I'm exhausted after a successful day, feeling guilty that it's a Monday and I probably won't work all week (but trying to forget about it). After a smooth ride down the channel with sun peeking through the clouds over early summer green mountains, the scene changed as we came around Bishop Point. A little NE breeze was kicking up enough chop to slow us down and bang us around a good deal, though the seas were quite small. In a way, it was like entering another world--cold breeze stirring up the green-gray water, snow-capped mountains, gray sky--and I was grateful for my many layers. Cailey endured it all pretty well with her three dramamine pills. We fought our way from Cooper to Jaw to take a quick bucket break in its lee, pleased to find that the crossing to Flat Point from there was fairly mild. Quite a few gulls were around along with murrelets and a few loons. I made it to the USFS cabin without incident, noting three boats coming down more like the middle of the river in that area, and crossed to Norris Glacier. I made it to the cliffs without touching bottom, but in a couple of places it was quite shallow, perhaps because I was too close to the glacier. Once I turned north again, though, things got interesting. Everything was fine until I started thinking about making the cut to the shoreline and was quickly grounded between the two sandbars. Well, I figured I'd stay in the middle then and find another break, as I think I saw boats doing last summer. The water was deep enough until I again tried to cut to the shoreline, this time near the slough, once I was past the dry sandbar below it. Several times I touched bottom, once having to push myself back into deeper water, but eventually snuck through in very shallow water to just above the slough entrance. I'm not sure what the best way back will be.

Soon I pulled up to the property and was pleased to find the landing perfectly intact. The sandbags had sand piled behind them, so perhaps they are doing their job. It looks like the bank got cut a bit just below them and the whole area has so much debris I'm not certain how to go about shoring it up. But, that's for another time. I nosed right up to the landing so Cailey could step right from the bow to the platform, then unloaded the gear, anchored the boat, and paddled to shore to tie a line to the stern. It got hung up on some submerged sticks, but once I had everything loaded onto the cart (which had been left there overwinter), it was free and I released a bit more line so it could float in line with the current.

Cailey was by then very anxious as always to get going. I slowly followed her with the cart, extremely relieved to find the cabin in apparent good order with no winter damage. While circling the cabin and unlocking the door, I saw that there was no propane tank, so before I even went inside I returned to the boat to grab the tank I'd (thankfully) brought just in case. I hooked it up, opened all the shutters, and brought everything inside. This is my least favorite part of expedition--the unpacking and getting the systems going. But, I can't complain, for by the time I'd unpacked everything, the stove pilots were ready to light and, shortly after I turned on the valve for the fridge, it started easily with the igniter. I'd thought about not starting the fridge if there was snow to use, but it seems to have melted long ago from around here.

Once I got everything more or less organized and the olive barrel and swing outside, I was quite hungry and took a break for a lunch of sandwiches and chips and a mildly cold beer that had overwintered. When sated, I headed down to Alder to work on getting water. This went quite well. I found the pump, the sealant, and the wrench without any trouble and hooked it all up. There was no water in the jug I leave down there for priming the pump and the bucket wasn't under the eaves of Alder where I usually leave it, so I had to come up to the cabin and grab a couple of jugs of drinking water to prime it. Thankfully, the pump started up without too much trouble while I fiddled with the throttle and the choke, afraid a few times that I'd flooded it, and I let it run longer dry (waiting for water to show up from the well) than I would have liked in the hopes that it just took some time to get the water flowing, touching the tank on and off to make sure it didn't get too hot. I remembered that last year I it started pumping shortly after I turned it off and started it the second time (waiting longer then), so gave it more time this year and it worked. I let it run a few seconds longer so it could warm up a bit, then shut it off, put the house back over the pump, and hooked up the pipe to the cabin. Then I started the pump again and headed up to the cabin to hear the sweet sound of water trickling into the tank. I cleaned everything up from the pump area, closed the valve that drains the water tank, and popped inside to make sure I'd adequatley closed the valves under the sinks that we leave open for the winter. I had, but had not realized that the hose to the toilet was unhooked so it was pouring water into the bathroom. I closed that valve and threw a towel on the floor.

Back outside I rinsed off the catchment for the olive barrel and wiped it down with bleach, then set up the olive barrel up on top of its tower and tied it on. After about 13 minutes, the water tank overflowed and I shut off and covered the beautiful, wonderful water pump. We had water! I then rinsed the bleach off the catchment and secured it to the top of the olive barrel, set the four plywood bear barriers around it, and screwed them in with screws I'd bought in town just in case I didn't find them here (I didn't). Both water systems were a go! So I came inside, finished unpacking and tidying up, and read for a little bit. Cailey had been very anxious while I'd been out and finally curled up and took a nap at the end of the couch. After about 45 minutes, I had rested enough to go for a walk in the mostly cloudy, surprisingly warm afternoon. Although I'm sure she was exhausted, Cailey seemed eager to come, so I let her come along. I headed out around 3:00 with a small pack and camera and binocs around my neck. We walked the loop trail, finding the vegetation so young that the walking was easy and there was little I could have cut had I wanted to. It was a pleasure. Patches of snow remained in a number of places along the trail. We cut out to Devastation Alley and immediately heard a warbling vireo which prompted me to start a bird survey. Over at the alley itself I discovered a beaver lodge in the pool on the far end which is either new or had been well camouflaged when I'd been there previously. It looks like an amazing place for ducks and I was surprised not to see any, but after a couple of minutes, two green-winged teals and a northern pintail flew in from just around the corner, and quickly retreated again. A flycatcher was hawking from a branch on the other side, just far enough away that I couldn't get a great look, but he seemed bigger and darker than alders, so perhaps an olive-sided, but he wasn't talking. All around were yellow, yellow-rumped, Wilson's, and orange-crowned warblers. We turned and headed back to the trail, pleased that the first no hunting sign was intact. I checked on the other sign and found it on the ground. From there we walked the very comfortable trail back to the cabin, made easy both by my efforts last summer and the lack of vegetation in the newly-thawed meadow. I kept up the survey, logging many more warblers and a beautiful chipping sparrow who perched obligingly for me.

When we got back, I headed to the boat before going inside to fetch the key (which I'd forgotten), for I cannot trust anyone, especially on the river, and then Cailey and I retreated inside. I made up my bedding, cleaned up a little, and lit a fire which has finally picked up and I'm about to make some dinner. Hopefully with the franticness of opening and the stress of running the river behind me, tomorrow will be more relaxing.

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I had the best night of sleep in the recent past; warm and comfortable, I didn't get up once and luxuriated in comfort, even sleeping in a little. Yesterday I'd imagined I'd have a slow morning with a nice cup of coffee today, but feeling so well rested and with a mild looking morning outside, I really just wanted to head out. It had rained, sometimes hard, on and off all night, but by the time we left around 9:00, it was already partly cloudy. Cailey and I headed back behind the cabin, first walking out to the slough to take a look at the floats, sitting perfectly on the bank, then turning inland to check on more no hunting signs. The sign on the island in the slough, thankfully, was intact, the two in the meadow were down (one with a broken leg), and the most riverside one was intact. Three for six, not too bad. Back near the last sign behind the glen, I heard a northern waterthrush again and crept up on its position, following one of the narrow sloughs as it wound into the alders toward the river. He was singing loudly and regularly, but we soon ran out of slough to peruse. Where was he?? I finally found him, unexpectedly, at the top of a spruce tree bordering the slough, singing his heart out. Wow. I did a stationary survey, then continued downriver through the adjoining meadows and to the copse, then emerged in the meadow and following a trail around the corner and back into the inner meadows, seeing another shallow hole there.

On the way back, I picked up the old no hunting sign on a fence post that was laying next to the intact sign and carried it to the next one over (the one with the broken leg) to set it up as a temporary replacement, the soil easy to push it into. By the time we got back to the cabin it was after 11:00 and I was hungry, so made a quesadilla and ate it on the porch with a beer that was partially frozen. (While lunch was cooking I'd hung the swing). I cozied up on the couch with Cailey for a little while, then left her to rest while I took the canoe out to the slough. There were no swans on the river unfortunately (I'd seen two yesterday), but I did encounter two pairs of spotted sandpipers downriver which inspired me to start a survey from there through the slough. I took the inner channel and it seemed fairly deep, so perhaps I'll try that one next time I'm in the boat. It was coming up on high tide and the sandbars I'd navitated through outside the slough mouth were underwater; I studied the river there, looking for a current curving out to the middle, but didn't see anything convincing. Two male and one female green-winged teal were on the slough along with a female goldeneye, but otherwise I was mostly hearing the songbirds, once again dominated by yellow warblers. Maybe it's a yellow warbler summer for me.

I canoed down to Yellowthroat Island and went ashore on the mountain side of it, wandering around the meadow and shrubs for a while before returning to the canoe and visiting the no hunting sign on the opposite shore beyond (intact but leaning to the side a little), popping into the slough tributary, and then heading back to the summer landing while fighting the brisk wind coming in from the river. I took the time to check out the avalanche tributary on the way, finding a paddleable break in the dam there, then back to the landing. When I arrived, I swept out the outhouse (which had been open) and the front porch and later took Cailey down to the boat to reconnoiter what to do for the sand under the landing. I cleaned out a little of the accumulated driftwood, organized the spruce branches I'd previously placed under the deck, and came up with a preliminary plan. On the way back I stopped by Alder to pick up a little garden rake and stirred up the soil in the garden box before planting the pansies and marigolds I brought from town. It started sprinkling right about then, so I grabbed the inreach and headed to the point to send an OK message before I forgot. By the time I was on the point, the rain was heavier and the wind had risen into a dramatic little front. I braved it to return to the boat and pick up my waders in case I decide to go for a late night walk to free the floats from the meadow. It was raging when I got back, so I decided to go ahead and light a fire. I looked through trail cam videos until my dinner was heated up, then took a break and watched an X-Files. Now I'm quite cozy with the cabin warming, the door down over the stairs in the hopes of drying out the bathroom a little. The floor had continued to get wetter and wetter until it was wet all the way to the doorway and I finally decided I'd better check to see if there could be another leak anywhere. I didn't see how there could be, as the only hose that connected the water system to the toilet was the one whose valve I'd shut yesterday, but it turns out I hadn't shut it all the way and there was a steady drip onto the floor. Oops. There are four saturated towels hanging outside and I've started using cardboard as stepping stones to use the toilet. My plan is to leave here around 11:15 tonight and walk back to the meadow to see if I can push the floats into deep water on the tide and tie them to some posts I pound into the edge of the slough to keep them floating until tomorrow. We'll see if I have the wherewithal to do it after it's dark.

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I fell asleep on the couch about 9:30 or so and slept for maybe 20-30 minutes, then woke up. Cailey was at the foot of the couch, so I was a bit crowded and the fire had really made the cabin too warm, the windows all fogged up from all the moisture from the bathroom floor. I was pleased at how light it still was outside and read for a little bit, unable to get back to sleep. I rested as much as I could, but I was anxious and sleepless and didn't want to risk running my headlamp low before the expedition. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore and, so (pleased that the sky was still quite light), I took off at 11:00 pm, hoping that the big 18.7' tide would already be creeping up the floodplain. I brought with me two metal fence posts and clanged them together as I walked, sweeping the forest with my headlamp to spot any glowing eyes. In the meadow, no light was necessary, but I still made a lot of noise. To my disappointment, the slough was still several inches down the cut bank from the edge of the floodplain, perhaps not having risen yet at all. I laid down on the floats--outfitted in waders, oversized raincoat, and hat--and rested comfortably for some time, listening to a couple of snipe unexpectedly winnowing and watching the top of the mountain alder in view through the crack between my hood and the top of my zipped up raincoat. I had tucked my gloved hands in my pockets to discourage the mosquitoes who ventured near, unwilling to put more deet on at that hour of the day. I heard a splash and sat up to see two ducks on the water, both of whom flew away in opposite directions. I would not have guessed anyone would be flying at that time of night, but then again, a Swainson's thrush had been singing on the walk over!

I eventually cooled off and got up to walk around, looking at all edges of the floats to make sure I knew what to do and where to untie them when it was time. Still, the water was not coming. I decided to read one of my emergency books on my phone and delved into Tolstoy's "Resurrection". When I glanced up, everything was pitch dark. The sun had sunk farther behind the mountains upriver and the snipes had stopped winnowing, but my night vision returned soon enough and I saw that the water had crept over the edge of the bank and was inching ever so slowly toward the floats. Two ducks floated past, visible in the reflection of the avalanche on the calm water. Thinking that a watched pot never boils, I walked over to the canoe, did some squats, came back and did some jumping jacks on the floats, then read a little more, finding the water under the walkway portion of the float and rising. I lingered another ten minutes or so and called it at 12:15 am. It was eight minutes before the official high tide at Taku Point and, though I knew the water would continue to rise for some time, it would need to add another eight inches at least to float the main mass of floats. It was possible, but seemed highly unlikely, and to know for sure I'd probably have to linger another 45 minutes or more. At least I had the two fence posts to clang on the way back, which I used liberally in addition to my voice. This time I kept the headlamp on the entire way, sweeping back and forth for eyes. Thankfully I saw none.

Back at the cabin, I let Cailey out for a minute and then hastily retreated to bed. It had sprinkled on and off while I waited at the floats, then started coming down in earnest not long before I gave up, so my snuggery upstairs sounded very cozy. I read for a few minutes and closed my eyes at five till 1:00.

Thankfully I slept well the rest of the night, and slept in. At last I had my cup of special coffee--spritzed up with some instant coffee and a bit of cream (and the few sprinkles of sugar I could find in the empty jar)--enjoyed on the porch looking out over a gray and drizzly day. I lingered until I started to get chilled, then packed up, checked on the boat, grabbed a few nails from the shed, and headed upriver with Cailey at 11:00 am. Our first stop was the end of the 4-wheeler track from the lodge where I pounded in a fence post with a no hunting sign attached on the downriver side of the little slough there (there was no sign of the one which had been there), then pounded in a second fence post nearby to which I zip tied the "Please No Vehicles" sign after pounding it in a couple of inches. It's the most professional and secure couple of signs we've ever had there.

From there I followed the slough inland and ducked over to Devastation Alley where I heard a chipping sparrow (or two) sing, which was a treat, and then bothered a fox sparrow with a beak full of bugs who, along with their partner, chipped at me a good long while while I lingered over my stationary survey. Two ducks flew in, but landed out of sight. From there I set up the Strawberry Trail camera, pounded in the second no hunting sign (which had fallen over) as a temporary installation, started down the loop trail, but turned toward the slough when I realized how easy the walking was, finding the no hunting sign in the meadow there bent to the ground on its metal fence post. I simply bent it back up for the time being. It'll need to be replaced with a skookum stand later. I then meandered my way easily to the slough, pounded in the sign there so it's more secure and even (the supports were there but need to be reattached).

Back on the loop trail, I found the no hunting sign in Pretty Meadow fallen down, so reattached it, then did the same for the one at Crossroads and reset the camera there, backtracking to take the new side loop trail back to the cabin. It could use just a little more work to clean up the leaning branches and make the route clearer. It was fun to go that way, though. We got back around 12:30 and I was quite hungry, so relished some chips, a quesadilla, and a beer looking out over the very rainy afternoon. It was not the most enticing scene, but the tide was high at 1:43 so I needed to get going if I wanted to be safe out on the sandbar. I packed up and headed down to the landing, leaving Cailey on the couch to rest. Before I pulled anchor, I prepped the boat, taking everything off the bow and covering it with the tarp that I'd formerly wrapped around the skilsaw and boat blankets. I retreated downriver where I thought the channel out to the middle of the river was and crept my way up, the depthfinder indicating a channel most of the way but also giving such wonky readings that I wasn't sure I could trust it. The current was so steep that I had to give the engine a surprising about of throttle to make headway, but I soon pulled up to the edge of the very green sandbar right across from the landing and set the anchor in the sand just a few feet in. I started with collecting sedge plugs, first trying to harvest the tall sedge on the cut bank against which I was anchored, but this proved difficult as the sedge and silt kept falling into the river, or the sedge came up without any sand, which is not what I wanted. I gathered some this way, then discovered that digging up sedge from the middle of the sandbar was a much better strategy and resulted in the preservation of sand clumps around the roots. I also gathered some of what may be young cottongrass in large clumps. Then I filled about a dozen bags of sand from the other side of the tip of the sandbar where I'd anchored, as it seemed more sandy there than the other side, and filled the other two thirds off the bow.

Shortly after I'd left, the rain had ceased and I was down to my t-shirt, and hatless. The valley was glorious in the low overcast and occasional sun. When the work was done, I walked down to the lower end of the long sandbar, my attention attracted by the 30+ terns calling loudly from the next sandbar over, which was much more heavily vegetated and occupied by several large logs with root wads and even some willow trees. I'd noticed earlier how the terns became very agitated by an eagle that flew over and that they seemed to congregate there. I was thinking that they probably had good foraging over that middle section of the river between the many sandbars there, but now I began to wonder in earnest of they were nesting there as I'd wondered about geese doing before (there were also two pairs of geese in the neighborhood). The terns were landing on the sand of the bar, on the logs, and also in the grass toward the top. One tern with a fish in its mouth circled and circled the bar, landing briefly next to another tern that seemed to object, then flying off again. Eventually the fish disappeared, but I later saw another with a fish land adroitly in the center of the vegetation in the highest part of the sandbar. Does this sandbar not flood at high water? Are there tern nests there, or are they courting with fish? I will have to do some research. Adding credence to the theory that the terns are nesting there is that two dive bombed me as I watched.

By that time it was 2:15 and the tide was still rising, beginning to flood the area where I'd harvested sand and silt. I retreated to the boat as the rain began to fall again, but couldn't resist investigating the channel farther upriver since I was already out there. Last summer I'd seen a number of boats take this channel straight upriver, along the sedge meadow, and out of sight around the corner before crossing the river (instead of turning across at the bottom of the sedge meadow as they've been doing for years). Feeling confident in the high/rising tide, I puttered upriver, the depthsounder continued to give credible readings interspersed with puzzling ones. I'm not sure if I was in the main channel the whole time, but I never touched bottom and there was a lot of water around me. I won the sedge meadow and then picked up speed, confident then in the depth of the river, and went up to the little meadow above the cut bank before turning and floating back down. I was intrigued to find a beaver lodge at the edge of the sedge meadow, and even more surprised to see that the mountain alder fringe along the meadow there was apparently untouched. How far were they going for food?

And from there I headed home, again not certain if I was always in the channel, but certainly not at any great risk of going aground. Back at the landing I unloaded the plants and sandbags as well as the tarp which wound up with quite a load of free sand/silt that I can use when planting. The landing completely covered, I anchored the boat and headed up to get the twine for tying up the bags and to let Cailey out. It had stopped raining again and I had a pleasant time tying bags (this sisal (?) string works much better than the cotton string I used last year) while Cailey entertained herself with a stick. But she soon tired of this and bounded back and forth at the top of the stairs, eager to move on, and I finally took her back to the cabin since she was clearly uneasy there and there was no sense in having her prancing around on the bank we are trying to protect!

Back at the river, I placed the sandbags, thinking that I could have used quite a few more. I first shored up the inside/upriver corner where a cut bank had formed below the bags I'd stacked last year, added one to the opposite end, tucking it under the overhanging mat, than placed a row from the upriver side of the river edge of the landing to beneath the landing just behind the cluster of spruce boughs I'd adjusted yesterday. Then I put down the plant plugs, realizing that I had about 10% of what I really needed to do what I had in mind--covering the area between the rows of sandbags with hearty plant plugs that would form an erosion-resistant mat. Instead I planted them in clusters--one just behind the (now dead) alder on the downriver side of the landing behind a single sandbag, another on the upriver side between the sandbags at the top and bottom, and another below the sandbags on the upriver side. I used all the sand collected in the tarp to pack around the roots. I think they will probably all wash away with the next high water, but it was an experiment and if I do it again, I know I'll need to bring a lot more and how to harvest them. In the meantime, perhaps the biggest plugs (maybe the cottongrass) and the sandbags may help.

Back at cabin I let Cailey out again while I set up the camera on the back porch and planted veggies in the garden, leaving a gap for Mom's potatoes. Now we are inside, Cailey snoozing next to me while a fire is puttering along, my glass of wine empty. It's 5:38 and perhaps time to think about dinner. It's been a good day of gorgeous views, intermittent rain, exploration, and good maintenance.

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I had a fitful night of sleep and woke feeling a little under-rested and uninspired. Consequently I had a lazy morning reading and working on my laptop with a breakfast of very cold yogurt. With nothing in mind to do and the rain continuing, I decided to suit up and head out with clippers to leisurely wander the little loop trail and trim the occasional branches that have leaned over the trail. When I reached the edge of the meadow, a new bird song caught my attention: my first Tennessee warbler of the year! He was quite close, just at the edge of the woods to my right, so I started a survey and went after him, knowing he was a rare bird and would require as much documentation as possible. I stepped across the wet area and into the forest following an obvious moose trail. The woods inside were easy to walk through, open with alders clumps and birch trees interspersed with the open spruce forest. He was singing consistently so I had no trouble following him, but I could not for the life of me find him, though I must have been right below him many times. I followed him all the way to the trail near the crossroads before giving up. I'd been after him 15 minutes but it seemed like much longer! I retreated, noting that this could be yet another shortcut, and resumed my clipping, improving the trail from upriver towards the crossroads. I could hear the warbler singing the entire time and when I came even with him again, I finally gave finding him another go with equal luck. At this point he was in the grove of spruces at the edge of the big meadow on the mountain side of the trail. I finally decided to try fishing and, whether related or not, I suddenly saw him fly to the end of a spruce bough and sing and there I finally had a decent look at him.

When I emerged from the loop trail, I was greeted with another Tennessee warbler, this time coming from Warbler Meadow. I thought I might return to do a bird survey there, stationary as I like, but not with Cailey. We then came back to the cabin on the main trail, doing only a tiny clip here and there since it's in such good shape and mostly in the woods, after which I devoured lunch and rested just a bit before returning for the promised survey. It's always nice to reach that point in a trip when the chores are done or nearly so and you really can just pick your activity. I grabbed a chair, mosquito coils, and my pack and headed back to the meadow, setting up in the usual place. The Tennessee warbler was there and I did get a decent look at him, but the place wasn't exactly hopping with warbler activity. It's just a touch too early I think, and the weather was at that moment dry, but overcast. I wound up walking over to the spruces at the edge of the big meadow to pursue a chipping sparrow; I never saw him, but did run into a couple of hermit thrushes in the bushes. It started raining about the time I returned, but I stuck it out for about half an hour before heading back to the cabin. There I grabbed a hat and clippers and headed upriver to improve that trail as well, taking a detour along the way to follow a slough to the right past Spruce Alley to see where it connected with the loop trail, then returning. Once I left the main trail for Devastation Alley, I really dug into the clipping. Wildlife has made a fairly clear trail through the meadow to the slough and I cleared about half of it of all the sweet gale reaching in or offering tripping hazards from their low-lying stems. It was tiring work, so I quit half way and walked to the Alley for a bird survey.

As soon as I'd stripped my jacket off and fired up the mosquito coils I was greeted with the cheery sight of a fox sparrow avidly scratching on the ground and gathering bugs--no doubt one of the couple I'd seen the last time. He didn't seem troubled by my presence, but when he flew off into the spruces he obviously paused before disappearing inside and I wasn't sure where he'd gone. His partner, meanwhile, had been alarming at me the whole time and I finally turned my attention to her (or him) who also had a beak full of bugs. I decided to try to her them out, which I've never successfully done before. She was patient, but I did eventually see the pair of trees she disappeared into. I moved into a different position and soon saw the other come shooting out with a fecal sac. Having identified the tree and the height, more or less, I retreated to the beaver pond and continued the survey, only later circling round behind the nest tree and sneaking up on it. The parents were evidently elsewhere and I eventually found the nest so well hidden against the trunk and behind many little spruce boughs that I could only see a small portion of it. It was the horizontal grass that gave it away. The next time I come here, the young (who I'd heard buzzing when being fed) should be fledged and maybe I can fetch the nest. I actually saw a clump of grass in a similar tree nearby which may be an old nest.

There was a Tennessee warbler there too, as well as a chipping sparrow, and I watched two snipes erupt from the grass across the beaver slough and one land there later. A robin was also collecting bugs (as I'd seen at Warbler Meadow as well) and the other usual characters were around. I'd circled through the area and was back at the pond watching an orange-crowned warbler in a willow when some noise caught my attention and I turned to see a merlin fly over the pond from behind me, bank to the beaver lodge, and nab something before tumbling into a cluster of willows just next to it. Two robins were alarming and diving on it. I could only see the faintest movement from within the bars of the willows, so was repositioning for a better view when the merlin shot out of confinement and into the trees, pursued by the robins and another bird, his prey in his talons. I never saw him emerge, so circled around the cluster of spruces (where the nest was) without finding anything, then doing the same at the dense group of broken spruces on the other side where a whole assortment of birds were alarming including the robins and a chipping sparrow. I was hoping to see him plucking feathers (which might help me identify the prey) but never saw a sign of him and suddenly the alarming was coming from across the slough downriver in the forest proper. He was a slippery one!

I was, of course, quite concerned that one of the fox sparrow parents had been taken, as the prey seemed bigger than a warbler, smaller than the robins, and not brightly colored, though I only had a glimpse. Thankfully, before I left, both parents showed up. The rain had held off the entire time and I delighted in being there and getting to know some of the residents. I then packed up and clipped a trail from the slough up to where I'd left off before, so there should now be a sweet-gale, trip-free path from the main road to Devastation Alley. I didn't do any clipping from there to the start of Strawberry Trail, as I wasn't sure what the route should be in that low, wet area, but I did work hard from there, clearing a lot of sweet gale from the higher ground--stems that can certainly be walked on and pushed through, but the absence of which will make the trail so much more pleasant for walking. At the end, I detoured down to the main tributary slough again in the hopes of checking out the beaver dam but the slough was too wide there; however, I did see a mallard fly out. I then continued my sweet gale clipping through all three meadows. If one only follows the route that I did, it should be quite easy walking! With the exception of lady ferns and other vegetation growing up of course. I took the short cut on the way back, also clearing that route.  I am pretty pleased with it and can't believe how little work it is compared with past years. It pays to keep up.

It was 4:00 when I returned and the sun was shining again. I set myself up on the swing with mosquito coils, a grapefruit G&T (overwintered but perfect), and a book, though I mostly enjoyed the view and the sipping. Cailey laid in the meadow in front of me and chewed through her little bully stick. It finally felt like summer--comfortable outside, spring chores done. I ate an early dinner, then took a walk down to the boat and beyond to check on Fox Hole. I've used my little mower to clear the trail to the point and a couple of times down the trail to the landing and it's feeling pretty civilized. I may leave tomorrow with a northerly behind me; if it weren't for the weather fear, I'd happily spend another day. I love doing stationary bird surveys and every day here a new species has shown up.

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After a morning full of dreams, I woke up very late and the unease that accompanied the fitful sleep was heightened by the fact that the sky was blue--the rain had passed and the valley had dawned a glorious sunny day. Naturally I had no interest in sitting around with a cup of something hot, the morning already well underway, so I checked on the boat and my inreach messages which told of ENE winds today and tomorrow, seas 1-2' today and 1' tomorrow. I had intended to come in today when the north wind was a one-day window, but now I began to reconsider, especially given the gorgeous weather.

But first I wanted to work more on the landing. I left Cailey inside and puttered down the shore to the sedge flats at the mouth of the slough. There I nearly filled the bow of the boat with sedge plugs, easy to dig up from the flats, accidentally getting a sweet gale and a willow tree. It was beyond beautiful and the day was hot. With just a little room left, I repositioned somewhat upstream at a divot in the cut bank and filled the rest of the space on the bow with fern root wads and a few other root wads that were in or nearly in the river. I know that fern root wads are especially tough and these were certainly difficult to cut through. This was right at Warbler Nest Meadow, so I grabbed my backpack and headed up there to do a bird survey...you know, since I was there any everything. Alas, it was anything but hopping! I heard the usual assortment of birds, but almost all of them were in the distance. I wound up quickly ambling my way to the willow clumps in the middle and then to those at the edge of the forest looking for, among others, a junco that was singing (never found him).

I wound up spending nearly an hour on the survey. A pair of robins had a nest in one of the lone spruces in the meadow, the father delivering bugs. They were very nervous, but when a Lincoln's sparrow grabbed my attention in the meadow, they visited the nest. I'm pretty sure I know the tree, but the foliage was so dense at the top that I couldn't see any sign of it. The sparrow that had shot past me into a sweet gale clump in the meadow sat there for a while, then plunged into the vegetation and tussled with another sparrow. One of them then fluttered up and over to another branch a bit like a lark and made one complete song. Over in the big clump of mountain alders I'm pretty sure I heard nestlings calling when some birds buzzed around and I walked over there, but never found anything. My last foray was in search of the alder flycatcher who was singing somewhere in the middle of the meadow--I finally found him and had wonderful looks as he tossed his head back and sang. This morning I'm pretty sure I heard an olive-sided flycatcher sing twice, and this fellow was ghostly pale on the chest compared to the one I saw at Devastation Alley, so perhaps it wasn't an alder after all. Oh, and I also heard my first yellowthroat sing several times.

By then it was nearly noon and I was hungry and tired. I'd intended to place the veg mat at the landing and reanchor the boat before heading up, but knew that I needed food and rest first. I ate the rest of my rolls with havarti and had a beer before heading back to the landing and getting to work, first offloading everything onto the landing. I'd brought Cailey another bully stick in the hopes that it would keep her busy while I worked (so she wouldn't prance around as she had the other day), but it didn't last long and I had to take her back to the cabin. I'm not terribly happy about how the veg mat got placed, but I think it's okay. I could have used another half a bow load, so some of the top of the exposed sand is not covered, but both sides of the landing are fairly well covered and there's a row of non-sedge mat above the sandbags under the boards. There there's a bare layer of roots before a second layer of sedge that connects both sides. I had shoveled some sand on the tarp and used that to fill in the gaps. We'll see how it settles out after the next high water event. I think one of the bare root sedges had been moved by the tide last night, so I repositioned it in a protected position. After I anchored the boat, I used its bucket to rinse off the landing and the stairs from their layers of mud, scrubbing with my hands. It's a whole lot better than it was (I think).

Having sweated a good deal with the heat and hard labor and gotten mud all over my pants, I cleaned up and changed clothes when I got back, feeling much better. I'd already decided to stay another night, as otherwise I would have done naught but clean and prep the rest of the afternoon. Instead, I rested a little while and then headed out with Cailey to the canoe around 2:15. At the very least, I wanted to make a visit to the hill at Big Bend, maybe visit the highlands behind it, perhaps check out the beaver lodge near the mountainside for a trail cam. There was a brisk breeze behind us as we cruised down the slough (also unnervingly shy of bird and bird song, though I did hear another yellowthroat by its namesake island) and I was concerned about having to fight it on the way back. I decided to leave Big Bend to the return trip and first paddle to the old beaver dam far upriver. I hadn't been there for a while and saw that it still had a large tear in the center of it all the way down to the bottom--maybe washed out and never repaired. I thought about trying another camera there, but there was too much vegetation growing on top. I paddled a bit beyond to see if there was another dam coming, but seeing none, I turned around, relieved that the paddling wasn't bad.

When we got back to the avalanche, I went ashore at the mountain-side beaver lodge to check it out. On one side was a wash, a pool, with a slide to the slough. It looked as though it was a place where beavers could make the mud they needed to seal their lodge, right next to it. I'm not sure why else it would be hollowed out and I'd never seen that before. I'd meant to leave Cailey in the canoe, but she made a dramatic jump for shore and, awkwardly, made it, so after seeing that the land I was on was just next to one of the rocky creeks that comes down from the avalanche, I decided to walk up it. It was a bit awkward for Cailey, consisting of boulders and, later, a layer of logs and other debris on top of rocks, but she managed well. We didn't go too far up, but it was neat to have a look around.

Back at the slough we paddled the short distance to the other lodge which is quite magnificent now, very tall with a long slope to the slough. We walked inland from there to and along the old moraine (?) that parallels the slough until we reached the first of two dense patches of blooming lupine. I've never seen such dense lupine and the view was spectacular with the glacier behind.

I was getting a bit frustrated and hot by then and rued forgetting my sun hat, but the paddling was surprisingly pleasant on the way back and the breeze more of a relief from the heat than a hindrance. It was 4:15 when we left the lodge, so I opted to leave the hill at Big Bend for another expedition. After all, it was well past Cailey's dinner time and she was keen to get home! We made it by 5:00 and I set myself up on the porch to read a little, Cailey laying on her boat blanket next to me. Unfortunately, it didn't last long. It was very hot and I was not relaxed. I decided to go check the boat so that was done for the evening and found it nosed into the shore just upriver from the landing. I'd been afraid it hadn't settled well before I left it that last time. Frustration mounting, I hopped aboard and found the anchor line hopelessly stuck under a log. It was close to shore and just over the depth of my xtratuffs, so I went back for my waders. And dinner. It was clear that I was intensely hangry and some words I'm not proud of may have escaped my mouth. I ate a small can of peas while my ramen cooked and, somewhat satiated, returned to the river, without waders. Of course they were already on board. I hopped on, changed into them, jumped in the river, reached into the water, and in a couple of seconds had unwrapped the line from the branch and pushed the boat out to float offshore. The whole thing took just a couple of minutes.

Feeling much better, I washed up (which always feels great after a day of heavy deet and, in this case, sunscreen too), washed the dishes, cleaned the counters, swept the floor, shook out the fireplace mat, packed up most of my clothes, and generally tidied the place. Nearly all the towels had dried out thoroughly in the sun and are now folded and covering the floor in the bathroom. For the first time all week, I think that they won't get soaked through by stepping on them on the way to the toilet. Now it's a little after 7:00, Cailey is passed out on the couch with the evening sun on her belly, and my mood is much improved. Tomorrow I'm going to get up earlier and do my first stationary bird survey in the meadows downriver of the glen in the morning--at least that's the plan! The camera that was fogged up on the mini loop appears to have dried out, so I may try to set that up either there or at Devastation Alley after all. These longer trips really are the way to do it. I don't think I've spent this long up here since I was a teenager.

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I was having a fine night of sleep (the ibuprofen last night probably helped) when Cailey got up and went downstairs to finish the night on the couch. That sufficiently roused me to make a trip downstairs myself. Though it probably took me an hour to get back to sleep, the view may have been worth it. The sky over the glacier was pale peach, reflected in the still river. Lovely.

I awoke again to my alarm at 7:15. I was out in the meadows south of Glen at 8:10. All the usual birds were singing, but it didn't seem to be hopping, though I did see a male varied thrush carrying bugs and had a nice look at a fox sparrow scratching in a cranberry while I was crouched nearby lighting a mosquito coil (she alarmed when I got up). The trip was well worth it for the chipping sparrow, though. I followed his voice into a little meadow surrounded on three sides by good sized trees with a few young spruces interspersed. He was singing on exposed branches and didn't seem to mind me. Several times he flew to the ground and hopped around foraging, periodically popping up onto a sweet gale stem and singing, often moving in my direction. That alone was nice, but then another bird flew in and he followed (or vice versa) and I was excited to see it was another chipping sparrow. They shared the same bough for a few moments before she (?) ducked inside and he sang very softly a few times. He lingered there a while before flying back out to resume his singing and foraging. I heard some buzzing from that direction, but not sure if was a nest; the buzzing was some time after she disappeared. I'll definitely need to revisit them.

It was nearing 10:00 when I got back, so I made some special coffee and set myself up on the swing for a good long time. To my surprise, I heard a western wood-pewee (identified by Merlin) and started a survey, pleased that the western flycatcher I'd heard on the way in started calling too. I'm sure I haven't seen (noticed) a pewee here before, can't recall the western, but rare either way. A little after 11:00, Cailey and I walked the loop and it was extremely pleasant--a nice stroll, not a foray into the wilds with ducking and brushing and stumbling. Oh how pleased I am by the trails! We stopped by Devastation Alley and from there down to the flood plain to check on the beaver dam again. I wasn't able to approach very closely because the water around the dying willows was fairly deep and/or the soil soft, but I could see it through the trees. A portion of the far end of the dam is gone and not walkable. I wonder if that's why the beaver lodge above seems so far out of the water (it looks like entrance tunnels are exposed) and I questioned whether it was active.

We came back along the newly trimmed trail, passing the Crossroads Tennessee warbler, and had lunch, again lingering on the swing. It continues to feel like home. Most chores are done, the cabin is clean, the many trails in fantastic shape. A place to live in, not a place to endure hardships for rough adventures. Eventually I got up to start packing and cleaning; watered the garden; clipped the blueberries on the trail to the landing, the path to the point, and the path to Alder toward the water pump; and switched the no hunting sign at the landing to one of the new ones. I updated the log and now I'm about an hour from departure, totally exhausted and ready for a nap that I don't quite have time for.

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I left around 4:15, approaching the high tide, and took the usual route down the meadow except that I arced out around the sandbar in front of the slough. I'd opportunistically watched river rats running the area and didn't see anyone take the route I had coming up, though there was considerable variation on both sides of the landing. The water had risen somewhat over the week, which may have helped, but I never got into any shallows. At the glacier I stayed in water around 10 feet deep and stayed closer to the middle past Norris River, perhaps turning back west two thirds of the way to the mountain rather than all the way to the USFS cabin. I obviously wasn't in a channel in many places, but there was adequate water all the way. The 1-3' seas forecasted were actually quite mild and we had a pleasant trip all the way back.

 
 Collecting sedge plugs for the landing