It's 7:00 pm and I've just returned from moving the boat from its temporary anchorage just beyond the eagle nest to its usual position off the homestead. We'd arrived an hour and 40 minutes (11:00 am) before a 0.7' tide and I was a bit surprised to find that we couldn't enter the river at all but had to come ashore  down below. Still, with such a small load, I was able to take everything we needed (backpack, camera, bag with food and clothes and books, and weed-whacker) in one easy load up the beach. The forecast had mercifully shifted from 1-2' SE seas outside the port to light and variable, which is what we encountered under a mostly overcast sky, some larger seas indeed picking up outside the port (and north of Grave Point) which slowed us down but which were smooth-topped and otherwise mild. With Cailey on new medication (prion), I hadn't given her any dramamine and she seemed to do fine all the way down.

I was tired after a week...or two weeks...of work, a combination of getting ready for our trip to the Yukon next week, taking care of the garden, enjoying the garden, socializing, and bird-watching--and was already pretty exhausted, so I tried not to have high expectations of work today. As soon as I opened up and had some nachos for lunch, though, I did the weed-whacking of the front garden so I could enjoy the view, all accomplished in short order. There were few cow parsnip plants to pull up and no clipping that needed to be done in that area. As I worked I was surprised and pleased to find two more volunteer rose plants, one at the bottom corner of the berry bushes along the porch and the other at the edge of the firepit which I accidentally lobbed off. I can't believe they've already extended runners so far! I would love that whole area to grow up in roses, even if it complicates the grooming (I think).

I then read for an hour or so on the porch, hooked up the hose to the back of the lodge so I could wash the inside of the outhouse for painting, moved inside for a bit as my energy waned, and eventually took a little nap. I didn't exactly feel refreshed when I woke up and spent most of the rest of the afternoon on the porch watching birds and getting quietly and blissfully buzzed, so relieved at all the work I did this week which has led me to this peaceful weekend, a weekend with no real expectations. (Other than finding my keys and wallet, which I have failed to do.) Cailey has taken herself on several expeditions to dig up and bury old and new treats and it's been a joy to watch her bop around with apparent delight, coming back to her bed on the porch when she's finished. Two whales have been in the inlet all day, sometimes apparently together, and, as usual, concentrating their energy on the mouth of the main channel, frequently diving deep. Despite the brisk wind that kicked up most of the afternoon (now diminished), I could often hear them inhaling as well as exhaling.

The bird life has been fun. There's been the near-constant chitter of fledglings on one or both sides of the porch with both Townsend's warblers and hermit thrushes gathering bugs (the latter showing up often, as when we were here two weeks ago, feeding along the path and perching on the big log that crosses it). Hummingbirds have evidently fledged and there are at least five coming at once with somewhat less aggression that seen earlier in the season. One has made territorial dives a few times but does not have the red throat of an adult, so I suppose must be a male YOY. The occasional aggression at the feeders led several to hit the picture window--a new apparition I suppose since most of them arrived on the scene, one bouncing off, landing on my shoulder, and sliding down my arm before flying off. Late in the afternoon, one struck the window beside me and I heard him thud to the deck. I found him lying in a crack of the decking and picked him up as gently as I could, praying he was alive. When I peeked, she blinked at me and I held her in my palm, covering her with my other hand, and continuing to pray that she recovered. I peeked now and again, relieved to see breathing, and, after some minutes decided my hand was probably too hot and I should put her in a box or bucket in the dark to recover. I uncovered her to take a good look before I did so and felt her rouse, her wings thrumming upon my palm as she rose and buzzed away downriver, flying with perfection. What a relief! In the aftermath of that, I closed the shutters, darkening the inside, but it is worth the sacrifice and, with such a beautiful evening, I don't expect to spend much time inside anyway.

Wilson's warblers stopped by on and off, a western flycatcher called periodically, some red-breasted mergansers swam upriver, and--most surprising--the Lincoln's sparrow has sung here and there all day, mostly upriver, but at least once downriver after I saw him pass. I hope this means he has a family here! I opened up a puzzle earlier, looking forward to having a less frustrating time of it than the massive horse puzzle of last winter, and happy to start one so early in the year. While I have the paint for the outhouses--salvaged from what I used for the mews years ago and brought back along with all the other sundry items I'd left behind on the kayak just now--I don't now expect to use it on this trip. At best, perhaps I can wash and prep the outhouses for painting, but mostly I need to rest, enjoy June at Snettisham, and store up energy for the trip to come.

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It's been a good day. I didn't wake up any more enthusiastic about working as I was yesterday, but my plan had been to have tea on the porch and do a proper bird survey, so that's how I started the day. The Lincoln's sparrow continued to sing more consistently, if widely spaced, than any others, and the hermit thrushes foraged around the rocky path, perching on the heads of irises and kneeling angelica and twice coming out of the meadow with enormous green caterpillars that they pummeled on the rocks before disappearing into the brush. An eagle flew up from beneath the nest with a good sized chum salmon--perhaps the first fish I've been able to identify in the talons of an eagle other than starry flounder. He perched for a long time at the nest point with crows bopping comfortably around him, then shifted to the tree upriver of the lodge, then back toward the nest but higher up, then higher up still on the far side of the nest. I think he made it to the nest during the survey, but was done out of sight. The inlet was much quieter than the last time and the season has definitely shifted from the excitement of spring into summer with fewer songs, more food gathering, and the intense activity in the inlet gone, though there were two red-throated loons out there and a smattering of murrelets.

The tea no doubt helped inspire me and I eventually did get up around 10:30 and scrubbed the insides of both outhouses, pleased that the hose reached to both. When I was finished it was nearly noon and I broke for lunch as the wind squalled in with a front. By then the tide was low, so Cailey and I went for a walk to the grassy point, alarmed at by a yellowlegs at the mouth of the creek. Other than that and the interesting big divots in the sand below the point, it was a pleasant and quiet walk, and the rain began to patter as we returned. I stopped by the boat, now aground, and picked up the drill and the skilsaw, having mustered some enthusiasm for working on the trim around the picture window. Before that, however, I stopped by the Gneiss outhouse and noticed that it was dry enough to paint, which I hadn't expected, but that I really needed to do whatever I was going to with the rotting 2x4s around the edges before I did that. Was I going to just leave them? If not, now was the time to take care of them. I decided on the latter route and returned with hammer, screwdriver and, later, chisel. It was satisfying to remove the rotten wood, most of which came away easily, though some required a bit of levering and whacking with the chisel to remove it, especially the layer of plywood that was between the 4x4 foundation and the 2x4 wall which I think was the original floor, installed before the walls were put up. Initially, I left portions of the plywood which were being stubborn and not too rotten under the sections on either side of the door but, after inserting the fresh 2x4s, wound up taking them out so they were even with the 2x4s on the sides which had no plywood. I had to pull out a few dozen nails and screws from the rotting wood, most of which came easily.

Before cutting the new pieces, I also pulled out the cedar trim for the picture window, pleased to see that I had already cut it, remembering that I had stalled on the project because the hinges for the shutters are attached to blocks of wood bolted to the wall to bring them farther out and, of course, covered the area I was going to trim. Rather than deal with that, I decided to simply cut the side trim to fit between the hinges instead of removing the blocks and reinstalling them on top of the trim. I measured the three portions on each side and cut those as well as the pieces for the outhouse on the deck. I had to return to the deck and turn the generator on twice to trim the outhouse pieces to fit better, but eventually had everything cut and the beautiful new 2x4s installed. The window trim I will stain before I put it on. With everything in place (including a few cedar shims), I screwed the 2xs in which took a ridiculous amount of time because I kept running into the metal plates connecting the 4x4s on the door side. I was definitely losing my patience, but eventually got them satisfactorily in, cleaned everything up, fed Cailey, and collapsed on the porch with the remainder of the emergency wine I'd opened last night. The new wood looks great, though it really needs a new floor! I'd torn away the edges of the rotting replacement piece to give the new 2xs better access under the uprights and take measurements to hopefully cut a piece in town. I think I am out of regular plywood here that is not already rotting.

I hadn't expected to do that project, but it has bothered me every time I'm in the outhouse, so I think it'll be a big morale improvement to have that done, and now I can paint the walls to either side of the door (which haven't been done since they were installed) and the new pieces at the same time.

The rain let up very quickly after starting and the wind died. I made steak strips for dinner and ate them on the porch looking out over a totally serene inlet with some blue sky showing over Gilbert Bay. It did just rain briefly, but overall it's a gorgeous evening. In the afternoon, a yellow warbler came through singing quietly and just now I saw a male's warbler feed a fledgling [I have no idea what I meant by "male's warbler"]. Ezra found my keys and wallet in town last night where I asked him to look in the pile of raingear we have in the garage, but if losing those are what ultimately got me down here this weekend, I am grateful. Maybe I wouldn't have worked so hard to take care of everything and pack this week if I hadn't though I needed to come here to find those things!

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Rain started in the middle of the night, a sound I've heard surprisingly little this summer so far, and it took me a bit by surprise. After listening intently for a while, I managed to get back to sleep and felt well-rested in the morning. By then the rain had stopped. I cleaned the cabin, which barely needed it, and left the windows open to air out. I spent my typical time on the porch in the morning with breakfast looking out over a calm overcast morning, the hummingbirds vigorous, the Lincoln's sparrow making appearances on the root wad in the meadow. Around 10:30 I gathered materials to stain the trim for the window, thinking initially I'd just stain the inside side to protect the wall and stain the other sides when I put them up. However, I wound up staining the edges (why not?) which led me to stain all sides to prevent the drips accumulating on the undersides (which were the show sides) and staining them darker with a second coat or bulging up. They're now drying, hopefully, on edge on the lower deck on a piece of visqueen. This was a little bigger of a project than I'd anticipated--and the noseeums are out--and by the time I was done I was in need of lunch, first washing the dishes, sweeping the floor, filling the hummingbird feeders, and otherwise tidying up. After a pleasant lunch on the porch I walked the trails, coiling up the hose, setting the trail cameras, clipping the path upriver of the bridge, which I hadn't done yet this year, and then checking on the water catchment, which looks in great shape. I'd caught video of no less than five USFS representatives on camera from their trip to monitor my water system and the water system paths are pleasingly well-trodden. They apparently followed my directions to the trailhead easily. When I returned I did some minor clipping around the potato beds, uneasy that they seem to have sunk fairly low. I'll need to start with much higher mounds next season to get a deeper plant. Now I'm back at the lodge, nearly ready to go, with projects ahead, but no real desire to work on them today! The insides of the outhouses are ready to paint and I plan to scrub the outsides next time for the same purpose and restain the outside of the shutters as well.

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I'd originally thought to leave when the tide came in, weary of low tide departures and happy to linger. But, as the tide hit the bottom, leaving the boat surrounded by water, just, and realizing how long it would be for the tide to rise enough to bring the boat in close enough to shore to make it worthwhile (the high tide being around 9:00 pm), I opted to carry a load out there and see what the situation was. At that point the boat was actually floating, but I was able to wade out without going over my boots and pull the anchor to shore even though it was in deeper water as it was snagged around a log I could pull. One more load and final closing chores and I somewhat reluctantly departed at 4:00, looking forward to staying longer next time. The ugly chop/seas in the Port made me question the forecast of 2' seas in Stephen's Passage and, indeed, I wound up sliding up and down three and, at times, four foot seas as I turned north to the point where I had to concentrate and slow down in order to not get dangerously pulled sideways into the wall of the next swells which were awkwardly not quite going in the direction I was. And then I ran into the gauntlet of gillnetters. Because of the seas, I was sticking closer to shore than usual and, reluctant to swing wide around them as I usually do, took the buoy on the shore side. Wow, do they drop them close to the rocks! On my own, I would not drive so close to shore, especially because I know there are secret shoals over there. I was very uncomfortable, crashing through seas and sneaking maybe 30 feet from the rocks. I'm sure it was fine, especially since the much larger gillnetters had obviously been there, but I was still uneasy. Once the buoy was so close, just south of Limestone, that I started to swing out and look for the other end, but the boat it belonged to was close to the shore buoy and the crew frantically waved me over, so I took it and they waved in good humor as I passed. I was just as happy to turn away from shore and go around the outside of the last boat or two to reach Grave Point. The seas let up a little bit in the Open, but it wasn't until I was well inside the channel that they gave us rest. I was grateful that it hadn't rained the whole way, which makes big southeasterlies much more bearable, but could see heavy mist over Juneau. The moment I hit the bridge, a deluge descended on us, heavy heavy rain that caused us to cower in the short trip to the dock. It followed us all the way home, the first really hard rain in a long time, and on the evening of the last day of June! The whole ride had take about two and a half hours and I was happy to find a hot shower and plenty of snacks for supper.