to make sure I don't forget anything...but I hadn't yet grabbed a hunk of cheese.  If I stop thinking about it, I'm bound to forget something!  I was pretty grouchy about this, but quickly realized a potential solution.  I brought out the satellite phone, discovered that (much to my surprise) I had a signal, and called Kellee (after looking up her number on my cell phone).  I started out with "Bring cheese!" which I'm not sure Kellee heard (all I got was  "Hello?"); I followed up with "It's Debbie, bring cheese, sharp cheese, and lots of it!"  But then I lost the signal.  Chris volunteered to monitor the signal while I made quesadillas from a small brick of pepper jack I'd brought for variety.  By the time I delivered his first quesadilla, I could hear him having a conversation with Kellee; he'd not only found a signal, he'd managed to learn enough about my phone to redial her number.  It was a heroic moment. 

After lunch we retreated to Hermit Thrush where Chris indulged in a nap while I got to work staining.  I normally love to paint/stain, but I was not enjoying this.  In fact, I was fuming inside and the only thoughts I could muster were of how much I disliked this task and how time consuming it was.  I was on the first coat of the eighth of sixteen walls, and they all needed two coats; six of them needed to be stripped before I could apply the first coat. The main part of this wall was tolerable, but the majority of time was taken up by crouching under the eves behind the fascia board trying to adequately cover everything, which was awkward and frustrating and resulted in lots of permanent drips down the wall.  My fuming built through the first wall until I found myself on a ladder bending at a precarious angle to reach the eves under the porch on the other side.  I was in a hurry and my ladder was not stable and I was bending too far away and.....well, the ladder fell out from under me, so I fell with a shout/moan more of frustration than alarm.  Chris came out to find me crouched on the ground with a bruised and bloody elbow, but with no other apparent damage.  He stayed for a bit and brought me some tissue, then I fell to working again.  It might have been a blessing--a stress release--because I felt a lot better from then on out.  As I continued work on the second wall I realized that my side was hurting pretty bad and lifted up my shirt to find a long, bloody scrape.  I decided to work through it and deal with it later.  It hurt for a while, but by the time I started on the back wall I could no longer feel it. 

When it was finished, I put everything away for the day and we headed back to the lodge for dinner.  At that point I felt like I deserved to relax, so forced myself to take it easy, spending the evening on the couch after making gratuitous creamy macaroni and cheese for dinner and drinking wine.  Chris had brought his laptop with a movie on it, so we snuggled in and watched "Black Cat, White Cat," a Yugoslav "romantic comedy" that was....unique.  Images of it lasted for days.

Day 2
The next morning I began a regimen that I upheld for most of the trip.  I rose at 6:30, threw on some painting clothes, and got to work.  The gorgeous weather was holding, and I wanted to get all the walls stain-ready, so I first stripped the remaining six walls one last time (this was the fifth time for these walls), really concentrating on the bad spots and scrubbing them with a nylon brush.  When that messy task was done I went down to Harbor Seal (on the point) to apply my first layer of clearcoat.  I was delighted both by how quickly it went on compared to the stain (at least twice as fast) and how easy it was to work with. It's transparent when it dries, so I had to worry less about drips and such.  As long as I covered everything, it seemed I'd be in good shape.  It looked quite lovely when I was done, too (shiny and bright).  I worked to the music of KXLL while Chris enjoyed the sunny weather on the point nearby.  I wasn't expecting to finish the cabin, but was having such luck that I pushed through the front porch and finished up just at noon, when Kellee and Rory were set to depart from town.  We rushed back to the lodge, had a snack, and waited on the porch for their arrival.  I'd chartered Jacque with Tal Air to bring them down--my favorite pilot/airline.  He landed downriver and taxied up to where we stood on the beach.  I was wearing my new chest waders in preparation and waded out to meet them (float planes draw a lot of water).  Since I was the only one with high enough waterproofing, I ferried everyone and their gear to shore, first Rory (who had to fend off the airplane when it started floating toward us with the rising tide and nearly knocked us down), then Kellee, then the gear.  We thanked Jacque and waved goodbye, then I opened up Cottonwood Cabin for the guests while Chris gathered cold drinks from the freshet.  We all assembled for a drink on the new deck in the sunshine.  The day was glorious, and Chris soon had the floaties we'd purchased in Mexico blown up and ready for use.  Rory and Kellee had a snack while Chris boldly headed out onto the river.  He floated around for about ten minutes, fighting with a stiff breeze that kept pushing him back to shore and forced him to dunk his arms in the river to paddle back out.  The water is about 47 degrees F, so this was pretty heroic!  I'd have been more inclined to join him if the breeze wasn't keeping things just a little too cool.

 While Chris warmed himself back on the deck, Rory, Kellee, and I went downriver for a kayak, new territory for Kellee and Rory.  As we paddled, we started chatting and catching up a bit, all in a line (Rory on my left, Kellee on my right).  In the middle of Kellee talking I started chuckling to myself as I realized what an absurd picture we made--three friends earnestly talking about their personal lives while rigorously paddling kayaks in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness--we should have been on a morning jog in Central Park!  The image still makes me giggle.  We passed the two or three resident loons that seem to have adopted the river (and I snapped a couple of blurry photos that suggest they were Pacific), then ran into a bit of chop at the mouth of the river.  We plowed through, turning around River Point and kayaking into greener water and a cove right around the corner.  None of us had been inside the forest there, so we ducked inside the bushes to explore.  We found a lovely forest typical of the area growing up the sides of the steep slope that backed the narrow shelf of flat land against the beach.  We followed a game trail back along the river and Rory immediately pointed out a box attached to a tree.  As far as I knew, this area should have been devoid of human activity!  The box was about seven feet off the ground nailed to the side of a tree--it was about 10" wide, 6" deep, and 12" tall, closed on all sides except the bottom.  Having just purchased one, a bat box was the only thing I could come up with.  But why there?  Who would mount such a thing in the middle of nowhere?  Puzzled, we continued over a ridge to check out the other side (no change), then retraced our steps.  This time Rory pointed out a yellow sign attached to a tree about 50 feet from the box.  It was a familiar sign, though one I've never understood.  It had the forest Service logo on top and read "Wildlife Tree" and "This tree saved for wildlife - please help to protect it" below.  The tree was long dead, devoid of branches for 50 or more feet at the bottom, the upper branches all covered in thick moss. The only thing I could think was that it was a marbled murrelet nesting tree discovered by the ADF&G biologists and subsequently marked.  However, when I emailed my friend Matt who headed that study, he had no idea.  Nor does the Forest Service office in Juneau.  Very curious! 

Back at the beach we enjoyed the sunshine for a few minutes, then launched the kayaks again and headed back around the corner, riding the current around the rocks at the edge of the cove and back to the river.  Rory and Kellee dropped me off back at the homestead and headed across the river to continue their kayak.  I took that opportunity to do something I'd been looking forward to for weeks--I finally mounted the bat box!  Apparently bats like warmth, so ideal bat box mounting areas are in full sun and protected from predators.  The best place I could think of down at Snettisham was on the fascia of the lodge porch--lots of sun and more protected from predators than nearby trees.  I can't reach the fascia from the front, so I had work from the roof.  I'd already set up the ladder at the back of the lodge (where two nails in the fascia there keep it steady).  I headed up with the box, a level, and Chris's cordless drill and scooted slowly across the peak to the front.  Because of the potential for guano, I wanted to mount the box down the side of the fascia and away from the center of the porch.  However, without tying me off to a tree on the opposite side, I quickly discovered that there was no secure way to work on the metal siding without hands to hang on, and both hands were needed to hold the box and screw it in.  So I compromised, and placed it as far down from the center as I could reach from the peak, which wasn't very far.  I'd started the screws inside the lodge, and quickly finished screwing one in (using longer screws than the box came with), then leveled the box and quickly screwed in the other screw.  I shimmied back down and admired my work.  It looked great!  That evening we had Sweetheart sockeye, chatted a bit, and turned in relatively early.

Pulling up to the beach (photo by Kellee)	Rory, Debbie, and Nigel watching Chris float (photo by Kellee)	Mystery box
Wildlife tree	Kayaks on the beach	Bat box!

Day 3
The next morning I fell out of bed at 6:30 again to continue working.  Rather than staining immediately, I decided to protect the stained walls, clearcoating first the three stained walls of Hermit Thrush, then the back walls of Mink and Cottonwood.  Kellee and Rory got up somewhere toward the end of my work, and had instant oatmeal while I finished on their cabin.  I cooked up a big batch of regular oatmeal when I got to the lodge, partly for breakfast, but mostly to supplement Nigel's dog food over the trip.  His Cushing's disease leaves him ravenous, especially when he's as Snettisham, but a few spoonfuls of oatmeal with his meals seems to fill him up a bit.  When I entered the lodge, I was delighted to find that Kellee had done the dishes.

At low tide, Rory and Kellee went for a walk upriver to the grassy point while I started staining the roof of the lodge porch.  As the cedar was still in good shape (not mildewed), this was a lower priority than the cabins, but I'd already cleaned them and wanted to get them protected again before winter too; plus, it was a task I could do and still be social, since I was right there at the lodge.  I stained about a quarter of it before lunch, then finished while Rory went for a kayak to the point towards Sweetheart Creek and Kellee and I chatted.  The shiny spar urethane looked really nice, and I was pleased to cross that lingering project off my list.  After Rory returned, we decided to go to Sweetheart Creek.  It was the peak of the season, which we'd more or less decided to avoid in order to miss the crowds of people in favor of more casual visits when we happened to be at Snettisham.  But we happened to be there then, with guests, so we decided to take a look, with the idea that we might snag our favorite point as folks were finishing up for the day or fish nearby.  We left at 2:45 with a kayak slung across the back of the Ronquil.  There were nine boats anchored up when we arrived, though fewer tenders on shore.  I dropped everyone off while I went to anchor; Chris headed immediately for the point in the off chance of its availability while Rory and Kellee waited for me at the "You're in bear territory" sign at the edge of the woods.  At least they were supposed to wait there.  I saw them head up there one minute, but turned around after anchoring to find them back at the edge of the water, and not watching me as I thought they should be.  It didn't take me long to figure out what else might have their attention--a bear.  As I approached the shore in the kayak I could hear another fisherman yelling to his group to swing wide of the salmonberries at the edge of the beach because of the bear; his dog romped by, apparently oblivious to the commotion.  Sure enough there were bushes moving and I saw a golden bear moving along in the tall grass.  Rory and Kellee had seen at least one other, possibly two other, bears (we think from other reports that it was a mother and two cubs).  They'd showed up to the left of the trail into the woods just after Chris disappeared, then crossed the trail and moved out of sight to the right.  After waiting a suitable time to make sure there weren't more bears following, we noisily entered the dense salmonberries (over head high) and headed into the woods.  Just as we broke out among the trees, Chris spotted us and ordered us to retreat.  Confused, we agreed and headed back toward the salmonberries where he caught up with us along with another fisherman.  It turns out that Chris had made it up to the edge of the point when a brown bear showed up on the trail heading in his direction.  He had no option but to back off, but whatever path he decided to take, the bear also decided to take, until he wound up back to us.  Sure enough, while standing at the edge of the berry bushes, a beautiful brownie showed up heading slowly in our direction.  We all retreated to the beach to wait it out.  Another group was there and decided to brave it; we waited, but heard nothing other than dogs barking.  By this time I was a little frustrated because I really wanted to fish!  After another five minutes or so, we decided to give it a shot (along with the fisherman Chris had picked up along the way after warning him that a bear was imminently approaching).  We crossed the peninsula without incident, breaking out on the creek's edge farther upcreek than usual to hopefully avoid the bear.  It turned out to be a good idea, as we immediately looked downriver and spotted him.  Again, the bear headed in our direction--slowly, but purposefully enough that we hastily headed upcreek and to the point. 

Of course the point was taken, and the creek was alive with fishermen; only the spots across the creek were available, but Rory and Kellee didn't have large enough boots to cross.  Chris and I climbed down along the upcreek side of the point directly across from the edge of the falls above and tried casting there.  I caught a pink and a dolly on my first cast right at the base of the falls, and one more of each species later.  Unfortunately, except for that one shallow spot, the water there was too fast to allow the net to close.  While we were down there, Rory came over with news of a bear approaching on the other side of the point.  We huddled together to await our fate; Chris saw a branch move right across the point from us (about 20 feet away), but nothing manifested.  Eventually I strolled over until I could see the bear heading back downriver to the voices of many fishermen.  Chris and I tried fishing from a rocky outcrop closer to the point and managed to cast into the calmer area in the middle of the most productive pool.  While there we talked to a woman fishing on the point.  They'd been there for about four hours and caught about seven fish.  Not great odds even at the best spot.  In the meantime, another bear showed up on the other side of the creek and tried fishing from a point there, a bi-colored bear that was losing the last of his/her golden winter fur.  I got the impression that the bears weren't having great luck fishing either, and were wandering around a little antsy.  No one seemed to be doing particularly well, so we packed up and retreated loudly to the beach.  No sockeye, but great bear encounters!  The tide was very high as we were leaving, and I managed to hit an errant rock with my prop on the way out (the beach at Sweetheart has a lot of pokey logs and rocks to avoid); two blades of my prop were bent, and one was scratched up. 

Back at the lodge we ate rice pasta with marinara sauce for dinner and played scattergories (and the loser of each round had to drink a sip of peppermint schnapps), then turned in.

Staining the lodge porch	The roof of the lodge porch, stained	Debbie and Chris on the fishing ledge (photo by Kellee)
Brown bear across the creek (photo by Kellee)	Brown bear fishing (photo by Kellee)	Sweetheart Creek (photo by Kellee)

Day 4
I woke up sleepily and thought I'd better check my watch; it was 7:00 on the dot, and I was again amazed at my internal clock.  The night before I'd decided that perhaps the next morning I could sleep an extra half hour and rise at 7:00.  Rory and Kellee were planning a big kayak adventure upriver, so I had more of the day for staining.  I stained the front of Hermit Thrush, then the back side wall of Mink; while I was finishing up there, Chris came down to tell me that Nigel had vomited on the rug in our cabin, so I headed up there, drug the carpet onto the porch, and used my hose to rinse it off.  That seemed like a good breaking point, so we headed to the lodge where Rory had done the dishes.  We all hung around the lodge together until around noon when Rory and Kellee started ramping up for their big adventure on the rising tide.  While they finished prepping, I started staining the front of Mink cabin; the high overcast of earlier had given way to partly cloudy skies and it was very pleasant in the woods.  Chris joined me and set up the radio in a tree branch for the best reception.  I stained the front, then the final side of Mink before soldiering on to the final two sides of Cottonwood while Chris moved to a sunnier spot on the point.  The radio didn't work at Cottonwood, so I stained quietly, desperate for the feeling of satisfaction I hoped would come with my final staining strokes.  The last wall, on the waterside, turned out to be one of the more difficult side walls due to its height off the ground, and I wound up with quite a bit of stain dripping onto my arms while I finished it.  At 4:00 I was finally done.  I made some gluten-free brownies while heating up some top ramen and read Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales while they baked.  I read a few more pages after they came out, then allowed myself to drift off into a blissful, well-deserved nap around 5:20.  I woke up at 7:00 to the sound of Rory and Kellee's kayaks on the shore. 

Rory and Kellee had fought sandbars all the way up the river, first because of the lowish tide, then because their route above Whiting Point (which both avoided the brisk current and was on the way to the next bend in the river) was shallow.  They made it to a spot across from the second of three waterfalls on the east side of the river, farther than I've been on kayak or skiff.  The sun came out in full force while they were there and the photos they brought back were gorgeous.  On the return trip they passed a dense concentration of seals in the current--maybe that's where they go mid-summer!  They were exhausted when they arrived and wanted something quick and simple, so I made a big batch of nachos with fresh guacamole on top and bowls of chili on the side.  After dark we saw a bat outside; Rory and Kellee went to their cabin relatively early, but Chris and I played gin for a bit, then I turned in around 11:00.

Radio in the tree	Staining Mink	Thrush eating elderberries
Rory kayaking upriver (photo by Kelllee)	Eagle tracks leading to....Rory? (photo by Kellee)	Rory draining his kayak (photo by Kellee)
The turnaround spot (photo by Kellee)	Kellee with the waterfall behind (photo by Rory)	Bat!!!

Day 5
I was back up at 6:30 on Saturday with seven walls to clear coat before I could call it quits.  I'd meant to bring everything I needed to my cabin, but forgot good shoes (I'd worn loose slip-ons the night before) and my painting hat.  While I was at the lodge I decided to wash my hair and otherwise freshen up before starting work (I usually did this after).  Then I put down visqueen on the front porch of Mink and clearcoated it, then the front side wall, then the back side wall, all the while watching for movement from Rory and Kellee, who were usually up by 8 or 8:30.  By 8:50 I was finished with Mink and still hadn't seen anything, so I quietly carried the plastic and all the other gear I needed up to Hermit Thrush and clearcoated the front of that.  When I came back down I still couldn't tell whether they'd emerged, so I peeked into the window on the back side and found Rory's cot empty and Kellee's bed full!  It seemed that Kellee had finally managed to sleep in a bit.  I figured Rory could use some quiet time at the lodge to work on the libretto for his opera, so I set to work clearcoating whatever I could on Cottonwood Cabin that would not involve a ladder or anything noisy.  I started with the corners, then the lower part of the riverside side wall, then heard Kellee's alarm go off at 9:50.  I didn't worry about being as quiet after that, and continued work.  Kellee came out and we fell into a good conversation and I convinced her to stay and chat with me while I finished first that side, then the back side, and then the front wall.  Chris came down and joined us for a few minutes before heading over to the lodge.  It was really pleasant and before I knew it, I was done.  Well, mostly done.  I discovered that I'd neglected to stain the inside of the window trim on the door, so I brought over a brush still wet with stain (stored in a ziplock for just such emergencies) and finished the morning with that last bit of staining.  It was 11:45 and I was done done done!!!!  It was a serious feeling of relief.  We mustered at the lodge where we ate some amazing hash that Rory'd made.  But, it was lunch time and I'd been working hard, so I also made myself a sandwich and ate it with OJ on the front porch; Chris made me some Russian tea and himself some cafe francais and joined me outside.  The boat was aground, but the tide was rapidly coming in, so I decided I'd better jump on that opportunity to work on the propeller while I still had access to it.  Tea in hand, I made my way down the mud flats to the boat with Chris, leatherman in hand.  I found the spare prop in the anchor cuddy and managed to get the cotter pin out of the other one, but had to go back to the lodge for a wrench to unscrew the nut (which Chris heroically managed after I gave up).  After that, swapping them out was easy and we soon had an unbent prop attached.  Rory had gone for a walk upriver and swung by the boat as we were finishing up with the off-hand comment "Is it raining?"  Sure that it wasn't, I looked around to find dimples in the water where the sprinkles were landing.  It was 12:30, 45 minutes after I'd finished staining!!  Hallelujah.

As the rain settled in, the four of us started writing a group story, passing the notebook around for each new line.  Not surprisingly, given that this was one of our more fertile topics of conversation over the course of the trip, bears formed a central theme of the story.  I'd suggested a small outdoor adventure that afternoon to explore the area uphill of the eagle's nest, but the rain discouraged that idea.  Instead we worked on firewood!  After sorting and moving the stacks of lumber back in June, we'd wound up with a large stack of wood that needed to be cut up into firewood.  I dug out my chainsaw, filled it with mixed gas and bar and chain lube, and tried to start it.  And tried and tried.  Eventually, after fuming a little and letting it sit for a bit, I got it running, but had to give it gas regularly or it would stall.  Rory and I worked on the larger pieces of wood, laying them over two saw horses and cutting short lengths of them until Rory's hands got uncomfortably close to the chain saw blade and we chickened out.  Unfortunately, this left a lot of nice lengths of wood several times too long for the wood stove.  These we threw to one side and allowed the smaller pieces to stack up satisfyingly.  While we cut the larger pieces, Chris first put the tire on the wheelbarrow (finally repaired from catastrophic bear bites), then started breaking up the smaller pieces of wood with his feet.  This proved so successful that he began breaking up the big pile of 1x4s that had lain rotten for so many years and hardly seemed worth the effort of the chain saw, and our pile continued to grow.  Once, just as I began a cut, I saw a movement above me and spotted a brown hawk fly overhead and, amazingly, land in a tree in plain sight!  Unfortunately, it only stayed a moment and then flew on through the forest.  I think it was immature goshawk due to size, color, and habitat.

When Rory and I finished cutting all the non-1x4 lumber, I asked everyone to follow me down the boardwalk for another, related project.  The enormous, sprawling Sitka alder tree in front of Cottonwood had finally died over the winter, leaving numerous snaking branches ready to be cut.  I'd trimmed a couple of them a few years before to make a small opening for the view, and hope I hadn't thereby caused its complete demise.  I like to think it was already in its twilight years; its trunk at the base was probably two feet wide.  So I dove into the bushes and carefully cut half a dozen or so branches which we hauled back to the cutting area.  Rory and I cut up the alder while Chris continued on the 1x4s.   I felt a surprising joy and satisfaction about harvesting the alder wood.  It felt akin to harvesting salmon--taking this living item that I rely on for survival from the land around me....it's hard to explain, but I'm sure immediately recognizable for anyone who's done similar.  Worn out, we lit a little fire inside and rested for a bit, then headed back out to clean up and haul load after load of firewood from the cutting area to its storage area under the porch and in the lodge.  We also broke up the rest of the small alder branches we'd left behind and stacked the boards too big for the wood stove under the currents nearby for bonfires.  We finished up with a task I've been wanting to do for years but never managed to commit the time to.  Rory, Chris, and I moved all the scrap lumber from around the four cabins back to the lumber staging area at the lodge.  Under each cabin was an assortment of short 2x8s from cutting joists, scraps of cabin logs used to pound other pieces in, bits of plywood from the floor, pressure treated remnants from building foundation feet, etc.  These have annoyed me for a long time!  Finally we dug all of them out and hauled them away with several wheelbarrow trips and also collected all the staining supplies I'd left littering the ground (gloves, brushes, newspaper, masking tape, wrappers, etc.).  Rory heroically hauled all scraps from both Hermit Thrush and Harbor Seal (the two cabins farthest away) up to Mink where the wheelbarrow could go no further.  Chris hauled the big piece of plywood that's been living behind Mink.  It was a very satisfying task, and we all wound up wet and a little grubby. 

We had a wonderful night in the lodge that evening while in continued to rain hard outside.  I admit that the rain was very welcome, having graciously held off just long enough for me to finish my task (I'd also gone back and clearcoated the inside of Cottonwood's window trim after the stain dried).  There's nothing cozier than being inside a warm cabin under a metal roof while it's raining!  Plus I thought that it boded well for a following sea on the way home the next day.  Rory made an amazing halibut dish with simmered vegetables and corn on the cob which I won't even try to describe.  We drank the bottle of Riesling my mother had brought a few weeks before that had been chilling in the creek.  It was a fabulous dinner, far and beyond anything that I might attempt.  We finished our story after dinner, talked, sang, drank, and otherwise had a great time.  Rory even regaled us with an a cappella version of Heart's Alone with backup vocals from Kellee. 

Mink fully stained	Finishing Cottonwood	Debbie and Rory cutting firewood
Stacks of firewood and bonfire wood	Rory's fabulous dinner	Firewood stacked under the porch

Day 6
I slept in.  Well, relative the rest of the week anyway!  I think I packed up and headed to the lodge around 9:30.  At the end of long trips, the last day is, unfortunately, mostly about going home.  As usual, Kellee and Rory helped with dishes while I tidied and packed up in other ways.  Since finishing staining I was finally able to board up the broken window of Hermit Thrush again, but wanted to install its hinge since it was swinging freely (something I couldn't do while it was boarded shut).  Chris and I hauled over his cordless driver, a pencil, and tape measure, and figured out where to place the latch based on the other window.  Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that the screws that came with the cabin kits all have square shaped heads and need a different kind of driver.  I went back to the lodge and found comparable screws with phillips heads and headed back; we finished up in no time and boarded over the window again.  At last, everything all put away!  Of course I'd forgotten to cover the rug that Nigel had vomited on and it had been rained on in the night, so we took that back to the lodge and laid it on the porch to dry while we were gone.  On the way, we tucked the paint tubs under the porch of Cottonwood.  Everything looked great.

After packing up we had a quick quesadilla lunch before closing up and heading out.  The boat was considerably less weighted down, though the bow was full of trash bags containing garbage, linens (including a lot of wet towels from cleaning the cabin floors after rinsing the stripper off), and recyclables.  We put a lot of gear in empty (fishless) coolers, but the day had dawned surprisingly dry and was getting sunnier by the moment.  Consequently, we went against a gentle chop from the NW heading up to Point Arden and a somewhat less gentle chop coming down Stephen's Passage on the way to Douglas.  Rory and Kellee shared a cooler in the back and were doused with periodic showers of salt spray.  On the way we saw a number of whales, at least five in the entrance of the Port (two of which allowed us nice looks), as well as several others near Grand and one at Arden.  Back at the harbor, Rory and Kellee squeezed into the back of the truck with Nigel for the short trip to my house, then hung out for a bit while we swapped photos and waited for their ride back to the real world and showers.  I think I was a little shell-shocked from the whole fabulous, exhausting week!  I did feel bad that I was so distracted by staining (and exhaustion) that I didn't participate in as many adventures or conversations with two of my best high school friends, but I needed the relief of having the whole staining nightmare behind me.  Now it could rain for the rest of my time at Snettisham this year and I could not complain!  We'd been granted a week of amazing weather and I was grateful that I could both finish staining and enjoy it with the rest of RDK, plus Chris.