View from the cabin
Taku
2013 - 1: Wildflowers
June 23-24
View from the cabin
Summers
tend to leave me ragged and exhausted by
the time my
manic adventuring ends in the fall. By July I’m able to do little more
than
recover from and prepare for the next trip. House cleaning, cooking,
gardening,
and other chores are reduced to the basics and I become more isolated
from my
friends as social events are left behind in Juneau while I cruise down
the
channel in the Ronquil. At the same time, my weekends at Snettisham the
last
few summers have felt increasingly short; Friday is over by the time I
arrive,
and much of Sunday is spent getting ready to go. If I stay on long
enough to
make a day of it down there, I get back to town so late and worn out
that
Monday morning is extra painful. I wanted this summer to be different.
I wanted
more quality time at Snettisham and more time in Juneau, and less
hecticness
over all. This may sound impossible, but I floated a promising idea by
my boss,
who quickly agreed. I would take a week off every month of the summer
instead
of my usual Friday or Monday here and there to make a long weekend.
That way I
could spend that week (or much of it) at the homestead, which would not
only
increase my productivity there, but allow me to take my time, relax,
and
explore in a way I am generally too rushed to do. At the same time,
this
dedicated time meant that I wouldn’t have to rush down there every
weekend; I
could spend more time exploring elsewhere (e.g., Icy Straight),
camping, maybe
even hiking around Juneau, not to mention socializing more and
generally
enjoying summer in town.
May came and went and the week never really
manifested. June
was a very busy month at work, and as it ticked by (with every weekend
spent at
Snettisham) I finally buckled down and asked for my week off—the only
week I
could be away from work. Unfortunately, it didn’t exactly work as
expected. My
boat sat at the welder’s shop waiting for repairs, which were
continuously
delayed until they finally told me to just take it somewhere else just
as my
week off was to start. Thankfully, there was something to make up for
that
sorrow;
my parents were planning to spend Saturday through Monday up the Taku
to open
up the cabin, and I could join them. Then Saturday morning came with a
resounding defeat. My hawk Monalisa (a Juneau Raptor Center education
bird) had
apparently hurt her wing a few days earlier; other than the feathers
and a
little blood on her wrist (which is a chronic issue), there didn’t
appear to be
any damage, so I had waited. But, she showed no interest in food and,
after
several days fasting, I decided I’d better take her to the vet. My
parents, who
were themselves not anxious to leave town, postponed the trip. An x-ray
revealed nothing, a blood sample was taken, and we were sent home with
instructions to force feed her liver. Her crop full, we returned Mona
to her
mew. By the next day she was eating again and we were free to leave
town.
And so we took off around noon, fueling up at
Petro Marine in
the sunshine before heading down the channel. Having spent so much time
down at
Snettisham recently, I wasn’t as frustrated as I was to become later in
the
summer (though I’d not made much work progress there yet), and was
happy to
head up the Taku. I’m writing this now in October, having apparently
forgotten
to write this trip report at the time, so I’ve probably forgotten many
details,
but I’ll do the best I can. We pulled up to the anchorage, unloaded our
gear,
and tied up the boat. I recall that my parents were frustrated that
they
couldn’t identify the line attached to the anchor out in the channel,
which I
thought we’d tied to a tree on the bank the previous fall. We walked up
the cabin, my folks
removed
the piece of plywood screwed over the entrance of the shed lean-to, and
quickly
started the 4-wheeler inside. Its newly upholstered seat secured in
place (a
naughty bear had munched on it the previous summer), we hauled the rest
of our
gear to the cabin and took a quick break. My mom and I were pleased to
see that the
inside of the cabin looked just as tidy as we’d left it in March.
As usual, I was eager to get to work. After getting the propane
appliances
working and the ladders off the porch, we set to work putting together
the water
pump system. This involves connecting a long pipe (about 4’) between
the top of
the well and the water pump itself, then priming the pump and starting
it up so
we could fill the water tank. I hadn’t been involved in any of this
before, so
I was there to learn and help out. The pipe connected to the well pipe
easily
enough, but connecting to the water pump was a little trickier. We
scavenged up
some grease to smear on the threads, then struggled to fit the pipe
fitting on the
water pump perfectly with the longer pipe. Once butted up against each
other,
my mother and I tightened the connection using two large pipe wrenches.
The
connections have to be air tight or apparently the system will suck air
and
fail to pump efficiently. After our first attempt, we did get the pump
running,
but the water pressure was poor so my dad told us to take it apart and
try
again. This proved to be our downfall. One final turn of the fitting
was too
much and we stripped the threading, or otherwise damaged the seal.
Although we
got the pump running and water coming out, the pressure was not good
enough to
make it all the way to the water tank on the back porch and we
disassembled it
to be replaced in town. The mosquitoes were absolutely ferocious,
perhaps the
worst I’d ever seen, and our clothes were matted with them. It was
clear we’d
all be using a lot of deet over the stay.
So it wasn’t an auspicious start, and I felt bad,
as it was
my final turn of the connection that did it. Thankfully we did have
enough
fresh water on hand to make it through the stay. My folks wanted to
work on
getting the mower and the generator started, so I took my leave to
explore
upriver. The day was spectacular—clear skies and hot sunshine, and the
flowers
were madly blooming. The whole front lawn was white with strawberry
flowers
facing the sun, interspersed with chocolate lilies. I’d been barefoot
on most
of my summer adventures so far, and had been barefoot since being on
the boat
that morning. Though my feet were still fairly new to the experience
and I
didn’t know how they’d handle the sweet gale thickets and tall grasses
of the
marshy meadows, I went upriver barefoot and with no backup plan. The
ground, it
turns out, was fairly yielding for the most part, and the wet areas
were
surprisingly unprickly.
I followed the trail we’d built the summer before
up to my
meadow, then cut back to what used to be the edge of the meadows toward
the
mountain (but is now grown up in young spruces) where a trail once cut
through
the forest along the river to the meadows above. 
Knowing
it no longer
really
existed and not wanting to fight the forest, I cut through the edge of
the
trees into the marshes, pushing my way through chest high grasses and
waste
high brush over the sloughs and the moraine hills, all
surprisingly grown
up. One area beneath a thicket of Sitka alders showed no sign of
greenery. One
or more bears had defecated repeatedly there and nearby was a large
patch of
icy snow. Given the heat of the day (and many previous days) and the
fact that
it was nearly July, I was surprised to still find snow. Cailey and I
were both
very hot.
I kept my eyes and ears out for birds along the
way; as
quietly and unobtrusively as I tried to go, I’m afraid we were both
helplessly
noisy in the brush and managed to disrupt one unhappy robin and quite a
few
Lincoln’s sparrows. We also saw and heard yellow warblers, which was a
delight
as I was in the process of trying to distinguish the calls of the
warbling
warblers and had few yellows in Juneau to process. I eventually made my
way to
my birch tree and sat nearby for a few minutes before moving behind it
and
leaning against a boulder while I waited for the resident sparrow to
quiet.
Poor
Cailey was suffering from the heat and thirst
(few of
the sloughs had enough water in them for a good drink), as was I. I
eventually
stripped down to underwear, and wandered through the meadows back to
the edge
of the forest upriver of the cabin before dressing again. It did take a
little
extra deet to survive, but the coolness felt wonderful. There was no
evidence
that any vehicle from the lodge had been through recently and I figured
I’d
hear them coming long before they saw me anyway.
Instead of circling back through the meadows, I decided to cut straight through the forest by the river, hoping to find some space between the older spruce trees where the underbrush had died out as it had around the cabin. This turned out to be a difficult and uncomfortable trek in which I was constantly ducking spruce branches that caught at my hair, squeezing between alders, tiptoeing through groves of devil’s club, and sometimes doing all three at the same time. To make matters worse, Cailey found a particularly aromatic pile of bear poop and rolled in it, which smelled so unpleasant that I didn’t want her anywhere near me. The experience inspired me to get started on a trail upriver. My feet survived and even enjoyed the experience and I felt it was a milestone on the road to toughening them up. The only really unpleasant part was the dry spruce needles I was stepping on in the forest, but even that was tolerable.
When I got back I gave Cailey a
makeshift bath
by dumping pots of river water on her from a jug my mother had filled,
shampooing, and rinsing her off again. She did not relish the
experience. I’m
afraid I remember little else about the evening.
 Dad fueling the Kathy M |
 Cailey enjoys the ice we pick up in front of Taku Glacier |
 Some bear(s) frequented this place |
 Narcissus anemone |
 Cailey seeks shade |
 Field of chocolate lilies |
Before breakfast, I went to work on the outhouse hole, finishing it in about 45 minutes. My mother and I had chosen a likely site about 10 feet from the original location and facing the cabin. Later in the morning I helped my mom secure the engine to the riverboat using the aluminum tripod system she'd designed for that purpose. I also managed to spend a few minutes at the edge of the river on the huge log tied there, basking in the sun and watching the river go by. A small sandpiper fluttered down the beach and Cailey played with sticks at the water’s edge. The morning paased too quickly and we had to catch the tide in the early afternoon, so I reluctantly left the river to load up. The trip back was beautiful and uneventful, and I was glad to have made it up the river.
 The site of the new outhouse hole |
 The outhouse hole |
 The tripod for mounting the engine |
 Strawberries (white), columbine (red), and lilies (brown) |
 Looking upriver |
 Sleepy dogs on the way home |
