Snettisham
2022 - 2: Sun
May 30 - June 5
After returning to Juneau
early
Friday morning from opening the Taku cabin, almost exactly a week after
departure, it was at the
start of a sunny Juneau weekend. My illusions about working part of
Friday quickly disintegrated as I slept much of the morning away and
then felt no compunction whatsoever to do anything but relax after the
arduous week. I spent a good part of the afternoon and on and off all
weekend sitting on the porch and reading to my heart's content.
With the weeks of planning and preparing behind me, and my historical
research project neatly wrapped up for the summer, it was the first
time I'd felt really relaxed in a long time. I did work for several
hours in the garden on Sunday and finished planting the next week. It
was a weekend blissfully free of productivity other than that.
Naturally, having been away from Snettisham for coming up on a month, I
was anxious to return and began checking the forecast on Monday. For a
few days, Friday looked promising, with light winds and continuing
sunshine. As it neared, though, the wind forecast crept up to 2' from
the north and, either way, I just wasn't really up for it, especially
when I needed to work almost four hours on Friday to make up for missed
work earlier in the week.
By the time Friday rolled around, the forecast was calling for 2-3 seas from the north the next day, making Taku Open a nightmare I didn't relish entering again (I've been there often enough). Could I do it? Sure, but I wanted nothing to do with it. Saturday came, and the forecast held for Sunday as well, promising the wind would die Sunday night. I wound up having a very pleasant, sunny, hot early summer weekend at home with Ezra (though I worked a full day on Saturday), leaving Memorial Day morning shortly after 9:00 under a promising blue sky and calm channel. Alas, my variable winds and 1' seas (which I hoped meant glass calm) were not to be. It was clear by the time I was half way to Arden that there were seas coming out of the Taku and we had to slow down past Arden, eventually entering 2-3' seas. They were manageable, but we did have to take it slow, and they followed us all the way to Seal Rocks (though we were able to get up to speed by the time we passed Taku Harbor). I don't know whether these were caused by the very end of the north wind or not, but I suspect it would have been much worse earlier in the weekend. Regardless, we made it without incident. The seas made it difficult to look for wildlife, but I did note loons here and there, including a number in the port. We were half way up a rising tide and were able to beach in the little channel from the beach seep. Cargo included asphalt starter strip roofing, four earth anchors, and the weed whacker along with my personal gear. I anchored the boat and went about my usual opening routine, finding the Tlingit potato pot empty and badly abused and the other pot in good shape. Thankfully, most of the soil had been dumped in one place and at least one potato is sprouting in it. I think the pot is beyond repair.
I glanced at my watch at 12:38 and noted that it was just over half an hour from having glanced at my watch while hauling gear up the beach after anchoring. I'd lit the pilots on the stove, taken the paper off the windows, made and eaten a quesadilla, and had just hung the last of the four hummingbird feeders with fresh, warm nectar. I also had food cooling in the fridge. Yes, the fridge! It was a little reluctant to start, but after letting it sit a while and repeatedly trying, it came alive. The first time it lit, I panicked and kept the ignite button pressed instead of the gas, but succeeded on the second try and now it is already cold inside. Hallelujah! What a relief. I sent emails on my phone to my mom and Ezra (the wifi texting not working) and carried a camp chair onto the lower deck to sit in the sun. The upper deck was mostly shaded, and that's where I retreated shortly thereafter to read. When the sun covered the couch and sleepiness took hold, I laid my quilt in front of the door and used Cailey's dog bed as a pillow for some more reading and a little nap. I laid there for about an hour, but Cailey's frequent panting kept waking me up. The sun was creeping across the porch; when it reached her bed, she joined me on the quilt for a little while, but soon the whole deck was awash in hot sunshine. I let Cailey inside and soon was up myself, walking around the trail to pick up camera cards and open Hermit Thrush. I also turned the modem on and checked to see if my messages had been sent/received (they had).
I wasn't feeling very motivated later in the afternoon, and in fact felt a little glum, maybe the effects of the sunshine and heat. I studied the native buttercups in the meadow--perhaps little buttercups and western buttercups, though both have similar species in this area that I haven't been able to rule out yet. Siberian miner's lettuce is blooming, as are quite a few lovely forget-me-nots along the downriver side of the stairs, enjoyed by several species of flies. Bird life was in afternoon quiet mode, but a Wilson's warbler sang from quite close to farther away on the downriver side, a hermit thrush sang in the distance downriver, a Pacific slope flycatcher called on and off (what a joy to hear), the eagles flew by here and there along with ravens, terns, and gulls, and a sooty grouse occasionally called far away. I also saw a female Wilson's warbler (and the male) feeding in the berry bushes. A number of other birds came through, but disappeared too quickly into the dense summer foliage. And the hummingbirds! For once, though absent exactly a month, the four feeders kept the hummingbirds fed; there was just a splash in one and about an inch in another, the two that hang on the outside of the porch. They have danced around all day, and Clive is still here (the male) occasionally diving and buzzing a female. A whale passed through a couple of times, one or two breathing cycles at the mouth of the main channel, then heard/seen again near River Point later.
Now it's coming on 7:00. With a little dark cherry chocolate and the cool of the evening, I'm feeling a little better, though I think tomorrow I should avoid the full heat of the energy-sucking sun more than I did today. I look forward to a good night's sleep, lounging as long as I like in the morning, going on a COASST walk/bird survey, and drinking tea at my porch sit spot. I have weed whacking to consider, but first I need to clear cow parsnip and the areas around the forget-me-nots and roses. And, anyway, there is time.
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Nearly 24 hours later, I'm back on the porch with a mosquito coil burning (the mosquitoes were a minor irritation today, and I got a few bites, and last night a noseeum bit me), the sun still shining on the avalanche area across the river (its avalanche chutes still white with snow) and across Gilbert Bay. A hermit thrush is singing sweetly downriver, and everything but the hummingbirds is still. This morning I wound up sleeping in later than I intended, though I'm sure I needed it, not getting up until around 9:15 and not because I was lounging. I lit the stove when I got to Hermit Thrush around 8:15 last night, more to run it and to make a cup of tea--it wasn't cold enough to need it. It went out twice before I got it going. I'm not sure why, but I did knock a crust of soot off the inlet for the diesel and after that, it worked beautifully and the sleepy time tea was delicious. I stretched before climbing into bed and wound up reading rather than watching the start of the last season of Better Call Saul as I'd intended.
On my way to the lodge, I heard a Wilson's warbler singing (who had also bidden me out of bed from somewhere closer to Hermit Thrush) as well as another warbler. Could it be a yellowthroat? The song was familiar, and I thought it sounded like the "witchita witchita witchita" pneumonic device I'd learned in Cornell's warbler class (one of the few I've found useful). The tide was low, so Cailey and I had a quick breakfast and then headed out on a COASST walk/eBird survey, walking 439 paces to reach the first major channel. The bird life on the river was sparser than usual, mimicking the behavior of the forest birds, but when I got back to the lodge, the unidentified warbler was singing again. I carefully walked along the new log, which now offers dry access from the rocky path through the marshy meadow upriver, until I was even with the singer. Thankfully, it stuck around, chipping with a hoarse voice and singing repeatedly, but totally lost in the foliage. I thought I'd try the Cornell Merlin app and record a song, and to my astonishment, it had identified the singer by the time I'd recorded two songs, as well as the hermit thrush singing in the background. I was impressed, as my first trials with it using recorded bird songs were failures. So, we both thought it was a common yellowthroat, and soon he came out to the edge of the berries and sang while I watched. Beautiful.
By then it was 10:45 or so and I was overdue for tea. I sent a few emails, ate some more oatmeal, and then settled onto the porch with some very nice jasmine tea, deciding it was too quiet to immediately embark on a stationary bird survey. Around noon I left the shade of the porch and entered the hot sunshine, unfortunately donning a flannel and gloves in order to cut and handle the cow parsnip where I intended to weed whack later, hopefully preventing the sap from burning my skin. Although it was a pain, I remembered well enough the 10 days of itching agony from burns I've had in the past. Then I weeded by hand and with a machete the areas around the roses and the forget-me-nots so I could safely weed whack without getting close to them. I'm sure there were breaks in between, but at some point I put gas in the generator and carried it over to the porch, starting it on the second try as usual. It ran beautifully. I took my time, weed whacking a little more thoroughly and trying to avoid irises and Siberian miner's lettuce. By the time the front meadow and along the downriver side of the porch was finished, I was hot (still in the flannel to protect my arms from flying juice in case I'd missed any pushke) and sweaty and very hungry, but I went ahead and cleared the area upriver from the porch before I broke. A quesadilla for lunch and a bit of reading revived me. I went back and hand weeded around the areas I'd avoided down the path, discovering some small blooming forget-me-nots I'd planted under an iris patch, checked on and weeded around the other cottonwood, and broke down the grass growing around the intact potato pot under the spruce. I thought it was time for a cold drink, so I cleaned up a bit and then decided to install the mesh, magnetic screen door my mom gave me last year. It turned out that installation was amazingly easy and, within about 20 minutes, the door was covered in a mesh curtain, easy to see through, split down the middle with magnets to hold it together. It was amazing! The breeze came in, it was nearly as clear as a window, and sitting inside it with the light breeze and looking out was lovely. A game changer.
After my diet Dr. Pepper (partially frozen by my wonderful refrigerator), I read a little more, then took clippers and walked to the outhouse and the main loop trail to clear it, deciding that I really didn't need to weed whack anything else yet, which is a nice relief, though I'm sure I'll want to later in the summer. All in all, it's been a good day's work and enjoyment. I'm very glad the weed whacking's done--with the exception of carrying the vegetation down to the river--and having the mesh door up really makes being here in the heat of the day enjoyable. I ate Indian food and bread for dinner again, with a dessert of dark cherry chocolate, then went for a walk. I thought Cailey would stay behind, but she caught up with me at the outhouse and bounded around. Then I changed the batteries and inserted an SD card in the camera that had been on the trail near Cottonwood Cabin for the purpose. Last night I'd set a camera next to the satellite dish pole pointed at a large clear area in the bushes and thought to reward myself with the videos taken overnight and today, only to find that I'd failed to give it an SD card after sacrificing its card to the River Point camera. Now it is reset! The only thing I have on my agenda tomorrow is to wash the windows and replace the UV stickers, which won't be a major task. Perhaps we can take an adventure to a beach on the rising tide.
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I actually washed the windows of the lodge and shed and applied new UV stickers after dinner last night, read on the porch as the early dusk settled, then headed to Hermit Thrush at a more respectable hour of 8:45, stretching to an episode of Better Call Saul before relaxing in bed. I then read until about 10:30 and, unexpectedly, woke up around 5:15 and never really got back to sleep. I'd wanted to awake early to see early morning bird activity, but hadn't expected it to be that early. I'd been hearing a call or song from around the cabin for a while as I considered whether to wake up--a persistent vocalization from high in the trees that I'd heard the day before on the COASST walk but determined to be impossible to find from the beach. It proved similarly impossible from the forest floor, gazing up into high trees with no idea where the bird was. I was a bit out of sorts, hoping that my early rising would yield early morning birds, but the beach was dark and quiet, the tide falling toward a negative something tide. There were crows and gulls out there, but not exciting morning activity. I did some chores on the internet for a while (turns out my credit card payment was late), had breakfast, and bundled up on the porch with a sweater, my down vest, and a quilt on, which did not dispel the chill. On and off all morning I did chores, trimming the dozen or so stalks at the top of the meadow spruce trying to make a new trunk, weeding the rhubarb, stowing the old stove pipe and the plywood from the back porch under the lodge, and setting up the game camera on the water line trail where I'd decided on a spot the day before. And a bit of reading too. I was actually surprised at how fast the morning went, but around the time I indulged in a cup of cafe francais I began to relax, looking out over my demesne. I realized that I had done it, that I could relax, that everything would be okay. The homestead was in good shape, no big projects lingered, I could relax. I generally think cafe francais doesn't have much caffeine in it, but perhaps this suggests otherwise!
I had lunch around 11:30 with a blue moon beer that I'd found in the freshet creek somewhat downstream of the chilling pool, a little rusty but apparently intact. Around 12:30 Cailey and I headed for the boat with a small pack and my camera, bound for Daisy Beach and a bit of exploration. I'd been troubled to find a brisk wind coming down the river in the morning, which hadn't helped the chill, and was relieved that it had largely passed, only to find 1-2' seas coming down Gilbert Bay from the Speel, another sign of a north wind. Perhaps I'd been too hopeful for those light and variable winds to continue and, in fact, 2' seas were called for in the Taku Open today.
When we got to the beach, I initially headed in near the creek mouth, but when we drifted to shore I found the cloudy water populated with rocks about a foot in diameter, complicating a landing, not to mention a less than ideal situation for a boat being pushed to shore by wind. We repositioned up the beach at a mostly sandy/muddy flat which worked out much better. I lifted Cailey down to the beach and pulled the anchor up, quickly discovering that my backpack was soaking wet, though it had only been on my back and on a dry seat. I opened it up and discovered that the can of diet root beer I'd stashed inside had been punctured. I swabbed a few items off with my flannel, then headed to the edge of the forest and the rows of white drift logs there. The heat was searing, really too hot to be enjoyable, especially in xtratufs. The plants were young (wasn't this beach snowy a month ago?), so it wasn't a good time to seek out new species. I could identify all of them but one, and was pleased to find quite a few more winter cress than we'd noticed last summer. The inside of the woods was much much more pleasant. Just inside, half buried, were a couple of bottles. I'd gone in thinking that I'd look for signs of a Tlingit settlement (remembering what Emmons said about fireweed in Snettisham indicating Tlingit habitation sites), but the bottles were probably more recent. It certainly is a beautiful place. Just a few feet away I did find an old crow bar, and then what appeared at first to be the ruins of a cabin--logs or other wood foundation with smoke stacks and an old barrel. I later saw that the log foundation was actually a pile of lumber, so perhaps the cabin was never built. I'd like to think it's an old mining camp, but the visqueen on top probably means it's much more recent.
I walked in the forest until we were nearly at the creek, bear mace in one hand, then exited and enjoyed the incredibly beautiful view, enhanced by a picturesque bonsai spruce growing on the top of a root wad. The heat was unbearable, though, and I slowly headed back to the boat along the wrack line. I did notice one unexpected plant--plantain, maybe from a seed blown from my place, an invasive species I inadvertently brought from Juneau. And so, about an hour after landing, we pulled the Ronquil in and returned to the homestead, slowly for the waves, which may have been diminishing, and creeping along the shore past River Point for the enjoyment of the view. A pair of eagles sat near each other downriver of the nest but again I saw no sign of activity there. I had hoped that, having rebuilt the nest last summer, they would have a more productive year this year. Maybe there is another nest somewhere, but it seems like someone would have been shading any nestlings in a nest. Once anchored, Cailey hopped in the kayak and rode to shore like a champ.
By then we were in the heat of the day and the full brunt of the sun was on the deck, so Cailey and I came inside. I ate an amazing fresh mango inside the mesh screen door, then laid down on the cool couch and sorted through photos from the last two trips. And then I sank into a sweet nap to the sound of hummingbirds buzzing outside. I dozed for about an hour, then fed Cailey and put some water on to heat. In the meantime, I washed the diet root beer that exploded last winter from the wall and windowsill and ceiling, finishing the latter with the squeegee I was about to use on windows, putting a paper towel over the squeegee end to help dry it off afterwards. And then I made the cabin rounds to sweep porches and wash windows. It's amazing what a transformation a swept porch (or path or steps) makes, with shiny windows to boot. I checked the weather--not looking as promising as I'd hoped--then had the usual dinner, finishing off my loaf of bread, and streamed an episode of iZombie for the fun of it. Then I ran some errands, put some tools back in the shed, and grabbed a hammer to fix my amazing mesh screen which was starting to fall down. I wound up nailing in the inside pieces of the top adhesive strips with the tacks it came with, in the process raising the screen off the ground, or nearly so, as it's meant to be, which should hopefully help it come back together at the bottom better than it had. I sure like having the light and the airiness inside. Now I'm back on the porch in the serene evening while a hermit thrush sings downriver. A Pacific slope flycatcher has come into the bushes just downriver a couple of times today, though I still haven't seen him, and Clive has been making his zooming dives on and off tirelessly. I watched a male Wilson's warbler feed for quite a while in the bushes today, and terns have come by, but I still can't shake the feeling that it's eerily quiet. Where are the varied thrushes, the orange-crowned warblers, the Bonaparte's gulls?
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I slept to a more reasonable hour, though a little grumpily, for through the night I could hear the pings of spruce needles striking the roof in gusts of winds and I had a good idea what I'd find in the morning. When I stepped outside, the first thing that caught my eye was a fern, waving in the breeze. It looked like more wind coming down the river and, worse than the prospects of staying another day was trying to figure out if I SHOULD stay another day. I hate the agonizing decision of when would be best to go. Before I dealt with that, however, I went on a quest to find the bird that was once again singing or calling over Hermit Thrush, but once again failed.
The forecast suggested that today's wind would be back to light and variable tomorrow, but it said that yesterday too. How windy was it really? Still a little unsure, I set about seeing if I could connect to my work network on my laptop and work for a little, having forgotten my work laptop at home. At that I eventually failed, but at 9:30 I did start to look through webmail and saw an invitation to a Southeast Alaska Fish Habitat Partnership Meeting which started....at 9:30. Why not! I logged on and, to my amazement, connected. I was almost immediately asked to introduce myself as they were then introducing the ADF&G folks, and I shared with them the craziness of the situation. At the end of the meeting I even had some useful updates to add about our current call for proposals.
The day was hot and sunny like the others this week, but this time I stayed cool in the lodge with the mesh screen letting in the air and the sounds of the birds outside. All in all, it's a pretty awesome place to work. After three hours I took lunch, walking with Cailey up to the grassy point and back on the rising tide and then eating lunch on the porch. In the afternoon I worked another four and a half hours to make a full day, taking my break nearly nude on the porch to bask in the sun. When I started work and turned the modem on for the second or third time today, it suddenly wouldn't work--no send or receive lights. I pressed a button and the power button flashed red, so I turned it off and switched to the fresh battery and it worked. I used it for most of the day, switching after my break to the old battery again and it worked, so it's not clear what happened. But overall I am pleased with how long the batteries are lasting. I just checked my Hughesnet usage and, over the course of this week and a full day working, I've used only about 15% of my monthly allowance. Pretty good. And I was able to text with people all day too! OH, and I got a phone call out of the blue. It hadn't even occurred to me that I could do that, but I had Teams open and took a couple of work calls that went through perfectly (then a couple of calls where I could hear the other person but they could not hear me very well). Amazing.
And so I've had a very different and very good day, certainly one of the most pleasant work days of my life. I am planning to leave tomorrow when the boat floats unless something dramatic comes up. The wind is supposed to pick up just a little tonight, then die again after midnight. Fingers crossed. I even feel more energetic than usual, perhaps because of lack of manual labor today and lack of heat stress. Cailey is now going through the mesh on her own, most of the time through the middle but I've had to remind her a couple of times not to try to push through the edge, which I think is how she went after the bear. (Her first success was when I poured her food this morning while she was on the porch.) She is a smarty and I'm sure it's very nice for her to be able to come in and out at will. Even just being able to let her in and out without using the door is a plus. I wonder if I'll use it even when it's not hot sunshine?
I ate nachos for dinner on the porch and enjoyed the serene evening for a bit. I had plans for an amazing dessert, but before I ate it I washed the dishes, swept, packed, and did most of the close up cleaning. Then I dished up some (deliberately) partially frozen yogurt and relished it on the porch, reading until around 8:45 when we headed to Hermit Thrush.
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I heard no ticking needles or waving branches all night and woke up to a partially overcast sky and less dramatically waving ferns and devil's club. The forecast no longer called for variable winds in the Open, but it didn't look as windy here either from the river or from Speel. I had the rest of the yogurt with oats for breakfast, then indulged in a cup of jasmine tea, all the while performing an eBird survey from the deck. Perhaps due to the calmer water, I counted 64 murrelets this morning and four loons, along with the usual critters around here. At 8:30 I started work, this time on the porch, and worked there until 11:00 with only a short break to carry two jerry jugs to the boat and move the anchor which was hopelessly tangled in a branch. With some clouds in the sky, the day has a very different feel, more alive, more alert, and I thoroughly enjoyed the morning.
When the work day was over, I did a few chores, made a quesadilla with the last of the refried beans (mostly frozen, so they sat a little longer on the burner) and settled in to read my novel as the tide rose. The clouds were scattering and I had shed layers down to my tank top by the time I started really closing things up. The anchor was already covered with water, but I walked to the boat through the shallows easily, carrying garbage and weed whacker atop the tote, all in one load. It was an easy, smooth departure and I felt optimistic, courageous and patient enough to take the seas coming out of the Taku that I was expecting, planning to head toward Grand Island instead of Grave Pt. and cruise around its backside to lessen the time in the unobstructed reach from the river. Other than an errant gust in the morning, the inlet was pretty calm.
And then we were in Gilbert Bay and it was anything but calm. The seas were worse than they had been when we'd crossed to Daisy Beach and slowed us down a great deal. They were in the 2' range, possibly the biggest swell I've seen from the Speel Arm side, characteristically shifting as though coming down the mountains on the west side of the port as I turned toward Stephen's Passage. It got a little better the farther I went, but still, the seas, if smaller, were incessant and I was beginning to question whether I really wanted to fight my way north. I started to see Pacific loons, more and more as I neared the entrance, until I spotted a huge cluster just outside the port near Pt. Styleman along with about 20 diving eagles. It was a spectacular and long-lived bait ball cluster, but by then I was in steady seas coming down Stephen's Passage. It was not looking hopeful. Soon I was encountering three foot seas on a regular basis. They were coming more from the west than straight down, but I recall that they were also doing that the last time I made this trip when my hope that it would not be coming out of the river (but around the backside of Douglas), being a westerly and not a northerly, was unfounded. When I'd come down on Monday, encountering 2-3' seas in the Open, the seas here were about 1' and dying. Now they were 2-3' and aggressive. As I puttered around Seal Rocks (1700 rpm), considering the situation, a whale sounded about 25 feet off my starboard bow. I paused and waited a minute, but I didn't see him come back up. Shortly thereafter, I called it. If it was this bad so far from Taku Open, the most likely possibility I'd encounter would be seas that I could not pass. Not seas that I didn't want to fight my way through, but a real barrier. I remembered that when my mother and I had failed to cross the Open and wound up overnighting in Taku Harbor, the seas were much more manageable in Stephen's Passage. I could slowly work my way north and find out, but it would take me at least an hour with the very real likelihood of turning around. Of course I could not know, but it was my best educated guess. I cried my way back to the port.
But then there were those loons, their pale gray heads gleaming in the sun, diving, flying, bobbing on the swells in all directions. Well, why not pause and take a look at them? And, if I'm pausing, why not take an eBird survey, at least to count the huge numbers of loons? They proved hard to count what with the seas blocking them from view every few seconds and their frequent dives, so I wound up with a very conservative count of 60--I'm sure there were hundreds, but the conditions were such that counting was difficult and they moved around so much. I wound up doing a more thorough survey than I intended, which took me to the shoreline where a raft of scoters sat offshore and 110 or so harlequin ducks lined up against the rocks with about 50 Bonaparte's gulls sitting behind them. None of them had solid black heads, but some were a dark gray. I looked at their feet in flight to make sure they weren't black-legged kittiwakes. I guess this is where the Bonaparte's gulls have been...? I idled there for a while as I counted and, upon departure, noticed large dark spots in the water. In my quest to approach this congregation of birds, I'd floated right over that reef that sticks way off the point inside of Styleman and which I always assiduously avoid. I went right over the top of a rock (carefully) that was but a couple feet underwater. Behind me, the bait ball came and went, at least 20 eagles soaring out of the trees when it came up. I also saw a red-necked grebe, which was quite special, and just one murrelet, which was surprising.
When we turned to go, Cailey was not looking well (actually, she hadn't looked well for a while) and I was quite sea sick myself, I suppose from using binoculars in two foot swells. I cruised as fast I could with the wind on my tail to Sentinel Pt., and then agonizingly worked my way across Gilbert Bay until we were blissfully in the calm of the river mouth. I'd been gone nearly two hours and, despite all the sunscreen and the hat, felt a bit sunburned. I hastily carried my gear up the lodge, leaving as much as I could in the boat but bringing unnecessary items like the weed whacker (to protect it from rain) and the garbage (to protect it from bears). I anchored in about five minutes and quickly opened up. Opening really is pleasantly much quicker than closing. Having only cheese left to refrigerate, I didn't turn the fridge on again. I ate a snack to help my stomach relax and, finally, turned the internet on and called Ezra through Teams. Once again he couldn't hear me very well, but it was nice to hear from him. And it was also oh so nice to return to such a cozy, comfortable home. It was then the heat of the day (3:00) and I sat at the card table by the window, with the door open and Cailey fast asleep nearby, and worked until 4:30 until I ran out of things I could do without a network connection. This means I only have 3.5 hours to make up in order to not take leave this week, which is pretty good!
By that time, of course, I'd relaxed and was feeling better, though still rather exhausted despite my diet Dr. Pepper. I ate some comfort food (ramen) in the sunshine on the new log covering the path (which I've decided I like), enjoying the view of the green alders and spruces against the sky-blue sky and a few little clouds moving decidedly toward the coast. It was a beautiful place to be stranded! After dinner I read for a bit, then watched the first two episodes of The Baby on my tablet before checking the weather again and calling it a night. The forecast (which still insists Stephen's Passage has 1' seas and variable winds) has a small craft advisory in place for tomorrow as a southeastly with gusts to 35 burns through in one day. It sounds like it will hit hardest in the afternoon, but they forecast 3-5 footers all day in the lower part of my path (and 1' building to 4' in the Open). I will check again and observe what conditions I can in the morning. It was then only about 8:00 but I was so exhausted I decided to head to Hermit Thrush and spend the rest of the evening there. So here I am, finishing this, after which I expect to finish the second of three books I brought with me. The other I will probably finish tomorrow unless I leave early. Very grateful to have computers, internet, and emergency books!
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I was up early again, to the lodge by 7:00. The wind seemed gentle and, though I didn't close up Hermit Thrush, I wondered if I might yet make an early morning exit. It didn't take long to decide to try it, with Gilbert Bay appearing calm, and not much wind here, the sky still mostly clear. I had everything packed up, dishes washed, cart on the porch, couch inside, shutter closed--everything done but turning the propane off and having a bit of oatmeal, when I stepped outside to a violent, prolonged gust of wind that shook the bushes and waved the grass. Aha, I thought, so it has begun. It really seemed like a sign. To Cailey's great confusion, I reversed the process, made my oatmeal, and sat on the porch to enjoy the front. Which did not manifest. My boat had turned into the wind during that gust, but now it floated gently, the wind died, there were no more gusts, and it again seemed like a lovely morning for a boat ride. I was so tired, and I did not want to go through the whole closing process again. What agony is this second-guessing! And so I stayed, but found it very difficult to enjoy being here given that I surely would have returned just fine if I'd followed through. Was the gust really a sign, or just bad timing? Like all humans, I searched for meaning: was I meant to stay for some important reason? Would I see unexpected wildlife? Was I supposed to identify the bird that has been calling all morning, pulling me from the lodge all the way to the olive barrel and, later, downriver to the rubbing tree? I knew better than to mourn over a decision once made--after all, how many times had I been weathered into Juneau and longed to be at Snettisham? Still it was a struggle, and one I may not overcome. I did go after that bird and, with some patience, saw it fly between trees several times (once in binoculars by accident) in the area downriver of the olive barrel where several dead trees stand. But each time he disappeared into the foliage high over my head and finding him impossible. Based on those flights I would say he is a small songbird and he seemed to have pale patches on his wings in contrast with a darker belly. But, all flights were high.
After I finished the last of the three books I'd brought on the porch, furious with how the wind was only just then beginning to pick up, I retreated inside and started rereading The Hobbit--one of my emergency books--with Cailey warming my feet. I eventually closed my eyes and was just beginning to doze off into a comfortable nap when Cailey got down and paced at the door. I'd left her water dish outside. There was nothing to do but get up. Despairing of getting back to a nap, I headed downriver after the same bird with the same results. He was then around the end of the trail past the rubbing tree. [I was beginning to suspect this bird was none other than my friend the Pacific slope flycatcher (singing rather than the calling I'm familiar with) and this was finally confirmed at some point when I watched him land, sing, then make the call I knew.] When I got back, I turned the internet on and got some personal work done, including writing an email that was long overdue related to my Taku research, the delay of which was a large part of my disagreeable temper this morning. Then I uploaded photos into albums for both the previous trips this summer, captioned them, and sent the Taku album on to the family for their vetting. I also downloaded some documents to review in order to correct and update my biography on the Corlies family, another long-overdue project I've put off with the beginning of summer. Perhaps with working on those projects that I'd have had a chance to work on at home today, I would feel better. They have been hanging over my head, and having only porcupine cataloging to do on my return would be welcome. The battery I've been using most of the time finally diminished enough that I switched to the other, so I have it ready to take back to town and charge. I took a walk to the grassy point as the first sprinkles were coming down, but now the weather looks downright mild, though the forecast is still poor and I won't leave today. It if delays the blow until tomorrow I will be very grumpy. Cailey ran out of pills yesterday, and she will run out of food after breakfast tomorrow. I think I still need a nap. I've just lit a proper fire, but it is so slow and quiet it's hard to know if it's going or not.
I did get a nap while the stove sounded like it was simmering water behind me. After that I mined the documents that the Corlies' great-granddaughter had sent me for information to update the biography and then made notes about how to change it once I was back in town. This felt very productive. Later in the evening, after the stove cooled, I sealed the bottom of the stove pipe to the stove itself with a heat-resistant gel; there had been a significant gap, and smoke had crept out of it when I started the fire. I'd decided to sleep in the lodge that night, partly because I didn't feel like opening up (and closing) Hermit Thrush for the third time and partly so it would be easier to make an early start if that seemed like a good idea. I was on the couch watching a Better Call Saul when I heard an interesting, different bird sing. I wasn't sure if it was in the show background or not, but I quickly paused it and heard it again outside. It sounded like a thrush, but not one of the ones I know! And it was close. I raced outside, hearing it a couple of times, but it stopped singing before I could get a recording. It sounded like a Swainson's thrush at the beginning and a hermit thrush at the end, so I looked up gray-cheeked thrush and played a recording. It was pretty much spot on. I listened to it a couple of times and heard chips from the real thrush, but only heard it sing again much later far up the mountain.
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Cailey and I both slept well on the couch and I didn't feel crowded at all. I was up at 6:00 and saw no moving tree branches from my prone position and thought it might be time. But, when I got up, I saw the tight arcs of waves coming down the river and that I wouldn't be going that morning, so I went back to bed and slept for another couple of hours, much needed rest. It was finally going to be the leisurely day I needed. The sky was clear again and it was pleasantly warm. I secured the screen door velcros on the door frame with lots of the tacks it came with (they were holding weak with only their sticky backs), so hopefully it will remain secure, and the mesh screen worked perfectly all day, clicking together most satisfactorily each time we went through. I also grabbed the clippers from the shed and clipped off some of the bushes that had grown up or out during the week around the lodge, then walked the new waterline trail and cleared it of young devil's club, some of the ferns, and other vegetation to help keep it clear. On the way, I clipped down a couple dozen foot or more tall salmonberries that were growing on either side of the path to Schist House. Having already cleared that path earlier in the week, I was forced to conclude that it had all grown up in the last six days or so. I might have missed a couple of them, but not that many!
And, finally, with all those little chores down, I decided to tackle the silly project which I might regret but that, in the meantime, would free some space in the crowded shed; I built the grilling canopy I'd bought two years before. It was born of the idea that I wanted a place that I could sit and birdwatch off the porch when it was raining. What if there was a little canopy where I could leave a camp chair in the clear area above the shed where the lumber used to be? It seemed a good use of the space and I had soon purchased one from Amazon. By the time I got it to Snettisham, it was so late in the season I decided not to build it, and it never happened last year either, partly for the same reason (not getting around to it until too late anyway, plus the nature of the summer). I carried it over to the shady porch and took off. It was probably the easiest build-it-yourself kit I've ever used. The instructions were clear, the parts fit together well, all parts were included. There was no confusion. The only awkward part of it is that it's really quite large--larger than I realized--and tall, which made attaching the pieces around the top and the canopy itself quite a challenge. Having decks at two levels helped at first, but I did need a ladder in the end. It took a little over an hour to finish. Then I carried two jerry jugs of gas down (the overwintered ones) to the boat and from there started a COASST walk/eBird survey. Cailey lingered while I was in sight of the lodge, then returned to her bed when I went upriver, which must be the first time she has flat out decided not to join me. When I got back I had a cheese-only quesadilla for lunch on the porch and read for a bit with the new tent just below me. Later on I moved it to its intended location, which was quite awkward because I could not reach across both sides of it. At first I used a 2x2 between the shelves while walking about a foot at a time. This worked well until we hit roots, which were too high for this method, as the 2x2 slid to the downhill side and the whole thing threatened to fall over, so I wound up just shifting it a few inches on one end and a few inches on the other using the natural flexibility in the frame. Probably not good for it, but I couldn't come up with a better solution. I put it in place, raised one end with a bit of PT scrap, and staked it in. I have no idea if it will be standing when I return, but I think it's well protected from the rain. Will a bear find it interesting? We'll find out. I did inaugurate it with a cup of jasmine tea, a book, binoculars, and mosquito coils later that afternoon and it was perfect. We'll see if I use it in the rain! In the meantime, I'm ready for a BBQ?
The wind down the river did stop in the morning and the day seemed fairly mild. At 4:00 I sent messages that I was leaving, departing at 4:35 after fueling the boat, loading, putting the kayak away, etc. Alarmingly, the wind was still coming out of the Speel across Gilbert Bay, but milder than before, and it was mild enough at the entrance that I took a partial survey of the loons, counting at least 420. It was so many, eBird made me make a comment to accept it! It is pretty remarkable. Unfortunately, Stephen's Passage was still swamped with seas from a west wind, but only up to two feet. It was a long, slow ride north, and I didn't expect the Open to be very good, but we made it, veering the whole way toward Grand Island in the hopes of minimizing exposure to the north wind out of the Taku. A bit of a breeze from that direction near the south end of Grand supported the idea. The back side of Grand was calm and beautiful as I'd hoped and I was shocked to find that so was Taku Open! This time it was a west wind and only a west wind, as I sometimes hope (and had hoped on the way back in May, but was foiled). So crossing the Open was actually the best part until we came around Arden and were hit with the west wind from the back side of Douglas. Overall, though, the trip didn't take much more than two and a half hours (plus loon-watching time) and I was in the slip by 7:30. Inadvertently, I'd spent nearly an entire week at Snettisham. And, though I was at the time quite mad at myself for not leaving Saturday morning, I did get to spend several golden June days at Snettisham, which I had regretted I would miss due to the timing of the next Taku trip and town obligations the following weekend. So, I was gifted a little bit of June at the end of my week.
The mesh door transforms the inside of the lodge on a sunny day
By the time Friday rolled around, the forecast was calling for 2-3 seas from the north the next day, making Taku Open a nightmare I didn't relish entering again (I've been there often enough). Could I do it? Sure, but I wanted nothing to do with it. Saturday came, and the forecast held for Sunday as well, promising the wind would die Sunday night. I wound up having a very pleasant, sunny, hot early summer weekend at home with Ezra (though I worked a full day on Saturday), leaving Memorial Day morning shortly after 9:00 under a promising blue sky and calm channel. Alas, my variable winds and 1' seas (which I hoped meant glass calm) were not to be. It was clear by the time I was half way to Arden that there were seas coming out of the Taku and we had to slow down past Arden, eventually entering 2-3' seas. They were manageable, but we did have to take it slow, and they followed us all the way to Seal Rocks (though we were able to get up to speed by the time we passed Taku Harbor). I don't know whether these were caused by the very end of the north wind or not, but I suspect it would have been much worse earlier in the weekend. Regardless, we made it without incident. The seas made it difficult to look for wildlife, but I did note loons here and there, including a number in the port. We were half way up a rising tide and were able to beach in the little channel from the beach seep. Cargo included asphalt starter strip roofing, four earth anchors, and the weed whacker along with my personal gear. I anchored the boat and went about my usual opening routine, finding the Tlingit potato pot empty and badly abused and the other pot in good shape. Thankfully, most of the soil had been dumped in one place and at least one potato is sprouting in it. I think the pot is beyond repair.
I glanced at my watch at 12:38 and noted that it was just over half an hour from having glanced at my watch while hauling gear up the beach after anchoring. I'd lit the pilots on the stove, taken the paper off the windows, made and eaten a quesadilla, and had just hung the last of the four hummingbird feeders with fresh, warm nectar. I also had food cooling in the fridge. Yes, the fridge! It was a little reluctant to start, but after letting it sit a while and repeatedly trying, it came alive. The first time it lit, I panicked and kept the ignite button pressed instead of the gas, but succeeded on the second try and now it is already cold inside. Hallelujah! What a relief. I sent emails on my phone to my mom and Ezra (the wifi texting not working) and carried a camp chair onto the lower deck to sit in the sun. The upper deck was mostly shaded, and that's where I retreated shortly thereafter to read. When the sun covered the couch and sleepiness took hold, I laid my quilt in front of the door and used Cailey's dog bed as a pillow for some more reading and a little nap. I laid there for about an hour, but Cailey's frequent panting kept waking me up. The sun was creeping across the porch; when it reached her bed, she joined me on the quilt for a little while, but soon the whole deck was awash in hot sunshine. I let Cailey inside and soon was up myself, walking around the trail to pick up camera cards and open Hermit Thrush. I also turned the modem on and checked to see if my messages had been sent/received (they had).
I wasn't feeling very motivated later in the afternoon, and in fact felt a little glum, maybe the effects of the sunshine and heat. I studied the native buttercups in the meadow--perhaps little buttercups and western buttercups, though both have similar species in this area that I haven't been able to rule out yet. Siberian miner's lettuce is blooming, as are quite a few lovely forget-me-nots along the downriver side of the stairs, enjoyed by several species of flies. Bird life was in afternoon quiet mode, but a Wilson's warbler sang from quite close to farther away on the downriver side, a hermit thrush sang in the distance downriver, a Pacific slope flycatcher called on and off (what a joy to hear), the eagles flew by here and there along with ravens, terns, and gulls, and a sooty grouse occasionally called far away. I also saw a female Wilson's warbler (and the male) feeding in the berry bushes. A number of other birds came through, but disappeared too quickly into the dense summer foliage. And the hummingbirds! For once, though absent exactly a month, the four feeders kept the hummingbirds fed; there was just a splash in one and about an inch in another, the two that hang on the outside of the porch. They have danced around all day, and Clive is still here (the male) occasionally diving and buzzing a female. A whale passed through a couple of times, one or two breathing cycles at the mouth of the main channel, then heard/seen again near River Point later.
Now it's coming on 7:00. With a little dark cherry chocolate and the cool of the evening, I'm feeling a little better, though I think tomorrow I should avoid the full heat of the energy-sucking sun more than I did today. I look forward to a good night's sleep, lounging as long as I like in the morning, going on a COASST walk/bird survey, and drinking tea at my porch sit spot. I have weed whacking to consider, but first I need to clear cow parsnip and the areas around the forget-me-nots and roses. And, anyway, there is time.
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Nearly 24 hours later, I'm back on the porch with a mosquito coil burning (the mosquitoes were a minor irritation today, and I got a few bites, and last night a noseeum bit me), the sun still shining on the avalanche area across the river (its avalanche chutes still white with snow) and across Gilbert Bay. A hermit thrush is singing sweetly downriver, and everything but the hummingbirds is still. This morning I wound up sleeping in later than I intended, though I'm sure I needed it, not getting up until around 9:15 and not because I was lounging. I lit the stove when I got to Hermit Thrush around 8:15 last night, more to run it and to make a cup of tea--it wasn't cold enough to need it. It went out twice before I got it going. I'm not sure why, but I did knock a crust of soot off the inlet for the diesel and after that, it worked beautifully and the sleepy time tea was delicious. I stretched before climbing into bed and wound up reading rather than watching the start of the last season of Better Call Saul as I'd intended.
On my way to the lodge, I heard a Wilson's warbler singing (who had also bidden me out of bed from somewhere closer to Hermit Thrush) as well as another warbler. Could it be a yellowthroat? The song was familiar, and I thought it sounded like the "witchita witchita witchita" pneumonic device I'd learned in Cornell's warbler class (one of the few I've found useful). The tide was low, so Cailey and I had a quick breakfast and then headed out on a COASST walk/eBird survey, walking 439 paces to reach the first major channel. The bird life on the river was sparser than usual, mimicking the behavior of the forest birds, but when I got back to the lodge, the unidentified warbler was singing again. I carefully walked along the new log, which now offers dry access from the rocky path through the marshy meadow upriver, until I was even with the singer. Thankfully, it stuck around, chipping with a hoarse voice and singing repeatedly, but totally lost in the foliage. I thought I'd try the Cornell Merlin app and record a song, and to my astonishment, it had identified the singer by the time I'd recorded two songs, as well as the hermit thrush singing in the background. I was impressed, as my first trials with it using recorded bird songs were failures. So, we both thought it was a common yellowthroat, and soon he came out to the edge of the berries and sang while I watched. Beautiful.
By then it was 10:45 or so and I was overdue for tea. I sent a few emails, ate some more oatmeal, and then settled onto the porch with some very nice jasmine tea, deciding it was too quiet to immediately embark on a stationary bird survey. Around noon I left the shade of the porch and entered the hot sunshine, unfortunately donning a flannel and gloves in order to cut and handle the cow parsnip where I intended to weed whack later, hopefully preventing the sap from burning my skin. Although it was a pain, I remembered well enough the 10 days of itching agony from burns I've had in the past. Then I weeded by hand and with a machete the areas around the roses and the forget-me-nots so I could safely weed whack without getting close to them. I'm sure there were breaks in between, but at some point I put gas in the generator and carried it over to the porch, starting it on the second try as usual. It ran beautifully. I took my time, weed whacking a little more thoroughly and trying to avoid irises and Siberian miner's lettuce. By the time the front meadow and along the downriver side of the porch was finished, I was hot (still in the flannel to protect my arms from flying juice in case I'd missed any pushke) and sweaty and very hungry, but I went ahead and cleared the area upriver from the porch before I broke. A quesadilla for lunch and a bit of reading revived me. I went back and hand weeded around the areas I'd avoided down the path, discovering some small blooming forget-me-nots I'd planted under an iris patch, checked on and weeded around the other cottonwood, and broke down the grass growing around the intact potato pot under the spruce. I thought it was time for a cold drink, so I cleaned up a bit and then decided to install the mesh, magnetic screen door my mom gave me last year. It turned out that installation was amazingly easy and, within about 20 minutes, the door was covered in a mesh curtain, easy to see through, split down the middle with magnets to hold it together. It was amazing! The breeze came in, it was nearly as clear as a window, and sitting inside it with the light breeze and looking out was lovely. A game changer.
After my diet Dr. Pepper (partially frozen by my wonderful refrigerator), I read a little more, then took clippers and walked to the outhouse and the main loop trail to clear it, deciding that I really didn't need to weed whack anything else yet, which is a nice relief, though I'm sure I'll want to later in the summer. All in all, it's been a good day's work and enjoyment. I'm very glad the weed whacking's done--with the exception of carrying the vegetation down to the river--and having the mesh door up really makes being here in the heat of the day enjoyable. I ate Indian food and bread for dinner again, with a dessert of dark cherry chocolate, then went for a walk. I thought Cailey would stay behind, but she caught up with me at the outhouse and bounded around. Then I changed the batteries and inserted an SD card in the camera that had been on the trail near Cottonwood Cabin for the purpose. Last night I'd set a camera next to the satellite dish pole pointed at a large clear area in the bushes and thought to reward myself with the videos taken overnight and today, only to find that I'd failed to give it an SD card after sacrificing its card to the River Point camera. Now it is reset! The only thing I have on my agenda tomorrow is to wash the windows and replace the UV stickers, which won't be a major task. Perhaps we can take an adventure to a beach on the rising tide.
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I actually washed the windows of the lodge and shed and applied new UV stickers after dinner last night, read on the porch as the early dusk settled, then headed to Hermit Thrush at a more respectable hour of 8:45, stretching to an episode of Better Call Saul before relaxing in bed. I then read until about 10:30 and, unexpectedly, woke up around 5:15 and never really got back to sleep. I'd wanted to awake early to see early morning bird activity, but hadn't expected it to be that early. I'd been hearing a call or song from around the cabin for a while as I considered whether to wake up--a persistent vocalization from high in the trees that I'd heard the day before on the COASST walk but determined to be impossible to find from the beach. It proved similarly impossible from the forest floor, gazing up into high trees with no idea where the bird was. I was a bit out of sorts, hoping that my early rising would yield early morning birds, but the beach was dark and quiet, the tide falling toward a negative something tide. There were crows and gulls out there, but not exciting morning activity. I did some chores on the internet for a while (turns out my credit card payment was late), had breakfast, and bundled up on the porch with a sweater, my down vest, and a quilt on, which did not dispel the chill. On and off all morning I did chores, trimming the dozen or so stalks at the top of the meadow spruce trying to make a new trunk, weeding the rhubarb, stowing the old stove pipe and the plywood from the back porch under the lodge, and setting up the game camera on the water line trail where I'd decided on a spot the day before. And a bit of reading too. I was actually surprised at how fast the morning went, but around the time I indulged in a cup of cafe francais I began to relax, looking out over my demesne. I realized that I had done it, that I could relax, that everything would be okay. The homestead was in good shape, no big projects lingered, I could relax. I generally think cafe francais doesn't have much caffeine in it, but perhaps this suggests otherwise!
I had lunch around 11:30 with a blue moon beer that I'd found in the freshet creek somewhat downstream of the chilling pool, a little rusty but apparently intact. Around 12:30 Cailey and I headed for the boat with a small pack and my camera, bound for Daisy Beach and a bit of exploration. I'd been troubled to find a brisk wind coming down the river in the morning, which hadn't helped the chill, and was relieved that it had largely passed, only to find 1-2' seas coming down Gilbert Bay from the Speel, another sign of a north wind. Perhaps I'd been too hopeful for those light and variable winds to continue and, in fact, 2' seas were called for in the Taku Open today.
When we got to the beach, I initially headed in near the creek mouth, but when we drifted to shore I found the cloudy water populated with rocks about a foot in diameter, complicating a landing, not to mention a less than ideal situation for a boat being pushed to shore by wind. We repositioned up the beach at a mostly sandy/muddy flat which worked out much better. I lifted Cailey down to the beach and pulled the anchor up, quickly discovering that my backpack was soaking wet, though it had only been on my back and on a dry seat. I opened it up and discovered that the can of diet root beer I'd stashed inside had been punctured. I swabbed a few items off with my flannel, then headed to the edge of the forest and the rows of white drift logs there. The heat was searing, really too hot to be enjoyable, especially in xtratufs. The plants were young (wasn't this beach snowy a month ago?), so it wasn't a good time to seek out new species. I could identify all of them but one, and was pleased to find quite a few more winter cress than we'd noticed last summer. The inside of the woods was much much more pleasant. Just inside, half buried, were a couple of bottles. I'd gone in thinking that I'd look for signs of a Tlingit settlement (remembering what Emmons said about fireweed in Snettisham indicating Tlingit habitation sites), but the bottles were probably more recent. It certainly is a beautiful place. Just a few feet away I did find an old crow bar, and then what appeared at first to be the ruins of a cabin--logs or other wood foundation with smoke stacks and an old barrel. I later saw that the log foundation was actually a pile of lumber, so perhaps the cabin was never built. I'd like to think it's an old mining camp, but the visqueen on top probably means it's much more recent.
I walked in the forest until we were nearly at the creek, bear mace in one hand, then exited and enjoyed the incredibly beautiful view, enhanced by a picturesque bonsai spruce growing on the top of a root wad. The heat was unbearable, though, and I slowly headed back to the boat along the wrack line. I did notice one unexpected plant--plantain, maybe from a seed blown from my place, an invasive species I inadvertently brought from Juneau. And so, about an hour after landing, we pulled the Ronquil in and returned to the homestead, slowly for the waves, which may have been diminishing, and creeping along the shore past River Point for the enjoyment of the view. A pair of eagles sat near each other downriver of the nest but again I saw no sign of activity there. I had hoped that, having rebuilt the nest last summer, they would have a more productive year this year. Maybe there is another nest somewhere, but it seems like someone would have been shading any nestlings in a nest. Once anchored, Cailey hopped in the kayak and rode to shore like a champ.
By then we were in the heat of the day and the full brunt of the sun was on the deck, so Cailey and I came inside. I ate an amazing fresh mango inside the mesh screen door, then laid down on the cool couch and sorted through photos from the last two trips. And then I sank into a sweet nap to the sound of hummingbirds buzzing outside. I dozed for about an hour, then fed Cailey and put some water on to heat. In the meantime, I washed the diet root beer that exploded last winter from the wall and windowsill and ceiling, finishing the latter with the squeegee I was about to use on windows, putting a paper towel over the squeegee end to help dry it off afterwards. And then I made the cabin rounds to sweep porches and wash windows. It's amazing what a transformation a swept porch (or path or steps) makes, with shiny windows to boot. I checked the weather--not looking as promising as I'd hoped--then had the usual dinner, finishing off my loaf of bread, and streamed an episode of iZombie for the fun of it. Then I ran some errands, put some tools back in the shed, and grabbed a hammer to fix my amazing mesh screen which was starting to fall down. I wound up nailing in the inside pieces of the top adhesive strips with the tacks it came with, in the process raising the screen off the ground, or nearly so, as it's meant to be, which should hopefully help it come back together at the bottom better than it had. I sure like having the light and the airiness inside. Now I'm back on the porch in the serene evening while a hermit thrush sings downriver. A Pacific slope flycatcher has come into the bushes just downriver a couple of times today, though I still haven't seen him, and Clive has been making his zooming dives on and off tirelessly. I watched a male Wilson's warbler feed for quite a while in the bushes today, and terns have come by, but I still can't shake the feeling that it's eerily quiet. Where are the varied thrushes, the orange-crowned warblers, the Bonaparte's gulls?
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I slept to a more reasonable hour, though a little grumpily, for through the night I could hear the pings of spruce needles striking the roof in gusts of winds and I had a good idea what I'd find in the morning. When I stepped outside, the first thing that caught my eye was a fern, waving in the breeze. It looked like more wind coming down the river and, worse than the prospects of staying another day was trying to figure out if I SHOULD stay another day. I hate the agonizing decision of when would be best to go. Before I dealt with that, however, I went on a quest to find the bird that was once again singing or calling over Hermit Thrush, but once again failed.
The forecast suggested that today's wind would be back to light and variable tomorrow, but it said that yesterday too. How windy was it really? Still a little unsure, I set about seeing if I could connect to my work network on my laptop and work for a little, having forgotten my work laptop at home. At that I eventually failed, but at 9:30 I did start to look through webmail and saw an invitation to a Southeast Alaska Fish Habitat Partnership Meeting which started....at 9:30. Why not! I logged on and, to my amazement, connected. I was almost immediately asked to introduce myself as they were then introducing the ADF&G folks, and I shared with them the craziness of the situation. At the end of the meeting I even had some useful updates to add about our current call for proposals.
The day was hot and sunny like the others this week, but this time I stayed cool in the lodge with the mesh screen letting in the air and the sounds of the birds outside. All in all, it's a pretty awesome place to work. After three hours I took lunch, walking with Cailey up to the grassy point and back on the rising tide and then eating lunch on the porch. In the afternoon I worked another four and a half hours to make a full day, taking my break nearly nude on the porch to bask in the sun. When I started work and turned the modem on for the second or third time today, it suddenly wouldn't work--no send or receive lights. I pressed a button and the power button flashed red, so I turned it off and switched to the fresh battery and it worked. I used it for most of the day, switching after my break to the old battery again and it worked, so it's not clear what happened. But overall I am pleased with how long the batteries are lasting. I just checked my Hughesnet usage and, over the course of this week and a full day working, I've used only about 15% of my monthly allowance. Pretty good. And I was able to text with people all day too! OH, and I got a phone call out of the blue. It hadn't even occurred to me that I could do that, but I had Teams open and took a couple of work calls that went through perfectly (then a couple of calls where I could hear the other person but they could not hear me very well). Amazing.
And so I've had a very different and very good day, certainly one of the most pleasant work days of my life. I am planning to leave tomorrow when the boat floats unless something dramatic comes up. The wind is supposed to pick up just a little tonight, then die again after midnight. Fingers crossed. I even feel more energetic than usual, perhaps because of lack of manual labor today and lack of heat stress. Cailey is now going through the mesh on her own, most of the time through the middle but I've had to remind her a couple of times not to try to push through the edge, which I think is how she went after the bear. (Her first success was when I poured her food this morning while she was on the porch.) She is a smarty and I'm sure it's very nice for her to be able to come in and out at will. Even just being able to let her in and out without using the door is a plus. I wonder if I'll use it even when it's not hot sunshine?
I ate nachos for dinner on the porch and enjoyed the serene evening for a bit. I had plans for an amazing dessert, but before I ate it I washed the dishes, swept, packed, and did most of the close up cleaning. Then I dished up some (deliberately) partially frozen yogurt and relished it on the porch, reading until around 8:45 when we headed to Hermit Thrush.
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I heard no ticking needles or waving branches all night and woke up to a partially overcast sky and less dramatically waving ferns and devil's club. The forecast no longer called for variable winds in the Open, but it didn't look as windy here either from the river or from Speel. I had the rest of the yogurt with oats for breakfast, then indulged in a cup of jasmine tea, all the while performing an eBird survey from the deck. Perhaps due to the calmer water, I counted 64 murrelets this morning and four loons, along with the usual critters around here. At 8:30 I started work, this time on the porch, and worked there until 11:00 with only a short break to carry two jerry jugs to the boat and move the anchor which was hopelessly tangled in a branch. With some clouds in the sky, the day has a very different feel, more alive, more alert, and I thoroughly enjoyed the morning.
When the work day was over, I did a few chores, made a quesadilla with the last of the refried beans (mostly frozen, so they sat a little longer on the burner) and settled in to read my novel as the tide rose. The clouds were scattering and I had shed layers down to my tank top by the time I started really closing things up. The anchor was already covered with water, but I walked to the boat through the shallows easily, carrying garbage and weed whacker atop the tote, all in one load. It was an easy, smooth departure and I felt optimistic, courageous and patient enough to take the seas coming out of the Taku that I was expecting, planning to head toward Grand Island instead of Grave Pt. and cruise around its backside to lessen the time in the unobstructed reach from the river. Other than an errant gust in the morning, the inlet was pretty calm.
And then we were in Gilbert Bay and it was anything but calm. The seas were worse than they had been when we'd crossed to Daisy Beach and slowed us down a great deal. They were in the 2' range, possibly the biggest swell I've seen from the Speel Arm side, characteristically shifting as though coming down the mountains on the west side of the port as I turned toward Stephen's Passage. It got a little better the farther I went, but still, the seas, if smaller, were incessant and I was beginning to question whether I really wanted to fight my way north. I started to see Pacific loons, more and more as I neared the entrance, until I spotted a huge cluster just outside the port near Pt. Styleman along with about 20 diving eagles. It was a spectacular and long-lived bait ball cluster, but by then I was in steady seas coming down Stephen's Passage. It was not looking hopeful. Soon I was encountering three foot seas on a regular basis. They were coming more from the west than straight down, but I recall that they were also doing that the last time I made this trip when my hope that it would not be coming out of the river (but around the backside of Douglas), being a westerly and not a northerly, was unfounded. When I'd come down on Monday, encountering 2-3' seas in the Open, the seas here were about 1' and dying. Now they were 2-3' and aggressive. As I puttered around Seal Rocks (1700 rpm), considering the situation, a whale sounded about 25 feet off my starboard bow. I paused and waited a minute, but I didn't see him come back up. Shortly thereafter, I called it. If it was this bad so far from Taku Open, the most likely possibility I'd encounter would be seas that I could not pass. Not seas that I didn't want to fight my way through, but a real barrier. I remembered that when my mother and I had failed to cross the Open and wound up overnighting in Taku Harbor, the seas were much more manageable in Stephen's Passage. I could slowly work my way north and find out, but it would take me at least an hour with the very real likelihood of turning around. Of course I could not know, but it was my best educated guess. I cried my way back to the port.
But then there were those loons, their pale gray heads gleaming in the sun, diving, flying, bobbing on the swells in all directions. Well, why not pause and take a look at them? And, if I'm pausing, why not take an eBird survey, at least to count the huge numbers of loons? They proved hard to count what with the seas blocking them from view every few seconds and their frequent dives, so I wound up with a very conservative count of 60--I'm sure there were hundreds, but the conditions were such that counting was difficult and they moved around so much. I wound up doing a more thorough survey than I intended, which took me to the shoreline where a raft of scoters sat offshore and 110 or so harlequin ducks lined up against the rocks with about 50 Bonaparte's gulls sitting behind them. None of them had solid black heads, but some were a dark gray. I looked at their feet in flight to make sure they weren't black-legged kittiwakes. I guess this is where the Bonaparte's gulls have been...? I idled there for a while as I counted and, upon departure, noticed large dark spots in the water. In my quest to approach this congregation of birds, I'd floated right over that reef that sticks way off the point inside of Styleman and which I always assiduously avoid. I went right over the top of a rock (carefully) that was but a couple feet underwater. Behind me, the bait ball came and went, at least 20 eagles soaring out of the trees when it came up. I also saw a red-necked grebe, which was quite special, and just one murrelet, which was surprising.
When we turned to go, Cailey was not looking well (actually, she hadn't looked well for a while) and I was quite sea sick myself, I suppose from using binoculars in two foot swells. I cruised as fast I could with the wind on my tail to Sentinel Pt., and then agonizingly worked my way across Gilbert Bay until we were blissfully in the calm of the river mouth. I'd been gone nearly two hours and, despite all the sunscreen and the hat, felt a bit sunburned. I hastily carried my gear up the lodge, leaving as much as I could in the boat but bringing unnecessary items like the weed whacker (to protect it from rain) and the garbage (to protect it from bears). I anchored in about five minutes and quickly opened up. Opening really is pleasantly much quicker than closing. Having only cheese left to refrigerate, I didn't turn the fridge on again. I ate a snack to help my stomach relax and, finally, turned the internet on and called Ezra through Teams. Once again he couldn't hear me very well, but it was nice to hear from him. And it was also oh so nice to return to such a cozy, comfortable home. It was then the heat of the day (3:00) and I sat at the card table by the window, with the door open and Cailey fast asleep nearby, and worked until 4:30 until I ran out of things I could do without a network connection. This means I only have 3.5 hours to make up in order to not take leave this week, which is pretty good!
By that time, of course, I'd relaxed and was feeling better, though still rather exhausted despite my diet Dr. Pepper. I ate some comfort food (ramen) in the sunshine on the new log covering the path (which I've decided I like), enjoying the view of the green alders and spruces against the sky-blue sky and a few little clouds moving decidedly toward the coast. It was a beautiful place to be stranded! After dinner I read for a bit, then watched the first two episodes of The Baby on my tablet before checking the weather again and calling it a night. The forecast (which still insists Stephen's Passage has 1' seas and variable winds) has a small craft advisory in place for tomorrow as a southeastly with gusts to 35 burns through in one day. It sounds like it will hit hardest in the afternoon, but they forecast 3-5 footers all day in the lower part of my path (and 1' building to 4' in the Open). I will check again and observe what conditions I can in the morning. It was then only about 8:00 but I was so exhausted I decided to head to Hermit Thrush and spend the rest of the evening there. So here I am, finishing this, after which I expect to finish the second of three books I brought with me. The other I will probably finish tomorrow unless I leave early. Very grateful to have computers, internet, and emergency books!
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I was up early again, to the lodge by 7:00. The wind seemed gentle and, though I didn't close up Hermit Thrush, I wondered if I might yet make an early morning exit. It didn't take long to decide to try it, with Gilbert Bay appearing calm, and not much wind here, the sky still mostly clear. I had everything packed up, dishes washed, cart on the porch, couch inside, shutter closed--everything done but turning the propane off and having a bit of oatmeal, when I stepped outside to a violent, prolonged gust of wind that shook the bushes and waved the grass. Aha, I thought, so it has begun. It really seemed like a sign. To Cailey's great confusion, I reversed the process, made my oatmeal, and sat on the porch to enjoy the front. Which did not manifest. My boat had turned into the wind during that gust, but now it floated gently, the wind died, there were no more gusts, and it again seemed like a lovely morning for a boat ride. I was so tired, and I did not want to go through the whole closing process again. What agony is this second-guessing! And so I stayed, but found it very difficult to enjoy being here given that I surely would have returned just fine if I'd followed through. Was the gust really a sign, or just bad timing? Like all humans, I searched for meaning: was I meant to stay for some important reason? Would I see unexpected wildlife? Was I supposed to identify the bird that has been calling all morning, pulling me from the lodge all the way to the olive barrel and, later, downriver to the rubbing tree? I knew better than to mourn over a decision once made--after all, how many times had I been weathered into Juneau and longed to be at Snettisham? Still it was a struggle, and one I may not overcome. I did go after that bird and, with some patience, saw it fly between trees several times (once in binoculars by accident) in the area downriver of the olive barrel where several dead trees stand. But each time he disappeared into the foliage high over my head and finding him impossible. Based on those flights I would say he is a small songbird and he seemed to have pale patches on his wings in contrast with a darker belly. But, all flights were high.
After I finished the last of the three books I'd brought on the porch, furious with how the wind was only just then beginning to pick up, I retreated inside and started rereading The Hobbit--one of my emergency books--with Cailey warming my feet. I eventually closed my eyes and was just beginning to doze off into a comfortable nap when Cailey got down and paced at the door. I'd left her water dish outside. There was nothing to do but get up. Despairing of getting back to a nap, I headed downriver after the same bird with the same results. He was then around the end of the trail past the rubbing tree. [I was beginning to suspect this bird was none other than my friend the Pacific slope flycatcher (singing rather than the calling I'm familiar with) and this was finally confirmed at some point when I watched him land, sing, then make the call I knew.] When I got back, I turned the internet on and got some personal work done, including writing an email that was long overdue related to my Taku research, the delay of which was a large part of my disagreeable temper this morning. Then I uploaded photos into albums for both the previous trips this summer, captioned them, and sent the Taku album on to the family for their vetting. I also downloaded some documents to review in order to correct and update my biography on the Corlies family, another long-overdue project I've put off with the beginning of summer. Perhaps with working on those projects that I'd have had a chance to work on at home today, I would feel better. They have been hanging over my head, and having only porcupine cataloging to do on my return would be welcome. The battery I've been using most of the time finally diminished enough that I switched to the other, so I have it ready to take back to town and charge. I took a walk to the grassy point as the first sprinkles were coming down, but now the weather looks downright mild, though the forecast is still poor and I won't leave today. It if delays the blow until tomorrow I will be very grumpy. Cailey ran out of pills yesterday, and she will run out of food after breakfast tomorrow. I think I still need a nap. I've just lit a proper fire, but it is so slow and quiet it's hard to know if it's going or not.
I did get a nap while the stove sounded like it was simmering water behind me. After that I mined the documents that the Corlies' great-granddaughter had sent me for information to update the biography and then made notes about how to change it once I was back in town. This felt very productive. Later in the evening, after the stove cooled, I sealed the bottom of the stove pipe to the stove itself with a heat-resistant gel; there had been a significant gap, and smoke had crept out of it when I started the fire. I'd decided to sleep in the lodge that night, partly because I didn't feel like opening up (and closing) Hermit Thrush for the third time and partly so it would be easier to make an early start if that seemed like a good idea. I was on the couch watching a Better Call Saul when I heard an interesting, different bird sing. I wasn't sure if it was in the show background or not, but I quickly paused it and heard it again outside. It sounded like a thrush, but not one of the ones I know! And it was close. I raced outside, hearing it a couple of times, but it stopped singing before I could get a recording. It sounded like a Swainson's thrush at the beginning and a hermit thrush at the end, so I looked up gray-cheeked thrush and played a recording. It was pretty much spot on. I listened to it a couple of times and heard chips from the real thrush, but only heard it sing again much later far up the mountain.
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Cailey and I both slept well on the couch and I didn't feel crowded at all. I was up at 6:00 and saw no moving tree branches from my prone position and thought it might be time. But, when I got up, I saw the tight arcs of waves coming down the river and that I wouldn't be going that morning, so I went back to bed and slept for another couple of hours, much needed rest. It was finally going to be the leisurely day I needed. The sky was clear again and it was pleasantly warm. I secured the screen door velcros on the door frame with lots of the tacks it came with (they were holding weak with only their sticky backs), so hopefully it will remain secure, and the mesh screen worked perfectly all day, clicking together most satisfactorily each time we went through. I also grabbed the clippers from the shed and clipped off some of the bushes that had grown up or out during the week around the lodge, then walked the new waterline trail and cleared it of young devil's club, some of the ferns, and other vegetation to help keep it clear. On the way, I clipped down a couple dozen foot or more tall salmonberries that were growing on either side of the path to Schist House. Having already cleared that path earlier in the week, I was forced to conclude that it had all grown up in the last six days or so. I might have missed a couple of them, but not that many!
And, finally, with all those little chores down, I decided to tackle the silly project which I might regret but that, in the meantime, would free some space in the crowded shed; I built the grilling canopy I'd bought two years before. It was born of the idea that I wanted a place that I could sit and birdwatch off the porch when it was raining. What if there was a little canopy where I could leave a camp chair in the clear area above the shed where the lumber used to be? It seemed a good use of the space and I had soon purchased one from Amazon. By the time I got it to Snettisham, it was so late in the season I decided not to build it, and it never happened last year either, partly for the same reason (not getting around to it until too late anyway, plus the nature of the summer). I carried it over to the shady porch and took off. It was probably the easiest build-it-yourself kit I've ever used. The instructions were clear, the parts fit together well, all parts were included. There was no confusion. The only awkward part of it is that it's really quite large--larger than I realized--and tall, which made attaching the pieces around the top and the canopy itself quite a challenge. Having decks at two levels helped at first, but I did need a ladder in the end. It took a little over an hour to finish. Then I carried two jerry jugs of gas down (the overwintered ones) to the boat and from there started a COASST walk/eBird survey. Cailey lingered while I was in sight of the lodge, then returned to her bed when I went upriver, which must be the first time she has flat out decided not to join me. When I got back I had a cheese-only quesadilla for lunch on the porch and read for a bit with the new tent just below me. Later on I moved it to its intended location, which was quite awkward because I could not reach across both sides of it. At first I used a 2x2 between the shelves while walking about a foot at a time. This worked well until we hit roots, which were too high for this method, as the 2x2 slid to the downhill side and the whole thing threatened to fall over, so I wound up just shifting it a few inches on one end and a few inches on the other using the natural flexibility in the frame. Probably not good for it, but I couldn't come up with a better solution. I put it in place, raised one end with a bit of PT scrap, and staked it in. I have no idea if it will be standing when I return, but I think it's well protected from the rain. Will a bear find it interesting? We'll find out. I did inaugurate it with a cup of jasmine tea, a book, binoculars, and mosquito coils later that afternoon and it was perfect. We'll see if I use it in the rain! In the meantime, I'm ready for a BBQ?
The wind down the river did stop in the morning and the day seemed fairly mild. At 4:00 I sent messages that I was leaving, departing at 4:35 after fueling the boat, loading, putting the kayak away, etc. Alarmingly, the wind was still coming out of the Speel across Gilbert Bay, but milder than before, and it was mild enough at the entrance that I took a partial survey of the loons, counting at least 420. It was so many, eBird made me make a comment to accept it! It is pretty remarkable. Unfortunately, Stephen's Passage was still swamped with seas from a west wind, but only up to two feet. It was a long, slow ride north, and I didn't expect the Open to be very good, but we made it, veering the whole way toward Grand Island in the hopes of minimizing exposure to the north wind out of the Taku. A bit of a breeze from that direction near the south end of Grand supported the idea. The back side of Grand was calm and beautiful as I'd hoped and I was shocked to find that so was Taku Open! This time it was a west wind and only a west wind, as I sometimes hope (and had hoped on the way back in May, but was foiled). So crossing the Open was actually the best part until we came around Arden and were hit with the west wind from the back side of Douglas. Overall, though, the trip didn't take much more than two and a half hours (plus loon-watching time) and I was in the slip by 7:30. Inadvertently, I'd spent nearly an entire week at Snettisham. And, though I was at the time quite mad at myself for not leaving Saturday morning, I did get to spend several golden June days at Snettisham, which I had regretted I would miss due to the timing of the next Taku trip and town obligations the following weekend. So, I was gifted a little bit of June at the end of my week.
The mesh door transforms the inside of the lodge on a sunny day