Cottograss meadows
Photo Album
As predicted,
heavy rain fell this morning, which did nothing to ameliorate my
general pre-trip anxiety. I had a teleconference in the morning and the
tide wasn't until 4:30, so I wound up working until 2:00, running
errands at lunch to, among other things, update my harbor parking
permit. By then not only had the rain lifted, but the sun had
inexplicably come out, met unexpectedly by a very brisk breeze up the
channel that promised chop all the way down and who knows what beyond.
But I won't say that the sunshine while loading the boat and the
prospect of leaving under sunny skies was not welcome. Although I had
to run back home for my backpack, I still managed to depart right on
scheduled around 2:30 (and Ezra even bailed the boat while I was gone).
The chop up the channel was the kind that we could take comfortably at
speed and Cailey didn't get up, although she did raise her chin above
the floorboards for much of it. Around the corner we rolled in the
trough of two foot seas and then put it all behind us around Bishop,
which saw the largest seas as usual. The seas picked up again in the
river which saw two foot seas all the way to Taku Point. I slowed down
not just to avoid going aground (though with a 17' tide that seemed
less likely) but because the seas were so large I was forced to, or
crash strangely through them. I suppose it was a combination of wind
and tide fighting against the current. A jet skiier group was on the
beach in front of the Forest Service cabin and another on the isolated
rock just before the curve above the point. I had hoped that I would
encounter other boats using the tide who knew the channels around the
shoals, but none had showed up and none did until I was already at the
cabin. Without that, I did my best to estimate where the mid-river deep
channel was, turning shortly after the large avalanche chute. There
wasn't much to go on, but I was reasonably confident with the tide and
kept us just up on step most of the way, slowing down in places that
suggested shoals. I turned into the slough as I've seen the other
boats do and soon enough was passing the old landing. With a month and
a half of summer erosion, the vertical cliffs now had small sandy
benches at the bottom of them (possibly at the expense of the integrity
of the slope), but I still returned to the first landing in part
because I had a larger load than usual and didn't relish the idea of
carrying it all from the old landing.
It took me 35 minutes from nosing into shore until everything was off
and the boat was anchored. The water was higher this time and the inner
log farther from shore, but there was a submerged bench to stand on
about 18" wide fronted by a small dead tree that was sturdy enough to
stand
on. I tied off the boat, hauled a few things up the slope, then
returned to the boat to stage almost everything else on the bow, fill
the fuel tank, and tie off the stern line to the rail. Then I
alternated between beach and boat, hauling things up the slope. The
sand and clippings had
stair steps of a sort in it, which made carrying and tossing things up
easier than last time, and I didn't wind up anchoring the rope ladder
I'd brought as I'd intended. But there was no easy egress for Cailey,
as the boat could not get closer than about five feet from the bank,
which did not make for an enticing landing. I ran down to the other
landing and picked up a piece of plywood that I thought might bridge
the gap, but it was much too small. I laid it down at the base of
the bank, but Cailey wound up making a heroic leap onto the bottom of
the slope and scrambled up. At half an hour past high tide I had to run
the engine in
reverse when anchoring to get us back downriver. Naturally the
generously long stern
line had gotten caught under the outside log tied to shore and it took
some finagling and maneuvering to free it. Finally I was back on shore,
the boat was anchored, and I retied the stern line so it
wouldn't get lost in the logs and debris.
When I approached the cabin, I saw the first signs of the bear rampage.
The ladders and airplane propeller blade on the porch were knocked
over, and the hummingbird feeder had been knocked down and broken.
Around the corner, I saw that the propane tank was out of place and,
when I
turned it on, I heard hissing gas and saw that the old kink had finally
broken. The back porch itself looked very tidy except for a few small
items that had been knocked over, but the bear had destroyed the top of
the olive barrel catchment and rolled all four water tubs to the ground
around it (undamaged as far as I can tell so far). Thankfully, the
barrel has some water it in, as there is very little left here other
than what is in the three small jugs on the counter (and the emergency
water in my boat).
I brought two more loads up and then unpacked a little. I was warm and
the cabin was warm, but after a little mulling over I decided to light
a fire to both heat up dinner and have some hot(ish) water for washing
up later. I was beginning to feel hungry. I poured an Indian lentil
dish into a pot and placed it on the stove along with the wash water
and lit the fire, then headed out onto the porch to drink a small
bottle of wine in the sunshine while gazing out to the river. It was
amazingly quiet; there were times when the only sound I could hear was
the waterfalls in the distance. I robin chuckled, a couple of
kingfishers chattered, and a few boats passed by, but little else. Some
chittering alerted me to a bird up in a spruce who turned out to be a
sold lemon yellow warbler. What a beautiful place, and I wished my
mother could be here to enjoy the quiet. At some point I checked on the
fire and put a tortilla on a sheet of tinfoil (newly arrived) on the
stove to add to dinner, thinking that instead of quesadillas for lunch
I'll eat the keiser rolls I'd intended for dinner. When I finished the
wine, and the sun was about to nip behind the spruces, I came in and
relished my supper.
And then I tried to make my bed. I'd brought my comforter cover and
pillow cases to town last time to wash, leaving the actual comforter
behind. But now, after three thorough checks, I've not found it. My
feather bed is there, but no comforter. Where on earth could it be? I'm
positive I did not bring it to town, but it is nowhere to be found in
this cabin. Could someone have stolen it? I found a crow bar on the
floor inside the door just in front of the wood box that I did not
remember anything about, and couldn't imagine having left there. But
nothing else seemed disturbed other than a few things on the floor by
the fridge (a small tub of insect bite relief and a packet of sauce
that
had been on top). I attributed those to the mattresses upstairs having
fallen over again, which seemed like an expected thing to happen, but
now I'm wondering it they were knocked over as someone was searching
for....a very old, thin comforter? Surely not. The shed door looked
closed at a glance, but I've not been down there. I think I'll head out
now and salvage the water from the olive barrel and check on everything.
I nearly filled two of the white jugs with water, now safely tucked
inside from future bear attacks. The remainder, which got a bit of
debris in it while I was seeing if I could get the dregs to come out of
the faucet (I couldn't--no water came out and I didn't work too hard at
it as it is loose and appears to no longer screw into the barrel), I
scooped into the remaining jug that still had its lid on when I
arrived. I decided the other needed to be washed out before I wanted to
drink anything out of it. Anyway, when I went to carry it to the porch
I found that it had a leak in the bottom so I set it on the edge of the
porch and let it drain into the other jug. Perhaps we'll be grateful
for a little wash water later. There are bite marks on the top too. I
then managed to rebend and put back together the pieces of the water
catchment
and balanced it on the barrel--not perfect by any means, but it might
catch water until the next naughty bear comes by. The biggest problem
is that the catchment was separated at the seam, so a significant
amount of the water was going to drain out. I used the mallet I brought
to drive the filter insert into the middle.
By the time I was done and had made the rounds it was about 8:00 and I
was completely beat, so much so that I just laid on the couch with my
eyes closed for about half an hour; after that I read for half an hour
before dragging myself upstairs where I slept on the main bed in my
comforter cover and under a strange comforter. Cailey snuggled with me
all night, so aggressively that I had to push her away a couple of
times so she didn't inch me off the bed. I didn't read for long before
falling asleep, which is probably why I was up earlier than I usually
am on a weekend. I had instant oatmeal for breakfast with a little cold
water and a scoop of peanut butter. It was flavored oatmeal and the
peanut butter was the sweetened kind, so it was like eating candy. I
finished with a banana, packed a backpack with SPOT, a snack, my
leatherman, a hat, and two cameras, suited up in rain gear, checked the
boat, and headed back to the canoe with the camera stand in hand. It
was still so quiet I felt like it was fall, October. I am now wondering
if the feeling of fall in these wilderness places is less a matter of
the time of year and more a matter of the absence of the bulk of
humanity that visits it? I did get distracted as I entered the meadow,
though, by aggressively tweeting birds in the spruces near the copse.
In stark contrast to the quiet, I had to investigate. Their calls
sounded like golden-crowned kinglets, but when I finally had a good
look at them they turned out to be a family of ruby-crowned kinglets
both by sight and by the alarm call that one of them was throwing up. A
jay also scolded me and a fledgling varied thrush was there with her
mom. I picked up the nearby camera card and made my way to the meadow,
figuring that any wildlife would have heard the alarms and
disappeared. Indeed, in the quiet of the morning (it was not much after
8:00) I saw nothing as I glassed all around me. So we trooped on toward
the canoe as I mused about how the meadow seemed all the world as if it
had been abandoned. As if nothing was around, no life, nothing going
on. Dead. It reminded me of one effort in Mongolia when I finally had a
morning to bird watch and suddenly found very little to see. It was
such a stark contrast to the cacophony of birds and insects I'd
encountered on my last trip here, but it is only six weeks later, and I
knew that it was an illusion; life continued, unseen and unheard, all
around us.
I found the paddle
where
expected and we launched the canoe onto a glassy, quiet slough. The day
was low overcast, cozy and calm. I looked toward the beaver lodge on
the other side of the island in front of the avalanche and saw some
potential for a camera, but moved on in case something better came up.
Three goldeneyes on the right side of Yellowthroat Island made me
decide to take the other side so as not to bother them, but then a
young green-winged teal burst out of the sedge where she'd been hiding
on the left and landed in front of us peeping in a most terrified
manner. Soon three goldeneyes flew overhead, so I took the right
passage and left the teal alone. An alder flycatcher was calling
regularly in that area along with a Lincoln's sparrow making
abbreviated songs.
After the slough turned toward the
mountain, swallows suddenly dove all over the slough--both barn
swallows and either violet-green or tree swallows--and there was much
tittering in the willows nearby. Parent barn swallows fed fledglings
in mid-air, something I'd only noted in violet-green before. I finally
trained my binoculars on a perched swallow and found a whole clan of
swallows! I counted at least 11 in one clump, all barn swallows with
various shades of color. I wished I could entice them to the cabin! As
we passed, a loud cheep caused the whole flock to take flight
and a swarm passed over us. A song sparrow also sang several times from
the same area.
We picked a willow with some dead branches to tie the canoe to and
headed downriver along the mountain for a stroll, pleased with the
beauty of the morning. When we returned to the canoe, I decided to just
turn the corner at the mountain before
heading back, where we found an active beaver lodge. Just as we left,
the mist began to
fall. We paddled back past
the song sparrows, Lincoln's sparrows, alder flycatcher, and
green-winged teal (and a small hornet's nest hanging over the slough on
a slender branch). About half way up the channel heading toward Big
Bend, a ripple in the water ahead caught my eye and, perhaps for the
first time in the slough, I had a clear look at a beaver swimming, head
and body. I couldn't believe it! He swam into a little side slough,
then back out and across the slough before finally slapping his tail
and disappearing. What an amazing morning!!
On the way back we picked up the camera from the glen, finding the
batteries dead, and made our way back to the lodge, rather wet and, in
Cailey's case, also muddy from the little slough crossing on the way
back. Before I went inside I unscrewed the door to the shed and grabbed
a screwdriver and some sockets in preparation for working on the chain
saw as well as a short length of wire I thought I might use to
reconnect the two ends of the water catchment. There were sets of holes
that lined up on the two sides, so I drilled a second set of holes
nearby so I could loop the wire through both of them and secure the two
sides by
twisting the ends together. There's still a slight gap at the bottom,
but
nearly all the water will now drain into the barrel. I had already
heard it dripping into the barrel with the fresh rain. I wiped off the
muddy
water where I'd been working and left it to fill.
Inside I changed into dry pants, hung everything wet over the fire,
and, to my surprise, lit a fire. I was chilled, Cailey was soaked, and
I thought some heat would make a very welcome addition to some time
inside. I ate a sesame bun cheese sandwich and some dried mangos while
copying videos to my laptop, indulging viewing a few of them along
the way. I
ate some
chips, read a few pages, and then fell into a very lovely nap for an
hour until Cailey got thirsty and woke me up with loud lapping. It was
good timing, though, and I felt wonderful, remaining on the couch for
another luxurious half an hour. Then I got up, thinking we'd take a
leisurely walk upriver on the trail and cut back the last few patches
of alders in the meadow at the edge of the property. Suited up again in
now-dry rain gear, we headed out, stopping by the tree I'd like to buck
up on the way. The forest there is so easy to walk through that,
instead of returning to the trail, I kept walking through that area,
winding up on a very clear game trail. Eventually it left the large
spruces and opened onto a sweet gale slough. I didn't know how far I'd
gone and followed a channel to the left to see if it would meet up with
the trail, but gave up when I hit impenetrable willows and spruces. It
was hard walking, but we stayed along the slough, skirting on dry
ground when we could, getting wetter and wetter. We soon found
ourselves in a beautiful
highlands area,
one of them covered in strawberries trying to put on berries. I'm sure
some of the side sloughs would have taken me to the trail, but not
wanting to risk it, I kept on until I was at the property boundary and
then cut in, finding myself at the meadow in question. I again heared
sooty grouse hooting, as I had when I first arrived.
To Cailey's chagrin, I started cutting alders...and cutting and
cutting. It's never as simple as "those two clumps". There's always
more behind them, or once they're cut, you have to cut that other one
too, and then there's the ones that sort of overhang the trail (that I
don't want there to be in that meadow anyway) and after I cut those,
there's the spruces reaching out... Anyway, I cut a bunch of alders,
pulled up the spruces under them, and laboriously drug everything into
the woods. It looks good, though. I also walked to the end of the
4-wheeler trail to check on the status of the signage and what I need
to fix them. On the way back, Cailey ecstatic at the return, I trimmed
the last portion of the trail that I'd left the last time and, to her
irritation I'm sure, a bunch of overhanging alders probably brought
down by all the rain. I also carefully cut up some willows and alders
growing in the middle of the path near the blueberries. It was a
pleasure to walk down Spruce Alley. I was not too pleased to see how
well tread the trail is near the property boundary and in the woods,
especially through the blueberries, though I don't know for sure it is
human traffic. Tempting Cailey's wrath, I also stopped to dig up two
dangerous
stumps
in the woods past Debbie's Meadow that required cutting through
underground roots and prying them up. There are plenty left, but I am
picking away at them.
Inside I changed clothes again, shirt too, fed Cailey, and when I
realized that I was probably hungry, lit a fire for supper. I think
it's about time to check on it.
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I watched an episode of The Deuce after dinner and read a little. At
8:00 I went upstairs to get something and let some heat up and Cailey
followed me...and didn't come down. I heard her hop on the bed from my
seat downstairs. On a trip outside, I noticed again that the water
catchment dish looked off center; I was sure it had been draining water
into the barrel earlier, but it didn't seem possible that it still was.
I went to check on it and, sure enough, the center of the dish had
become unscrewed from the top of the barrel. I tried and tried to make
them connect with the plastic support my mom had added between the two
to help keep the dish from being bent down, but it had been warped by
the bear attack. I finally removed it and later added two sticks of
firewood to support it; it now looks perfectly positioned to catch this
rain that's falling.
I slept poorly, or rather, I was up for a few hours in the middle of
the night with an inexplicably itchy left arm; it had been covered
since I got here, so I wonder if I got into something poisonous back
home. I slathered it in campho phenique but even that didn't help; the
warmth in the covers exacerbated it, but it was too chilly to sleep if
I left my arm out of the covers. Eventually the
burning itch diminished and I was able to sleep. So I slept later,
until almost nine, and then felt no inspiration to go out into the on
and off rain to work, so I laid on the couch and read while Cailey
curled up at my feet. Around 10:30 I finally got going, starting with
the dreaded assignment: changing the chain on the chain saw. This
actually went pretty well, and the sockets I'd brought up before
actually worked once I figured out how to exchange the heads on the
wrench (just, er, pulling them off forcefully). With that ready, I
filled the saw with fuel and chain lubrication and, brilliantly, it
started
right up. First I headed down toward the water and cut the top off the
spruce I'd cut there about 30" inches off the ground. I meant to cut it
all the way down, but it occurred to me that it might make a nice
little stand for something later, so I just trimmed the top off to make
it more or less level. Then, leaving Cailey inside, I headed upriver to
the fallen tree with SPOT in my pocket, chaps on my legs, and gloves on
my hands. The project went very well and I soon had the log all bucked
up and a bonus round cut off the nearby tree I'd cut with Rich last
year.
Back at the cabin I went to try to get the 4-wheeler running, which
required the removal of the two pieces of plywood blocking it in. But,
it looks like the battery is dead again, so nothing happened when I
turned the key. What I did find, though, was very strange. The lid was
off the main generator in front of the 4-wheeler and there was a wide
gap in that corner where it looked like plywood or another covering was
gone. I walked around the back to check it out more closely and found
the lid lying on the ground behind the building. There were indeed some
pieces of plywood on the ground at the gap. Is that what the crowbar
had been for? Why was the lid off? Very strange. I didn't see how the
plywood would fit, so left it leaning there and put the lid back on the
generator. And
then I finally used my bike, riding down to the little cabin to check
on it, as I
hadn't done that yet this year. I was relieved to find the neglected
trail
downriver from my boat was in pretty good shape and wouldn't take much
trimming and mowing to make it very pleasant. But I didn't make it all
the way to the cabin! I found, to my surprise and, a moment later,
delight, a large
tree that had fallen parallel to the road, crossing it at the tip. It
was just adjacent to the landing, right there on the trail. What luck!
It's quite a large tree, maybe two feet in diameter at the base, which
is about seven feet in the air. Firewood problem
solved. The little cabin
seemed to be where we left it, the tarp off the wall but among the
holes at the bottom. The inside looked good. And then I turned around
and went upriver on my first longer bike ride. It took me about 9
minutes to ride
to the property line where I screwed the no hunting sign back on and
drove the stake back upright as well as I could. There were several
places where I did have to dismount or at least stop momentarily, but
mostly I was able to ride with no issues. It was more work than I
expected, but the flat open places were very pleasant to ride. On the
way back, I stacked the newly cut rounds under a neighboring tree,
having found no tarp to protect them, noting on the way that the top of
the huge dead wolf tree had snapped off, providing more potential
firewood. I
was so hot when I got back that I worked in a t-shirt for a while to do
odds and ends including moving the key to a new location. Or maybe I
did that earlier, but anyway, it was moved and hopefully the camera
will catch any would-be intruders.
When I came inside and looked down to see the wet knees in the pants I
was about to take off, I decided to do the last outside project right
then rather than risk having to change pants yet again for the ride
home: I went out to set the cameras. Both were a little wonky. The one
in the copse came up with the typical word "Waiting" when I turned it
on (without the dots) but it never changed, not even when I turned it
off. I finally popped the batteries out and it worked normally then,
but unfortunately it says it only has 53% batteries which means it will
probably die soon. In the glen, I changed the batteries, but the
battery box would no longer latch in place. I moved the camera onto a
branch to hold it in place and strapped it on snugly. Both Cailey and I
were very happy to get back to the cabin where I changed, lit a fire to
dry us out and make tea (I figured I had earned it for bucking up
enough wood for several such fires today) and had lunch. It was 2:00.
While the tea
water slowly slowly heated, I cleaned the cabin and packed and filled
out the cabin log, so when I finally did sit down, all my inside chores
were done, the cabin was clean, and I was able to sit contentedly and
gaze out the window with my Russian tea. There is something just so
civilized about hot drinks, especially inside in rainy weather! That
may have been my favorite part of the day. Yesterday I'd offered Cailey
a large dog bed in front of the fire, which she used only to lean her
head against at the time. While cleaning I tossed it onto the stairs
landing to take back upstairs, but Cailey immediately adopted it and is
snoozing contentedly there now. I'll have to remember that! Now it's
4:37 and time to head out. What a nice stay and a lovely place.
