Dawn over the glacier (view from the cabin)
Photo album
Taku
2017 - 4: Dzeit (Dock)
September 30 - October 2
We met at Tempsco at 11:00 and apparently surprised some of the
crew
there, who
had not realized they were flying us today. Thankfully they
were around, as they had the very last tour of the season going out
that afternoon. The day was dry and pleasant and everyone was kind
and we eventually got all loaded up, me in front of the 500 as usual.
We were hardly in the air before Cailey collapsed into a ball at my
feet where she remained for the duration of the flight. When we'd
walked up to the avalanche area that morning, I'd noted the low, solid
ceiling and the mist whisping around the mountainside and wondered
about our prospects. They did not look as promising as I'd have liked
as we headed up the channel and I wondered what the ceiling actually
was as we cruised over Douglas. It didn't improve as we turned
into Taku Inlet, crossed over the top of Cooper Point, and headed into
increasingly murky prospects. Our pilot, Wade, said that he was going
to
go along the right of the inlet in case the river was fogged in, and we
headed along that shore beyond Jaw. But the mountainside in front of
us disappeared and so he turned instead toward Flat Point, with the
bottom
of Taku Glacier shining in the distance. Then it, too, disappeared. I
was getting increasing uncertain. But, we made it
to Jaw and suddenly the glacier reappeared in front of us; we passed
along the toe of it, then faced across the river to the cabin, which
was also socked in. But it, too, cleared as we approached and we were
soon stirring up a wild updraft of dead leaves as we descended onto the
meadow of burgundy strawberry leaves. It was just about noon and we
invited Wade to return in case he got socked in on the way home.
We
unloaded and opened up efficiently except that we were unable to get
propane to run through the system. I'd noticed a small click in the
valve when I'd opened it and, when we could find no other issues,
suggested that we try another tank in case this one had a problem; it
had
been changed shortly before we left but I don't think we'd lit the
pilots, so it may have been untested. In any event, the new tank worked
and I soon finished making quesadillas for lunch which I'd started
cooking on the wood stove. We'd noted that it was chilly in town and it
was chilly in the helicopter and even chillier inside the cabin, so we
had a nice fire going to warm it up. To my surprise, my parents were
eager to start work that afternoon, so we were soon trucking gear to
the landing in anticipation of taking the floats out of the water, the
main objective of this trip. I carried plywood down to make a ramp of
the stairs and my parents followed shortly after with the 4-wheeler and
tools. It felt fairly unorganized to begin with as everyone tried to
contribute. My mom was screwing the plywood on, I went to Foxhole to
fetch Big Charlie (the large wooden staff) and a hammer, and my dad was
trying to cut the end of the rope that my mom had pulled down to the
floats to pull them with. Several trips
were made for the tool to remove the pins holding the floats together,
the right bit for the drill to remove the screws on the railing,
chainsaw, etc. I messed up and slowed us down by rotating the float
pins an extra
eighth of a turn, too far to pull them out. The first ones we worked
with were on the walkway, too, which was propped up on some logs that
had floated under them and so were putting more tension on the pin
then they should have. In any event, we eventually separated the
walkway into two sections, each two squares wide, and my dad pulled
them up with the 4-wheeler.
Unfortunately, it got more complicated then, though probably for the
best. The width between the railing on the stairs and the tree on the
other side where we were sliding up the floats was just a couple of
inches more than we needed for two rows
of floats together; thus, we intended to split the main float into
sections two floats wide. However, the downriver section has shorter
floats designed to bring the riverboat up and we were unable to break
those off as a two-width section because of the special connections
they have. So, we had to take it three-wide, which meant removing the
railing. I'd begun unscrewing it earlier, but ran out of batteries for
the cordless drill. So my mother fearlessly went to the chainsaw, which
was out of gas, so that required another trip. Soon it
was down and then she also cut two of the protruding root wads roots
off the log that was just at the bottom of the ramp so we didn't have
to
lift
the floats an extra foot in that area to get over it. Once those were
gone, which looked like double killer whale fins, the log actually
acted like a ramp onto the bottom of the stairs. With these
improvements made, that first section of three went up without a hitch
and were soon in the woods. By then it was nearly time for cocktails
and we weren't going to finish that afternoon anyway, so we turned in
for a
drink and dinner. I was fighting off a cold that had come on earlier
this week, so was pretty worn out from several hours of physical labor,
running errands, pulling floats, pushing floats, dragging floats, tying
knots, balancing on the slippery riverbank. After dinner I couldn't
keep my eyes open and napped while my dad did dishes. I woke to a very
serene scene, everyone relaxing in their chairs. I'd originally
intended
to take a walk upriver after dinner, but it was getting dark by the
time I woke up around 7:00! My mom had started the generator, so we had
a cozy lamp going, but about 40 minutes later it ran out of gas. We
took that as a sign to turn in, so everyone retired to their beds and
read. Having struggled lately with my sciatica when sleeping, I forsook
my normal hammock bed and slept on the couch, which had the added
advantage of being just beneath a propane light. I read until about
9:30 very peacefully.
We all slept reasonably well. In the middle of the night I was once
awakened by about five squeaks or squawls or squeals from an animal
outside--my best guess would be marten--but it was dark and I didn't
get up to pursue them. When I'd taken Cailey out before bed at 9:00
there were a few
scattered stars in between the scattered cloud cover, and early in
the night I saw a waxing gibbous moon low over the horizon to the
south. I expected it to rise, but instead it seemed to skim over the
horizon behind the hills and disappear; of course, I was half asleep
every time I looked, so perhaps I misinterpreted its movements. Another
time, a single sound caught my attention, which sounded like a bird
vocalization, bold and in the dark, and I wondered if there was an owl
out there hunting. It wasn't a call I recognized.
I was up a little
after 8:00 and lit a fire and got the water heating for hot drinks. My
parents rose a little later and we had a relaxing morning; my lingering
illness allowed me to enjoy it rather than feeling an urge to get
outside and get working. I finally had a cup of Russian tea and, at
10:30, we mustered at the landing to finish taking in the floats. The
first two batches went up quickly, though the second set got its tow
line caught a couple of times on the edge of the stairs when it started
up a little catawampus. The last section included the boat winch and
was heavier than the others and took more effort to get it up the
stairs and into position. My dad kept stopping the 4-wheeler as he
thought it was hitting a tree behind him, but I think it was just that
the floats were heavier and put up more of a resistance. In just under
an hour they were all out of the water and neatly stacked in the woods
nearby, all the tools were puttering back to Alder, the lines were
stowed, and the beach cleaned up. Ultimately, we probably put more time
into prepping the area than in actually moving the floats. We schemed
on and off all day as to how to create stairs that would function
better as a ramp as well. Although it was a bit chaotic yesterday with
all the various trips back for tools, dead batteries, etc., it wasn't a
very time intensive project in the end.
Yet I was also glad that we hadn't decided to fly back today, as we
might have. I was pretty hungry by the time I got back to the cabin and
started lunch while my mother primed the water pump and changed the air
filter and filled the water tank. Her quesadillas were just about ready
when she got in, uncertain whether the pump was working as well as
intended or had even filled the tank. By then the sun had reached the
cabin, which we'd seen creeping across the river in our direction as
the sun rose behind the mountains. I had more of a sore throat during
the night and felt a little worse over the course of the morning, but
was still more or less eager to head outside for a walk in this
first-day-of-October sun. At about 1:00, my mom and I headed upriver,
first stopping by the riverboat which needed to be flipped upsidedown
for the winter. We'd left it facing the river at the edge of the bank
where we'd intended to put it in last spring. Since I'd last seen it a
month ago, the bow had filled with water and it had tipped over the
bank and was balancing at a precarious angle. Since it had previously
been draining out the back, it may be that the bank had continued its
calamitous erosion and sloughed out underneath it enough to tip the bow
down so the water collected in the front, further tipping it down. We
couldn't get the stern down far enough to drain it through the back, so
we walked back to the cabin and grabbed a couple of buckets to bail it
out. When we had most of it out, we pulled it back a little, pivoted it
until it was free of a tree it was hung up on, and then flipped it
where it was. We did it in one strenuous lift and it fell in place
perfectly, the center of the boat supported by a little hillock there.
We put supports under the rest of it and continued upriver for our
walk. I broke from the trail earlier than usual above the property to
see if I could run into my birch tree, but didn't see it and we wound
up wandering our way over to the eagle nest cottonwood and from there
onto the big moraine at Big Bend. On the way down to the slough from
there, we came across a very well-worn trail which could only be human
and followed it to a recent campsite on the top of my special hill
which I was sad to see had been trampled and the trees trimmed around a
campfire. Based on some skewers and logs and twine nearby, we expect
they will return. To their credit, there was not a speck of trash
around, and that's impressive. We followed the trail back to the slough
and then checked in on the beaver house we found a few years ago on a
tributary, surprised to find that they've added to its height, the new
sticks covered in fresh mud. We followed it upstream a little ways and,
on an exploratory mission to see how wide it was (for we needed to
cross) happened to approach it where a brand new little dam had been
built, backing up the water maybe two feet. We crossed there and
continued along the fringe of spruces following a game trail back to
our trail to the cabin. The whole meadow was quiet. I saw one wren just
upriver from the lodge and we heard one bird chirping in the distance.
No ducks, no hawks, no sparrows, just about nobody was out there. My
mom saw one rodent hustle by and Cailey saw or heard or smelled more,
but it was very tan and burgundy and dry and quiet.
While my mom started prepping dinner, I read on the porch for a little
while, then came in when I heard her putting ice in a glass for my
dad's scotch; it was cocktail hour and I had a special treat. Thinking
that we might want to celebrate the end of summer (I certainly did),
I'd brought up a bottle of prosecco that had been chilling nicely in
the fridge. We chatted and enjoyed the whole bottle, then had a
delicious pasta primavera dinner and a terrible cheesecake for
dessert. It turns out that maybe two years is too long for a box
cheesecake to survive at a cabin? We're not sure exactly what was wrong
with it, but it was terrible. We ate some cookies instead which have
been in a metal canister for an unknown amount of time. Still, they
were better. With what looked like a clear night ahead and knowing that
aurora had been forecast a few days before, my mother and I made plans
to get up a couple of times during the night to check. I took midnight,
she took 2:00. My midnight expedition revealed a waxing gibbous moon
low over the southern sky, mostly behind trees, bright enough to
outshine most of the stars. My mother had a starry sky at 2:00 but
nothing to rouse me for. I got up again at 4:00 and was rewarded with
the clearest, most spectacular night sky I've seen in years; just as I
looked up, a bright shooting star streaked across the sky right above
me. It was worth getting up and standing in the cold to see. I was
barefoot and wondered whether the damp cold under my feet was the
result of dew or frost.
Unfortunately, those were not the only interruptions that night, as I
was prone to several periods of coughing. I got up shortly after 8:00,
very sleepy, put the couch back in order, lit a fire, put the water on,
and collapsed again on the couch. Out the window I saw that most of the
strawberries were white with frost. It was October, after all. I was no
more inspired when my parents headed out to work on winterizing
their various engines and agreed to stay in the area in case they
needed my help with the water pump, but I was soon vertical and doing a
preliminary sweep of the cabin which had accumulated a lot of debris
from walking in and out over the past couple of days. When my mom
stopped by and told me they didn't need me, I took Cailey upriver to
pick up the bailing buckets we'd left behind and change the
batteries/get the motion sensor camera set up for the winter. On the
way back I walked to the other camera and got that set up as well. Then
I filled three five gallon water jugs with water from the olive
barrel, dipping a pitcher in from the top to make the filling go
faster, then dumped the barrel and carried the catchment upstairs in
the cabin. While my parents worked at other tasks, I cleaned the
bathroom, took the porch swing down, brought a ladder to the porch,
carried up the twin bed mattress and box spring from Alder, and did a
handful of other little chores. We ate a final round of quesadillas for
lunch, drank the last two beers, and finished winterizing shortly
before the helicopter showed up at 2:00. The day had dawned overcast,
but we had ample clearance to go over the top on the flight home. As we
climbed out of
Norris's dead branch to reach the ridge, my mom and I both spotted
a small flock of white birds flying near a barren, alpine lake. Behind
them another 40 or 50 flew. They seemed smaller than gulls and more
compact, but neither of us know what they are. Something like snow
buntings on migration?
The birds were soon swept from my mind as we crested the ridge, crossed
to Blackerby, and then began the harrowing decent to the airport.
Dropping off Blackerby is never a pleasant experience for me--something
about the downward trajectory in a helicopter is unnerving, passing
over one sheer
dropoff to the next--but this was exacerbated by strong winds bouncing
us around. Suddenly the stable bubble of the helicopter turned into a
ridiculously tiny death compartment that seemed destined to career out
of control and crash horribly into any one of the nearby ridges. The
wind battered us back and forth, up and down while I tried to pay it
cool. Cailey, who had for the first time resisted being picked up and
placed in the helicopter, didn't appear perturbed by the movement as
she laid down with her face in the bubble that allowed her to see
directly below us, which I appreciated. Of course we landed safely and
I drove home to the first drops of rain. Happy Fall!
