Beaver lodge in the slough
Photo Album
Taku
2018 - 1: Opening
June 16-18
I've had an unusual number of struggles this year. That is, things that
normally go well for me have thrown up hurdles, though my effort seems
the same. Last Friday, on my first Southeast boat camping trip in over
two years, everything was going typically well on a beautiful evening
until Cailey arrived with quills just as I was about to start a fire.
We boated back at dusk and walked out of the vet clinic around 11:30
that night. For this trip,
preparation went well in Juneau. Yesterday, Ezra helped me carry Rob's
handmade cedar table and old leather couch down to the Kathy M, which
I was borrowing for this trip in order (in part) to take the load of
hemlock and some other lumber up the Taku; it was a benefit not just to
be able to haul items big too large to carry comfortably in the
Ronquil,
but I'd be less stressed about the weather given that I don't have much
choice for when I leave the river (in terms of tide) and don't have a
way to check the marine forecast there. In any event, the morning load
was fun except for the streams of water that drained from the tarped
lumber whenever the boat tilted off center, and I spent most of today
prepping in some way for nearly a week out of town. I left the house
around 2:15, dropped my gear at the top of the ramp, and parked in
14-day parking. Cailey and I walked Myron's mountain bike down to the
boat, also bound for the Taku, and I managed to sneak it inside despite
the limited space on the back deck, where I also left Cailey. By the
time I made it back to the ramp, the cart there had disappeared and I
headed north toward one I could see about half way down. It turned out
to be bound to the houseboat next to it (presumably owned by it), but
I'd already passed two other carts at the end of two fingers, with not
attendees or activity around them. Surely there is no greater sign of
the degradation of society than the increasing failure to return harbor
carts to the ramps. Come on, Juneau!!
I
wheeled my find back to the ramp and was pleased to find that the rest
of my gear fit snugly inside. I unloaded it at the boat, then unlocked
the boat house to grab propane tanks, gas, and my emergency bag,
noticing that there was a bit of water in the bottom of the Ronquil.
With a couple of days of rain ahead I thought it would be wise to
remove as much as I could, though the week was supposed to be sunny
starting Monday. So I grabbed its battery and hooked up the bilge pump
and let it run while I loaded the rest of the boat; it had finished by
the time that I was ready at 3:15. Cailey was snug on her bed on the
port bench seat as we puttered to the fuel dock across a strong
current. I was pleased with my docking, and jumped through the front
window to the dock with no one to meet me. I pulled the boat up far
enough that I could watch the fuel gage while I fueled. At 3:43 we were
underway again; beer in hand (or, rather, propped between my feet). I
called Ezra to say goodbye, sent some texts, and headed down the
channel. A light rain cleared off in the inlet before becoming steady
again as I entered the river. There was several feet of mud in front of
the steps at the landing and I used a line hanging out there in the
bushes to quickly tie to the bow. It was rather awkward unloading, as I
had to keep pulling the boat in to make it to dry land with every load,
and several items I tossed into a tangle of dead spruce limbs which
broke their fall and hung onto them nicely. I eventually untied that
line and used a line attached to the lumber across the top to bring it
in closer for the last load. The bike was especially difficult, as I
had to back it out door and onto the tarped table. I tried and failed
to carry it along the outside of the boat and wound up shimmying it
across the lumber on the top. The plywood we had laid over the stairs
last fall to
pull the floats up was still screwed on, so loading everything up them
was very
awkward, but I eventually had it all stashed in the woods.
THEN the
debacle began. My plan was to anchor the boat in the river and tie a
line to the stern so I could pull it to shore when needed. I had
considered unloading the lumber at that point, but it was getting on in
the evening, the bugs were out, I was tired and it was past Cailey's
dinner time, and there was really no simple way to do it, especially
with the plywood over the stairs. I decided to do it tomorrow, so went
to anchor up. The longest line that was convenient was the yellow line
that was partially holding down the tarp over the lumber. I untied it
and tied one end to an alder by the stairs, tying the other end to a
cleat on the stern of the boat. As we drifted back I started the engine
and puttered up the river, dropping the anchor somewhat above the
landing, thinking it would float back as I let out line. When we were
about even with the landing I tied it off and walked back to pull
myself to shore. After some effort it became clear that I didn't have
enough length in the anchor line to make it, so I let out more line,
but it still didn't work. After failing to reposition the boat with
bow and stern bound in different directions and the river ripping past
(it was not pretty maneuvering), I wound up pulling anchor and
repositioning farther upriver and a little closer to shore, tying off
the line just off the landing. By this time the stern line had wrapped
around a log just upriver from the landing on the other side of the
spruce branches that caught my gear. This made it extremely difficult
to pull myself ashore, but I did managed to get close enough to jump,
to Cailey's relief. However, when the boat drifted back out with the
current, the stern line wasn't long enough and it wound up somewhat
broadside to the current, maybe 45 degrees, not a good position. The
line was shortened by going upriver around that log, so I clearly
needed to disengage it. But, to do so I needed slack, and pulling the
boat upriver broadside to the current from a silt bank entirely covered
by the branches of a dead spruce tree was not easy and the log was out
of reach. There was so much tension on the line there was no way I
could dislodge it without significant slack. I pulled and pulled and
pulled and it remained caught on two branch nubs. After I slipped and
went in over one boot I finally just plunged into the river. The log
was in thigh
deep water, but I had terrible traction there and still struggled. I
worked at it for a while, pulling in vain but never enough, stepped out
to reconsider, and finally plunged back into the river up to my crotch.
What finally worked was untying one of the lines that held the log in
place, which let it drift downriver a few inches and move more freely.
I was finally able to haul the boat's stern upriver enough to unwrap
the line from the log and free it. The stern drifted out until, to my
great relief, the boat was sitting at anchor with slack in the stern
line. I left the two propane tanks, the bike, and a handful of other
nonessentials in the woods and trekked to the cabin to Cailey's
exuberance. I
dropped my main bag on the way, as I had too much for one load, but
came right back for it as soon as I dropped the rest of the gear off.
The cabin looked great, the meadow covered in white strawberry flowers
and blue lupine.
At the back porch I grabbed the motions sensor camera SD card,
stripped from the waist down, unlocked the door, then turned on the
propane and opened the shutters. Inside I put on dry clothes, brought
my gear inside, fed Cailey, put out my SPOT messenger to send an OK
message, lit a fire, lit the pilots, unpacked my food, and filled some
water bottles with the water from jugs on the back porch while I boiled
water to heat my package of Indian food. Now I'm sitting on the couch
in a surprisingly warm cabin with Cailey at my feet while a steady
windless rain falls, creating a whiteout over the river. Very cozy and
I am grateful to be here. Tomorrow we'll see what chores I can do and
if I can get my chain saw started. I've had a generous cup of wine and
plan to treat myself to my novel. Although, it is already 8:00!
I
slept on the couch, avoiding my hammock because of mild sciatica and
staying in the only warm room of the cabin, but didn't sleep quite as
soundly as I usually do there. Whether for warmth or snuggles or
another reason, Cailey was stretching out more beside me and less
keeping to her space at the bottom of the couch. With my leg
occasionally aching and my right shoulder often aching, I had to move
her around periodically, and myself more often, resulting is somewhat
fitful rest. At 3:30 am I woke to a bang on the ladder still sitting on
the porch and, at the same time, became aware that a thrush was making
an alarm call nearby. Predator? Though I really just wanted to roll
over and go back to sleep, I roused myself and strode the three steps
to the front window, peering out onto the porch. Sure enough, after
maybe a minute, a sharp nose appeared just underneath the sill, bolting
away once it saw us. It was the marten that had just appeared on the
motion sensor camera few days ago, replacing the golden fellow
whose company we'd enjoyed in March. His very dark coat and extremely
pointed muzzle were distinct. A few minutes later I could hear him
roaming around the outside of the cabin and looked for him coming down
from the porch upstairs before crawling back into bed. Cailey was not
to be put off so easily and watched alertly. She went to the back door
when Pierre started scrambling around back there and I looked back to
see his head appear at the edge of the window, half way down. Cailey
lunged and he disappeared, only to reappear again, this time at the
bottom corner of the window! Mischievous marten.
Despite
the daylight, I managed to fall back asleep until after 8:00,
lounged for a bit, then started the day. I ate oatmeal with a banana
and some peanut butter, which filled me up nicely until noon. I made
some hummingbird food and hung the feeders and set up the olive barrel
water catchment before starting work on the chain saw. First I mixed
gas in my new tank, using a plastic bowl to pour 2-cycle oil into so my
cute little oil mixing syringe could scoop it up and learning by
accident how to use the confusing fuel spout on the nearby jerry jug (I
was grateful it was handy, as I hadn't brought any off the boat). I
mixed about a gallon of gas, not wanting to use too much or mix too
much. When the saw tank and lube chambers were full, I noticed that the
chain seemed a little loose. Since adjusting that required loosening
the brake nuts, which required sockets in Alder, I first put air in the
tires of the bike, which seemed to be a success. In the shed I found
one of the right sockets and loosened the other nut with a wrench. At
last the tension seemed right and to my relief, the saw started up
fairly readily.
So, my first big task was cutting. Last summer I'd trimmed with
clippers all around the edge of the property, identifying a number of
small spruces that were too big for clippers and some alders I wanted
to push back. The way the vegetation is reaching into the remnant of a
meadow we have is really troubling to me, and the longer it goes, the
worse it will be. I think we've all more or less forgotten how open
this whole area used to be. I started with the small spruce on the
corner where the path to Alder turns downriver and wound up trimming a
lot of alders right there too, along with the alders surrounding the
spruce across the trail (that my mother and I agreed would open that
area up nicely), and then kept trimming the reaching alders in that
open area and along the path, along with the dozen or so small spruces
I'd exposed last summer. I circled a couple of the big spruces and cut
small spruces beneath them and few branches, then made my way down the
trail to the river trimming here and there along the way, turned to
trim the corner at the river and the trees that were overhanging the
trail to the boat. Mostly I was cutting alder trunks down to the ground
that were three to five inches in diameter. On the way back I stuck to
the river and trimmed a few trees there. All in all, it was a good
start and I was pleased with how open it was looking. At that point I
was ready to quit cutting but not ready to break, so I walked upriver
with Cailey, finding the path through the timber just upriver from the
cabin that my mother had mentioned as an alternative to the path along
the river that is close to the bank and requires much more maintenance
for the alders. I found a piece of flagging that I figured marked the
entrance and was pleased to find walking through the forest quite easy;
it would be much improved by cutting a lot of small dead trees and
trimming dead branches, but it was already very walkable, joining the
existing trail at the old eagle tree. I picked up the motion sensor
card there and then walked upriver to scope out the state of the rest
of the trail for future cutting endeavors. It would be nice to have a
full trail system that was walkable this summer, and the cabin meadow
maintained. The brushier parts of the trail need a lot of work, but
much of the deeper areas are in pretty decent shape. Toward the end, I
happened to see a nice opening into a meadowy area and left the trail,
wandering through meadows among clumps of alders, crossing some nearly
dry sloughs, and eventually making my way at last to my friend the
birch tree whom I haven't seen in years. Its bronze trunk is
magnificent! The upper trunk is broken, but still connected, the
branches trailing all the way to the ground, and the main lower branch
is intact as well. It leans charmingly downriver with no growth on the
upriver side. I greeted it warmly and I think took a GPS waypoint so I
can give instructions to have my ashes scattered there if I so choose.
From there I walked back to the main trail, now on Forest Service land, and righted the leaning "Please No Vehicles" sign near our property line. When I got back I broke for a lunch of quesadillas and a beer before heading back out with the chain saw. This time I went to the river, first cutting back a clump of alders that was pushing away from the alder fringe and into the meadow; this revealed about a dozen young spruces inside which I also cut before cutting a free standing clump of alders a little upiver. From there I walked along the spruce fringe toward the cooker, cutting the small spruces at the edge, before walked down to the "new" trail through the timber and cutting and trimming my way through there. It really is far superior to the trail by the river and I wished we'd been using it for years! Once I clear the cut trees and limbs I think it will be quite nice. I took another break then, feeling worn out, reading a little and then taking a short nap. At 4:00 I headed to the river with the intent to unload the lumber and was quickly met with difficulties. Or, rather, one difficulty. Pulling in the stern line was nearly more than I could manage. Standing on the slick clay shelf with little traction, inching it toward shore, losing ground every time I repositioned, was agonizing. I finally started using the root of one of the logs tangled downriver of the landing to tie off the line each time I had enough slack. With all the strength I had, I couldn't get it close enough to board and the log I was using began to be pulled from its lodgings, so I hastily unwrapped it, awkward with all the strain on it, and let the boat drift back into the current. It was not a good start. It was still an hour before high tide, which I thought might help, along with a board or something to help get me aboard if I got it close. Either way, it did not bode well for an early departure the next day.
On the way back I started hauling the cut alders behind Alder for
future cutting into firewood. I looked around for line and found none
(I think it's stored behind the screwed plywood where the 4-wheeler is)
and set my eyes instead on the ancient two-wheel cart that's been
moldering in the woods behind Alder probably since we moved here.
Although the plywood frame was rotten, the wheels still turned and I
thought I'd give it a go. It did quite well carrying loads of about
eight alders at a time! I made two or three loads and left one in it
before I realized that I should really have dinner before the tide. I
came in and heated up some soup and fed Cailey and forced myself to sit
still for 20 minutes before heading downriver again. I reached it right
at the 5:15 tide and was able to pull the boat in a little easier,
using a post in the bottom of the stairs to wrap the line as I pulled
it in. I'd brought a step ladder to help board, but didn't wind up
needing it, scrabbling up from the logs. I thought that bringing the
boat closer to shore might make the process tomorrow easier, and
possibly unloading as well, so I went ahead and untied the stern line,
pulled anchor, and pulled back in bow first. It wasn't an elegant
offloading procedure, me largely tossing pairs of boards onto the
stairs and muck, many of them breaking in their weak points. There may
be fewer of any value than I'd hoped. When that was done, I tied the
stern line back on and anchored closer to shore, running into that same
irritating log that had snagged the stern line last night as I came in.
Thankfully, I had enough force behind my arms to shove the boat up on
shore
far enough for me to leap to the beach. I believe it'll make a big
difference when we leave tomorrow. With only my personal gear and chain
saw gear, hopefully loading will be quick and easy. Hopefully! I then
piled all the lumber at the top of the stairs to stage it, clearing the
beach. More than a few are a bit muddy. At 5:53 I started moving the
pile to its resting ground nearby, stacking it on the remains of the
stair railing that conveniently had three nicely spaced PT 2x4s that
would keep my lumber off the ground. I was finished and tarping it at
6:07, using the nice brown tarps my mother had wrapped it in on the
boat. I stuck around to watch two river rats race by at speed, watching
its effects on the Kathy M. The wake bounced it and brought it closer
to shore, but it recovered afterwards. On the way back I walked along
the river planning the cutting for tomorrow, then came inside, hung all
my gear, and lit a fire if only to dry them off. I've worn four
different pairs of pants today and three shirts, changing as each got
too wet to
wear. The combination of walking through knee-high wet vegetation all
day and being showered by wet trees from above (and also getting wet
offloading lumber) resulted in the casualties. I was grateful I'd
brought so many clothes! When everything was in order I ate a reeses
peanut butter cup and settled in for the night, surprisingly having the
best birdwatching all day. In the meadows I'd watched a fox sparrow and
Lincoln's warbler sing and had seriously troubled a female varied
thrush when I was trimming the new trail. But from inside I saw a
gorgeous yellow-rumped warbler and Townsend's warbler in the spruces
outside as well as thrushes bopping through the spruces downriver.
Earlier in the day I was roused from the couch by an unusual songbird
silhouette in a spruce by the river and managed to see it in poor
binoculars enough to see that it was yellow with gray marked wings.
Definitely something interesting, but it had gone by the time I pulled
out my binoculars. Last night a hummingbird had come and hovered in
front of the downriver window and today there have been at least two--a
male and a female. Now I think I'd better go check on the boat before
bed.
The
boat was laying at anchor nicely. I made a quick trip by mountain bike,
gliding with ease down the meadow and along the river and back (though
I did wipe out on a sharp turn); I think I'm going to really enjoy that
bike. Although I hated to miss a chance to see the marten if he or she
returned, I opted to sleep upstairs in the hopes of a full night of
sleep, setting up my simple bedding on the king bed with the
dog bed next to me, evidently appreciated by Cailey. I was glad I had,
as I lay in bed listening to the resumption of rain on the roof. But
despite a long day or work, I couldn't get to sleep for more than a
doze and eventually went downstairs to go the bathroom and get a snack.
I'd meant to eat some more before bed, but had forgotten before I
brushed my teeth and hunger was gnawing at my sleepiness. I read for a
little while after that, finally getting into the book about the
Phoenicians and Carthage I've been looking forward to, and eventually
fell asleep.
---
The morning was lightly overcast and I got to work shortly after
breakfasting. The first task was to finish cleaning up from the prior
day's cutting. I'd left a cart already loaded with alder on the path
and moved it and several more loads to the growing mound behind Alder.
By the time that one area was clear, I'd decided that it already had
more alder firewood than we could possibly want, so I hauled the rest
to other locations--some to the mound I'd already made last year along
the downriver path to the river, some at Landing #1 to fill in the
little gap there, some in the woods on the way to the boat, two to help
cover the lumber stacked there, and the rest in the eroding divot just
downriver of the stretch of alders on the riverbank we can see from the
lodge. There is no vegetation for a gap of several feet there and it is
eroding noticeably in relation to the relatively stable bank to either
side. There is still some debris from last year there and my additions
brought the mound over the top of the bank, but I don't know how much
will stay without being tied down. However, that was not my goal for
the day. When that task was done, I moved upriver to clear away the
limbs and trees I'd cut on the new trail, pausing just at the beginning
as a thrush wheee alarmed at me with a beak full of bugs; another soon
joined it. Either a nest or fledglings were nearby (probably a nest),
and I really wanted to find them, but opted to leave the anxious
parents alone. Hermit thrushes evidently nest on the ground and I also
didn't want to encourage Cailey to find the nestlings. Clearing the
trail was easy and satisfying, mostly dragging dead trees away and
sweeping the trail clear of cut limbs with my feet, resulting in quite
a nice timber trail. I moved the motion sensor camera upriver to a
differenet portion of the trail in the hopes of less false readings and
more encounters. It didn't go far and it's an untested site, so we'll
see. After that I took the bike down to Fox Hole to measure the plywood
siding and flooring so we can buy what we need to replace the rotten
pieces that were cut out, carrying the chain saw gas can and bag of
chain saw sundries to drop off at the landing on the way. Naturally I'd
forgotten the measuring tape I'd found in the shop earlier, so Cailey
and I headed back to the cabin; I was grateful for the fleet bike,
though it was harder work riding than I expected. I decided I needed
more air in the tires with my weight on board.
Measuring was a bit of a
challenge as the edge of the plywood was frayed and the lighting was
poor, but I think I have a handle on it. Everything was dry and tidy. I
still wasn't ready to quit, so I started the chain saw again and
finished cutting along the riverbank alders, finding more and more
young spruces inside; they just kept cropping up, even where I'd just
cut! This time I let the saw idle more often and cleaned up alders as I
went so they didn't stack up. I also cut a few spruces I'd missed under
the other spruces that I thought I'd cleaned out earlier. So many young
spruces that will not reach into the meadow any longer. It's amazing
how much of the bulk of the larger spruces was actually made up of
young spruces growing in their shadow. I considered cutting the large
spruce, the rivermost of the three big spruces at the bottom
of the meadow, but couldn't steel myself to do it. Instead, I broke for
lunch and considered my options. I was pretty much done with the
cutting I wanted to do around the cabin and didn't want to proceed
upriver. It was a beautiful day and, I thought, time to take the canoe
out to its summer haunt on the slough. It was then around noon and I
wasn't planning to leave until 4 or 4:30, so there should be ample time
to do that and still have time for a few more chores when I got back. I
did most of my packing, swept the carpet and washed the dishes before
Cailey and I headed to the canoe with only a paddle; in my pocket were
my phone and SPOT and my leatherman was clipped to a belt loop--it
would be a simple trip. And as soon as I was adrift in the serene river
with the sparkling blue sky beauty all around, I was ever so glad I'd
gone out. We drifted south, only paddling enough to keep the canoe
pointed downriver, enjoying the calm and the beauty.
Turning into the
slough I soon encountered a small bronze duck with a square of vibrant
emerald on its wing (a green-winged teal) shining in the sun, who soon
flew off to join another. I could heard warblers in the mountain
alders, too far away over the sedge to see, and enjoyed the fact that I
could see the bottom clearly most of the time, summer vegetation just
beginning to spring up from the muddy bottom. I reached the haul out
all too quickly and overshot it a little to go around the island past
the beaver lodge; I think I could see the entrance underwater, but it
was unclear if it was active. On the shoreline ahead was another lodge
that looked newer, so I decided to go around that island too.
Between the two was a lovely female goldeneye. Paddling back downslough
was a little harder than expected--maybe the breeze--but about an hour
after I left I had the canoe tied up and the paddle stashed and was
marching back toward the cabin. I replaced the card in the camera, made
sure it was level
again, and marched back to the cabin. I still had a couple of hours to
kill before even a very early departure, and I didn't quite know what
to do with myself! It was by then very hot and sunny out and I just
puttered. I'd already dug up two roses that had come up in awkward
places--one right on the path and the other in front of the porch, and
had carried those down to the landing along with my bag of clothes and
books. Sitting inside and out and looking toward the view, which was
beginning to appear again mostly, I think, because of cutting the
spruces inside the alders, I saw that the leftmost spruce right in
front of the cabin was creeping into the view with its branches. I
started trimming those and, through several iterations, regained
several feet of view. I also sucked it up and went ahead and cut the
largish spruce I'd had my eye on, with much apology, cutting it into
three chunks to move it under its large neighbor where a space had been
created from cutting alders the day before. On the way back, more small
spruces beneath larger ones came out, as well as more on the riverbank.
When I got back to the cabin.....for the first time in years, there was
a bit of a view and I did not feel frustrated or claustrophobic. Yay! I
also made a small attempt to start the water pump and fill the tank,
but discovered that the pump had been moved into Alder for the winter,
so didn't pursue it. I also made a foray into the island of vegetation
that houses the cottonwood trees in a futile effort to take a cutting
(the leaves are all well out of reach, the trees surrounded by
spruces), finding there another parent thrush with a beak full of bugs.
When
I was at last fully packed up, had filled in the cabin journal, closed
the
shutters, and turned off the propane, I wandered down to the landing
with all my gear. Thankfully, the boat came in easily and I tied it to
the bottom of the stairs again. After I tossed all the gear on the boat
I got it ship shape, hoisted Cailey up, untied the end of the line, and
hopped aboard. It was sweltering inside the cabin, but I kept the
windows
shut until we were underway to keep the bugs down. I took it slow down
the meadow and may have touched bottom once--it was maybe a foot or a
foot and a half lower than when I'd come up, then got up to speed along
the cliff face before slowing down again across from Hut Point. I was a
little embarrassed to be going so slowly in front of the cabins in case
anyone was there, but I was really in no hurry; in the distance, a
landing craft cut across the river toward the lower cabin from the
opposite shore, so when he went by, I swung over in that direction
before picking up speed as I angled across the river in what I thought
had been his direction. Id' wound up slightly on the glacier side to
avoid what looked like a wide riffle in the river. The presence of a
seal was encouraging. About mid channel I straightened out again as
I've
seen people do and, where I thought they might turn toward Scow Cove, I
stayed in the middle as it seemed like there was plenty of water and
I know there's a sandbar somewhere over there to avoid. As always, I
was
very relieved to reach Flat Point and the start of deep water; it was
about 40 minutes after I left the cabin and I headed toward Jaw.
