Fanny Island
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Snettisham
2017 - 6: Fall Perfection
September 9-17
Despite significant sleep deprivation, I had an
extremely productive day, tucking away one chore after another and
never getting overwhelmed. When I got back from an hour and a half
standing in the channel up to my thighs to fish fruitlessly at
Sheep Creek, I laid down on the couch to read and hopefully take a nap.
But after a few minutes, it was clear that I was too antsy for a nap,
and chilled, so I did a little work in the kitchen, took a shower, and
got to work. Since I was upstairs, I put clothes away, packed clothes
for the trip, and put fresh sheets (flannel now) on the bed. I had some
lunch and hot chocolate and, in the afternoon, went to Freddie's for
food, then
came home and packed it up and got the perishables ready in the fridge.
One after another I managed to cook eggs, cut veggies, and otherwise
get the corvid food ready for my mom while I was gone, clean the
kitchen, buy a dress, pay the bills (involving a trip to
the mail box), put a new bulb in Bebop's light, clean the large
aquarium, add water to the small aquarium, and myriad other small
tasks. I was really impressed with myself! And, even better, a lot of
the chores I was doing were for when I got back, not even necessary
before I left. The house may be in the best condition it's ever been in
when I return from the Snettisham closing up. I finished shortly after
eight, invited
an eager Cailey over to curl up on the couch with me (her eagerness may
have had something to do with watching me obviously get ready for a
trip
all day), and watched two new Bojack Horsemen before heading to bed.
I woke up this morning before the alarm in a wonderful mood. Ever since
tea on Thursday I'd known that I was meant to come to Snettisham today,
and it still felt right even though (prior to that revelation) a large
part of me wanted to recoup in town a weekend before heading out
again. But, if nothing else, the weather forecast was impossible to
turn
down in September--1-2' foots today, 2' seas as far as the forecast
went. It wasn't likely to get better later in the month. I decided I
wasn't in the mood for socializing, so I
went straight to chores, adding vacuuming to the morning preparations.
I started unloading at the harbor at 8:55, carrying four jerry jugs, my
new 9 gallon fuel tank (my previous one having been stolen from the
boat house in the last month along with several jerry jugs of gas), and
my emergency bag. I was in full rubber rain gear as it was raining
heavily. As I approached the boat I thought it might look a little low
in the water and began to worry that the battery was dead from pumping
the bilge for a month without running the engine. Sure enough, there
was water in the bottom up to the seats and at least six inches in the
fuel well. But the battery wasn't dead, it was just missing, its
plastic
house floating around inside. It couldn't have happened more than a
couple of days ago or there would be more water and the harbor would
have called me about my boat sinking. I hadn't looked for it on Tuesday
when I cleaned
my gear out of the boathouse, but I think I'd have noticed it
missing then. I unloaded the fuel and everything else I had with me on
the boat and
headed back up. I first checked to see if my parents had a battery
handy, then ran
home to grab my wallet and zip out to Western Auto, regretting on the
way that I hadn't put my fuel in the boat house to protect it. After a
brief conversation about what type of marine battery to get, which I
didn't really understand or care about, I went with what the clerk
recommended
and scurried away as fast as I could, breathing a huge sigh of relief
when I saw that my gear was untouched. With the next load, I brought
the battery down, dried off the connectors with my t-shirt, and started
putting it back together--a little awkwardly because the terminals
are switched from my last battery, so the connectors are on opposite
sides from usual. To my relief, the bilge pump started going the moment
its
connector hit the ground. I started the main engine, secured the
battery box, and started the kicker before I unloaded the rest of the
cart, letting it run while I finished loading. After another load I
used the portapotty, put the last load in a cart, drove the 14-day
parking area (barely parallel parking into the only available space),
and
walked Cailey and the cart to the boat. I put my cloth bags in front of
the passenger seat on pads to keep them off the floor and covered in
Cailey's yellow blanket. Both totes were tarped. We pulled away from
the dock a little more than an hour after I'd first arrived at the
harbor, which is not bad considering I'd had to buy a battery in the
middle of loading.
The rain poured continuously and I wore my mustang suit for the first
time in years, though I was at that point quite warm from loading. I
also remembered to bring gloves and put Cailey's fleece jacket on her.
Both were good moves. The channel was a little choppy in places, but
mostly calm, and we sped south, the rain so hard that it was actually
painful sometimes when it hit my face. I finally put both my rain
jacket hood and the mustang suit hood on, securing the latter shut.
Calm to Arden, but heavy, heavy rain. Approaching the point I turned
around to do something and when I turned back the rain had stopped and
the sky was brightening. It never rained heavily again, and the sun
even shone brightly in a small, almost clear patch of sky, but the seas
also picked up at that point, a southerly by the look of it. It took a
long time to get to Grave Point over the small seas, which built as
usual south of Grand Island. I did happen to look in that direction as
we approached the point and saw to my delight a tall billow of whale
breath, so tall and straight that I thought this breeze must not be
blowing over there. He let out three big breaths and then disappeared.
Not exactly a group-up, but something about the force of that blow was
reminiscent of fall whales.
The seas continued to build for a few miles and we slowed our pace and
banged and sloshed south. I veered toward the shore in the hopes that
it would diminish, and it did, but not until we were about at
Limestone.
We passed a dramatic line in the water arcing out and north of the
inlet where the brown water gushing from inside met green. Large rafts
of scoters floated around the entrance. We picked up a little speed and
gratefully passed Seal Rocks, then eventually turned into the port,
putting the seas behind us. As they smoothed out I again picked up
speed and surfed them a little before they suddenly changed direction
and inexplicably came from the west, 45 degrees difference. Very
puzzling, but also something I see coming out of the port on a regular
basis. And so it wasn't until Sentinel that things really calmed down,
and Cailey didn't get up and sniff like she usually does. I think it
was a tough ride for her, even though it wasn't much more than two
footers anywhere. The leather on the outside of her fleece was soaked,
but the faux sheepskin inside was dry and Cailey was warm. Much more
efficient than trying to keep her wrapped up in a blanket as she
changes positions. All in all the ride was about two and half hours
from the bridge; the good thing about the delay and the slow pace was
that it gave the tide a chance to rise, so the landing was not too far
below the log. I took one load to the path, took off the mustang suit,
peed gratefully on the beach, finished unloading, and went out to
anchor the boat without Cailey. A seal watched. Desperate also for
food, I dug into the peanut M&Ms that had been left behind and
opened the place up, making quesadillas when everything was ready for
lack of inspiration, though after three days of quesadillas last
weekend I wasn't as eager for them as I usually am. I wished there was
a cold
beer, but drank delicious cold water instead. I ate on the porch and
afterwards picked up a new book to read. About a dozen short pages in
I suddenly lowered it as tension finally oozed out of my body. I looked
around me and began to relax... Here I am, at last, happily at
Snettisham for a week, about to put summer behind me. I read and looked
out over the inlet for a little while, then walked around the property,
picked up the motion sensor cards, and unlocked Hermit Thrush. Falling
branches had knocked one of the rails off the bridge along with the
cross support for the camera, which was in the gully.
I'd started a fire when I made lunch and had kept it simmering along,
largely to dry out the mustang suit, Cailey's blankets, my rain gear,
Cailey's jacket, etc. and I eventually came inside to warm up and lay
down for a little while. The first thing I did was get started on this
report; while typing from the couch, I saw a bird fly straight at the
picture window, pulling back just a few feet away and turning into the
trees upriver. I saw a crest and thought it was a jay and would land,
but the bird continued out of sight and began making the machine-gun
chatter of a kingfisher. Only two birds that I know of have ever hit
the picture
window, both kingfishers. Why only them, and why so rarely, I don't
know. A few seconds later he flew past again and I stepped outside to
see him chatter himself away into a tree downriver. It was very
strange. To try to discourage a hit in case this kingfisher lingered
and repeated his flights, I taped a single sheet of newspaper outside
the window. To my shock, a few minutes later he again came straight at
the window, pulling up at the last moment, chattering again. I noticed
the last time this happened that the picture window can readily reflect
the inlet and the sky; maybe this agitated bird had seen his own
reflection, hence all the scolding and repeated charges? It's now 6:00
and all has been quiet since. I started another book and slipped into a
short, delicious nap. It continues to rain outside and the nearby
waterfall is very noisy. Chickadees came through once and I saw what I
suspect was a wren (or a very active rodent) at the edge of the bushes
earlier and one Wilson's warbler. Cailey is very sensitive to my
movements and jumps off the
couch as soon as I shift positions. I just poured myself a little glass
of wine from the box I've been working off of all summer and was
alarmed to find it nearly empty; I have just a little left there in the
bag and the bottle I brought down earlier this summer. I started my
daily readings
a little bit ago, but in the middle of the first psalm, I saw the modem
lights go off! The power had died shortly after I turned it on earlier
and I'd assumed the battery had run down, even though I think it was
fully charged this spring and surely hasn't had very much use. I've had
power issues all spring, sometimes taking minutes for the lights to
turn on after making the connection. I wonder if there is a disconnect
in all that wiring (I put in
several feet of wires between the battery and the modem, not knowing
how widely spaced they'd be when I set it up) and I may try to shorten
it this weekend.
With dinner I watched an episode of The Strain and did some upper body
exercises; then I read for a little bit by propane light before
heading to my cabin around 8:30. At first I turned off my little buddy
propane heater as soon as I'd brushed my teeth and crawled into bed, as
I was fairly warm, but a few minutes later Cailey shivered a little and
I could see my breath clearly when I exhaled, so I started it up again.
I was amazed by how quickly I could feel the room warming up and, soon
enough, I could no longer see my breath! I had a reasonable, if
slightly restless, night of sleep and woke up at 6:30 to find all the
windows and the mirror entirely fogged up; I haven't seen that happen
since the walls were leaking and soaking the floor and the mattress, so
that was a little alarming. When I got up half an hour later, I scoured
walls and floor for wetness, but found nothing. We'd come in a little
damp last night, but it didn't seem enough to warrant that degree of
moisture.
It's been a wet summer, but there have been other wet summers without
the same results.
I had a snack and a cup of Russian tea on the porch, watching the rain
over the inlet, then decided to cheer Cailey up with a walk upriver.
The tide was just low enough to walk around the outside of the rocky
point, and I enjoyed wading across the wide mouth of the creek beyond.
There were no tracks on the sand that I noticed, but Cailey did flush a
fledgling eagle from the grassy point as we approached. He was almost
jet black, so naturally I called him Khar ("black" in Mongolian). When
we flushed him again, he flew upriver into a tree occupied by an adult
eagle, so I figured it was one of the parents. Both moved farther
upriver a second time. I was just about to turn around for lack of
beach when Cailey started sprinting back downriver; I didn't see
anything for a few seconds, then saw a dark shape pop up out of the
grass on the point. No, not a brown bear, which was my first thought,
but another eaglet, flopping those great wings awkwardly in the grass.
I yelled at Cailey to stop and, to my surprise, she did, then ran
again, then stopped again and let me catch up. The eaglet reappeared a
few times, evidently unable to fly, but well hidden in the meantime. We
circled the outside of the point so as not to chase him to the river
and I again managed to stop Cailey short of encountering the eaglet,
who was visible through a break in the grass on the downriver side. We
had a nice look, I snapped a few pictures, and we left him alone.
Another adult eagle watched us from farther downriver. So, it looks
like these two may have recently fledged and this one doesn't quite
have the strength to fly; I wished him or her well.
Back at the rushing creek, I climbed up over the rocks just downriver
of it to see if that might be a good animal trail up from the beach;
somehow the critters are getting from the beach onto the property, and
if I know the routes better I'll have a better chance of filming them.
It was a reasonable path, but inconclusive. Back at the lodge I picked
up clippers, gloves, and a hand claw tool and headed to Mink Cabin to
excavate it. Most of the PT 2x8s forming the perimeter of the
foundation
on the mountain side and the upriver side had become at least partly
buried
in the rapidly growing soil and needles of the forest. I clipped some
ferns and branches out of the way, then sat and crouched my way along
the mountain wall, hacking and clawing and scraping my way with
the hand tool until the 2x8 was free and clear, working then on the
upriver side which wasn't as deeply buried but was complicated by the
presence of the water line and filters. I expected I'd want to stop
there, but I felt pretty good, so I went up to the outhouse and did the
same there, unearthing the 4x4 it rests on and ensuring that nothing
was touching the siding, then went and excavated along the mountainside
wall of Hermit Thrush to reexpose the wood (I'd done this a few years
before). Concerned about the foggy windows there, I started
the propane
heater and opened the windows with the idea that it would heat the
cabin, the warm air would absorb the moisture, and then escape outside.
Still with a little energy, I went down to Mink and made a solid
attempt at finishing it, but it was the hardest cabin. I'd had a
nagging
feeling it would be, which was why I didn't start with it, but couldn't
have said why. It turned out to be not only the deepest buried (the
upriver side was filled in over the 2x8 and onto the bottom of the pine
wall), but was also the rootiest. About half way along that wall, I
suddenly reached the end of my energy and headed to the lodge for
food. No more than half an hour later, I was back at it, stopping first
at Hermit Thrush where I tried to help the drying process by drying the
windows with a towel and then paper towels and taking everything damp
with me. I left the heater running, windows closed this time, and then
finished the project at Harbor Seal. I also worked on the 4x4
supporting its front porch; I didn't completely get it excavated on the
upriver side, which would have taken a lot of trench digging away from
it to work underneath, but was heartened by the fact that the top of
that beam was dry, having been covered by the tarp over the chair
there. That suggests that moisture from ground contact is not soaking
through the whole beam as it is.
On the way back to the lodge, I opened the door and windows of Hermit
Thrush to try to flush the hot, moist air out. Then I dried all the
windows again with fresh paper towels, a little disappointed to see
them quickly fogging up again. We'll see if this is a steady problem or
whether we can beat it by heating and venting. By then it was only
11:30 and I was shocked that I'd finished a hard project I thought
might take days, or a couple of half days anyway, at it wasn't even
noon. AND I'd gone for a walk. It's amazing what one can accomplish by
getting up at 7:00 and having a little energy. I rewarded myself with a
cup of jasmine tea on the porch, watching the rain turn from light to
heavy to non-existent. There have been a couple periods of sun today,
glistening on the rushing little creeks. I've seen waterfalls on the
avalanche slope across the river that I may not have seen before, and
my eye keeps getting caught by the outlet of the gorge creek across the
inlet, as its multiple channels looks like a boat at anchor. I've been
reading the diary of Ann Frank and am very impressed by the wisdom and
poise she acquired in her secret annex. What a woman she would have
been! Eventually hunger drove me inside and I heated up some madras
lentils (tasty bite) and a couple pieces of my strange
corn-jalapeno-cheese bread from Freddie's. While it cooked I cut up the
three-pound sirloin tip roast I'd brought, putting a quarter of it in
the freezer and cutting the rest into slices or strips for dinners. I
also finished framing my childhood print that I like of a mouse family
in a kitchen. Strange how I love my childhood prints down here.
Now it's the early afternoon and, as I'd become quite chilled reading
outside, I started a fire to warm up and continue to dry out the
blankets
and rain gear, etc., that never dried yesterday or that have become wet
again. I'm about to see if I can get power to the modem again.
The trial was successful, and not even a delay. Very curious. I spent
more time on the porch reading and peering at birds every now and
again. Jays have been calling and flying overhead regularly and today I
caught a glimpse of what I thought at first was a wren by the low bop
into the edge of the bushes but turned out to be a very streaky
sparrow. A female or young varied thrush landed awkwardly in the
currents just downriver, in plain sight and ate several berries as well
as
something else it found on its branch. It was trying for a string of
berries farther away when she lost her balance and flew out of site
upriver. This morning, I listened to the interesting chatter of
chickadees, a little songlike, and saw two of them upriver in the
spruce boughs. The afternoon stayed dry, and I eventually got up and
crawled under the house to see about making room to put salvageable
lumber from the lumber pile under there, as the lack of rain and
surprising energy were encouraging me. I moved Kushdaa, the yellow
double kayak, from next to the wood pile to behind the other kayaks,
then tossed out all the plywood pieces I'll use to close up the porch
and moved
the remaining plywood, including a full sheet, to the far back. Then I
started moving the lumber I already have stacked under there,
discouraged to
find that the ground is not, in fact, perfectly dry, and the bottom
2x2s and 2x4s are already beginning to rot. I might use some of the
short pieces of PT lumber I had down there to hold them off the ground.
When I got too hot, I climbed back out to tackle the rest later and,
discovering that it was 4:00, I decided to honor my parents and have a
cocktail (4:00 is cocktail hour at their house). Since it was truly
sunny at that point and I'd just finished some manual labor, I drank a
beer.
The inlet was utterly serene and somehow the cloud cover had
vanished. The sunlight soon vanished too--at least, the warm, direct
sun--and a chill quickly descended. The tide was high and suddenly I
found myself moved to kayak. Cailey followed and climbed on before I
did, so I took her along. The water was four or five rocks above the
log, right up against the rock that juts up above the others. I headed
upriver, thinking we might sneak up on the eaglet on the grassy
island, but soon saw that it was entirely flooded. So we paddled up
there anyway to see if he or she was in the bushes. I watched one adult
fly in from downriver to noisily land right next to another; then they
both took off and one had a missing wing feather that made me wonder if
it was my pair; it could have been the far upriver boundary of their
territory, or part of the other pair's. We saw no life in the bushes
around the point, so presumably the grounded eaglet managed to fly, or
is quite good at hiding, or hopped farther away than we went. We
floated
back down through the tips of the grass on the still water, listening
to chickadees in the forest and one eaglet crying far above. When we
rounded the rocky point, an adult eagle perched near the nest dropped
almost straight down and landed in the shallows, quickly stepping up
onto shore. I just couldn't resist seeing what he'd caught so close to
land at high tide and wished I'd brought my binoculars. When he saw us
continue past the lodge, he hopped away from what he'd caught and flew
downriver. I knew from past experience he would come back later, so
went ahead and crept in, spotting something red on the rocks. It was a
spawned out female pink salmon, still flopping, her tail in shreds. I
hopped out and killed her, then quickly left, kayaking far enough from
shore so any perched eagle downriver would know I'd left. I hope the
salmon is enjoyed. Then I made a dinner of steak strips fried in flour
and spices and green beans, and I just pulled cherry dumplings off the
stove. Earlier today I set up the card table next to the window and I
ate there, feeling like I was at a fancy restaurant. I don't even eat
at the table at home!
After dinner I stepped outside and was delighted to see a bat
fly by. I sat in my chair and watched him pass acrobatically a number
of times, once only a few feet in front of my face. I grabbed my quilt,
wrapping myself in it from the cold and laying on
my back on the, if not quite dry at least with no standing water,
deck. I was beginning to give up on the bat coming back when he flew
into view, zooming back and forth in front of me and over my head. He
seemed to work over the area, then disappear downriver, then work his
way back. He did this several times, then disappeared altogether. I
love fall batting! In the meantime, the stars had begun to come out in
a nearly cloudless sky. One large one was just overhead--probably a
planet--and another fainter one to the west. I stayed to watch over a
dozen more pop up one at a time, but wanted to get to Hermit Thrush
relatively early, so vowed that the next clear night here I'd make a
point of star gazing. While down there I was tickled to see that the
little solar powered "moon lights" were working on either side of the
steps to the path. I need to put more out inside the woods and see if
they work there. Over at my cabin I started the heater and lay on top
of the
covers to watch a The Strain; Cailey, who refuses to get on the bed
before me (something I trained her to do that she seems unwilling to
break) climbed on after and curled up right next to me. As soon as
I draped a blanket over her, she fell asleep. I scooted her over when I
climbed under the covers and she never stirred; once during the night
she slept with her head on my shoulder!
The
cabin felt less damp that evening, and again this morning, though the
windows were completely fogged over. I started the heater, dried the
windows with towel and paper towels, and stayed for a while to read
while the heater ran. When I heard an eaglet scream outside, I opened
the windows and door to let the warm air out and saw the eaglet perched
in a spruce over the inlet. I headed to the lodge to grab binoculars
and a camera, washing up a little and feeding Cailey first. To my
disappointment, I found that we had no water, so I used some of my
emergency store. When I came back to the cabin, the eaglet
was gone, but I found him just upriver from the lodge in their favorite
perching tree out of the nesting season, alerted to him by his calls.
Later in the
morning, I heard wild eagle cackling and walked down to find the
adult pair together in the same tree.
After
a snack, I took a hoe and headed up to the olive barrel, vowing to
clear that trail at some point, which is hard to even recognize in most
places.
The barrel was there, just offset from its hollow a little, and
evidently the water had dropped enough from the raging torrent to stop
the flow. It took me three times to hollow out its spot enough to drop
the hose low enough, building up the dam between each attempt and each
time being certain it was finally working. Even when the whole hose was
underwater, it took some finagling to get the flow to start. But start
it did, and at 10:40 or so I was back at the lodge. I'd slept much
later
than the previous night--the product of hard work yesterday, I like to
think--and I wasn't feeling well, so I ate some cherry dumplings and
read on the porch. The tide was pretty low, and the overcast skies were
dry, so I decided to go for a COASST walk, first stopping by the pink
salmon kill site. There was bright, wet red blood there and a tiny bit
of something leftover, so I'm fairly certain it was eaten there, and
possibly later carried away. We found otter tracks following a little
rivulet farther downriver, and again, at least two, beyond the grassy
point upriver. I was also pleased to find fresh eagle tracks nearby. At
the farthest end
of the walk I flushed a juvenile eaglet north and an eagle also
flushed at the same time from behind me, but I never got a good enough
look to determine age. It had started to sprinkle, true to the
forecast, but had paused by the time I was half way home. I walked
around the rocky point, then turned up the freshet runoff and found
what may be an animal trail to/from the beach judging by the mossless
section of a log that has to be crossed. I considered more options for
motions sensor cameras over the winter. It was after noon when I got
back; I lingered on the porch to finish a chapter, get thoroughly
chilled, and watch a pair of sparrows with solid brown backs which I
think must be fox sparrows. I was hungry, but before lunch I carried
Katie and Rob's rug to Hermit Thrush and set it up there, shutting the
windows against the more vigorous rain that had started. It fits pretty
well, so I'm going to give it a try. Then I had split pea soup for
lunch and I am hunkered down inside while a front grays out the inlet
and drops more rain.
I lingered inside for a while, really enjoying working on the internet
for more than just a quick email and the weather forecast. In this
case, I've been leisurely captioning my Mongolia pictures online. The
modem eventually shut off, though, either because of another power
issue or the battery finally ran out. It's been very finicky. Feeling
like I needed to do something, I went outside and under the lodge to
set up short pieces of PT boards to lay lumber across to keep them
off the ground, and stacked what was there already. Then I uncovered
half of
the main lumber pile upriver and carried over all the cedar on the near
side,
stacking it on the deck. It was overcast, but dry, and the forecast was
calling for partly cloudy skies the next day, so it seemed safe.
Surprisingly, most of the cedar was still dry. I quickly ran out of
steam on
that task, but the water was pretty high, so I walked down the stone
path and made half a dozen casts with my pole. There was a breeze
coming in off
Gilbert Bay, so the water lapped at my feet and I soon gave it up. But
I did get a few minutes of actual sunshine just before it went behind
the mountain. The sun is still warm when not behind a cloud, that's
just been rare lately! When I turned around I spotted a bird and
managed to get a very nice look at a juvenile golden-crowned sparrow,
perfect and bold. There was also a smaller, streakier sparrow nearby,
but I wasn't able to determine the species. It was well worth the walk
to the water--I think I should consider carrying a chair down there and
reverse birdwatching in the shrubs on the water side. Maybe the problem
is that I'm on
the wrong side of them this time of year. I had luscious Sweetheart
sockeye, veggies, and toast for dinner, watched an episode of The
Strain, read, and retired to my cabin for more reading at 8:30. No
stars that night, and it soon started raining, not stopping until I got
out of bed this morning. I woke up at 7:00 and lit the propane heater,
still trying to dry the cabin, then climbed back into bed for a little
bit. Before I left I dried the windows and the wall behind my shelves
(which I discovered was also damp) with the last of my paper towels
and emptied the water buckets. I had a cup of coffee with a cherry
dumpling breakfast looking out over an utterly serene inlet. Often the
only sounds were the waterfall nearby and....the WHOOSH of the whale
blowing as he circled the inlet once. I even caught him in the spotting
scope! A juvenile varied thrush came through eating more currents and I
had a nice look at a fox sparrow with a very yellow beak. I heard, but
didn't see, more chickadees, and
probably golden-crowned kinglets too. While there I finished Ann
Frank's diary, wildly impressed with this young woman, and with
stronger feelings of horror about the holocaust.
Inside I finally cut off a lot of the excess length in the wires that
comment the modem to the battery in the hopes that it would help with
some of the power shortages. When I had them all attached again
(looking much tidier) I was pleased to see the modem spring on with no
hesitation. At 10:00 I decided to take myself onto the water on this
gorgeous
September day. As I was then a little hungry and couldn't think of any
good snacks, I made quesadillas, packing up everything else while they
cooked and then wrapping them in tinfoil to eat as needed on the boat.
Cailey and I kayaked out on a falling tide and I filled the fuel tank
awkwardly, as my funnel got stolen and I forgot to bring one from the
shop. We cruised down the inlet, turned and followed the shore line to
Speel Arm, getting my first close look at the big waterfall my dad
remembers, which caught my eye on the way in this time without my
looking for it. The water was glassy calm and the view lovely. We went
into
Speel Arm and turned around, pausing by Mallard Cove to admire the 23+
eagles on the beach there; evidently there is a run on and that must be
where a lot of the fledglings are. There were a few more at Prospector
Creek, too, and I made about 20 casts there. Then we slowly cruised
along the west side of the entrance to the port to look for likely
places a prospector would build a cabin before swinging by the creek
behind Mist Island, which I've seen packed with eagles, but not this
time. I was surprised to find that the channel between the mainland and
Mist Island was full of kelp. From there I saw a whale a little toward
the entrance, so we puttered in that direction but, to my surprise,
never saw him again. The water was very calm and I was looking in every
direction, or thought I was. It's one of the few times a whale has well
and truly lost me, and I waited a good 20 minutes for him. Meanwhile, a
whale was sounding much farther out, so there are at least two in the
area.
We anchored up about two hours after we left, having lost the brief sun
we had at the entrance to the port as we drove back under more clouds.
Not
ready to have the beer I promised myself, I made a tour of the property
doing little chores. First I took off the filters housings on
Cottonwood and Mink cabin, wrapping the tops in tinfoil and supporting
them for the winter and opening the faucets inside, then I moved the
nail for a picture on the wall of Hermit Thrush, then pounded in the
support for one of the motion sensor cameras down by Harbor Seal before
working on Harbor Seal's filters, tucking in the tarp on the chair on
the porch for the winter, and finally pounding in the support for the
second camera. And then that beer on the porch, a little work on
Mongolian pictures before the modem died again, and I was back outside
to haul more lumber to the deck. This was a fairly unpleasant task, as
so much of the lumber is wet and slimy which is not only undesirable to
touch and handle, but makes them very heavy as well. I moved most of
it, but have a stack to finish tomorrow. It was after 3:30 then, but I
indulged in half a cup or Russian tea, worked on Mongolia pictures for
a little longer, and then on my Mongolia trip report. Now it's 5:15 and
I've lit a fire as my fingers are thoroughly frozen. I'm having trouble
getting it going, though.
More bison strips and green beans for dinner, then I lit the two
propane lights on the downriver side of the building and started
reading on the couch. I was interrupted by the sound of a thump and
claws scrabbling on the window behind me! I couldn't imagine a squirrel
jumping on the window, but that's what it sounded like. I stepped
outside to peer around the corner and see if I could see anything and,
just as I did, a little owl scuttered and flew from the side of the
lodge onto the edge of the porch and perched there. It looked a lot
like the little owl we saw up the Taku last weekend, so I suspect it is
another western screech owl, though the ears were at best little hints
of fluff. He gazed at me with yellow eyes in the twilight and I snuck
back inside to grab my phone for some fuzzy pictures. He was so calm,
though, that I hazarded a walk across the deck to where I'd left my
good camera with
which I was able to take as many flash photos of him as I wanted
without bothering him at all. I sat on the edge of the deck and watched
him as he gradually became more lively, looking around him and nodding
his head more and more vigorously. While there, a bat made one pass
overhead. A bat and an owl at the same time, ha! After perhaps ten
minutes, he flew steadily away down the side of the lodge with no
warning. It was about
7:40 then, so I soon packed up and headed to Hermit Thrush for the
night, stretching, reading, and watching a little television while the
cabin warmed up.
This morning when I cleared the fog off the windows for a second time
(staying and reading while the cabin heated and condensed moisture on
the window again), I saw that the river was obscured in fog. We were
completely socked in, nothing visible beyond the eagle nest point. A
duck flew by while I was sitting on the porch and it was fun to see him
vanish into it. The sooty grouse I've been hearing hoot on and off was
more vigorous about it this morning and I watched a young varied thrush
flutter around the bushes eating currents. Six teal flew in, what
looked like an adult female and juveniles; I thought the mother's
patch might be blue at first, but it soon resolved to green and I got a
flash of green from one of the others too. They were a little wary, and
paddled upriver and out of sight. I finished the chapter of a book I
was reading and, though I felt more sleepy and chilly than anything, I
changed clothes into the dirty ones I was wearing yesterday and
finished moving the bulk of the lumber from the storage area to the
porch. The very last two rows were particularly annoying because the
wet and rotten black 2x4s kept falling apart and had to be collected
into bundles. All that remains over there are the tarps, the short
pieces of PT lumber (which makes a large stack), and the myriad scraps
of plywood that are unsalvageable. The area where the lumber was is
relatively dry and, of course, devoid of vegetation. I'm thinking about
building myself a little sit spot gazebo there! I think I'll also move
the rounds I have cut up there so they have a better chance to dry out.
Then I came inside, ravenous, had a little snack, worked on pictures
for a few minutes, and here we are at 11:14. Cailey is curled up next
to me sound asleep.
Before lunch I thought I'd take Cailey upriver, as the tide was low
enough and would be rising again in the early afternoon. Khar took off
from the grassy point, leaving behind his brother sitting on one of the
rocks at the tip of it. There was an adult on the sandbars
farther out. I walked obliquely toward the eaglet, hoping to get closer
for a photo by angling onto the sandbars off the point instead of
heading straight for him. I didn't notice him disappear but found him
when the adult eagle from the sandbar took off and landed in his same
tree and he cried a greeting. I
meant to go to the point to investigate where the
eaglets had been, but happened to notice a salmon on the sand near
where the adult had been and went to investigate that first. I figured
it would be
another spawned out pink salmon, so imagine my surprise when it turned
out to be a huge silver-bright sockeye! It had the faintest, lovely
rosy hue which caused me to look very closely for spots, as it was
colored more like a coho--but it was spotless! The eagle had eaten most
of the head (leaving only jaws and some of the structure), the collar
past the pectoral fins, and the eggs (there were just a few smooshed
ones on the sand). There actually weren't many eagle prints around it,
possibly obscured by all the gull prints. It smelled and looked
fresh as can be, and I figured it couldn't have been out of the water
for more than an hour or so, as it was close to the river and the tide
was falling. I considered my options and, though I hated to take food
from the eaglets, who seemed a bit behind the others congregating at
other food sources, I decided there was ample food around for them
and....and I took it! Carrying it in both hands before me, with
apologies and thanks to the eagles, who I am sure were watching me from
their perch upriver, I hurried home, making it back with an aching back
and incredulity, rinsing the sand off my fish in the creek on the way
and
walking up into the woods to make the walk easier. In the
lodge I started to fillet it, then realized that I hadn't "cleaned" it
yet, which meant that the belly wasn't cut! Inside I found only some of
the liver (I think) and a bit of the stomach or intestines, but mostly
it was a clean and empty cavity. I cleaned out the blood line in the
sink and filleted it about an inch down from the edge of where it had
been eaten. It was a big fish and I wound up with 11 small portions,
more
than I get from sockeyes. The flesh was salmon colored, not
red, but firm and smelled great. I didn't have my vacuum packer, so
after rinsing and drying each piece I put them doubled into ziplocks
and placed them in the freezer, keeping one out for dinner. I couldn't
believe what a lovely gift it was! After cleaning up I immediately
carried the carcass and scraps--with still a lot of meat on it--back
upriver and left them on the end of the grassy point in full sight of
the adult eagle upriver.
Cackling
inwardly with disbelief and delight, I came back and made
quesadillas for lunch, enjoying them on the porch with a beer.
Meanwhile, I'd started the generator and had hooked up both my laptop
(whose second battery had died) and the first 12 volt modem battery,
which I thought might be dead.
The day was overcast and mild, warmer now that the fog had cleared off
(which happened after I had finished hauling lumber over). Again that
morning I'd seen how the world is covered in cobwebs, filling in the
gaps in all the branches, strung across every salmonberry twig; the
world has more spiders in it than anyone could imagine, brought to
light in my eyes only in the unique conditions of a dense fog.
I got quite
sleepy, so went inside and laid down for a very short nap, waking up, I
think, to a loud airplane somewhere in the distance. I got up and
started working on the wet and rotting lumber, breaking what I
could into wood stove sized pieces and stacking them at the edge of the
porch. The ones that were too rotten to salvage but too firm to break
by hand I stacked in a couple of places for cutting later. I had mixed
feelings about the growing stack of firewood: it was
satisfying--probably a
couple of years' worth, even if rotten--but I also felt bad about
letting
so
much lumber go to waste. By the time I quit at 5:00 I'd worked through
most of the worst lumber, so tomorrow I can start sorting through the
pieces that are better intact and tucking them under the lodge for safe
keeping. Before I went for a walk
this morning I scooped out most of the ashes from the wood stove which
had built up a surprising amount in the two years since I did that
last,
and the fire that I lit this evening took off and burned much better
than the others have so far. Feeling pretty good, I had a
couple of small glasses of wine
on the porch overlooking the inlet before doing the dishes and then
cooking up my salmon for dinner. It was tender and delicious and
reminded me of coho in flavor and texture. Ha! [A couple of weeks later
I was chatting with a coworker who is more knowledgeable about salmon
identification and from my photo he could see that my salmon was not a
sockeye (there were silver streaks in the tail) and not a pink, of
course; there are no Chinook in the river (and it didn't look like a
Chinook) so options were chum and coho, and chum seemed unlikely in
part because the caudal-peduncle area was very thick, which is typical
of coho but not of chum, and partly because it was so silver bright in
September (though there are fall chum runs). The next time I thawed a
piece for dinner, I
pulled four scales and Rich took them to the ADF&G Mark, Tag, and
Age Lab; subsequent analysis confirmed that they were from
a coho, age 1.1 (one year in fresh water, one year in the ocean)! It
could not have been more exciting news, and this fish turned out to be
my only coho of the year.]
-------------------
It feels like it's been a long, productive and good day, though when I
look back I don't see that I accomplished very much. It was another
overcast day with maybe 45 minutes of sun enough to drive Cailey and I
to the lower deck (Cailey takes herself down there, eschewing her comfy
dog bed on the upper deck for the hard boards of the lower deck when
the sun comes out; this was the second time I've taken her dog bed down
there, and this time I joined her). Otherwise, mild and
overcast, and again utterly serene in the morning. It was cool, but
comfortable wrapped in my blanket, and I sat and enjoyed the morning,
not even reading. I do so love the closing in of fall. Of course, it
didn't hurt that there was entertainment! I noticed a flock of gulls
across the river closely circling together and thought I'd see if
anything interesting was drawing their attention; to my delight, a sea
lion reared its head high, salmon in his jaws! He was throwing his head
back and forth as they do to break off swallowable chunks and the gulls
were watching closely for tidbits. The lion shook several
times, ducking underwater between thrashes, accompanied by two other
lions. I
trained my spotting scope on him and got wonderful views. And then it
was all quiet, a few heads breaking the still surface, but only
for
a couple of minutes. Then suddenly a lion, larger than the other two,
shot
up in a high spy hop and started (apparently) trying to choke down a
whole salmon! This was a good sized salmon, and only the head (if it
still had a head) was in the lion's mouth; he looked like he was trying
to swallow it head first, and whole. He disappeared underwater for a
few seconds, then thrashed a little, then popped up with the same
ridiculous swallowing motion, like an eagle (or any raptor) swallowing
a whole fish. But this was a salmon! He evidently knew what he was
doing and this time before he disappeared the salmon slid down his
throat until
only the tail was in his mouth. The other lions were around and one
made a swallowing motion upon surfacing, so may have found a tidbit.
Seals were around the area, but didn't seem to react to the lion's
presence. I was genuinely impressed by that lion choking down an
(apparently whole) salmon.
Eventually I slipped under the deck and started stacking the lumber I'd
staged there yesterday, propping them up off the ground on bits of PT
lumber and shimming some of them off the others to help dry them out
this
winter. I followed those pieces with the interior hemlock siding,
leaving the best pieces most accessible in case they are wanted up the
Taku
next year, and finally carried under all the short pieces of useable PT
lumber and
stacked them neatly underneath as well. Everything is in order, but it
will take some maneuvering to get anything out. While working down
there, I kept
hearing what sounded like a very quiet whale blowing, but when I was
able to look, I never saw the blow. Later when I was sitting down on
the lower
deck with Cailey having a late morning diet
coke,
I really concentrated on trying to see if it was a whale, timing
the
dives (if they were dives) and looking back and forth across Gilbert
Bay as long as I could hold my binoculars up. I never saw anything and
eventually the sound ceased. I have a sneaking suspicion it may have
been a minke whale, which I've seen once before in here, by accident,
while I was drifting around the mouth of the inlet halibut fishing; I
kept hearing the blow, but never saw it, and just by chance saw the
distinct sickle shape of the dorsal fin rising while I was out there. I
bet this was another. I also heard a little rustling in the currents
just to my left and found a lovely hermit thrush there, scratching and
quietly bopping around the ground, very close. What a charming
creature; I had thought that the hermit thrushes were all gone, but
evidently not. Fall bird watching is a gentle, quiet affair, and you
really have to pay attention.
Before lunch I started working on
rehabilitating the old lumber storage area, which was a mound of PT
scraps, shredded tarps, and plywood. So much were wet and heavy (or
small
and rotten) pieces of plywood that were either weights for the tarps or
were saturated underneath. None of it is salvageable. What do to with
it? I thought about staging it behind the shed, thinking I might burn
it next summer on the beach, but that seemed too awkward with the turn
around the building and the all the nettles and vegetation back there.
As a temporary
solution, I leaned some of the larger, more intact pieces against the
upriver side of the shed over the drainage ditch. I'm not happy with
it, and plan to lean them against the stack of uncut rounds there if I
don't have a chance to move them up to the store them in the lumber
area. The smaller pieces of plywood, though, I just tossed out of the
area and onto the path and need to deal with them later. In the process
I unearthed two long, very wet, large pieces of lumber that I drug over
toward the porch, one of which only as far as the top of the river
boat. So awkward and heavy. That was probably the time I stopped to
have lunch, quesadillas again and a beer on the porch. I read for a
little about Eastern Orthodox spirituality, then decided I'd make good
on my plans for a nap today. Somehow it was already 2:00 when Cailey
and I curled up on the couch; it took me a long time to get warm enough
to sleep, but I eventually drifted off, waking up after 3:00 to the
sound of a young eagle screaming. This morning, one of the resident
eagles chased off juveniles twice; could one or both have been their
own? The two upriver are still obviously welcome in their territory.
Perhaps these were those eagles, or other fledglings, and this pair's
is lingering on one of the nearby streams. I certainly hope so. It's
been sad and a little unusual not to have the fledgling hanging around,
but this could be a matter of personality, timing, etc. I hope so.
In any event, it got me up in the hopes that there was something
interesting going on. I saw nothing, but decided to take Cailey for a
walk upriver and dispose of the salmon carcasses. I put three in a bag
along with several skeins of roe and trooped upriver, turning on the
motion sensor cameras on the way (I wish I'd done that before the bear
came by). That way I can take my laptop over there and test for
direction before I go. All in all, this has been the most relaxed close
up I have ever had, no fretting, no panic over little things like
setting up the cameras. Everything is flowing nicely and I hope that it
continues. Tomorrow is when I will do most of the close up tasks,
leaving only a few minor things for Sunday if I can. What a beautiful
and fun week it's been!
So I walked upriver, flushing one of the fledgling eagles from the
trees above the grassy point without knowing he was there. I left a
couple of carcasses and roe on the rocks (above high tide I believe)
near the end of the sandbars, in sight of one of the adults, and the
rest on top of a rock with eagle poop on it right on the grassy point.
I hope they are enjoyed! On the way back I walked around in front of
the cameras a bit to initiate videos, then grabbed the rest of the
carcasses. One I left on the beach below the log where I also weighted
down a very salmony garbage bag and the stringer to soak in the next
tide, and the others down on a log and rock closer to the nest but in
sight of the porch. There were no eagles around and I don't actually
expect much interest. The large male carcass I kept to place in front
of one of the cameras in case it elicits any interest by wildlife.
After that I continued to tidy up at the old lumber pile, first shaking
out all the tarps (five or six of them) of the accumulated needles and
duff, then neatly stacking all the PT lumber scraps into a succinct
pile on the downriver side of it to be left and covered with a tarp for
the time being. That was a big project, as there were a lot of pieces,
and resulted in another pile of non-PT lumber to be taken to the porch
to be cut and some larger PT pieces to join the others under the lodge.
I then checked the weather, seeing that it looked decent for my hoped
for Sunday departure, and went back outside. With a bit of energy left,
I moved the entire stack of broken, rotting firewood under the porch
behind the existing row of firewood in
a single stack, for once making neat cribs to either side to contain
them. Now the only lumber left on the deck is what I need to cut
into firewood with a skilsaw, plus the piece of cedar I was going to
make the picture window trim out of, all of which will likely have to
wait until next summer. So, it has to be stacked. And then I came
inside, and am now sitting on the couch sipping a tiny glass of wine
and
writing this. A few minutes ago I heard a boat noise and stepped
outside to find a small fiberglass boat with fishing gear on it
charging up the river. I sat down and watched with binoculars as a man
stepped onto the back deck and looked at me while another drove. They
went a little out of sight upriver, then puttered, turned around, and
headed out, toward Gilbert Bay perhaps but I wasn't really paying
attention. The first humans I've seen in six days?
But what I haven't said anything about yet is yesterday, after which I
was too tired and antsy to write, which is why it might seem like I've
skipped a day. It started similar to this morning,
absolutely serene over the inlet, and it was wonderful. In the morning
I worked on lumber, finishing breaking apart the rotting pieces and
sorting through the remainder for keepers or cutters. The last step was
to more carefully sort through all the interior hemlock siding left
over from the lodge and see what might be salvageable. Quite a few of
them have rotten ends, but are a couple of feet longer than 8', so
might still work. My parents are rehabilitating the little cabin on the
Taku and had mentioned the idea of paneling a wall or two; if I could
put this to use there, that would be wonderful. In the end, I had tidy
stacks of lumber, including a bunch of pieces staged to go under the
deck. I enjoyed the morning too, and there were even a few short bursts
of sunshine that were downright warm (this was the first time I moved
Cailey's bed to the deck, which was used after a few minutes of
apparent disinterest).
But
I had big plans for the afternoon.... the sockeye I'd found on the
sandbar upriver had put thoughts of fishing into my head, crazy, crazy
thoughts of fishing. I know that that sockeye (if it was a sockeye [it
wasn't]) was
probably bound for Crescent Lake and of a very different run from those
at Sweetheart Creek, I know that the sockeyes I'd caught five weeks ago
were already, a few of them, starting to turn, I know that twice now
I've gone in late August to find no sockeyes anywhere but in the upper
pool....and yet I could not shake the strong feeling that I should go
to Sweetheart Creek and fish. I could not resist this pull. In any
event, if I didn't catch fish, it wouldn't be a hard expedition, and
then I could check out the mouth of Gilbert Creek for cohos. But in my
heart of hearts I did think there was a chance for sockeyes... So after
lunch, I took Cailey on a walk upriver, who'd seem rather sleepy all
day, then finished packing up before putting her in Hermit Thrush with
a peanut buttered cow hoof. She was excited for the hoof and didn't
seem shook up about my leaving. I think she is finally starting to
relax down here and no longer shoots off the couch anytime I shift my
weight. I put on rain pants and grabbed my backpack, emptied of
everything but the barest essentials along with the net, a bonker, and
several garbage bags. I also took along my fishing pole and camera (to
leave in the boat) and the handle to a hoe or some other tool which
looked like a good walking stick which may be helpful in navigating the
rock and muck of Sweetheart Creek. I took off at 2:12, anchoring up ten
minutes later fairly close to the beach, as it was then low tide. As I
arduously drug that kayak all the way up to the edge of the woods, I
consoled myself that, if I didn't catch fish, that would be the hardest
part of the expedition. Then, with just my pack on and walking stick in
hand, I yelled and chatted my way through the woods to the creek,
noting a motion sensor camera just inside the trees. The first grassy
area I passed had some fresh pink kills I flushed a couple of eagles
off of, and I was pleased to see that the shallows were still full of
dark, spawning pinks. I saw freshish bear tracks in several places, but
thankfully did not see any live bruins on the way to the point.
And on top of the point, as I peered toward the water, what did I see but fish wriggling their way up the falls to the upper pool! Quite a few of them were trying it! That meant there were fish in the pool! Ha! But I still didn't know what state they'd be in, or even if they were sockeyes, though I thought so. I set myself up down by the water, which was back to a more normal level from the last time, and made a cast into the green water above me, about 30 minutes after I'd left the homestead. Lots of wiggling, white flashes over the low falls, and there at my feet were five or six sockeye salmon. Yes, they were all a little darker than silver bright, but some of them were looking pretty decent! I chose the two brightest ones, bonked then, and set about releasing the rest. It went a little better than it had with the pinks, but I did wind up killing one small individual who was noticeably turning and, since I hated to waste fish even if it had no chance to spawn, I kept it. It's funny, because I did not keep the pinks I inadvertently killed the same way earlier this year, but I felt obligated to keep this sockeye. So right off the bat I have three fish. And now I'm thinking....how many fish do I want to/can I carry home? I had no dry bag, so the only way to carry fish was in my backpack, which is why I'd brought the extra garbage bags for that quick trip. I could also carry some on a stringer, but I was unwilling to do that with the potential of running into a bear. Having fish in a pack, out of sight, in a very fishy place is one thing; carrying obvious fish in a place where bears eat fish they find dead is quite another.
Long story short, I caught sockeyes (and one little dolly) in nearly
every cast, all but the one I threw close to rushing water and one
rather bad cast. It was hard to turn them back, so I quickly wound up
with three more on my stringer and decided that eight was the number I
would stop at. I began to be more selective, releasing whole net fulls
of sockeyes if they seemed too dark, or too small (I was hoping for
another larger one or two, as most of what I had kept were fairly
small). One very good cast brought in a rigorously wriggling net (such
a wonderful feeling that is, when you can feel the movement of the fish
through the vibrations of the rope before you see the net in the water)
with two large male sockeye, but they were actually red in color, and I
let them go. The ones I was keeping were burnished, with perhaps a hint
of pink, but not red and olive. Except for that little male who
accidentally died, which I later saw was a little red on the side, like
a
rainbow trout, with an olive blush to the cheek. I soon had another
keeper and then I started getting really particular. It's also fun to
fish, and I could have had my eight in only a handful of casts and
perhaps fifteen minutes, most of that taken up by disentangling fish
from my net (I was pleased that my first cast only took me five minutes
to disentangle and string the fish). When a lovely female came in that
was actually silver-bright, I kept her, and that was that. I was so
relaxed, I had my fish, I had no time limit, there were no bears, and
no people. I took my time, lining the main compartment of my bag with a
garbage bag and slipping six fish in there before I ran out of room. I
wanted to put my net and the other fish in the other compartment, but
couldn't fit them in, so I settled for putting the rest of the fish in
another part of the backpack and the
net in the last garbage bag. I took a moment at the top of the point
to enjoy the scene and try to snap a picture of a fish running the
falls. What a beautiful spot. Oh, and to top it off, in the middle of
fishing, a hawk flew right overhead and landed in a tree just across
the creek! As it flared out to land, I didn't see any obvious pattern
or color to identify him, but when he turned to look at me I'd have
said he was a buteo hawk, not an accipiter, but the tail was brown
and barred. He watched me for a few minutes, then flew downstream to a
tree
over the next point. Wow!
I was grateful for the walking stick on the way back, but carrying fish
in a small backpack is wildly easier and more comfortable than those
silly dry bags that hang so low. Of course. I also had four and a half
fish less than the last time, but I still think it would have been
easier. I stopped
making silly small talk to the bears as I passed the first camera at
the edge of the second rocky point (going downriver) and remembered for
the other one that if I walked fast it probably wouldn't wake up in
time to see me. They seemed positioned to see across the trail, not
down the trail, so I wonder if the owners are very experienced with
them, and I really wonder what they're for. The one on the ocean side
of the peninsula has a padlock attached.
Dragging my kayak back to the water was also not very fun, as the tide
was only beginning to come in. Anxious to be back at the homestead, I
pulled anchor without cleaning the fish, leaving them on the floor of
the boat, having no tarp or anything to put them on. I anchored up at
home, cleaned the fish efficiently (cutting all the bellies at once,
for
example, rather than cleaning each one start to finish), which helped
my back. It was going so fast that I didn't even bother stringing them
in the water after the first one (I'm always paranoid about knots
slipping and losing my catch anyway). I got the boat ship shape again,
laid my catch in the kayak, and headed for shore. Cailey was delighted
to see me. And it was so early! I set myself up on the porch with the
card table and my supplies (I had brought my fillet knife and
sharpener) and battled the noseeums while I filleted my precious,
precious catch. The color of the flesh varied from bright red to
oranger salmon colored, and there wasn't an obvious correlation between
the tone of the skin and the tone of the flesh, except that the
silver-bright one was red and the turning male was quite pale. But all
of the flesh was firm and looked and smelled good. Some of them had
wounds they'd survived. I put three plates of portions and a plate of
bellies and scrapings in the fridge and took a break for a little
snack, some honeydew melon and dry granola. Then I rinsed and dried
the portions and placed them five or six to a large ziplock and laid
them in the freezer. When I get home, I'll glaze and vacuum pack them
and hopefully they'll be perfect! I also plan to freeze some baggies of
water to help them stay cold on the way home. Oh, but I was so
delighted! Sockeyes on September 14!? Ha! I was also pretty tired and
amped up. I made some Amy's organic white
cheddar pasta (a.k.a. fancy mac and cheese) for dinner and laid down to
finish an episode of Doctor Who to wind down before bed.
We're now back on track, so this is Saturday, two days after
Sweetheart: I woke up feeling more alive and better rested than I have
recently,
predictably at a little before 8, which surprised me since I was up a
little later than usual last night. I had a quick breakfast of grapes
and the rest of the granola, looking out over a very overcast inlet
with a little wind coming down the river, which I hoped would pass away
before I leave tomorrow (it's an indication of a north wind, which
likely means a northerly out of the Taku). Thankfully, the weather
still has it as a SE system in the morning, turning to the NW in the
afternoon. I may leave a little earlier than the noon I had planned to
try to beat the switch. After breakfast I started work right away,
first neatly stacking all the lumber on the deck that needs to be cut
into firewood next summer, then nailing in the pieces of plywood around
the back porch that keep the rain splatter from soaking the porch in
the winter, then put the tarp over the lodge outhouse, then over the
cabin outhouse (and also tied that one up for the winter), then grabbed
the filters from Hermit Thrush, then hauled all the lumber I wanted to
burn or keep that I'd found in the pile of PT lumber and stacked it or
put it next to the lodge to put underneath. So, lots of little projects
out of the way. Before I took a break to check on the weather, I also
took care of the gray water system, which is probably my least
favorite closing up task even though it only took about ten minutes.
Suited up in rain pants, rubber gloves, and boots, I emptied the barrel
and cut off the disgusting filters. Having spaghetti the night before I
did that was probably not a great idea! After a little bit of a break
and a delicious cup of mint tea, I trekked up the path to the creek
with Cailey and moved the olive barrel into its winter quarters against
a log nearby. Before I did that, I made a cursory effort to redam its
hollow and get more water to run through, as it looks like the channel
right around the outlet hose had broken through and that's why the
water had stopped. In the end, I settled for lifting up the barrel and
hopefully forcing the water remaining in it down the system to the
lodge. I'd noticed that water pressure was dropping yesterday morning
and became more and more convinced of it as the day went on until I
finally panicked and filled both my large soup pots with water to last
the rest of the stay. My strategy worked, and I still have some low
flow water coming in again. Before I broke, I made the rounds of all
the cabins, draining the water out of all the valves and covering them
with tinfoil. I then grabbed my laptop and took a look at the test
videos I've been making on the cameras and decided that they were both
in good places. Finally, I pulled down a huge branch that was poised to
go over the upriver end of the bridge and might have damaged both the
bridge and the camera mount when it did. I finally had some soup for
lunch and most of the last of the bread, then a cup of hot chocolate.
When suddenly I looked up and the inlet was covered with little rain
ripples, I decided it was time to wrap things up. I grabbed a nice
looking Costco blue tarp from the lumber area and doubled it over the
top of the future firewood pile on the lower deck, weighing it down
with heavy boards and rocks. Then I did the same for the pile of PT
lumber still in the old lumber area as well as for the pile of rotten
plywood that I'd tossed next to the stack of rounds by the shed (I'd
decided not to try to move them this time). The more intact pieces that
I'd leaned against the shed I now leaned against the other side of the
rounds pile and used some to help hold down the new tarp. Then I folded
up the remaining three tarps and stashed them behind the PT lumber and
raked the area, finding a few more saturated 2x4s that are now holding
tarps down. I feel pretty good about having that project done, wasted
rotten lumber notwithstanding. Then I took Cailey on the promised walk.
She took some persuasion to follow me, as she probably thought I was
either going to lock her up or do more boring errands. When I'd gone
inside to get lunch, I'd invited, then commanded her to follow so she
could get treats, but instead she actually jumped off the side of the
high porch to escape.
Cailey and I walked to the creek inlet and discovered that the tide
wasn't low enough to walk around the rocks yet, so we explored inside
the woods upriver of the creek, following the game trail until I could
see that there was beach below us. It was still and peaceful in the
woods, all yellow devil's club and green hemlock, and turning false
azalea. Then we walked back to the creek and up to the grassy point
where we disturbed crows, some of which were on the rock where I'd left
some of the salmon carcasses; two backbones were nearby, but no heads
or eggs. There was nothing left on the rock farther upriver where I'd
deposited the rest. On a sandbar separated from beach by two channels,
one
of the fledglings was sitting on a fish and since he and his sibling
(in the trees) and one of the adults flew away when I was still on the
point, I went to investigate. It didn't look silver bright from a
distance, but I went out anyway and found a big, spawned out chum
salmon with burgundy bars. This time the head was intact, but there was
a large gouge of flesh taken from the gills back. I didn't see any
wounds on it, so I think it may have washed up. Then this. To my
surprise, I discovered after logging on my laptop for a bit that it was
4:30; I let Cailey in, whose tummy was rumbling with hunger, fed her,
lit a fire (for I was quite chilled by then), and started bopping
around with packing up chores, putting away clothes, picking out food
to take home, and greasing the o-rings on the cabin filters. I wanted
to close that project down by taking down the lodge's filters and
unscrewing the connections under the sink, but I still have water
coming out of the tap and it's so much more convenient to use than that
dipping out of a tub that I am letting it go until tomorrow morning.
When everything was tidy I cooked the last of the bison and finished
the
bottle of wine. Then I washed the dishes, pleased that I could use tap
water to rinse everything, and read until I drank the last of
the wine. The fire has been warming the place nicely and I feel quite
cozy. After the initial sprinkles that spurred me to tarp the lumber,
it dried out again, but recently started back up, enhancing the
coziness of the
place. I just looked through the week's photos and I'd completely
forgotten how hard it was raining on the way down here. I think this
has been the longest stretch of dry weather we've had since the
beginning of August. How lucky I am.
----------------------------------------------
Evidently I never wrote the rest of this trip report, and it's now two
months later. I believe I celebrated my last evening at Snettisham for
the year with jiffy pop popcorn, a beer, and probably watching
something on my laptop. My departure, if I remember correctly, went
fairly smoothly, and I carefully stepped over the myriad slugs that
were circling the roe I'd left on the stone walkway when carrying my
gear down to the water which, while
offputting, were at least making use of that offering. There was also a
spider with a big white abdomen on the path. The inlet was green and
beautiful and the ride up Stephen's Passage to Taku Inlet pleasant; it
got a bit stiff coming out of the north as we crossed the Taku, but it
was tolerable, if quite splashy, and soon enough we were pulling into
the harbor for one last time. For only about the third time this
summer, I ordered traditional Bullwinkles pizza for a well-deserved
feast after my also well-deserved shower.
