I took off two and a half hours before the tide, fearing both a fight against seas coming down the river and  a struggle through the river shallows. After several weeks of what seemed like near-solid rain in July, August had seen only two nights of rain within weeks of sunshine. The CFS on the river had dropped below 18,000, more typical of May than August. The morning was a bit stressful when the gallon can of shutter paint my mom had given me fell out of the back of my car when I went to load the boat and created a big pool in the harbor parking lot. I sacrificed a towel to restrain its spread, morosely loaded the boat, and cleaned the paint up as well as I could with paper towels when I came back later for departure. I was still a little upset about it, and the low water, when we came around  Bishop and then Cooper to find the water flat calm, the NW wind that had hurried me down the channel not turning to sweep down the river as I'd feared (as the forecast had hinted).

This was a welcome sign, and my mood further brightened as I saw a black body rise in front of me off Cooper Point with a large fin on top--orca!! There were two heading straight for me and I idled to watch them pass (not especially close) and then turned to follow them long enough to get a few ID photos. The water was green, the day fine, and the orcas stunning. I wanted to continue on with them down the inlet, but they were going in the opposite direction I needed to take, and there was that river ahead of me... I turned and resumed course only to see another orca coming toward me, one with a huge fin, and I stopped again. He and another orca were lagging behind the others, so I let the male pass and then repeated my maneuver to cruise alongside them at a distance and try to take ID shots without disturbing them. I managed shots in reasonable focus on three, and somewhat blurry on #4, but by then I had used up my extra time and so turned around with a lighter heart and sped for the river. [I later submitted the photos to finwave.io and found that I'd encountered a family: T073A and her three children T073A1 (the male), T073A2, and T037A3.]

There was definitely less water on the way to the USFS cabin as I crossed channel and sandbar, deep water impossible to follow the whole way. Where usually the sandbars are not much less than 5', I was crossing them in a little over 3', enough to make me nervous but still sufficient. A sandbar I don't usually see at high tide was visible covered in gulls upriver of the crossing. At the beach I turned and followed the channel to Norris River and up along the bank, closer than I usually do (pretty sure I could run right along the shore) and stayed in about 10' until the crossing back to the cliffs where it dropped to about 5'. I had plenty of water along the cliffs and up the river until just shy of the turn to shore where I floundered in shallow water, slowed, and hit bottom. Every direction seemed shallow and I puttered uneasily until suddenly I could clearly discern a channel of water coming from shore with the flat water of sandbars to either side. Once I found it, it was surprisingly deep and I had no trouble reaching the meadow some 50 yards or so downstream of the pink marker someone has put up. However, as I started to get up to speed, I found myself touching bottom again and had to mince my way upriver until it deepened. I thought I was home free then, but when I arced away from shore to avoid the submerged sandbar in front of the slough, I touched bottom again and could not find a deeper channel in any direction, and nothing looked promising. With my engine raised as high as it would go yet still provide a tiny bit of momentum, I crept ever so slowly upriver, kicking up mud most of the way. With great relief we won the channel again and headed along a surprisingly narrow channel between the old fallen trees and the now-exposed sandbars. The landing had about two and a half feet of beach in front of it and we unloaded across that, fitting everything neatly in one cart load--a small load but for the five gallons of cabin stain.

Anchoring the boat proved tricky, as the low water has apparently created a strong eddy along shore and I could not push the boat hard enough to get it into the main channel after I anchored and pulled myself back to the beach. I eventually gave up, coming back later that afternoon with my staff; after several tries, I finally shoved it with enough force to get the current to catch the bow and settle it to ride the current, where it stayed beautifully for the rest of the trip.

In the meantime, I quickly opened up, unpacked what little I'd brought (relying mostly on wares I'd left behind from previous trips), and started the stove pilots. I tried many times to light the fridge that night, all to no avail. Blowing the soot out of the burner helped soften the blasts of propane flares, but they always went out and never lit the pilot. This was quite disappointing, as the fridge had worked beautifully the other times I'd come with the built-in igniter, but I couldn't see it sparking at all this time. I read in the log that Roger had moved the burner up thinking it was too low and suspect that changed things. He was able to get it going, but I doubt I ever will. Discouraging. I didn't have a lot to refrigerate, so it wasn't a disaster, and I put my yogurt, cheese, cookie dough, and cream in the downstairs bedroom where it stays the coolest and later put drinks in the river tied to the snag just upriver of the landing.

At 3:00 I started prepping the cabin for staining. I had hoped that it would be ready to go after my mom and Roger pressure-washed it, but all the exposed logs (the whole exposed front and the bottom half of the sides and corners) had varying amounts of loose paint and all of it needed to be scraped and sanded. I hate the prep work of painting and love the actual painting, so this was discouraging torture. Still, it went decently well and I was very relieved that once the obvious loose paint was scraped off, it took only minimal sanding to smooth it down, unlike most other painting I've done where sanding just loosens up more paint chips as you go. I also discovered that the upper curve of the upper half of the logs all had a layer of silt on them, protected from pressure washing from ground level. I found a rag and wiped it off as well as I could within reason. I also mixed a couple cups of 1:1 bleach:water solution in my garden sprayer (which I'd cleaned and got working in town) and sprayed mildew spots on the areas I had worked on as well as some places on the front wall and the fascia under the eaves of the downriver wall and a couple spots of algae on the back wall my mom had mentioned. To my surprise, it actually removed the mildew spots entirely which was nice.

A little after 5:00, I took Cailey for a promised walk back to the slough, in part to check on the floats. My mother had reported them missing, but from reading the log I had the impression that she thought they were supposed to be in the river. Thankfully I found them right where they should be. The meadow was beautiful, but the highlight was the red-tailed hawk that flew past and later cruised the mountainside while I stood on the floats. It was very dark, almost black, and white, and I wouldn't have guessed red-tailed for the coloration, but the calls were unmistakable, It was otherwise very quiet with three ducks in the distance on the slough.

When I got back, I fed Cailey and then managed to start staining, finishing the bottom halves of the upright posts on the front. It took the usual scurrying around to get all the supplies, etc., in place, which I also hate, but the stain, which my mom had had shaken the day before, was nice and matched the existing orange perfectly. The results were a bit disappointing, as the gray weathering turned dark gray under the transparent stain so rather than covering the weather damage it make it more apparent and in stark contrast with the bright orange of the new stain over the existing stain. In retrospect, we'd have needed to either sand it down dramatically or bleach it to lighten it before staining, though it still would have come out a different color.

Tired and a little discouraged, I heated up some Indian food and toast for dinner, watched an X-files, and checked on the boat. A gorgeous rose sunset glowed over the glaciers and onto the still river.

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Cailey got up in the middle of the night--for thirst if her smacking mouth is any indication. I managed to get back to sleep as the suspicious noises downstairs diminished and found in the morning that she had discovered and devoured the bag of special dog treats I'd brought down, enough for the whole stay. She didn't eat breakfast.

I was up at 7:30 and staining at 8:05. I started with the inside of the downriver-river side corners including the butt ends, continued with the whole downriver side, then the horizontal full log along the front, and finally the upper uprights from the balcony. The cabin is a lot more complicated that it seems at first glance with all its round edges, adjoining logs, etc. The downriver wall was a bit agonizing, as it had been the day before, as it is largely covered with roses which I didn't want to disturb too much. At least this time I was wearing my fleece painting shirt to protect my arms. These logs were better than the ones in front but still have a patchwork of dark spots, and the siding below the logs that closes the gap with the uneven ground were in pretty bad shape, especially on the one stretch without (protective?) roses. The front horizontal wasn't much fun either, moving the medium ladder between the four sections, nor was trying to stain all sides of the uprights from the balcony, but at last it was done after noon, about four hours later. I still had mixed feelings of the results, but was warming to it. It was definitely making a positive difference and at least was protecting the logs to some degree.

I took Cailey for a quick mini-loop walk, then we had lunch in the sun on the front porch and I read for a little bit there. At 2:00 I headed back for a solo canoe, which I insisted to myself that I do on this last day of predicted sunshine for a while. I had already worked hard. I brought with me stakes, hammer, drill and drill supplies and my first stop was the downriver no hunting sign on the island which needed a fourth stake. That was a quick project and I then tossed my lure in the water a few times with no results. The slough is of course low and a lot of vegetation is showing on the surface so I had to avoid those as well as I could. While there, the red-tailed hawk appeared soaring along the mountainside and I started a bird survey which lasted for the next two hours on the slough.

Passing on the mountain side of Yellowthroat Island, I noticed a large active beaver lodge and wondered if I'd noticed it before. My next stop was the other slough boundary sign which needed some stakes screwed back in and a few added to it. On the way I was trying to get a look at a couple dozen ducks floating around at Big Bend. I'd seen six mallards fly in this direction, but many of these were quite small and some showed off green speculums while preening on the bank. To confuse matters, a mallard swam out from the vegetation tailed by five identical but half-sized ducks, all the world like ducklings following their mom, but these were more green-winged teal. I hoped to catch up with them again around the corner, but when I finished with the sign and carefully crept around Big Bend, I found the slough pretty much empty. I did have a merlin fly right over my head, though, and the third of what became four yellowthroats calling from the brush.

My goal was the beaver lodge, so I paddled to the mountain and, again, crept around the corner. A large common merganser caught my eye, paddling warily away from me somewhat farther down. I was so focused on her that it took me a bit of time to notice the strange-looking beach where she'd come from--binoculars revealed six more mergansers standing there, all of whom soon took to the water and paddled in my direction. Mom eventually came back to them and they got about 40 feet away before retreating. (I'm assuming it was the mom because she was more boldly marked than the other six which were all alike with some white markings in their faces--full-grown ducklings I think).

In the meantime, I'd been hovering right at the beaver lodge. The hawk called again and I watched it chase an immature bald eagle along the cliff face, then soar and circle and swoop endlessly along the cliff. I had excellent looks at it and determined after looking at photos later that it is a genuine Harlan's morph.

I was back at the cabin before 5:00 and quickly got to work scraping, sanding, and cleaning the silt off the logs on the upriver-river corner and the upriver side. It was nice that there was only one window and no roses, but there was also a lot of wall and all the lower logs needed scraping and sanding and the top ones had a lot of silt. I also found that sand and moss had built up along the bottom of the siding below the logs and was starting to rot them, so I scraped that out with a hammer and my hands enough that I could clean and stain them. Everything down there had been covered with ladders in storage for years and I also pulled out six pieces of plywood in various stages of decay, two of which were moldering on the ground and one of which was in good shape and perhaps newly placed.

Exhausted after another hour and a half of work and from the searing hot sunny day, I had dinner at 6:45 and watched two X-Files for rest. Birds had been quiet except for the occasional chickadees calling nearby, the ever-present kinglets, a red-breasted nuthatch that's been calling on and off, and a ruby-crowned kinglet who unexpectedly sang several times!

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I had another good night's sleep, thankfully, though I got up twice to look for northern lights in the clear, clear sky. The first time I saw stars and a planet, the next time the moon rising behind the trees. I wasn't hungry for breakfast, so got right to work painting what I'd prepped the day before at 8:30. I was surprised to find the sky still clear, but it clouded over quickly and the wind made bits of things fall from the trees which I thought for a moment was rain. The staining went easier and was more satisfying on those more-sheltered areas and I was done at 10:40 when I went inside for breakfast and, at last, a cup of cafe francais. Around 11:30, Cailey and I walked to Devastation Alley, appreciative of the cooler weather and the beauty of the asters and goldenrod, and I picked three cups of rather tart nagoonberries followed by four cups of strawberries, both taking me about 25 minutes. There are loads more nagoonberries, but too unripe to pick. The strawberries were a treat, abundant in a couple areas. There's been a lot of bear traffic and I filled my last tub with promising bear poop. Cailey entertained herself for about ten minutes, then politely followed me around and bounded a little each time it looked like we were leaving.

On the way back, we took the other end of the loop where I found the Strawberry Trail cam dead. Back at the cabin at 1:15, I decided to stain the beams that run the length of the cabin and stick out over the front porch. I did the two (stacked) logs on the downriver side first, then moved to its upriver twins. Unfortunately, I noticed mildew spotting it as well as the undersides of the other three logs, so instead of staining I used the rest of the bleach solution in the garden sprayer as well as another two cups of solution to bleach those as well as many more spots I found on the front wall. For each of the beams I moved my plastic beneath them to catch the drips and did the same when I rinsed them all off with water after I let them soak. It wasn't what I wanted to be doing, but satisfying to know that the stain will hold better--or at least be more attractive--and that I was doing the right thing. During breaks I fertilized the garden, so pleased that the lettuce and chard are doing so well (both harvestable now), that the Tlingit potatoes are growing well after only three weeks in the ground, and that the pansies are a torrent of beauty in the front. I think the nasturtiums might bloom this fall too. I also took the bear poop down to the landing and smeared it onto the collapsing ground mat next to the stairs. I had imagined smearing big swaths of it, but the ground was so dry and the poop was firm enough that the best I could do was make polkadot clumps around it. I'm not optimistic it'll take root with blueberries as hoped!

On my way, just as the trail turns downriver at the bank, I noticed eyes watching me--it was the ptarmigan family, all SEVEN of them standing along the bank! They were being pretty chill, so I just slowly left, passing them the same way on the way back. Then I hastily grabbed my camera and binoculars and returned, encountering them on the trail heading to the cabin, three ptarmigan in a line. The chick was closest, then Mom, then Papa Ptarmigan. We stopped and watched each other a long time as I took many photos, then Papa turned and left, then Mama, then with a few plaintive calls, the chick. I left them alone. So cool that they spent another summer here, raising five gorgeous chicks.

When I got back, I let Cailey out and then used a hoe and my hands to scrape the ground more thoroughly along the upriver wall, revealing the concrete footings which had been covered, and reaching under and behind the siding to try to remove any sand in contact with them. It looked great afterwards, well tended, and I moved the ladders almost back in place against it, though not touching the tacky walls.

It was 4:00 them so I came in and had two pieces of toast and butter and some wine and lit a fire now that the weather had cooled. Cailey had been antsy all day, not sleeping very much and keeping a close eye on me, anxious to come outside every time I did. I think my painting activities are making her uneasy. She finally relaxed when I was inside and slept on her bed by the fire, then took herself upstairs and had a nap on her bed up there!

For myself, I still had a strange amount of energy, so I prepped the two mountain-side corners which went fairly quickly as they had less exposure. In fact, it went so well that I immediately turned around and stained them. It was then 6:45 and I checked on the boat, moving my drinks into shallower water since the water was rising and the tide would raise it higher when I wanted to get them the next day. The evening was so fine that I swung by Alder on the way back and filled the leaky white water jug with rainwater from the bucket I'd placed under the eaves for future water pump priming, then walked back on the trail a little ways. I heated up some Indian food for dinner and crashed.

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Unfortunately, the night did not go well. For some reason I was not sleepy, as though I'd had a big cup of tea late in the day, and I read until 10:45, then couldn't get to sleep for the pain in my right arm (the shoulder and tennis elbow), pain in my right big toe, and the occasional branch hitting the roof from the wind that had kicked up over the overcast evening (there had been sprinkles on and off earlier). I dozed a bit, then got up and took an aleve and slept better after that. Consequently, I was up later and not the picture of energy, but was determined to enjoy my last day rather than being anxious the whole time about cleaning and leaving. As usual, we went down to check on the boat and I was taking my time slashing at the grass hanging over the path with my newly-sharpened machete. It worked somewhat well, though with flexible stalks I wound up grabbing a bundle and cutting them together, but the path does look nicer. It is clear on the ground for the most part, but the overhanging grass and handful of leaning goldenrod were marring it. While doing that, the ptarmigan family flushed from downriver and I saw two chicks fly upriver in front of me. I found Cailey bopping around the forest near the landing, but apparently not on the hunt thankfully. I aborted checking on the boat so as not to disturb any ptarmigan lingering in the area and instead walked with Cailey down to the slough mouth via the Burnet Meadow complex. I had hoped to cast for cohos at the slough mouth but it was silty despite the low tide and there was no practical place to cast from. We wandered back, detouring to the nagoonberry-iris patch in the meadow near the route to the canoe in hopes of nagoonberries, but found very few.

When we got back, I went ahead and stained the beams I'd bleached the day before, leaving only the front wall to do on the downstairs front. It really does look nice. Then I had lunch, packed, and cleaned before heading down the back side of the loop and out to the Boundary Slough beaver lodge. On the way I found the rodent nest near the no hunting sign whose occupants were tiny pink babies, screaming from inside when I got near, the last time I was there. I carefully opened it and was pleased to find it empty, but woven with such small pieces of grass that it fell apart too easily to collect. Also on the way I saw movement at my feet and looked down to see what I think was my first ever wild FROG!! It was brown and slimy with faint dark spots, and was quite adept at disappearing in the vegetation when I attempted to catch it. I didn't want to harass it, but I needed to know if it was a frog! I really think it was. Very exciting.

On the way back, I picked up the fallen no hunting sign on the fence post and fixed up the Strawberry Trail cam. As soon as I entered the woods I realized I didn't have my staff. I first looked at Strawberry Trail cam, then at the little marker, then all the way back to the beaver lodge. Thus, I wound up taking the back portion of the loop again as it was getting on toward departure time and I'd begun to get anxious. I'd already decided I could leave up to an hour after the high tide at Taku Point (which was at 3:00), as the tide was 17+ and would linger in the river, and I wound up underway at 3:45. The day was unexpectedly sunny and I rode in a t-shirt about half the trip. The channel in front of the slough looks like it might go straight across it like it used to and I had no trouble there or anywhere until I left the cliffs and went too straight toward the glacier instead of following the current down across the river to the corner of the vegetated bars. I went aground hard and labored across what was obviously a sandbar into the deep channel full of seals. My mistake for misreading that. Other than that I had no trouble with depth, but a big chop started on the river on the crossing to the USFS cabin and didn't let up. It built into seas along the Scow shoreline and into 2-3' curling swells of dark muddy water beyond Flat Point. It was a relief to reach sea green water, but the seas were little better and we fought them all the way to Bishop where we could gain a little speed in the trough while following close to shore to avoid the gillnetters (I probably would have gone through them, but some fishermen waved urgently at me to go shoreward of them and that turned out to be a surprisingly clear passage all way). So it was a little longer and more arduous ride than I'd hoped for with the fine weather, but we made it and I luxuriated in a long hot shower, pleased with the good work I'd done for the cabin.