Fall sunset from the water
Snettisham
2013 - 10: Cleaning up the Forest
August 23-25
Fall sunset from the water
I’d been anxious all afternoon—there’s nothing
worse than
Friday afternoons waiting for the clock to tick over, thinking about
all the
errands that need to be done before you can even get to the boat, and
after
that a two hour boat ride in uncertain sea conditions before you can
finally
relax after a stressful week (that’s after you anchor the boat, kayak
to shore,
light the burners, make dinner…) I don’t mind doing any of those
things, but
waiting at work to start them is agonizing.
But 4:30 finally came. I headed to Home Depot to
pick up
four 2x4s to finish the bridge balusters and some longer lag screws to
shore up
the posts. On the way home I got gas, then picked up Chris and the dog,
stopping by the grocery store for a few last minute items before
arriving at
the harbor. We dropped the gear off at the top of the ramp (I’ve been
doing
that a lot this summer, saving the distance between the parking spot
and the
end of the pier) and went to park. By the time we were all loaded up it
was
6:00, but at least the seas looked promising (my folks had just
returned from
the Taku with a favorable report). We did run into a strange chop that
looked
like it was coming from the Taku, but it diminished past Point Arden
and the
rest of the trip was calm. The evening was mostly overcast, the sun
glowing in
that uniquely fall way over Admiralty Island, casting part of the world
into
cool shadow and the rest into hazy yellow warmth. As we passed Taku
Harbor I
let out with the first “WHAAAALE!” announcement in about two months.
There in
the distance was a blow: the whales had finally returned to Stephen’s
Passage.
Normally we go through a mid-summer drought of whale activity after
relative
abundance in the spring, but that usually still yields at least one or
two
whales per trip, generally between Arden and Doty Cove, south of Grand
Island,
and/or near the Seal Rocks. But this summer I’d seen exactly zero
whales in the
area since late June. At the same time, the Icy Strait/Glacier Bay area
was
teeming with whales, apparently attracted by the abundant feed. It
really makes
you wonder how they figure that out?
We passed the single whale we’d seen and soon saw
a trio of
blows a little farther on. We continued in that direction and
were
surprised to see them come up again, still quite far away. We soon
realized
that we were between two groups of three whales and lingered in the
area for a
few breathing cycles. Shut down on the glassy ocean, watching a whale
explode
through the water in the lowering sun, plumes of mist sparkling….well,
it made
all the waiting worthwhile. Soon all seven whales were in the same area
and I
got a long video of a breathing cycle. It was spectacular, wonderful to
see
them again, and we lingered longer than I’d intended.
Consequently, we arrived just before the -1.5’ low
tide. I
worked the Ronquil as far up as I could, winding up just upriver of the
tiny
stream that wanders down the mud from the seep downriver of the lodge.
Luckily,
we had little gear and I’d packed with the idea of carrying everything
in one
load each. While I anchored the boat, Chris took his gear and the
groceries up,
and I followed a few minutes later with my gear and the 2x4s. Just in
that few
minutes, the
water had dropped several inches. It was a little longer walk, but my
load was
light, and at least I didn’t have to kayak back!
Chris lit a nice little fire while I made smoked
salmon
pasta for dinner. As we left the lodge on the way to Hermit Thrush,
Cailey was
nosing something on the ground which turned out to be a medium sized
western
toad; we ooed and awed over how beautiful he was before releasing him
safely
away from the curious snout of Cailey.
 Cailey goofily looks over the side of the boat |
 A gorgeous fall whale in Stephen's Passage |
 Whales fluking |
Chris found me screwing in the last of the balusters. I later followed
him back
to the lodge and discovered that he’d just made two cups of Russian tea
for us.
We sat on the porch of the lodge looking over a perfectly serene inlet:
overcast,
utterly calm, the smell of cottonwoods (!) or another sweetly scented
plant in
the air. Birds moved back and forth in front of us (sparrows, a
Wilson’s
warbler, wrens) while the eaglet cried from the direction of its nest.
By then it was about lunch time, so I got up to
make
quesadillas. But I couldn’t find the cheese and it suddenly dawned on
me that
the empty ziplock bag I’d found on the trail the day before and the
black
plastic wrapper I found later must be from our cheese, fallen out of
the
grocery bag and into the jaws of Cailey. So there would be no
Snettisham
quesadillas cooked over gas. Instead, I heated up some chili for Chris
and ate
a variety of snacks myself. For dessert we indulged in some café
francais on
the porch and continued to enjoy the afternoon.
In time we got a little chilly and I casually
suggested that
we warm up with a little manual labor. What I thought would be a fairly
quick
stick gathering exercise turned into a marathon of log hauling that
resulted in
a truly impressive stack of wood. I’d cleared the area to either side
of the
bridge of logs and sticks from the great fallen tree, but the area in
the gully
itself was still littered and I thought it would look nicer if it was
tidier.
Chris started pulling out logs and sticks from the lower side of the
bridge,
tossing them up on the bank so I could ferry them to a stack I’d
started on the
other side of a couple of trees there (more or less out of sight). The
sticks
just kept coming! But, eventually the area was fairly clear and we
started
working on the upper side. The great fallen tree is only about eight
feet from
the upper side of the bridge, and we were shocked at the mass of
branches we
uncovered. Every stick we pulled up revealed more buried beneath, and
the
tidier the area became, the more of the big logs we returned to that
we’d
avoided at first. Most of the wood was fairly rotten and could be
manhandled
out of the dirt, but we soon encountered more stubborn logs and Chris
fetched
Zorak, my little chainsaw-like hand chain, and used it to cut some of
the
sturdier branches off the hanging limbs and from other trees on the
ground, or
to trim branches that were preventing other logs from coming up. Most
of the
pieces we could manage individually, but we collaborated on the longer
logs
that had to snake through the hanging branches and then be hoisted up
onto the
growing stack of sticks. It was fun, intense work, and the results were
amazing, both in the stack of wood we built up and in the little
amphitheater
we
created in the gully cleaned of debris. In the end we played around
with
breaking down some of the more rotten of the overhanging branches from
the
tree; some I want to keep because they look interesting, but others
were
clearly ready to go.
One
branch Chris wanted to remove was loose, but
caught up
on the trunk of the fallen tree. I climbed one of the two trees that
caught its
fall, easily using its branches to access the top of the fallen tree. I
loosened the stick up for him, then he joined me and we walked across
the top
(the first time I’ve done so for several years). I enjoyed the colonies
of tiny
trees and fungus growing on top and the view from above of all the
cabins.
We had a well-deserved snack, and then returned to
the
bridge for other fun. Chris started chopping down a dead tree near the
upriver
end of the bridge while I added a third and longer lag bolt to the
river-side posts (which at that point only had two bolts each) and
replacing one
of the
smaller bolts with the longer ones on the mountain-side posts. As
before, the
middle
posts were a pleasure to work with, as I could stand easily next to
them and
move the socket 360 degrees, and the end posts were a pain, as I had to
reset
the socket to move the bolt each 180 degrees and the position was less
comfortable. I left Chris to continue to work on his tree, which was at
an
awkward angle for chopping due to the sloping terrain and the proximity
of
trees to block blows. On the way back to the lodge, I was sad to find a
chickadee inside the shed
against
the back window. I tried to shoo him toward the open doorway, but he
went from
window to window instead before fluttering down to the bottom of the
plywood
siding and trying to crawl out through a small gap there. I was
leaning
through a bunch of tools and other supplies to reach him and, in my
anxiousness
to release him, wound up pulling out several of what I think were tail
feathers. It was awful, and they came off so easily I thought he might
be dead.
But he was still with us and on the next attempt I was able to get a
better
grip and separate his little feet from the floor he clung to. I carried
him to
the lodge and put him in a box covered with a towel in case he needed
some
recovery time or additional care. However, he immediately started
fluttering
around inside, so I took him to the deck and drew back the towel. He
looked at
me for a few beats, then flew up toward the lodge porch, just barely
maneuvering in time to avoid getting caught under the eaves. Chickadees
were
calling nearby and it seemed like he was calling back—or, at least
there was
some exciting calling as he disappeared into the forest. Hopefully
those
feathers will grow back in short order.
I made bison burgers for dinner and we spent a
little time
outside with a toad before going to bed and watching the Top Gear
Bolivia
special
on my laptop.
 Dammed up olive barrel |
 Seal wake approaching the boat |
 Chris uses Zorak to trim a branch |
 Cailey (doesn't) help |
 Tossing logs |
 Chris tossing logs |
 What a tidy forest! |
 The view of Hermit Thrush from the top of the tree |
Chris coming down the tree |
 Old branches over Mink cabin |
 The end of the tree and Cottonwood |
 Young hemlocks |
 The stump |
 Chris and the great fallen tree |
 Chris chopping down the dead tree |
 One of many bridge pictures |
 One of many bridge pictures |
 One of many bridge pictures |
 One of many bridge pictures |
 Toad! |
 Amazing camouflage |
I then tried to add screws to the bridge decking
(some of
which still only have one screw on each side), but soon discovered that
the one
driver I’d found that fits the screws I was working with was in town in
the
drill I’d left behind. I made a feeble attempt to use the smaller size,
but the
screws would not drive all the way in, so I quit. I washed the dishes
and
cleaned up, then had tea with Chris on the porch again. We decided to
head back
a little early to do some fishing, maybe whale watch, and generally
have a
leisurely ride home. We managed to take off around 1:30 or so and
headed over
to Gilbert Bay to fish for halibut. I admit I wasn’t inspired enough to
really
take it seriously, so we just drifted once we reached about 100 feet
for about
half an hour. Someone was nibbling on my herring, but there were no
significant
strikes and so we moved on.
Stephen’s Passage was once again delightfully
calm, so we
headed across to South Island and puttered around through it hoping to
find
somewhere shallow enough in the middle to anchor. We wound up
backtracking
along the edge of the reef to the south and anchoring at 120 feet.
Chris took the
pole this time with half a pink head, but had similar results. Once
we’d had
enough, we decided to make one more stop on the way back to look for a
petroglyph I’d heard about. Although I’d wanted to find it for years,
the
conditions to do so have to be just right (namely, a rising tide, calm
water,
and time). We pulled up on the beach of ostrich egg sized cobbles and
began
examining the large boulders protruding from them. The beach was
beautiful, the
rocks beautiful, and the view out into Stephen’s Passage beautiful. On
one of
the last rocks we checked, there they were—two petroglyphs worn by time
and
growing lichen. A smaller one on the left was a clear face, but the
larger one
in the middle is more mysterious. The center of it looks like an eye,
with
symmetrical designs of triangles and rays around it. The more we looked
at it,
the more design we could see and the larger it became. Reading about
petroglyphs later, we were intrigued by a theory that they were carved
many
thousands of years ago when the sea level was lower due to the glaciers
of the
last ice age locking up the world’s water. Most petroglyphs are on
beaches at
the high end of the intertidal zone; it seems unlikely (though
certainly
possible) that the carvers only worked the rocks at lower tides.
Another theory
suggests that they were meant to be washed by the tides to carry
messages to
ocean/salmon spirits. Apparently they are located at the mouths of many
salmon
streams, and I intend to search for them more often.
I poked my head into the woods on the way back to
the boat
and looked around; in the meantime, Cailey had found a very dead piece
of
salmon head and was frantically munching it before I picked her up to
plop her
in the boat. Before long we were back underway and headed home for
showers and
a pizza.
 The tip of the tree has broken |
 Chris scaling a tree to free the other tree |
 Chris's hand-chopped tree |
 Sharing the view with the petroglyph |
 The petroglyph |
 The Ronquil at anchor near the petroglyph |
