An hour before low tide and already the Ronquil, anchored far out in the river to facilitate a low tide departure (for birdwatching) has been hard aground for an hour, now surrounded by flats. A few Bonaparte's gulls are around, and undoubtedly short-billeds as well, and seals, but otherwise it's fairly quiet out there. The (presumably) fledgling eagle swept past on slow wingbeats and perched in a tree downriver, chickadees have come by, I saw a probably sparrow, heard a thrush in the berries on arrival, chatted with a wren, saw a crow, and heard perhaps a warbler--a quiet September afternoon.

I returned from the Taku last Tuesday, tired, and allowed a calm and sunny Saturday slip by, just not quite ready for a trip. After a summer of short, dozy naps when I napped at all, I fell into sweet, deep naps both days of the weekend, leaving me somewhat more enthusiastic about heading out when my second weather window came up this morning. Light winds turned out to be a very brisk westerly with some swells crossing to Arden but fairly calm beyond. I looked ahead to a cruise ship looming on the horizon and decided to take the back side of Grand Island rather than cross its wake in the narrows, with the added bonus of looking for fall cormorants on the cliffs. I found no cormorants (though I saw one flying a little farther south), but I did see something of a fall Stephen's Passage Group-Up--at least half a dozen whales in Doty Cove and to the south, plus more farther down the shore. I didn't go visit them, but the day was so fine and I'd left early enough before the tide that I decided I might stop by South Island and finally make shore, maybe circumambulate it for a bird survey. As soon as I passed Grand Island, though, the seas picked up swiftly and I soon turned and headed for the port over two and sometimes three foot white-capped swells all the way. So much for light and variable, but at least it was from behind! I've bucked into that in the past and was grateful. Port Snettisham was calm once the swells diminished and I stopped for a group of ducks on the water, never approaching quite close enough to identify them.

We hit the beach around 1:00, flooded over the first rocks, and I reveled in the high tide arrival, even carrying gear directly from the boat to the porch instead of offloading everything first. There was a lot to unpack and settle, but by 2:30 or so I was plopped in the porch couch with a room temperature beer and a quesadilla, stripped down to a single layer in the hot September sunshine. A steady breeze was coming in off Gilbert Bay but it wasn't reaching the porch and seemed to diminish over the afternoon. Cailey did her usual rounds, unearthing and then reburying a hoof, and burying a rawhide I threw her, then hung out next to me soaking up the sun. I had the solar panels out to fully charge the battery, at 94% when I arrived, which was quickly accomplished. I read for about an hour, overheating, then did a couple of chores, starting with bleaching the rotting walls at Hermit Thrush. I'd noticed last time that the center of the outside wall at the bottom was blackened and I found black and rot inside as well. I brought some flashing to protect it from splashes outside, but first wanted to bleach both sides. I pulled back the bed and the shelves and wound up sweeping the whole wall, which was quite dusty, then bleaching the badly blackened area in the center with about a 1:1 solution along with some of the downriver-river corner which were also a little blackened. I couldn't tell if that was pre-staining or more recent, and it looked good from the outside.

I was more liberal on the outside area of the rot, squeezing the rag to get the solution behind the small piece of flashing I'd put up years ago, obviously not nearly large enough. On the way back, I tested the repaired water line at Mink Cabin, surprised to find it working, then removed the filters from Mink and Cottonwood cabins, turned the water off, and drained the water. After that, I lingered on the porch again as the chickadees came through, making periodic visits to the stove inside to relight it (it took three or four attempts to get it going), knowing that when the sun went down the temperature would drop fast. I ate split pea soup for dinner after discovering that I'd left a small garbage can full of supplies on the boat (including my hoped-for supper), then fed Cailey and put her inside while I strolled out to the boat to pick it up. This is probably the last sunshine I'll see for a while and heavy rain is predicted for the next couple of days, so I've tried to enjoy it as much as I could. Now it's pushing 7:00 and the light is diminishing and so is my energy. Cailey is snoozing happily on the couch and I am looking forward to spending a good long week here. I forgot the long flashing for Mink Cabin, and see that I need to put some on the side of Cottonwood as well, so those will have to wait for next year. In the meantime, there are lots of little projects I can do and hope for increasing energy as well as ample relaxation in the coming days.

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Despite increasing weariness, it was such a fine night that I sat on the porch, reading until the light grew too dim and then sitting and watching the inlet darken. At 7:30, a bat flew by several times, or more than one, then a long pause before they made two more passes, just in front of the porch, much like a month ago. I was pleased not to head to my cabin too early and used a headlamp to find the way, arriving at 8:00. Unusually, I hadn't been chilly all day and wasn't in the cabin either despite the long absence and moisture. I did light a fire and snuggled in my fleece onesie until I went to sleep, but I was still impressed. Maybe the fleece footed tights and many layers on the boat ride (not to mention the sun) was the key and the chill comes from boat chill.

I slept well, impressed that Cailey only stood up once to reposition. I was awaked at 7:00 to a soft bird song like a whispering thrush, but nothing I recognized. I tried to take a Merlin recording and even went outside, but it didn't pick up anything it could recognize. The background noise of the rushing creek probably didn't help. I soon packed up, filling the stove fuel tank on the way out, having previously brought the jug of diesel over. I almost finished it and maybe could have, but was uneasy about overfilling the tank as I have no reliable way to tell how full it is. Perhaps I can empty it before we leave.

When we arrived at the lodge, the tide was at the bottom of a -2.8 tide and I was surprised to see a white-capped main channel about half way across the river with only a few shallow sandbars between it and the other main channel against the far shore. Only occasional sprinkles were coming down, so after washing up and feeding Cailey, we headed out on a COASST walk, first pacing all the way to the first channel where I counted about 50 seals on two sandbars. I was so far out that I decided to go straight upriver rather than backtracking down to the eagle's nest, keeping to the middle of the river. I could see a couple of eagles on the ground in the distance including a young eagle who was apparently chased off by an adult. As I got closer I could see that an adult was eating something, so naturally I wanted to check out what it was and I remembered fondly the time some years ago when I found an eagle on a fresh coho and took the nearly-intact carcass home. Soon I saw a fish tail flop from which I could tell that the fish was slender, so not a flounder. It's a bit late for chums or pinks...surely not...?? Now I was even more determined to find out, though I hated to flush the eagle. He was out on a sandbar at the edge of an unwadable channel and I had two channels to wade through to get there, one of which I dodged around to a shallower section upriver to make sure I could make it. The eagle left when I was still some distance away, followed by the somewhat more tolerant (or eager) two ravens. Soon I saw that it was a nice salmon and, by the stripes on the sides, figured it for a late chum. But then I saw the tail stock, shiny silver with a blush of rose. It WAS a coho! The stripes were merely an illusion from the sand scattered on the body. I approached eagerly and saw that the eagle had eaten the eggs, all the internal organs, and a nice-sized portion off the left shoulder. Everything else was perfect and, once I rinsed it off, I saw what a big, beautiful, perfect fish she was. And, yes, I took it home! The eagle had certainly had a big meal and the carcass was soon to be covered by the rising tide, so I didn't feel TOO guilty about it.

Since I was already about even with the grassy point, I finished my COASST survey, leaving the fish in a pool of water while I paced and explored the upriver limit. On the way back, I passed the coho from one had to the other, her tail brushing the ground now and again as my arms began to revolt. Since it was basically gutted, with the exception of cleaning the blood line, I did a final rinse in the seep and took it straight to the lodge where I filleted it on the edge of the porch into six and a half two-person portions plus scrapings. What an amazing boon!

When everything was safely in the freezer and I'd cleaned up, I finally had breakfast on the porch chased by a cup of jasmine tea. I was only out there for about 45 minutes before I decided to do a few chores with renewed energy, in part because it wasn't raining and I knew I'd enjoy working more in rainless weather, and feel better about getting things done. It took me three trips to get all the tools, but the first thing I did was screw in the flashing that's been sitting behind the wood stove onto the back of Hermit Thrush, deciding to use that one big piece rather than the two smaller ones I'd brought. First I had to pull off the small piece of flashing that was covering a hole in the board (which was supposed to be on the inside) and found that it was quite rotten. The new flashing feels like it will protect it well, though. I also delivered dehumidifier boxes to the other three cabins, wrapped the open valves and filters at Mink and Cottonwood with tinfoil, put the hose inside Cottonwood, and closed both of those cabins for the winter. Then I covered Gneiss House with its tarp, pulled out the plywood to cover the sides of the back porch, took down the BBQ canopy, and started to work on leveling the shed.

Actually, I started and finished without accomplishing anything--or, at least not what I intended. I started by checking how level the upriver wall was, front to back, and found it pretty level, the other one too. Inside, the floor definitely seemed to be slanting backward, so I wasn't sure what was going on and decided to go ahead and get the jacks set up and see where that took us. The back side of the shed has a pile of "junk" against it, large items with little or no value that are stashed there out of sight including small pieces of metal roofing, 50 gallon barrels, broken window panes, and plywood. Thus, I intended to jack from the sides rather than the occluded back wall of the shed, but found that they were not high enough off the ground to fit a jack underneath without serious excavation. So I shifted all the stored gear awkwardly away from the back wall, fighting bushes and swampy ground. The hardest was the almost full sheet of plywood grounded in the mud. Did I mention it was mucky? The upriver side along which a stream of water flows in wet weather had created a mud pit in the back corner and it was soft all along the back side underneath everything (though the wall itself was in good shape from being protected from the weather. The back wall still wasn't high enough off the ground, even when I plunged the jack into the muddy water beneath (on a piece of lumber). I wound up scooping out soft mud until the jack and board fit, then hand-raised the jack until it was snug under the wall. Completely irritated by the pressing bushes, the hair in my face, and standing in the sucking mud, I put together (and reattached several times) the arm of the jack, but I couldn't get it to actually turn the lever to make it rise. I was wondering if I needed to attach it at a lesser angle, since I was confined by the pile of things just behind the shed. Figuring it would help if I could see the bottom of the jack, I scraped a path for the water to flow along the back wall to the downriver corner, which lowered the water level a couple of inches. And at some point, I fetched the level again and checked the findings. Every wall was level--side to side and front to back. Whatever was going on was not the fault of an unlevel foundation. Perhaps it really is a matter of loose and rotting floor boards, or maybe the joists are sagging? In any event, I quit, and would have preferred not to have started at all! But least I know the shed isn't actually not level.

After I put the jacks away (one of which I left on the porch to be rinsed off), I carried three of the smaller pieces of plywood from behind the shed to the upriver side of Mink Cabin where I'd intended to put flashing on the ledge to protect it. Instead, I leaned those three pieces against the wall and found that the sheet of flashing that's been stored there from the front fascia fit perfectly behind the last of them and the filters to protect the rest. Back at the shed, I laboriously replaced the big piece of plywood, getting stuck in the swamp a couple of times, and leaned everything else back in place.

By that time I was hungry, the vagrant hair in my face was irritating me, and I was ready to stop messing around in the mud. I made myself a quesadilla and ate it with a cold beer on the porch, about two hours after I started working. A group of slender birds was diving on bait balls out in the inlet so I fetched my spotting scope to check them out. I figured them for Bonaparte's (which they were) but they were diving so gracefully and swiftly that I wanted to make sure they weren't terns. When I saw a number of white-faced (red-throated) loons among them and a surprise red-necked grebe, I started a bird survey, adding one murrelet and two wrens to the others. There are apparently a number of bait balls of some kind out there, at the river channel and in the inlet. At the end of the survey I laughed to find Cailey burying the coho carcass, which I'd left at the end of the rocky path, in a patch of ferns. I didn't have the heart to take it from her.

I came inside to a very warm lodge which got warmer a little later when I stoked the fire, feeling just a little less than perfectly warm and seeing that it was going out. Consequently, the lodge became sweltering and I regretted that move, even eventually opening a window. I read from both my active books, but still felt surprisingly energetic despite what I assumed would be a rest day inside, and wound up making a circuit around all structures to scrape out the accumulated duff from the walls close to the ground. This was a surprisingly quick project, reminding me that doing that every year is the most efficient tactic and practically effortless. I'd checked on the coho carcass earlier and found that Cailey had moved it, but when I spotted her reburying it again, I put her inside and moved the carcass back to the log in the hopes than an eagle or raven might find it. Cailey has looked for it twice in the spot she originally buried it, but both times I called her in before she found it. I had bread, Indian food, and yogurt for dinner, and here it is 7:00 again. It has rained on and off all day, but not hard or for very long, and streaks of sun kept emerging from the clouds. Most of the day had a decent breeze coming in and Gilbert Bay was covered in white caps during the bird survey. At other times I saw a long-tailed, fingered hawk soaring over (goshawk?) and later a falcon, both in silhouette only.

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I headed to Hermit Thrush around 7:30, lit a fire, stretched, and sprawled out in bed to read. Cailey for her part collapsed on her corner and fell into a deep sleep, and I could hardly keep my eyes open. I forced myself to read until 9:00 before I relented, which (no doubt) resulted in a long (hours?) wakeful period in the night. I wasn't restless, though, and was content to just lay there with my eyes closed until I finally got back to sleep. I was so warm from the lodge that I didn't even put my fleece onesie on to read and was uncomfortably warm most of the night, perhaps because I slept under a newly dried out down comforter (having dried it out during the day in the lodge)! I think it made a huge difference and it's nice not to crawl under slightly damp bedding, even if the sheets in between are dry.

No doubt due to the wakefulness, I slept in, but with a week-long trip, there was no anxiety about it and I lingered a few minutes until hunger convinced me to get up. Cailey certainly wasn't pushing it. Laying in bed and feeling okay about it did lead me to review the many things I'd done the day before, those I couldn't do until right before I leave, and those left to do. And there was too much in this last category, including two coats of paint in the outhouse (requiring a few days between coats) and....chainsawing. This latter nagged at me, as I dread chainsaw work, mostly because it's often hard to start the saw and because it's dangerous and I'm very uneasy about using them. I had thought that today would be that cozy day inside I keep expecting, but instead I washed up, fed Cailey, and went right out to the shed to see if I could even start my Poulan chainsaw. It took quite a few pulls, so many I put the choke back in even though it hadn't started to catch, but then it started up beautifully. I think the fast idle might have been caught, as the blade didn't stop when I stopped pressing the trigger, but I decided to go for it right away. It would be wonderful to get the project behind me and it was only drizzling.

So I headed to project #1: bucking up the fallen tree blocking the trail behind Hermit Thrush. This went fairly well, limbing and bucking the whole thing except the broken end, resulting in a satisfying little pile of rounds. I quickly doffed my jacket and worked in a t-shirt, for chainsawing is hard labor. On the way back, I stopped by the trail to the bridge which was blocked by many branches of the great tree since it rotated last winter, and cut a clear path. These were a little more tricky as some were pressing into the ground, but all came down and I only moved them a little bit aside, thinking I might buck them up later.

Around then the rain started coming down in earnest and my next project was cutting a notch in the log crossing the rocky path to the river with the idea of making it a small step through rather than a big step over. I cut about 2/3rds of the way down on either side of the future step, then made three additional cuts between, hoping I can chisel my way through. Increasingly wet and tired, I approached my final task: bucking up the rest of the fallen tree that came down on the outhouse behind the lodge several years ago. I'd stopped bucking that one up where it stopped covering the path, but there was about ten feet left and I figured, if I was working, I may as well cut those up as well (firewood has been on my mind as I light fires in the wood stove this fall).

For its part, my loyal Poulan chainsaw seemed to be loving cutting into the good-sized, somewhat punky log, and the first round came off beautifully. As soon as I removed the chain from the second cut, though, water filled the cavity and I thought, "Wow, that was one wet log!" Nope....I had managed to cut the water line directly below the log and it soon became a narrow geyser shooting up. So I stopped the saw and headed up to the water source to turn off the valve up there, then returned to cut at least one more round so I could access the hose underneath for repairs (hoping I had the supplies). The saw was reluctant to start and died before I finished cutting a second round off after the one I needed to cut (figuring I may as well cut more rounds while I was at it). I was out of gas. So off I got to the shed to fill up on gas and chain lube and, since I was part way there already, decided to go back and buck up some of the branches from the bridge trail, which I did in short order, enough to satisfy myself that I'm making use of some of them and also remove some of the larger branches. Back at the water line, I bucked up most of the remaining log, managing not to further damage the pipe. When that was done and the logs rolled part way down the hill, I came inside and was pleased to find that I'd stocked up on couplings and had enough loose hose clamps for the job. I put some water on, grabbed the hack saw and screwdriver, and cut through the hose while the water heated. I'd just nicked it, cutting the very top maybe half an inch down. After a few tries, I managed to get both ends well onto the coupling, completing the job with some hot water poured on to loosen them up. When the cut was fixed, I piled the rounds at the back of the lodge, fetched the chainsaw to cut through one awkwardly long round I'd cut and a leftover branch, then hiked back to turn the water on.

Washing up and a change of clothes felt great, though by then the rain had long stopped and my pants had largely dried out while wearing them. I tidied up a bit and, anticipating a fire later, cleaned out the ash inside stove, as I'd noticed it was building up in the back and thought that might have something to do with the difficulty in starting a fire. Given how new the stove is and how little it's used mid-summer, I was shocked to find that the ash was about six inches deep! I scooped it out with a measuring cup into a garbage bag (for the garden), using my fingers to pull out the ash and charcoal stuck in the back between two upright braces (or whatever they are). Then I swept the whole lodge and the porch and settled myself outside with some oats and yogurt--breakfast at noon.

It was a good feeling to have that task well behind me though, more successful than I expected by far. I had a cup of decaf coffee, then settled in to read for a good long while, wearing three layers plus my down vest and wrapped in my quilt (comfortable but for my hands). Three horned grebes and two harlequin ducks were on the river in addition to a smaller number of gulls and loons and the wren and thrush came through. The highlight, though, was a fuzzy western flycatcher who perched in Nigel Cottonwood for a time, hawked bugs from the edge of the roof just next to me, then fed in the berry bushes upriver for a long time. Shortly after I went inside for a snack and to light a fire, he came back along with a ruby-crowned kinglet and a wren, and I could hear golden-crowned kinglets outside through the open windows (open to let out the smoke that had billowed out of the stove when I opened the door to help it start), so Cailey and I went back outside to do a quick bird survey and capture these birds. I think it's clear that, as in town and up the Taku, I have missed all fall songbird groups this year, to my puzzlement.

Back inside, I found the fire going nicely and set myself up in the double camp chair to update this and check emails, etc., only to find no connectivity and a red status light. I pressed the reset button on the modem and the power light started flashing red, which the manual says means it's overheating. It was white again by the time I got back from searching out the manual and I was just about to force a restart with the inset button in the back when I saw that the status light had turned green. The connectivity test was positive, but said I had limited connectivity, and I could not get any web page to load. It had started raining heavily again as I came in, so perhaps the weather has something to do with it, and I'll try it again later. Now, although I hear the rain on the roof, there is bright light on the river and the clouds seem to have lifted somewhat. It's been this way the last two days--not the heavy rain that was forecast, though it isn't gone for any great length of time, just a blustery mix of brief brilliant sunshine, drizzle, clouds, and bits of heavy rain.

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It's quarter after six and I'm delaying the rhubarb G&T that I hope will cool me down and cap off the pre-cabin portion of this fine Friday. The wall of rain forecast for today wasn't manifesting when we got up, early this time after a better night's sleep (I watched part of an X-Files until 9:45 after my mind got too tired to read). This time, as I looked out over the river while eating breakfast, I noticed that the middle main channel is now the ONLY main channel; an inlet connecting to deep water still lingers against the far shore, but does not connect with the river and there's a 2' cut bank on this side of the sandbar that separates them. Seals lay on two different bars, their beautiful spotted coats vivid in the spotted scope, gray on black and black on gray. When I looked at a large gray bird in the berry bushes with binoculars, expecting a varied thrush, I was surprised to find a solid gray wing and pale orange belly--robin! The first, I think, that I've seen here outside of spring migration. Naturally I started a bird survey and managed to capture a hermit thrush as well which I first mistook for a varied thrush (again assuming, since they are still abundant here) when I heard the classic thrush "chup."

On my way to the outhouse, I peered at the hose I'd spliced yesterday and saw it was dripping and that it sagged a little where it crossed the depression made by the fallen tree. I waggled it a little and it popped loose, rerouting my Gneiss House outhouse venture to Schist House after I shut off the valve again at the water source. Maybe I should have put a valve here! It was already after low tide, so rather than fix it immediately, I headed out for a walk upriver, surprised that I couldn't find Cailey. She soon caught up with me, probably after trailing me up to the water source, perhaps when I was in the outhouse. We had a nice walk in the cool, dry morning, a brisk breeze coming down the valley in our faces under the overcast sky. It was more like the Friday that was forecast four days ago than the one forecast yesterday and I resurrected my idea to visit Gilbert Bay to birdwatch. My idea had been to leave at low tide to have the best chance at shorebirds on the flats, but of course my boat was fast aground at that point, so I wasn't able to leave until much later. In the meantime, I made a crack at chiseling away the log crossing the rocky path between the chainsaw cuts, but found that this would be excessive work and that more chainsawing was probably in order. I also fixed the water pipe again, this time taking more care to really heat up the hose in hot water before joining them to the coupling and repeating the process several times while tightened the screws. I excavated a trench for the hose on the downhill side so it wasn't as supeseded over the log depression and moved the upper side a few inches to the left to eliminate a bend in the hose right at the junction. Later, I added a small branch to further support the splice. Finally, I nailed in the plywood scraps around the back porch to catch the mud splatters all winter and taped and brushed out Schist House in preparation for painting.

At quarter to noon, I pulled the kayak down to the seep and headed out to the Ronquil, backpack, camera, and spotting scope in tow. The low moraine that separates the estuary from Gilbert Bay was already well-submerged, but there was a nice high dune topped with a couple stands of grass off from the end of the wooded peninsula that beckoned. Plenty of ducks flew off as I went ashore and set up, but there remained many within sight. My biggest regret was that three chatty shorebirds soon flew off from the bay side of the dune, which I never saw again. However, the trip was immediately a success. As soon as I'd landed and was pulling up the anchor, I saw a hawk flying in and frantically pulled my binoculars from my pack. Just as he passed I was able to focus on him--white face, dark eye stripe, long, slender wings with scalloped back: OSPREY. An uncommon bird here, one I am extra fond of now after watching Iris and Finnegan raise two chicks at the Hellgate nest over the summer, and a bird I hadn't logged yet. He flew inland and disappeared over the trees toward Tracy Arm.

Then started a heady survey of birds--mostly ducks--lining the grassy shores or floating in the middle. Rusty American wigeons, some males in breeding plumage, dominated the ducks and were found in pockets all around the estuary. There were green-winged teal, common mergansers, mallards, harlequins, and Canada geese, and a horned grebe. My dune was absolutely perfect, a nice medium slope up to a gravel top where I set up my spotting scope and gear, perhaps 30 feet from the edge at the beginning. In less than an hour I was reduced to standing on a gravel patch the size of a couch which erupted in a roar of bubbles as it flooded just as I finished loading everything back in the boat. I had made a sweep of the estuary, but only one, and would have stayed much longer had there been land! Surveying the area, there wasn't an enticing alternative, so instead I puttered into the estuary and up to the mouth of Gilbert Creek. There was ample water anywhere I went with the very high tide, but I passed over many grassy clumps, the channel sinuous and impossible to find at high water. On the way I passed six accommodating northern shovelers paddling by and groups of geese flew from the Sweetheart area past me and into the unflooded high grass at the edge of the forest.

I went to shore on a small grassy point where the creek channel makes a 90 degree turn toward the creek proper. It looked deep and inviting, and a small stream entered nearby into an inlet. I stepped out and cast into the deep, tannin water for about 20 minutes, enjoying the casting ever so much more than I did a few days ago at Sheep Creek! This is really where I'd love to do my coho fishing, but of course one would have to know when the'd be there. I got nary a nibble. A hawk descended on a duck in the flooded grass across the channel, but by the time I'd jumped back aboard and grabbed my binoculars, I couldn't find him, or the ducks. It had started raining lightly during the bird survey and started coming down heavily shortly thereafter, so my gear was secure under a tarp and my binoculars stashed under the windshield.

Around 2:00, and hour before the tide, I cruised back out, poppping up the Sweetheart Creek channel far enough to see the raging water over the lower falls. Back out in Gilbert Bay, I passed a huge flock of surf scoters and several more grebes, some of which may have been red-necked. I sped home, cold and eager for a fire. With the kayak aboard, I quickly anchored and paddled in, pulling up almost to the potato mound on the side of the log with the 19.4' tide. Cailey was happy to see me and I was quickly unpacked with all my gear spread out around the fire which didn't take off until about 4:00. It would be much easier if I could tend to it without smoking out the room, but it's hard to work with it when billows of smoke come out every time I open the door. It has been taking three or four tries to get it to take, which really detracts from its otherwise fine operation. Once it's burning, it doesn't take much wood at all to heat the place up, but how to get it started the first time??

Hungry from my cold, wet, three-hour adventure, I ate early, cooking brown rice and frying bison strips with cabbage, pea pods, and peppers. The rice is in part for Cailey, as I may not have enough dog food for the rest of my probable stay and plan to replace some dog food with rice to extend it. I finally worked on my puzzle for a while and finished a book, and watched a little youtube and Enterprise with and after dinner. Now it's raining very hard again and perhaps TOMORROW will be the cozy inside day I keep thinking I'll have. I was sure pleased with Gilbert Bay though, chockablock with ducks and other water birds and I know I only scratched the surface. My dad used to take duck hunters there in the fall, and I can certainly see why, and why they were grateful for the hot toddies my dad made for them when they came back. This was also my first time using my spotting scope in the field and I am hooked.

It's now ten to seven, basically dark inside and dusk outside. Other than the welcome warmth, I don't see much point in staying here until it's even darker outside and will probably retire to Hermit Thrush early. I do like to walk there without needing a flashlight, and there isn't much I can do here that I can't do there. More puzzling can wait for natural light tomorrow. It sure is cozy now.

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I actually did work on the puzzle for a few minutes, amazed at how both electric lights brightened up the room. I look forward to my last night here and spending the evening in their soft glow. On the way to Hermit Thrush, the rain was so hard I put my pants by the stove to dry in the evening and gave Cailey a good rub down. Already, pools of water were forming on the trail. Wanting to leave the lodge before it got more dark, I brought gin and tonic makings to Hermit Thrush, so instead of sitting propped up in bed (at 7:30!) I pulled my office chair to the edge of it and read while sipping, with my back to the light. Cailey seemed a little on edge for a while, but I finally told her everything was okay (perhaps she was uneasy about my change in behavior) and she crashed out. The chair was surprisingly comfortable, more so than a pile of pillows, and it even leans back. It'll be a good option for early evenings there.

I'd noticed the day before that the wall behind the bed was damp up to to about the height of the bed, as was the wall behind the shelves to a lesser extent. To see if it was caused by the bed, I pulled it away from the wall about a foot overnight, but also noticed that most of the walls had the same film of moisture on them, so I wasn't surprised to find that it had made no difference this morning. I suppose it is moisture precipitating on the cool logs--maybe the rising heat from the fire keeps the upper logs warmer? That wouldn't explain the same phenomenon in a cabin unheated though. At least the area I covered with flashing seems nice and dry.

I woke up at some point when it seemed half light to an extra strong drumming of rain on the roof. I didn't look at the time, but it seemed early, and I snuggled back into bed, absolutely content and comfortable listening to the rain. I dozed on and off and found when I did get up that I'd slept in again, the dense fog on the window masking the dim daylight. With no interest in spending much time in the heavy rain and all those chores/adventures behind me, this was truly my cozy, lazy Saturday.

I'd washed all the dishes last night in anticipation of making pancakes for breakfast, which were amazing, all cooked in butter and most with bananas in them. I ate them on the porch all bundled up, planning to head back inside before I got too chilled. Multiple wrens were active around the edge of the garden and later one of them sang softly several times. I finished a chapter in the book I started last night and retreated inside, my fingers icy, only to find it strangely smoky and smelling of hot butter. I thought it was odd that I hadn't noticed it while cooking the pancakes and took the pan off the stove to soak it in water to help with the smell, only to find that I'd left the burner on! I opened all the windows and the front door for a while which aired things out fairly quickly and lit a fire. It's now nearly noon and the fire is going, but needs to be tended frequently so it doesn't die out. I did manage to get it to go on the first try by carefully stacking grass, paper, cardboard, twigs, and a small dry chunk of wood, but keeping it going with larger pieces is requiring a reboot with more paper and cardboard. Maybe one day I'll figure it out. The internet has once again gone into red status; the weather is so dense now, as it was the last time, that I wonder if that's the issue. Either way, I don't have the energy right now to fuss with it.

I worked on the puzzle until about 12:30, then got up thinking about painting. As she has all day, Cailey immediately leapt up when I stood up and went for the door, so I took pity on her and headed out to get her some stimulation. We walked over toward the bridge where I clipped the salmonberries back so it looks more like a trail, dropped the rest of my painting supplies off at the outhouse, then went to Hermit Thrush where I packed the rounds I'd cut a few days ago to the front porch for the winter, throwing a stick for Cailey each time I went back for a round until she disappeared. I decided to at least start the painting process, so spread out the visqueen inside over the floor and seat, awkwardly large for the small space, and mixed the paint which was quite separated after just a couple of weeks. As my rage built during the mixing I realized that I both needed to put Cailey inside if she was waiting for me at the lodge and get something to eat before I actually painted.

But Cailey wasn't at the lodge, or in the meadow, now bounded closely by another huge tide. Irritation rising, I went looking for her, calling as I went, and found her on the porch of Hermit Thrush waiting for me to come back, poor thing. She must have followed her snoot somewhere and came back after I'd left. I brought her inside, had a quesadilla and a beer, and went back to the outhouse in much better spirits. An hour later, my spirits had seriously dropped, for painting the inside of an outhouse is laborious and awkward work with all the exposed joists. The folded visqueen drop was getting in the way, unable to reach the wall and the narrow door with all its bundling folds. Paint was everywhere, it was crowded, and, perhaps most importantly, it was still pouring rain. I was finished in an hour and glad to be done. The paint is thick and it almost doesn't need a second coat, but I'll give it one. The tops of the walls need to be painted too, but they need to be thoroughly scrubbed next summer first. When I was done, I draped the tarp over the top to keep out the seeps of rain from the damaged roof, which needs to be replaced next summer too.

Back at the lodge I treated myself to a diet root beer and dark chocolate peanut butter cup, read for a bit, and got internet going again by resetting the modem through poking the recessed hole in the back and the front reset button simultaneously. Amazing, I never would have guessed that would work! Now it's late afternoon, Cailey is again curled up on the couch after a solo outing, the fire is simmering nicely, and I'm happy to be here in the cozy place.

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I spent another evening sitting in my chair by the stove, though this time I wasn't sipping a G&T. It's almost as comfortable as a recliner, with the bed there for my feet! Although I'd felt like falling asleep in the lodge at 7:00, I wasn't sleepy in the cabin and happily read until 10:00. I was up at a reasonable hour again, promising Cailey a nice beach walk first thing. Except that I couldn't because the low tide is getting later each day, as it does, and at 7:30 there wasn't enough beach to walk on. I clipped back the berry bushes that had been dramatically bent over the edge of the deck (presumably by a hungry bear) and raked the path to the outhouse where I'd been cutting rounds, then ate breakfast on the porch followed by a cup of tea and started a bird survey before I even saw anything. I watched Bonaparte's and short-billed gulls scurrying along the flats as they were revealed with the falling tide, but most of the rest of the inlet was entirely fogged in. The rain had passed and the morning was dry (in that it wasn't raining--everything was quite wet including the porch several feet toward the door), and it was a very welcome change indeed. It's amazing how much brighter prospects are when it's not raining, and how much more pleasant to be out and about! I was pleased to see a fox sparrow scratching around under the berry bushes and a Lincoln's sparrow perching on the root wad in the meadow, but the highlight was the huge flock of ducks that mysteriously appeared almost out of sight upriver. The quick look I had of them identified them as American wigeons, but they soon paddled up an inlet out of sight so I carried my spotting scope down onto the beach to get a better look, aggressively telling Cailey to stay near me so she wouldn't alarm them. With a closer and really excellent look I saw that two were northern shovelers and six were green-winged teal. Ten more wigeons flew in from upriver while I watched. This was unprecedented duck activity here for me and I was thrilled.

And ready to go for a walk, as Cailey clearly was as well, so we took off upriver, following the trail through the woods to avoid disrupting the ducks. Cailey wanted to follow me across the broken bridge but I again aggressively told her not to and she eventually found her way down past the freshet as I know she's done in the past. On the way back, we walked through the grass on the point and I stumbled onto the skin of an animal, wet and decaying, which I carried to a log to examine. The whole pelt was about the size of a muskrat and the hair about that length, but there were no obvious legs or head, so it could have been a scrap. I kept a few small pieces to see if drying it out gives any more clues.

The ducks were gone by then, so we went back the long way around the point, at which time I took advantage of the fine cool, dry weather to see if my extra cuts in the log would make chiseling possible (I'd added another four or so cuts between the others to narrow the chiseling sections). And it did! It was hard work and my arm won't thank me for it, but I was able to chisel down the four sections where I'd made additional cuts earlier and I was very pleased with the results. Before resting, I did a few other chores including cleaning up Schist House for the winter, since I don't plan to try another coat of paint, covering the rounds in the back of the lodge with a tarp, and making three more cuts through the log across the path to finish the job. Then I had a quesadilla and beer on the porch, read for a little bit, and made another short bird survey when a brown northern harrier flew along the beach and out over Gilbert Bay shortly after a robin was here eating berries.

After lunch I finished chiseling out the log. The cut I made doesn't exactly align with the path from above (I was obviously lining it up straight with the path below, but it curves somewhat), but stepping over or onto it will be a big improvement. The chiseling resulted in a lot of small chunks of wood, so I filled up both a garbage can (the big one from Schist) and a box to use it as kindling. I then lit a fire and took a break inside, making some significant progress on the puzzle with the natural light. While inside, I saw a whale cruise along the edge of the inlet.

When I was sufficiently recovered from the hard labor of chiseling and picking up wood chunks (hard on my back anyway), and noting that it wasn't drizzling as it had been on and off, I set out to harvest potatoes. A quick look at the forecast earlier had shown a wall of rain for the next two days, with a storm coming in tomorrow, so this seemed like a wise move! This was also hard work (on the back), but oh how glorious it was to find one bundle of beautiful Tlingit potatoes after another! Not only did they produce considerably more in number this year, but they're larger, and many are fun shapes like space ships. This was a delight. I started out using a good sized cast net bucket, much larger than the blue bucket I almost filled last year, but wound up filling it and overfilling the little blue bucket as well.

I then enjoyed a glass of celebratory wine over the calm inlet before having some Indian food and bread for dinner. And now here I am at 7:00 again, considering a quick sit outside for what it likely the last fine evening here this year.

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I was surprised and pleased to see that a bat was already flittering about the meadow at 7:00 when I could still vaguely see. I sat and watched for a while on the very cold couch and discovered that it's very hard to follow a bat with binoculars. Soon the dark forest entrance prompted me to head to the cabin where I read until sleep....or rather, until Cailey for the second time that evening asked to go outside, which she'd also done in the lodge. It was not a good night's sleep. She has diarrhea and needed to go out every 1-1.5 hours. Each time I had to wait for her to return, listening from bed to her thumps on the porch, then dry her off as the night was very very wet. We finally got up at 9:00, having managed a two-hour sleep after her last outing.

On the way out, I unscrewed the water filters and took them along with my duffle bag back to the lodge where I found Cailey down in the meadow. I decided to finish what I could of that water system, so I went back with tinfoil, shut off the valve to the upriver cabins, drained the hoses, and tinfoiled them. I also added a bit more diesel to the tank and carried the jug back to the lodge. Hungry, I made more pancakes for breakfast and again forgot to turn the burner off when I was finished. This time I realized it earlier when I smelled it outside, but still had to air out the lodge. Cailey for her part turned up her nose at her kibble mixed with the remains of my yellow rice (and veggies) even with the sprinkle of cheese on top. I thought it might be her upset stomach, but she was happy to eat other snacks including a cup of unadulterated kibble. This was a bit of a blow because I only have a cup of kibble left for every intended meal, and I lost this one. Plus, I discovered that I don't have enough rice to make up the difference so will have to get more creative.

The inlet was surprisingly bright and rainless when we'd arrived, but over breakfast it socked in and a heavy rain fell. Low tide, though, was high (4'), so when it diminished a little, I suited up and took Cailey on a walk upriver, pleased to see that she seemed eager to come along and energetic. By the time we were half way to the grassy point, the rapidly moving clouds had broken apart and a bright yellow September sun shone across the landscape, warming my legs and making the yellow and bright green vegetation vibrant. It was stunning. A few sprinkles came and went, but mostly it was pleasant and dry, occasionally bright, and very windy. Leaves flew from the trees and scudded across the beach with the breeze seeming to come down off the mountainside.

Back at the lodge I did the dishes, cleaned the water filters, made the rest of the rice for Cailey, packed and arranged and cleaned a little, and struggled endlessly with the fire. After maybe two hours of battle, I finally put in a homemade firestarter of wax, egg carton, and lint, and hope that that's helping it take off. I am fed up with that stove, however nice it burns once it gets going. If that firestarter works, I'll make a bunch this winter. Now it's afternoon and I'm reinstalling the modem to see if that will get it working. All it's lights came on this time, and the system light was green, but there was no connection.

Well, the firestarter didn't work. It would be one thing if I could blow on or rearrange the wood inside, but once it's been started, I'm met with a wall of smoke every time I open the door. I can't see and the room fills with smoke immediately. So I work as quickly as I can, then have to open the windows to air the room out. Very annoying. I don't know what the point of the stove engineer is to force the smoke to the front. It's pouring again and the light is dim and Cailey seems to prefer being outside to inside. I have a headache and all in all, it's not the best day so far!

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The rest of the afternoon and evening went about the same as the night before. I cooked bison strips rolled in floor and fried with the rest of my fresh veggies for dinner (Cailey enjoyed her tidbits) and had a gin and tonic afterwards with an X-Files, which greatly improved my mood. The rain was still intermittent, but seas were coming in off Gilbert Bay, some of the biggest I've seen here, two footers easily rocking the Ronquil up and down and cruising all the way into the high tide beach. I went to my cabin shortly after 7:00 as darkness descended.

I slept better between the many times I got up to let Cailey out than I had the night before--anywhere from one hour to two hours between outings--often surprised to find that more than a few minutes had passed between times. The last time was at 5:00 am and we were both sleeping soundly at 7:00 when a squirrel began bombarding us with a storm of pinecones from far above. This happened about ten times, then I heard them hit the ground around us, and was just thinking about dozing off again when a more intense hail hit us. They were so loud they shook up Cailey and she slid to the floor. To my surprise, she didn't want to go out, but instead laid down on the rug and I huddled back in bed, irrevocably awake but waiting until my mood improved to face the day.

When I did get up it was closer to 8:00 and I started the process of closing Hermit Thrush for the winter, stacking all the linens on the bed. I made three trips to the lodge with everything, then came back with a hammer to try to unscrew the wing nuts on the 12 volt battery, both of which were too corroded to come off by hand. Or, it turned out, with the large hammer (I've apparently lost my small one). I did get the smoke stack down and did the final wrap up at Schist House, so this was the only thing left for Hermit Thrush. With mounting frustration, I finally quit for the moment, washed up and had a well-needed breakfast over a (once again) surprisingly bright inlet. The leaves were definitely waving in the forecasted breeze, but there were no significant seas or rain. No rain the night before, either, which had made letting Cailey in more pleasant since I didn't have to dry her off.

I didn't linger long, but returned to work, first washing the dishes and filling as many vessels as I could with water. Then I returned to Hermit Thrush with WD-40, greased the wing nuts, and headed up to the water source. Rather than pulling the hose back out of its hollow under the log, I dug it out from under the rocks that had accumulated conveniently over it and bent it easily to the side of the creek where I placed what I hope is enough rocks on top to hold it in place for the winter. This was the easiest water source task of the summer! I sprayed some oil on the valve and returned to Hermit Thrush where I eventually managed to remove both wing nuts--using the hammer. I pulled the curtains and locked up, carrying the tools, the sink bucket, and the battery back to the lodge.

Once there, I drained the water from the water line, removed the filters, and scooped most of the water and all of the surface scum from the grease trap, this time dumping it in the bucket (by the cup full) instead of on the ground. The bolt that holds the grease trap's lid on was stuck and needed a wrench, so I greased that as well before putting it back. I dumped the contents in the river, then did a tour of the cabins to WD-40 the hinges, door knobs, and valves at all the cabins and open the junction valves to the cabin systems. Finally, I tinfoiled the filters and valve behind the lodge and completed all outdoor close up tasks for the day.

Inside I found that the contents of the fridge were not very cold, so I ramped down the temperature again, as I'd turned it low when things started freezing a few days ago. I'm not sure why that would have changed and am now concerned that the fridge might not be working at all. I've since turned it all the way back up. I rinsed out the lodge water filters, unscrewed the water hose to the faucet, and a did a few other odds and ends before finally settling on the porch with some special coffee mixture at 11:40, reading one of the few cheery stories in Farley Mowatt's Snow Walker.

At 12:20, Cailey and I headed out on the low tide for our last upriver walk of the summer. She seemed chipper enough and eager to sniff and eat anything interesting that came her way, even as she stopped twice to poop very liquid yellow-brown poop, so I kept a close eye on her. Some large brown gulls had joined the many short-billed and Bonaparte's gulls at the edge of the meager flats, their size really standing out in contrast. On the way up the path, I had a good look at a savanna sparrow and saw him again later. Earlier, I'd also seen a female junco come through, both of these spring/fall birds. Yesterday the harrier came by again too. I had lunch when I got back and am struggling again with the fire and troubleshooting the internet. A new power cord had no effect, so now I'm trying to initialize a new modem. It's not going any better than the first.

Unfortunately, what should have been a pleasant chore-free afternoon turned into a mire of frustration and irritation as I struggled to get/keep the fire going and ran through all the trouble-shooting I could think of for internet. I tried to re-install both modems, changed the cable end at the radio (it fell off as soon as I unscrewed it), and changed the radio. Each time I tried I had to wait and wait and wait to see if the modem could talk to the satellite, so the afternoon disintegrated. I finally gave up around 4:00. Perhaps it's time for Starlink.

With that nightmare behind me, I poured some wine and tried to enjoy some puzzling, but although I'd been avidly snacking all afternoon I was too ravenously hungry (hangry?) to concentrate or enjoy anything, so I finally heated up some chili and ate it with the start of an X-Files, finally feeling some relief. I took the second radio down and secured the coax cable for the winter and read for a little bit on the porch while waiting to hear from Ezra about the forecast for tomorrow. After 45 minutes of the inreach sitting on the edge of the porch, I finally sent a message asking for the forecast ASAP and had to walk all the way down to the log and wait for many minutes before it sent, at which point his much earlier message came through. I guess these satellites move around, as yesterday I'd received a message accidentally up on the porch while getting ready to walk down to find a signal. Standing down by the water was not wasted, though, for the evening was dead calm and patches of blue sky lingered above the mountain, mist rising through the trees. A very calm, fall evening.

Back inside, I packed everything up except the perishables and organized what I need for tomorrow (pleased to find that the fridge does seem to be chilling again), then thoroughly swept the lodge and greased the o-rings on the water filters. Cailey had gone out when I came in and then seemed eager to come inside when I went out to shake her blanket. All day, and past days, she's been heading for the door at every possible opportunity while inside, so this was a good sign. She went right up on the couch and was soon fast asleep, where she still is an hour and a half later. She still hasn't eaten anything (except perhaps a buried bully twist), but maybe, just maybe, she's feeling a little better. We'll find out tonight.

Finally done, I curled up on the couch and finished the X-Files episode, then sat out in the dusk of the absolutely still inlet for a few minutes waiting for bats that never came. Now it's nearly 8:00 and dark outside, and I'm in the lodge with two silent electric lights giving the living room a warm glow, the moment I've been looking forward to the whole trip. Tomorrow the plan is to load the boat at the end of the rising tide (8:00-8:30), then leave at the bottom of the tide at 1:45. With only a few things to take care of in the morning, I will probably finish up before I load and just leave, but the idea of heading out without the intense pressure, stress, and sweaty labor of loading immediately beforehand sounds too good to pass up. I won't be able to light a fire, but hopefully the fridge and blankets will keep us plenty warm.

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I spontaneously worked a little more on the puzzle late in the evening, relaxing into it more than I had the entire trip and regretting that I wouldn't have the time to finish it this year. I worked so late that I didn't have time to finish my book as intended before I shut my eyes, which would up working well the next day. Cailey slept on her dog bed on the floor and only woke me up once to go out at 2:30, a great sign that she was feeling better. I was awake earlier than my alarm and, with my clever plan in place, snuggled on the couch for a while to ease into the day. Cailey still eschewed her cheese-sprinkled kibble, but ate perhaps a cup from my hand and easily took her pills in a bit of bison. It had rained during the night and was raining as I finished packing up, but magically cleared off as I began to pack things down onto the beach. In fact, the morning was dead calm and quite a beautiful sight. I needed to use a hammer to unscrew the wing nuts on the lodge battery too, but only to get them going, which was the only hiccup I remember. I must have made maybe eight trips or more down to the water with gear, then put Cailey inside and fetched the Ronquil, adding another five gallons and organizing what was on it before coming to shore. The tide was only 12', but high enough that there was only perhaps 40 or 50 feet of shale beach from the grass to the water. I loaded everything up by 8:45 or so, then puttered out and carefully made the boat ship shape. It was so much more pleasant to do this without the stress of actually departing or having to maneuver around Cailey--or in the rain, for that matter. I'd made sure to have two dry tarps available and had used one already to protect the sensitive items on the beach. Now I tucked it carefully under the windshield, tucked in the solar battery (wrapped up in linens in a borrowed box, having forgotten to bring its own), piled more sensitive items on top, and covered everything with the rest of the tarp. It seemed unnecessary at that time, but I was grateful for it later.

With the boat mostly loaded, I set about doing the last major outside chore, taking the smoke stack down, which was ridiculously easy. There were still all the dishes to wash, the windows to cover, the outhouse to wrap, and all those other little things, but I took care of those later in the morning. The rain had started almost as soon as I finished loading and I was glad for all the tarps I'd used. First I had breakfast and a cup of Russian tea--traditional for the last day and surprisingly also what sounded best--and finished my book. My grand plan had been to finish that one the night before, leaving only one book, the last I'd brought along, to read that day, but I had managed to tuck it into my duffle where it sat on the boat. I didn't miss it, though, as I spent the rest of my free time on the deck birdwatching. This last survey was inspired by three harlequin ducks flying in and was followed by a couple of song sparrows.

Eventually I grew chilled on the porch and came inside, did some more closing chores, and worked on the puzzle. I almost thought about staying until I could finish it for I was progressing through the most difficult part and could finally appreciate the beauty of the painting.

Around noon I broke for a hot bowl of ramen, chosen for its minimal dishes and temperature, as I expected I'd need some warming up (actually it was very comfortable in the lodge especially with my traveling layers on). Dishes followed, then wrapping up the outhouse, and it was 12:45. Although I'd thought to get going around 1:30 (for the 1:45 tide), I lingered and took my time, spending a few more minutes outside, etc., and enjoying my last few minutes there for the year. In fact, I could leave at any point on the rising tide so there was no hurry. It took three trips to bring the final gear down to the shore, I got the boat, loaded everything, Cailey hopped aboard, and we laboriously poled our way out to deep water. Once I got everything ship shape, sweating in my cold weather gear, I put on my rain jacket and then realized I'd left my life jacket on the beach. This required puttering back in and slowly poling back out, so we didn't actually leave until 2:30. Again, as if it was meant to be, the rain had stopped for the loading and it was a perfect afternoon, sun lighting the yellow of the fall mountaintops. The inlet was no longer perfectly calm and there was a weird wind coming down off the mountain as I'd seen the day before upriver, and I worried that it could mean a wind coming down the Taku. As we eased our way slowly toward Stephen's Passage, however, it was clear the 2' seas we were sliding over were coming from Admiralty, at most a southerly wind, one to carry us at least part way home. The seas were actually better once we hit Stephen's Passage and I enjoyed watching shafts of sunlight illuminating rainfall in some of Admiralty's valleys. Soon enough, though, we were in one of those rainclouds and the tarps became important again, as did our rain gear and the blanket covering Cailey.

Around Swimming Eagle Cove, I was startled by a whale coming up off the starboard bow, not far away, and marveled at the big tubercles dotting its face as it raced through the water. He and two companions passed by heading south and I waited for tails, but only saw one. When approaching Taku Harbor, I thought I saw multiple blows near the entrance and, again, one came up surprisingly close off the starboard bow. A beautiful bit of blue sky appeared over Grand Island and I took a picture (in the rain) of this classic sucker hole. Another whale passed by. By the time we were entering Taku Open, however, we were in the hole and the rain paused, mercifully. The seas built, though, and when I gained a cell signal at Arden I was too busy dealing with three foot rolling seas to let Ezra know I was on my way. Oh, and the rain came down in a vengeance then, attacking the water with such force that each drop made a crater and sent up a splash. A full rainbow arced from Salisbury across the mouth of the Taku while I draped a second blanket over my soggy dog to help protect her.

Thankfully, the rain stopped by the time we reached Juneau Harbor and we sped quickly down the channel, noting that there were no fishermen at Sheep Creek where so recently I'd take part in shoulder-to-shoulder fishing. It was, after all, September 25th. Ezra met me at the harbor and we loaded up two carts, leaving quite a few items on the boat to come in when I hauled it (which I did two days later). Rather dazed, it felt a little like I'd just launched the boat in April, and I could hardly remember a single thing I'd done all summer! We had our game night guests over that evening, but I hid out in my room and barely stayed awake as I watched the last two episodes of season 5 of the X-Files. It was Fall!