Looking upriver
Snettisham
2014 - 8: The Way it Should Be, Days 1 &2
September 9-22
Looking upriver
By
the time I made it to the harbor it was 8:58
a.m. and,
naturally, not long after an extremely low tide. It took me until 9:42
(about
45 minutes) to load the boat, even though the lumber and a few other
items were
already stowed. I had more supplies for possible projects, food,
cooler,
camping gear, more clothes and books than usual, tools, etc., and I had
to
arrange this all onboard. At last I climbed the ladder-like ramp one
last time
to use the outhouse and pick up the dog, patiently waiting in Trucky.
The tide
was so low that there didn’t appear to be enough water under the ramp
for the
Ronquil to pass through, so I took the long way out of the harbor,
something I
haven’t done in years. The morning was, thankfully, very mild to begin
with.
The point-specific forecast was calling for 1-2 feet throughout my
section of
Stephen’s Passage, but it wasn’t until I was nearly across Taku Inlet
that the
sea wavered at all, and then a small clash of a northerly coming out of
the
Taku and a southeasterly coming up. It built as I headed south until
there were
regular swells above Grave Point. It can get a little squirrely right
there,
but passing around the point turned out to be insane. The 2-3’ seas
were
closely spaced, jumbled, and totally chaotic. The Ronquil was thrust up
and
down with waves smacking her sides from every direction. There was such
a
continuous sloshing of salt spray that I could barely see well enough
to direct
the boat. I poked my head up a few times, enough to see that the seas
apparently lay down around the corner (enough to keep me going), but
other than
that I just had to bully through. Indeed, closer to the entrance to
Taku Harbor,
the chaos ended and was replaced by steady seas rolling up Stephen’s
Passage.
They weren’t pleasant, but they were manageable, and we slogged through
them,
Cailey choosing to spend most of her time on the 2x12s slanting down
the center
of the boat on her blankets.
The seas were calm all the way through Snettisham
and the
tide had risen enough that we were able to pass over all the sandbars
and get
to the shale beach. But, with a -3 something tide behind it and a 19
something
tide ahead, it was rising fast! I had holes in my xtratuffs, so I used
boards
as walkways to move a lot of the gear and the rest of the boards off
the boat.
On one of my first trips I took a load all the way up and then brought
the
kayak down, setting it down pointed toward the water but not quite
touching it.
By the time I was done unloading, the kayak was floating. With most of
the gear
safely stowed above the log, I anchored the boat and came back to
shore. At
that point I didn’t have the energy to bring all that lumber up to the
lodge,
so I satisfied myself with loading all the rest of the gear up and then
opened
the lodge, checking the propane system for leaks before I lit the
pilots.
Just minutes after I’d opened the shutter on the
picture
window I heard a huge crash and turned to see a wet smudge against the
window
the size of a grapefruit and a single tiny white feather. It has always
been a
relief to me that I don’t get many window strikes against the picture
window;
just one, many years ago, a female kingfisher who quickly died. I
hurried
outside and found nothing on the top porch or the deck below. I crept
to the
edge of the porch and looked down to see a spectacular kingfisher on
the
ground, wings spread. Heartbroken, I found a box inside, lined it with
a towel,
and placed him inside, setting him on the shelf beside the fire to rest.
While he rested and, hopefully, recovered, I
hauled all the
lumber up to the deck and stacked it there, then made myself
quesadillas for
lunch (and drank a summer shandy from the freshet). For dessert I ate
some of the
strawberry shortcake from Chris and my last visit to the Twisted Fish
the night
before and relaxed on the porch. I decided at that point to check on
the
kingfisher, who’d been silent, to see if he was still alive. Not
wanting to
risk an accidental release inside, I brought him onto the porch and saw
that he
was alive and alert. I closed the box and put him back inside, but
apparently
I’d aroused him enough that he was no longer content to rest; he pecked
at the
inside of the box until I took him back out and released him. He flew
toward
the river, then turned downriver, his slightly unsteady wing beats
becoming
strong and regular. He flew into an alder at the end of the game trail
downriver,
then fluttered a little and disappeared. I realized immediately that I
should
have checked his feet; like other probable window strike victims I’ve
cared
for, it’s possible that he could fly but not perch. Concerned, I walked
down to
that area and searched for him, to no avail.
I read in the afternoon until the riverboat floated around 2:30, then I loaded it up with the essentials (e.g., action packer, paddle), took it and the kayak out to the Ronquil, and left the latter there while Cailey and I zoomed upriver. My goal was Whiting Point, but first I explored a little farther upriver to stake it out for future adventures. I didn't learn very much other than that the lowest sandbars above the point are mostly flooded at that tide and that the main channel is therefore difficult to locate. We stopped by the point, dropped SPOT on the meadow beach to send a message, looked around a little, and took off. Naturally I left without SPOT, so I had to turn around for that. On the way back I was in no hurry to leave the riverboat, so I thought I might stop and see if I could whale watch at all. Having seen no whales on the trip down that morning, I’d been delighted to find a whale move into the inlet and feed as the tide rose. He’d been lunge feeding on the opposite side of the inlet in front of the main river channel, where they and the gulls often focus their attention. I saw the gulls intensely diving at that spot and headed in that direction. The whale was in the middle of the inlet moving in that direction. While I was still a little distance away, the whale lunged in the middle of the gulls and I figured I was in for a nice show. I crept a little closer and watched, surprised at the sudden cessation in activity from the birds. As soon as the whale’s lunge was complete, the gulls sat down on the water. No more feeding. It was very curious!
Much as I would have liked to
continue whale watching, both Cailey and I were ready to return to the
lodge—and keeping up with this whale would have been exhausting! I tied
the
riverboat to the Ronquil, made it back to the lodge by 4:30, and lit a
fire
(perhaps only my third or so this year). I read some more, heated up
some soup
for dinner, and with the last bit of energy I had, I glued two patches
to my
xtratuffs. One patch from earlier in the summer had fallen off on the
back of
my right boot, and I found a new hole next to that one, plus I’d
discovered a
new crack in the front of the ankle of my left boot while unloading the
boat
that morning. After I was done, I relaxed and was so tired that I fell
asleep
at 6:45 for a few minutes on the couch! I continued reading through the
rest of
the evening and then headed to bed.
Cailey's makeshift bed
Unloading the Ronquil
The riverboat is back in the water
Are those ax marks in the tree?
Licheny tree
Whiting Point
The
next morning I was up at 8:10, but I lounged
around in
bed for an hour—after all, I was on vacation, there was no hurry to do
anything, and it had been a long couple of weeks prepping for this! For
breakfast I ate more of the Twisted Fish biscuit (though I avoided the
strawberries which were starting to taste funny), half a granola bar,
and a cup
of Russian tea on the porch, looking out over a very foggy river. A fox
sparrow bopped around the bushes
downriver
along with a ruby-crowned kinglet or possibly orange-crowned warbler.
Later, a
robin flew by the deck. The inlet was very foggy and the air perfectly
calm. It
was another extreme low tide, so Cailey and I went for a COASST walk at
10:00
a.m. On the way back I stopped by the net washing basin (a concrete
wall built
into a natural corner of the rocks just upriver from the creek mouth)
to
inspect it for signs of staining. My dad was familiar with net cleaning
stations from the early Alaska fishing days from a friend; apparently
the
pre-nylon nets needed to be cleaned and treated, which they would do
with a
blue colored solution in these basins that were commonly built at
canneries. He
saw some very similar ones at Hut Point (Taku Point) and said that this
one was
stained blue when he first saw it. It’s one of the reasons I’m sure the
homestead was still adjacent to deep water at the time that it was
first used
commercially (as boats would have pulled right up to the basin,
something they
couldn’t do today even at high tide).
I
hadn’t looked closely at the basin for some
years, so I
clambered up the rocks there and inspected it. Part of the top of the
wall was
crumbling (I took a loose chunk back to the lodge to save), revealing
the rebar
inside that gives it support. Rebar was also exposed in a few other
places. The
drain hole in the bottom of the wall was obviously still functional, as
the
basin did not hold water, but I discovered after digging through
several inches
of pine needles and other detritus that the hold is actually lower than
the
bottom of the basin (the concrete wall there extends below the rock at
the bottom
of the basin) so I couldn’t actually feel it from above, only see a
tiny bit of
light. There was no sign of staining on the outside, but the bottom
foot or so
of the wall on the inside was a bright sea green color. I wetted my
finger and
rubbed it to determine if it might be algae, but I wasn’t certain.
Could the
stain have been retained in the relatively protected interior of the
wall, and
not on the outside? I took photos to show my dad and see if it’s the
right
color. The only other sign of staining I found was on a vein of
crystallized
rock (quartz?) that was exposed just below the drain hole. The crystals
were
sea green! Could they have been stained like the quartz crystals from
inside
the Crystal Mine? Or are they something else altogether?
After that I poked around some other rocks in the
area—the
big boulder in the middle of the creek wash and the rocks on the other
side of
the creek. Some of Rob’s information has finally seeped in this summer
and I’m
beginning to see rocks in a whole new light, particularly quartz
formations. I
also snooped around more for the corner marker of the property without
luck.
All this time Cailey was lingering far out in the middle of the
sandbars. I was
curious about what interested her, but didn’t feel like walking all the
way out
there for what were probably the dregs of a salmon carcass, so instead
I called
her back and we finished the COASST walk. Back at the lodge, I finished
unpacking all the food and supplies I’d brought down, then started
cooking an
artichoke while I washed the dishes and finished packing for a night of
camping. The high tides of the week were quickly diminishing, so if I
were to
make a foray upriver it would have to be that day, which put me up on
an 18
something foot tide and back on a 17 something foot tide the next day.
After
that they weren’t very dramatic at all. I had my camping pack with
tent,
sleeping bag, camp stove, pot, and cup all ready, and to that I added
food,
Cailey’s blanket, and a few other supplies. I melted some butter and
ate the
artichoke for lunch, then decided to work on a project for a little
while as I
waited for the afternoon tide to rise (high tide was at 4:08). I’d been
so
pleased with the installation of the stairs on the new path to Harbor
Seal (and
with the improved trail system in general) that I decided I would
tackle the
other steep slope, the much longer and wetter freshet bank just past
the cabin
outhouse on the way to Hermit Thrush. Me and others had slipped our way
down
and scrambled our way up that slope many times.
All
the stairs I’ve ever made myself were short
sections
using precut stair stringers from Don Abel (for a maximum of four
steps). Using
a pair of three foot risers I had on hand, I estimated that I’d want
six treads
to make it up that slope. To that end, I’d brought down two 2x12x12s. I
laid
them out on sawhorses, put the precut riser on top, and traced a
pattern,
continuing until I had drawn all six steps. Once they were traced, I
started up
little Joanie (my red generator), cut the tops and bottoms off, the
fronts of
the treads, and most of each tread. Back when Carp built the stairs up
to the
lodge, I’d seen him stop short of cutting all the way to the back of
the tread
support since the circular saw would then overcut the corner at an
angle from
both directions. That’s probably a terrible description, but the point
is that
to make a clean 90 degree angle in the middle of the board, you have to
stop
short with the skilsaw and finish the cut by hand. Frustrated by the
slow pace
of the hand saw, I admit that I resorted to a hammer and chisel for
most of the
corners, an effective if less elegant strategy. I treated all the cut
sides
with Jasco.
During a break from working on the risers, I enjoyed some exciting fall bird watching. In the current bushes upriver from the deck I watched two fox sparrows and a juvenile white-crowned sparrow (which breed farther north) scratching on the open ground where the riverboat goes for the winter and eating berries. It was one of the few times (maybe the first) that I saw birds without a doubt targeting and eating gray currents. Apparently the berries were a little too large for them, as they would pick one, drop to the ground, and worry it, mashing it and working it with their beaks. I’d also seen a Pacific wren earlier, and chickadees had been chattering and moving all over the property.
It
was exactly 3:00, right on schedule, when I
kayaked out
from the beach to pick up the riverboat. Jumping into the riverboat
from the
kayak proved to be much easier for Cailey than boarding the Ronquil! I
left the
kayak tied to the Ronquil, returned to the beach to grab the gear, then
headed
upriver. The lower sandbars were flooded, so I headed up the middle of
the
river where I remembered the main channel being three years earlier. I
got
scared away by all the barely submerged sandbars I was passing—my wake
washing
over them as I sped past—so I turned back toward Whiting Point and then
followed the shoreline up to see if that was any better. Soon I could
see what
seemed to be a channel crossing the river and heading right for the
point on
the other side that I wanted to head for (based on aerial photos of an
unimpeded channel along that side above the lower sandbars). I took off
in that
direction and soon encountered a strong current, one that was easy to
recognize. In fact, it wasn’t long before the water was gray and fast
and I
seemed to be largely out of the influence of the tide. It was
terrifying. In my
head I was chanting “follow the flow, follow the flow,” my nerves on
edge. I
was already much farther up the river than I had been before (at least
since I
was a babe in arms). I was also constantly rehearsing in my head the
steps to
stop the boat (slow down by turning the throttle to the left, away from
me,
then press the button). The current took
me to the far bank, then curved back into the river winding around
sandbars, a
number of them long-term structures with shrubs growing on them.
Sometimes I
looked back to see what it looked like when I passed over obviously
shallow
areas. Finally, the current seemed to split; one channel went straight
upriver
between closely spaced, vegetated sandbars; the other headed back
toward the
shoreline. I only had a moment to decide and, like a fool, I went left
even
though more water seemed to be coming from the other channel. Part of
it was
that I was nervous about going between those sandbars; the other part
was that
I was pretty sure that the aerial photo I’d taken four years ago showed
a solid
channel from right where I was up beyond the sandbars.
In retrospect, I know better than to make
decisions based on
four-year-old data in ever-changing glacial watersheds. First I passed
over a
deep shoal, then encountered a very deep channel along shore that was
very
promising. I made it about half way to the next point, dodging some
logs stuck
in the current, when the channel again split and shallowed. Neither was
a good
option, but I went for the greater flow to the right. I wanted to stop
and turn
around, but there wasn’t room to do it without stopping, and I knew
that even
the channel I was in might be too shallow to move through without being
on
step, so I went for it in the event that it was in fact deep enough. It
wasn’t.
I soon felt the bottom under the engine and shut down as quickly as I
could. I
bet it was almost fast enough, but the prop froze. I was a good 25 feet
from
deeper water, so I jumped in and laboriously scooted the boat a foot at
a time
into deeper water. From there I drifted downriver, passing a beautiful
vertical
cliff and leaving a tantalizing row of cottonwoods behind until I found
a nice
sandbar against the shoreline to clean the engine out, aided by a big
snag to
let it rest against.
There wasn’t much sand inside the engine, so the
process
went fairly quickly (I’m not sure I ever even saw any come out with my
sloshed
buckets of water). The hard part, of course, is taking the bolts of the
“boot” off
and on, since the socket (a teeny one) is nearly too wide to fit in the
space
available. My mood was not improved by the fact that I put the boot
back on 90
degrees off of the proper angle (because the engine itself was tilted
to one
side). Removing it once is enough! Meanwhile, Cailey was exploring the
beach
and sniffing into the tracks of a large brown bear. The clouds had
broken
during the afternoon and I’d had some sunshine as I was heading upriver
(I had
to strip out of some of my layers when I started moving the boat), but
it had
now disappeared behind the mountain. It was 4:30 and I had to make a
choice.
Try again in the (probably) correct channel or head home? I think if it
was
earlier I would have tried again. But at that point in the fall it was
getting
dark at 7:30. If I got stuck in the other channel I might wind up in
the middle
of the river taking my engine’s boot off again. And again. What if
something
happened and I was stuck for there for the night? I
could certainly camp on one of those
long-term sandbars—maybe even find enough wood for a small fire—but it
seemed
wiser to head back. I wasn’t sure I could escape the lower sandbars
without the
tide, so if I did get stuck again in a place I didn’t want to camp, I
might not
have a choice. The tide was already falling. I had a steak back home. I
called
it.
I was a little bolder going down, and I learned a
few things
about my ability to travel over certain sandbars. I had a long enough
channel
off my beach to get up to speed and I followed the current down again,
religiously even when I thought it was going the wrong way (but I later
recognized it as the same channel). The channel that crosses the river
leaves
the west side right where a shrubby permanent beach begins to stick out
in the
river from a point, so I turned there and headed to the middle. I could
see
that the sandbars were already beginning to emerge and was unable to
recognize
a channel once I was in the tidal influence again. I made a guess,
crossing
several very shallow sandbars in the process. I think I can recognize
the
difference between their depth and the depth of the shoal that grounded
me.
Despite my failure, I was already ready to try it
again next
year by the time I hit tidewater. Earlier in the summer, perhaps, when
the
river is higher and the daylight is longer. On the way back we paused
at the
net washing basin to get a GPS coordinate. Then I dropped Cailey and
the gear
on shore, tied the riverboat behind the Ronquil, and kayaked back.
After depositing
my gear at the cabin I realized that I’d only been out for two hours. I
carried
the risers over to the gully and leaned them against the slope,
concerned that
they were not tall enough after all. But I quickly decided that I was
too tired
to work that evening, so I drank a beer on the porch and then cooked
myself a
cube steak on the stove top with a pepper and half a zucchini (using
mostly soy
sauce for seasoning). It was a lovely evening, overcast again with a
little sun
on the river. It was so pleasant, in fact, that I spent a good part of
the
evening there reading with a quilt wrapped around me, looking up to
peer into the
bushes at the occasional cheeps of the relatively scarce birds. As dusk
descended I decided to head to my cabin and finish reading there, maybe
even
lighting the propane heater to warm the place up for both of us. From
inside,
though, I soon spied a bird fly across the front of the porch with
strange wing
patterns—a bat! So I returned to the porch for some time, observing
several
visits by the bat who seemed to be moving up and down the riverfront.
Cailey helps herself to gray currents
The boats dry at low tide
Strange formations in the silt
Neat stump upriver from the grassy point
Green crystals near the basin
The net cleaning fluid stain inside the basin
I think these are garnets
I am more interested in rocks these days
Damage to the bridge
Looking across the river, sandbars in the foreground
Bear tracks on the beach
Beach where I cleaned the engine
Looking downriver from the point