Rainbow over the new whale park
Photo Album
Snettisham
2019: A Late Opening
June 2-4
It's
going to be a busy summer. It's already been a busy spring! My already
full life was swollen with decisions and tasks when I became engaged in
mid-February. On top of an early May trip to Tasmania that I'd booked
in
January (the soonest I could get mileage tickets on a schedule that
worked), there was no way that I was fetching the boat and getting to
Snettisham in April. Then, several days after I returned from Tasmania,
a
small surgery prohibited me from lifting anything over 10-15 pounds for
two weeks, so I let a couple of beautiful weekends pass as I healed.
And then it was June. In a flurry of activity this week, I picked up
the boat and retrieved the kicker from the Kathy M (actually, Ezra did
that), cleaned the garage, and got packed over several days. Early in
the week the forecast called for light and variable winds, seas to one
foot through the weekend, but by the time it came, a little
southeasterly had come in and kicked the forecast up to three feet. I
spent Saturday putting around the house doing a lot of well-needed
chores (including working on the exams for renewing my master's license
test), but worked too hard and ended the afternoon stressed out and not
at all sure I wanted to head out on the water the next day when the
winds were supposed to die again. I always feel anxious before the
first trip. But Ezra came over and we moved furniture and he put a few
books into his bookcase and by the time I turned in, sleeping in the
(former) library, I was content with the idea, which only turned to
excitement when I got up. My mom and I drove to Douglas Harbor and
launched without incident. Without a pickup truck bed to climb down, I
did have to pull the boat back out of the water to detach it from the
trailer,
though, to prevent getting my feet wet. The engine started up
perfectly, I
said goodbye to my mom (who drove the car and trailer home), and headed
out. Except that as I pulled away from the dock there was no water
coming through the telltale hole.
Uh oh. I puttered out of the harbor, picked up a little speed, but
nothing. Although I'm familiar with the little discharge hole getting
clogged up (because it
happens often on the Kathy M), I was afraid it was something more
serious because I'd just started the engine in the driveway the day
before and water from the hose was spraying out at great force. Surely
it wouldn't have gotten clogged so quickly. I looked around for
something small enough to fit, failing with a screw driver and a zip
tie, and then the engine died and I discovered that the fuel hose
wasn't fully attached to the engine. And then of course I struggled to
get gas to go through the system. I partially disconnected the hose
again a couple of times, then held the bulb upsidedown from the way
I thought I was supposed to do it and it filled up immediately. Relief.
So I got the engine going again like a charm and then noticed the green
cutting line of my weedwhacker. I cut a couple inches off with my
leatherman and leaned over the back of the boat to poke it in the
telltale. And, lo and behold, water came jetting out. Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.
It had rained when I was loading the boat, so most of my gear was under
tarps, but by then it was partly cloudy and fine. There was a little
chop in the channel, but it was pretty easy all the way to Arden where
I first came into a little northerly and then chop from the south. I
stopped off the shore of Grand to use the bucket and was surprised to
see a huge fit break the surface right against shore, like a male orca,
but too rounded. It was a humpback lunch feeding, and I soon saw the
tail, then what looked like another mouth coming up. Maybe two lunging
together! It was a good sign. We puttered around the shore and saw
whales sounding, but no more lunge feeding. On past Grave the chop grew
and
slowed us down a little, maybe one footers, from the south, then
followed us easily into the port. There was a whale near Sentinel Point
and another down the shore in Gilbert Bay, and loons on the water. And,
oh, I was so pleased to be out there in this beautiful world, the state
of my homestead as yet a great mystery. Rounding River Point I peered
eagerly
ahead until I could see first the satellite dish and then the lodge,
looking in order. When I pulled in I could see the no hunting sign at a
low angle, not a very obvious marker, but undamaged. The tide was
rising and I was able to pull onto the rocks below the log and load
everything off the bow tidily without getting my feet wet. Before I
picked up a kayak, I opened up the lodge and peeked in, just as I left
it. Cailey joined me to anchor the boat, then we paddled ashore to
settle in. The stove started without a hitch, but I could not even get
the fridge to light. And I was quite surprised to find that the lodge
outhouse had fallen over on its door! The winds must have been
ferocious. I soon had all my gear inside and the couch outside and was
sitting with an overwintered Pacifico in perfect happiness on the
porch, my legs in the sunshine.
After savoring that for a while, I took a tour around the property,
picking up the motion sensor cards and finding everything in good
shape. I heated up some water to cook a pouch of Indian food in,
watched videos, ate some lunch, read a little on the porch, then swept
the porch and
boardwalk before laboriously clipping all the wild celery in the areas
I want to weedwhack so I don't spray its oils on myself later. I also
clipped the bushes that were growing through the porch decking and the
stairs, clipped back the reaching vegetation in the new sit spot above
the shed and along the boardwalk, and weeded by hand around the
rose bushes. I was shocked and delighted to see that the older bush
sticking
above the top of the native vegetation was blooming! One flower is
open, one
is already gone, and four are budding. To my even greater surprise, the
one that I transplanted last year, which was entirely covered by other
vegetation, also had a single flower bud. When I weeded around them, I
found a third rose, all new growth from this year from a runner. Yay! I
finished an orange drink on the porch then, and started writing this. I
think I'll get up and see if I can weedwhack a little now. I won't go
as crazy as I have in previous years, making a wide path and outlining
the irises (which are blooming beautifully) but will conserve what I
suspect may be a diminishing store of line.
------------------------
Joanie started up beautifully. First I trimmed around the boardwalk
past the shed, then around the stairs, around the roses (sadly chopping
off a chocolate lily that was blooming nearby), up the side of the
porch, and then down the path. The line ran out as I was doing some
touch up back up the path, so it worked out perfectly. Later I saw a
rodent or shrew scamper quickly across. Before it got too late, I
reluctantly decided to do another task, an important spring opening
task, but one that I loathe, partly because of the dense devil's club
I'd have to weave through, partly becaase of the manual labor involved,
and partly because it is tricky to get water to run through the system
and I expected low water levels. Yes, I was going to try to get running
water going. I grabbed dish gloves and a hoe and hiked up with Cailey
via the cabin outhouse. To my surprise, much of the dam was still in
place, and the hollow was filled in only with sand and small rocks. I
set to work excavating with the hoe, tossing my hoodie and phone onto
the bank, and making a big pile of sediment in the middle of the
stream. The excavation went fine, the rest of it was a trial. Having
hit bedrock, I placed the barrel atop it; the level of the hose was
below the surface of the water,
but only just, and it didn't look like I'd get more water in front of
the dam without a lot more work. Eventually, I thought I might be able
to feel water flowing through the hose and when I checked the top
valve, I confirmed it. A little surprised, but relieved, I hiked down,
only to find that no water was coming out of any of the hoses. I'd
forgotten to shut any of the valves, so I was expecting water
everywhere, but as I toured the cabins, I found nothing. The valve near
the lodge was breathing a little, but nothing more than a trickle came
out. I really didn't want to go back up that "trail"--I'd already
stumbled enough, once falling on my behind near the freshet. But, I
went back up anyway, with the idea that I'd check the hose along the
way. I shut off the valves to the cabins and wound up back at the olive
barrel, the front of which was now floating. It needed weight to stay
beneath the water level, so I put three rocks inside. On and off I
could hear it gurgling loudly, which I presumed was air making its way
out of the system as water moved in, but it was inconsistent. Sometimes
I could feel water in the hose, but then it would stop. I remembered
from previous years that sometimes I have to elevate the front a bit to
get/keep water floating, which eventually worked. Sweaty and grumpy, I
headed down, clambered back to the upriver cabin valve, turned it on,
then made my way to Hermit Thrush via the outhouse to see if water was
flowing. Disappointingly, it breathed, but nothing came out. But I
wasn't going back up, Instead, I went to the lodge and found water
flowing there, so I think that I just needed to wait for the lower
system to fill before the cabin ones would. I placed the lodge filters,
replacing one of the 100 micron filters that was covered in greenish
patches that I was afraid was mold with a clean one, and turned the
water on. It gushed through and I could hear it pouring out inside.
Unfortunately, it was coming not just from the open faucet, but from
multiple places beneath the sink and the floor was covered in water. I
turned
the valve off and quit for the night, which is when I discovered that I
was
missing my engagement ring. Thinking back over the wild, devil's club
landscape I'd just been in, having ducked and weaved and stumbled
repeatedly, and the digging into the sand of the creek with my bare
hands (the second time), I thought it surely lost. But I'd also worn
those dish gloves the first time. Just in case, but imagining my ring
in the creek or on a bed of moss somewhere, I squeezed the dish gloves
and felt something hard; to my astonishment, I found my ring!
A little on edge, I opened a can of baked beans and ate it on the porch
with a tiny bottle of wine, overlooking a calming inlet at low tide.
The Ronquil had grounded with its stern on a rock and its bow tilting
into a channel. I listened to what sounded like two whales working the
inlet, as they had been all day, occasionally catching glimpses of
them. The mosquitoes were terrible, so I lit a couple of mosquito coils
and invited Cailey, who was badly harried by them, to join me, covering
us both with a quilt for warmth and protection and placing the burning
coils between us. It was quite cozy and I read for a while as I
finished the wine. I haven't seen very many birds today, and it was
similarly quiet then. Well, in a visual way. In addition to the Pacific
Slope flycatcher that greeted me sweetly as I drifted into shore on my
arrival, I've heard ruby-crowned kinglets, Townsend's warblers, and
chickadees; a flock of crows moved along the falling tideline mid-day,
landing near the eagle's nest and calling; and below Cottonwood, I
heard and then found a hairy woodpecker working a spruce branch. Now as
I sit in Hermit Thrush I am listing to its namesake, punctuated by some
very loud whale blows.
--------------------------------
We slept pretty well all night, and I even shed my hoodie sometime in
the dark. Facing some daunting tasks on an empty stomach when I got to
the lodge didn't start things off very well, though. I put some water
on to heat for washing my face, finding the hose tape and getting
started under the sink while it heated. It had looked like both inlets
were
leaking yesterday, so I unscrewed the inlet hose, replaced the hose
tape, and then....couldn't find the nut. I was baffled, turned the
water off, looking everywhere for that nut. Where on earth could it
have gone? I looked everywhere, but had hardly been anywhere! Was I
going to have to abandon the whole sink now?? I finally realized
that....there wasn't a nut to find, because that inlet attached to the
water line.
This gives a glimpse into my grumpy and disoriented mind. I screwed
the hose back in, did the same for the nut that closes off the other
inlet,
and turned the water on a trickle. Those didn't leak, but water was
still dripping from a hole in the bottom of the sink between the two
inlets. Something, again, was broken inside the sink. I tucked a towel
around it in the hopes that it would keep the water from dripping down
the wall, which it does if I barely use it. Otherwise it is a steady
leak. I
did finally wash my face and go to the outhouse, and moved some things
around and put some things away, which helped my mood a little, but I
still didn't stop for breakfast. First I grabbed a couple of matching
rounds from the stack near the shed to build a mink-saving tunnel. I
placed them on either side of the mink run coming out of the downriver
salmonberries and laid a piece of plywood over the top of them, laying
the other end
on the deck and nailing it onto the logs for stability. The idea is to
allow
mink to pass from the bushes to beneath the porch without being seen by
the predatory Cailey, and to prevent her from ambushing a mink emerging
from beneath the porch as she did last time. Then I started work on the
smoke stack, which seemed to not go as well as it has in past years,
but appears to be secure enough. I had trouble aligning the holes where
the stacks connect inside. And then finally I had some oatmeal with
peanut butter and a banana and hung out on the porch finally, a little
surprised at how pleasant it was after all the little chores. I tried
lighting a citronella candle to test its efficacy against the hungry
mosquitoes, but soon quit and went back to mosquito coils, as it seemed
to do nothing to deter them. Maybe I needed to let it burn longer, but
I needed immediate relief, as did poor Cailey.
From up there I realized that I'd made the mink tunnel much too high,
as I could see clearly the whole area underneath it and, therefore,
Cailey probably could as well. A little later I replaced the logs with
lengths of 2x6 and nailed the plywood under the edge of the porch to
lower it.
Cailey was attentive. The tide was low, but starting to rise, so I shed
my shoes and took Cailey on a COASST walk. Downriver I saw what looked
like a small blob of internal organs in a hollow in the sand with a
tube mouth. I actually thought that might be what it was, but when I
touched it, it retracted a bit into its hole. It was vaguely peach in
color. The water was low, but there is
a channel right along the edge of the grassy point again this year. In
areas where the exposed silt is covered in fine green algae, there were
places where that top layer had been peeled back like a potato peel. In
another area,
which was covered in mats of longer green algae like seaweed salad,
there was a
constant hissing and buzzing and burbling sound. At first I thought it
was air escaping, as sometimes happens when the tide retreats, but it
was so consistent and isolated that I investigated further. I saw no
hint of burrowing clams, but pulling back the algae revealed a number
of small arthropods. Could they be squeaking? It seemed unlikely,
but... I believe something from among the seaweed was making those
sounds.
After that I decided it was time for an early lunch, so I made
quesadillas and enjoyed them on the porch. I then dedicated myself to
some relaxation and reading, although this was cut short when the
mosquito coil stick went out and I decided it was time for our little
across-the-river expedition. I grabbed my backpack, camera, and
binoculars, and rowed Cailey and I out to the boat. We pulled the kayak
aboard, pulled anchor, and puttered across the river, watched by a
myriad of seals, the first I've seen this trip (though I've heard
them). We started to go aground on and off about half way up the grassy
beach over there, so we soon went ashore and shoved the anchor into the
sand. There was a a bit of sandy beach exposed most of the way, so we
walked alternately there and in the waste-high beach grass near the
river, singing to the bears. Once we finished exploring and turned
around, Cailey was ecstatic to be heading back to the boat, running
forward and romping
back with glee on her face. It had been raining on and off, and picked
up
again in the alders, but I was all suited up except for my feet which
got wet from kicking through the grass. We got off the beach without a
hitch and
I cruised down the river far enough to look toward the entrance just a
little in case there were any orcas out there before turning back to
the lodge. After I anchored, two curious seals came quite close
repeatedly and let me take pictures of their dark-eyed faces. On
the way up the path, I weeded the rhubarb pot (mostly grass and some
buttercups, possibly brought from town). The rhubarb isn't as large as
I would have expected, but seems to be doing well. I wonder if it was
starved for water this drought-stricken spring? While over there, I
discovered that the downriver
bench had been pushed from its base. That isn't uncommon, but what
was strange is that one of the support rounds had been moved about
eight feet away and chewed. Judging by the dead area under the bench, I
suspect this was done last fall. Are there insects in there?
While I finally read a little bit, wrapped in my quilt, Cailey and I
both heard noises from upriver and, later, noises in the bushes nearby,
the latter of which caused Cailey to get up and make for the stairs. I
stopped her and she briefly considered jumping off the deck. Instead, I
directed her inside and made her stay there for a little bit while I
watched for any activity. When all was quiet I let her out again and
she stood attentively at the edge of the lower deck watching the mink
tunnel. When I was suitably chilled and at a stopping point in my book,
I came inside and lit the first fire of the season, enjoying the
sensation of being heated from an outside source again. I started the
generator to charge my laptop battery (having left the spare behind in
Juneau) and returned to the rocking chair only to have to repeatedly
scoot farther away from the too-hot stove. That stove warms this lodge
almost instantaneously! Cailey sprawled out on the rug. I stayed only
as long as it took to finish my decaf mocha (all from powders), then
retreated ot the relative cool of the couch. Cailey followed.
------------------------------------
The wind, as I'd hoped, appears to have diminished a little. It's been
breezy on and off most of the morning, with some big gusts roaring
through. Now the inlet is calm, with just a gentle swell, and the rain
is chiming in off the bushes, rather than onto my lap as it did a
couple of times earlier. A humming bird just hovered in front of me as
I wrote this--I wonder if this was her first trip here this year? There
have been as many as three ladies, and yesterday I heard a male make
his dive tail whistles a couple of times. Golden-crowned kinglets are
singing just downriver and yesterday I heard a consistent Wilson's
warbler song from downriver, and once, from upriver as well. Varied
thrushes in the morning, also seen in the woods. I just finished
unhooking the faucet from the sink so I can take it to town and replace
it, the last of the annoying chores before heading out a little later.
Even when departure is scheduled for 4:00, the whole day feels like I'm
getting ready to go. First thing this morning I set up the filters at
Hermit Thrush and was happy to see that there were no leaks despite
having left the faucets closed and finding the little screen at the end
of the faucet in the sink. I cleaned up the cabin and swept the pollen
off the porch, then swept the bridge and the stairs by the outhouse on
the way in. Though I was hungry again I wanted to get another task
done, so I returned to Hermit Thrush with my drill and set up the smoke
stack for the Nordic stove. I opened the valves to see if I could get
the stove going, but lost patience and came back to the lodge to wash
the dishes and make breakfast. The view from the porch was
exciting; it had been a -3' tide and I could hear the water rushing in
the channels. There were standing waves across much of the mouth,
inhabited by many seal heads. Perhaps a hundred more lay on two
sandbars near the mouth across the river. There were loons and hundreds
of murrelets off the main channel, and an active group of gulls diving
off another. Two whales dove, one consistently at the mouth of the
river. One was smaller with a pointy fin and a very white tail. They
were both fluking, which is rare on the Whiting. Two eagles sat at the
edge of a sandbar. I also noticed that, at the mouth of the river, a
sandbar extends along the far bank for some distance; I picture
the current being against the shore there, but I think it must be just
a little
farther up.
After that I set up the motion sensor cameras, then I cleaned up the
lodge a little while waiting
for water to heat to wash all the windows (lodge and shed), after which
I applied a fresh set of UV light reflectors to discourage bird
strikes. Yesterday a flycatcher hit one of the downriver windows, but
bounced back to a branch and sang a couple of times at me. Maybe he was
only after an insect on the window, but I'm glad he was well. Then a
break, then lunch, then cleaning, then faucet, and here we are, a
couple of hours out. I wanted this to be a cozy and relaxing day, and
perhaps I will have a bit of that yet. I have certainly needed all the
rest and reading and sweet wilderness smells I've had here. If the
water is as inviting as it is right now, I think I will enjoy my ride
home. Right now the only sounds are the occasional bumble bee, like the
one visiting me right now, the rain and waterfall, hummingbirds, and
the frequent blow of the whales working the inlet. What a wonderful
place, I am so glad I made it here. I don't feel the ecstasy I remember
last year following my uncertaintly about Snettisham in my future, but
a great deep joy and pleasure in being here, late as it is, and as long
as it may be before I come again. No anxiety, this is my place and I
have a wonderful routine here and I know what to do.
On the way home, I was tickled to see two DPs in Swimming Eagle Cove on
the way back, but they were not eager to play with us.
We are both enthusiastic to be at Snettisham!