Taku 2013 - 3: Harvest
August 11-13

Crowberries

(This story begins in the previous trip report from Snettisham). I tied the Ronquil to the beach just above the Kathy M, adding a loop attached to the stern to a log upriver so the two boats didn’t bump into each other. I walked up to the cabin, woke my parents up from a nap, and fetched the 4-wheeler to bring up my unusually large load up (including the cooler full of fish). My parents held off dinner for a bit so I could dominate the counter filleting my catch. It wasn’t my best work--I blame the poor lighting, but really I was just hungry and in a hurry! I put everything in the fridge and gorged myself on my mother’s bison tacos. After dinner, she started the generator and I vacuum packed the catch (she’d also been kind enough to bring my vacuum packer from town in case I caught any fish). Will my portions in the freezer, I relaxed and went to bed early.

Heading toward Taku Inlet	Cailey takes in the air	Taku Glacier
Cailey watches the bank	The riverbank below the cabin	Sweetheart sockeye

Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were not so kind and I was wakened repeatedly. It was like they were spawning somewhere nearby; sensing the death of one mosquito, another was sent to the fray as soon as I’d finally fallen asleep again. I read for a while in the middle of that night as well. And so when I got up at 8:15 I was not particularly energetic or well-rested. And, apparently we’d run out of propane and water in the middle of the night, so I helped with both of those tasks immediately. Once the water was full, we didn’t rest long. My mother and I had an eye on the bushes outside overloaded with blueberries. One of the reasons I’d planned this Taku excursion in the middle of my week off was to pick blueberries which I’d noticed were nearly ready when I’d been there two weeks earlier. The timing was ideal and the bushes more bountiful than I’ve ever seen them. My mother and I started out along the passage between the workshop and the riverfront, overwhelmed by the abundance. Jenny was excited to have us around and wanted sticks thrown for her, but Cailey picked up on what we were doing right away and dove in. I’ve heard of dogs picking blueberries before, but I’ve never seen one take more than a casual berry now and then. Not Cailey! She stuck her head in blueberry bushes and methodically plucked berry after berry after berry. It make me giggle to myself all day long.

We circled around to some bountiful clumps below a spruce near the riverboat, then hit some of the bushes behind the cabin before putting the tubs down and getting to work. We’d picked for an hour and probably had 6-8 cups each. But there was work to do. My parents had started plumbing a gray water system the day before and my job was to dig the drainage ditch. My dad and I discussed where to put it and then I got to work while they continued building onto the pipes under the cabin. The grease trap was going to go under the back porch, so I placed the ditch just at the edge of and parallel to the porch. The vegetation there wasn’t very plentiful or healthy, but I carefully dug up and lined up clumps of sod so I could place them back on top. Digging through the roots was, or course, the worst part, but the sand below was a joy to dig as always. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as other holes, though, as it was narrow and a little hard to bring shovelfuls of sand out of as it got deeper. It didn’t help that Jenny likes to attack shovelfuls of anything, and I put her inside the cabin a few times to finish up.

By the time I had the hole ready it was time for lunch. I made quesadillas for everyone and then started hauling gravel from the pile behind the cabin up to my hole. The wheelbarrow had been stashed in the trees behind the work shop and was buried under several inches of duff even though it had only been a couple of years since we used it; the handles are thinning with rot, but it worked well. After two loads of gravel I had a bed deep enough to lay the pipe in and another load or two later, the pipe (also from the staging ground behind the cabin) was snugly settled in. When my mother finished the plumbing to the grease trap (the system is complete except for a p-trap under the bathroom sink), she laid felt over the pipe, fit a 90 degree angle piece inside it, connecting that to an upright stretch of pipe and another 90 degree angle pointing at the grease trap a few feet away. I filled the hole with sand an placed the sod over the top, sticking up awkwardly with the expectation that it will settle (and filled the rest in with sand as I could not find enough sod to fully cover the hole).

I filled in some holes that Jenny had dug with the excess dirt, but the remaining dirt was still so heavy on the tarp underneath that I couldn’t handle it myself. But, with my mom’s help, we drug the tarp of sand down the path to the outhouse and dumped it on the pile over the old outhouse hole. Here and there we sneakily picked more berries from the overflowing bushes behind the cabin.

I rested inside while my parents packed up to go. My mother smelled propane near the stove and, as it seemed we’d gone through the propane tank much faster than usual, she looked for a leak and found one in a flare fitting under the top of the stove. We got a couple of wrenches and, after a few tries, managed to tighten it enough to stop the leak. I saw my parents off at 4:00, helping to lift a reluctant Jenny on board. Cailey had no such compunction and had to be ushered off the boat to stay behind. She must have been confused in her excitement to go along, as she tore off down the river chasing the Kathy M. I expected her to return shortly but when she didn’t I started meandering down the river calling her name. I met up with my mother on shore who was accompanying Cailey back; apparently she had been frantically trying to get to the boat, falling in the water, etc. When she was reunited with me, it was as though nothing had happened and she followed me back to the cabin.

The day was glorious and I decided that after all the hard work I’d put in that day I’d reward myself with a little expedition upriver making use of the trail I’d recreated two weeks earlier. I took along one large tub in expectation of picking blueberries along the way. Walking the “new” trail was fabulous, such a joy compared to crashing blindly through the brush. Following that, it was such a pleasure to walk along the old road beyond our property line that I considered just continuing along toward the lodge. But, the clump of cottonwoods housing the old eagle’s nest in the middle of the meadow drew me off the trail. On the way I encountered a patch of yellow mountain arnica among yarrow, goldenrod, and other flowers, a beautiful bouquet. After wandering through the cottonwood grove, noting a single bear claw mark on the old cottonwood tree housing the eagle’s nest, I exited through some blueberry bushes, also impressively full of berries, and picked enough to fill the bottom inch or two of my tub. On the way out I saw a Townsend’s warbler in a head-height spruce, and a little farther on I seemed to generate an alarm call. I found the offended bird in another young spruce, a Lincoln’s sparrow. Another Lincoln’s sparrow (his/her mate?) quickly flew into the same tree a few branches away and watched me, though he/she didn’t join in the alarm (a curious phenomenon I’ve witnessed with other species).

Back at the old road, I sought out crowberries, picking a handful, until I became distracted by the ripe looking nagoonberries growing around them. Doubtful, I ate berry after berry until I’d convinced myself that they really were ripe enough to be picked! I filled the rest of my tub with nagoonberries that were either perfectly ripe or just barely ripe but still full of exquisite flavor. What an unusual discovery for August! I memorized the location of the patch for a trip the next day and returned to the cabin to enjoy the evening, which was mild and glorious. I put my berries in the fridge and discovered that my mother had left me the rest of the cheesecake from the night before; I took a few bites and discovered that I was quite hungry. I ate chili for dinner, then swept the carpet (after a failed attempt to vacuum using a machine that I think it past its useful life).

Mom and Cailey pick blueberries	Digging the trench	The trench
Plumbing under the cabin	Mid-summer meadow	Moose tracks
Mountain arnica, yarrow, and goldenrod in the meadow	Eagle nest cottonwood	Lincoln's sparrow
Nagoonberries	Red squirrel in a spruce	Taku Glacier

In the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom and, since it was dark and the sky still clear, I stepped outside to enjoy another stunning view of the Milky Way and the brighter stars in our universe. I only saw a couple of meteors, but the view was worth it regardless. The next morning, I set off upriver with the intent to both berry pick and continue refining the trail. This time I started just above Debbie’s Meadow, trimming back the young spruce limbs that threatened to close off the still-clear trail from the riverfront toward the mountain. It’s hard to stop trimming once you start, as one branch leads to another branch, and then there’s the alder you hadn’t realized was there, and now that that part of the path looks so nice, you’d better trim that branch over there, too. Consequently, I never stopped to pick the berries there that I’d intended to, but kept trimming and trimming. The results were great, and will be appreciated for a long time (if not consciously) by keeping the branches at bay for a while longer. From there I turned onto the newly recreated trail and honed it further. I’d been through once just to make my way through and once to quickly trim a few more branches, so this trip was to make the way comfortable. Any time I had to move sideways or duck to avoid a branch sticking out, or any time I was afraid of getting prickled by a spruce I went ahead and cut. In my opinion, if I’m going to make a trail, I may as well be able to walk along it without getting my hair snatched or my arm scratched at by a spruce bough.

So it was surprisingly late by the time I reached the first little meadow and then through the passage among the alders to the larger meadow. From there I scouted out the best way to get through the trees to the edge of the property and chose a place near the river where trimming the branches of two young spruces allowed clear passage through the final barrier. On the other side I left the clippers and my shoes (donned strictly for the cutting endeavor) and headed upriver to the nagoonberry spot. I thought I stopped shy of where I’d picked the day before in an area flush with ripe berries on either side of the road, but later I realized it was in fact the same area. What made that particular spot ripen earlier I have no idea! I only picked perhaps one or two in ten berries (most were still firm and not ripe enough to pick), but even so it only took me about 20 minutes to fill a large tub (for my mother) and 10 minutes to fill old Adam’s peanut butter jars (two for myself). I also picked about one and ¾ cups of crowberries from the mats that grow among the nagoonberries and flowers.

The day was again sunny and clear, though a haze had reduced the clarity and sparkle considerably—I figured smoke from a forest fire in the interior had worked its way to the coast. After filling all my tubs with berries, I headed inland toward a stand of spruces in the middle of the meadow, jumping across a small slough and wading through blue joint grasses higher than my head to get there. A little hill/moraine beyond was surrounded by marshy meadow was home to lichen, spruces, flowers, and berries, a little dry haven among the wet. I sat on a little slope and enjoyed the day. After a couple of minutes, a dragonfly flew straight toward me and alighted on my bare upper arm. I slowly turned my head to gaze at him (I could just focus on him with my right eye) and saw that his wings were gently laid on my skin. Unfortunately, Cailey walked over and he flew on.

I thought the spruces would be a good place to look for birds, and after 20 minutes a flurry of activity took place. I’m not sure what all species came in—one bird looked like he had a yellow belly and white wing bars, but it all happened so fast I never had a good look at them.  There may have been a yellow warbler in there too. A ruby-crowned kinglet was chasing away other birds in one tree and a flycatcher found a good branch from which to chase insects in another. He was the only one I got a good look at, but at such a distance I can’t say for sure what species he was. I did note the beautiful, pale sooty color of his breast, though, and lack of eye ring or wing bars (though at that distance I can’t say for sure). He was gorgeous, and a reminder again at the different birds present up the Taku.

I headed back toward the cabin around noon, disappointed that I’d left behind the final tub I’d meant for picking blueberries above Debbie’s meadow. But I did have one more container on me—a small water bottle, the contents of which I shared with Cailey. I filled it up on the way back, then had a long-awaited lunch of bread, cheese, and cucumbers (I’d been ravenous for some time, but delayed eating my packed lunch because of all the berry and bird distractions). And then, sitting on the couch and reading a little, I felt an overwhelming need to sleep and drifted into an early afternoon nap.

When I awoke, I felt groggy and grouchy, possibly because of the impending packing, possibly because the tide turned out to be later than I expected and I’d have to delay my departure a bit (which meant getting to Juneau later)—or maybe just because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. In any event, I decided to finally relax a little on the log by the river with a book. This log, an enormous, smooth, gray beast, floated down from upriver and was captured by my parents and tied to the beach to help prevent erosion. It had ancient lines deeply embedded in either end, so must have been used for something upriver. It reminded me of a log I spent a great deal of time on along the river at the lodge.

But on the way there I realized how much time I had left at the cabin and decided to do a little more manual labor before I relaxed. I picked up the amazing little swede saw from the workshop, then walked back into the grove of spruces behind. My mother and I had been commenting about the numerous lethal dead branches around the trunks of those trees which make walking through them dangerous and awkward. Two weeks before I’d cut all the branches off along the new loop created for turning around the 4-wheeler, but I’d talked to my mother about clearing a path between the shop and the outhouse. The trees are widely spaced enough to walk through, but dense enough to block out most of the sun; consequently, there is no undergrowth and the numerous branches from younger days have died for some height. I sawed one branch after another, tree after tree, removing any branch that was likely to snag at a person walking that route, or that looked like it could be in the way even if it wasn’t. I ended by cutting off the offending branches on the tree closest to the outhouse that had poked and threatened to poke me many times as I worked around there (even though they no longer pose a threat); one of the branches whacked my nose as I pulled it off.

The result of that half an hour or so of cutting is a clear passage almost like a tunnel from the shop to the outhouse. Perhaps I’ll clean the rest of the trees up later, but at least that walk is safer and more pleasant. The sawing was hard work and my arms, hand, and palm were grateful for the break. I finally grabbed my book, binoculars, camera, and diet coke and returned to the brilliant sunshine feeling worlds better and more relaxed. Down at the river, the glaciers were still hazy, but the sun was hot; I sat on the log in a tank top with my feet paddling in the icy water to keep cool while I read a little and watched the river go by.

Eventually it was time to pack up. I gathered my things, packed the perishables, closed up the cabin, drove my gear to the boat, and returned to put the 4-wheeler away and lock up. We left around 4:30, an hour and 45 minutes before high tide, without a hitch (well, except for the big dead tree I floated into while turning the boat around in the current that tangled us a little). We passed a boat headed upriver and the driver asked if we’d come from up there; I think he might have thought I misheard, since I gestured that I’d only come from right there. He had an accent and I suspect he was Canadian. I turned the fathometer on again as we cruised down the river, seeing the same trend of shallow water across the entrance to the slough and another shallow section along the grassy bank. As I got closer to the glacier it became apparent that the haziness of the air was at least locally caused by silt blowing off the flats in front of the glacier! Based on that, I expected a following sea (north wind) down Taku Inlet….but instead I found myself into the teeth of a southesasterly coming straight up the river. I beat against it from the time I was right in the middle of Taku Glacier all the way to Jaw Point. I did watch the fathometer enough to see that the shoreline along Scow Cove is deep, but most of the time I was gritting my teeth and wondering whether it was going to be worse in more open water. I hoped that the shallowness of the river was contributing to the seas, but noticed no difference when we passed into deep water.

Just shy of Jaw Point we took a break for a few minutes in the lee before tentatively creeping out into open water again. Thankfully, the seas died down there and the long crossing to Cooper was much better, though still a little choppy. By the time we reached Bishop Point, the seas had built a little, but I rode them in the trough, so the ride was comfortable, if a little slower, than it might have been. I saw only three gillnetters, two of which were fishing. It was a relief to reach the channel, the ride having taken much longer than it usually does so I didn’t get home until after 7:00. I put my fish in the freezer, my berries in the fridge, and went upstairs to take a well-needed shower.

Oval-leaved blueberries