I'm tucked into bed in Hermit Thrush, the woods still light enough to see the trees and the mountains clearly through the windows. Perhaps because of the cold, wet spring, I'm still surprised by light in the evening. It's been almost exactly three weeks since I was last here and I've been so looking forward to a more leisurely and relaxing trip after the hard work and stress of opening. I had two busy weekends back-to-back, then managed to finish spring gardening and get all my plantlings in boxes and beds last weekend, with a bit of rest to boot. Prep for this trip was a workout, though, what with the yard and garden, prepping the house for a guest just after I return, packing for both a Snetty and a Taku trip at once (which involved a last minute trip to Don Abel yesterday for lumber, not to mention the extra tools and groceries and other supplies I'll need), and discovering when I went to fuel the boat that someone had "broken into" the boat house and stolen a full jerry jug or two and my nice dry bag full of my camping gear, including the special camp cup I've taken on all my camping expeditions for many years and my precious $100 Coleman tent, purchased almost 20 years ago and one of the first personal things I bought as a single woman.

So I took three cart loads of goods down yesterday, including one of lumber, and one more this morning. I had a brief, somewhat questionable weather window last Wednesday that I considered, but was led to let it go, and since then had been looking at today, noting the sunny or cloudy weather that consistently appeared in the forecast and hoping for light and variable winds. It was slight torture when the weather improved on Sunday--a nearly rainless day (the first of the month, on the 18th)--followed by a rainless day Monday and on and off weather since then, often with a glassy channel. Once my town obligations this week were complete last night, I took off at 8:05 this morning (it would have been my proposed 8:00 had I not had to return to the house to change into my waterproof xtratuffs, having realized I might have donned the wrong pair when my socks started to slide off my ankles). Ezra saw me off, patiently waiting while I laboriously arranged the large and complicated load. The lumber on the port side was heavy, so all the jerry jugs were on the starboard side and everything else in their niches, the flowers for the Taku between the seats. One foot was on the flat for most of the trip to keep it steady.

The seas were as promised, lovely down the channel, with a little chop coming out of the Taku. I got excited when I saw a row of blows and black dots in the distance which looked so much like a line of orcas that I fetched my camera and hung it around my neck before I realized that I was seeing a raft of splashing scoters. Oops! The boat was so heavy it took extra rpms to get up on step and we ran in the high 4000s for most of the trip. It was bordering on boring almost until Snettisham. There was a whale south of Grand, one at the entrance to Taku Harbor, and two outside Snettisham with a few loons and sea lions. One whale was on a bait ball near Seal Rocks which had attracted hundreds of gulls. A southerly chop hit us about then but I raced through it into the relative calm of the port. The gloomy sky gave me advance warning of the rain that fell on us half way down the entrance, then let up as we crossed to River Point.

At last we got to the homestead as the tide was dropping and I hurriedly offloaded Cailey and the Snettisham gear, anchored the boat, and then calmly used the outhouse, opened the systems, set up the porch couch, and carried everything up. I unpacked almost everything, got the fridge going, and found myself hungry a little after 11:00, having eaten nothing since breakfast at 7:00. I didn't feel like the traditional quesadilla, so, (feeling a little foolish), I heated up some ramen and added a small can of peas and settled onto the porch. It didn't last long. A squall came in, driving rain splatters across my books and binoculars and knees. I returned a little later and read for a bit until my icy fingers drove me back inside where the stove was already warming the place up. I'd proactively lit a fire after lunch, anticipating the chill, and again managed to get it going on the first try! I may have actually figured out how to start it effectively by making layers starting and ending with tinder, wood in the middle, and a wax firestarter in the center. I should try it without a firestarter some time, but for now it's awfully nice not to have to fight with it and fill the room with smoke.

I gave Cailey some treats in the interlocking balls I'd brought from town for her, then she curled up on the rugs beside me while I read for a bit and then succumbed to what was certainly a well-needed nap. I didn't rouse for two and a half hours, though I was dozing for the last hour. Finding wide flats under an overcast sky, I took Cailey for a walk upriver which seemed to stretch upstream almost as expansively as they did the last time I was here. The tide was much higher--only 1.9'--so perhaps the water is still low. I was pleased to see the CFS on the Taku jump up to 18,000 in the last couple of days, which bodes better for a trip up there next week.

Back at the lodge, I decided I was in a good enough state to try for internet with my new Starlink mini. I did not feel great about supporting the owner, but with Hughesnet failing and the memory of so many hours of torturous troubleshooting behind me, I was looking forward to a simpler process (hopefully), whether it worked or not. We have a decently big sky here, but is it big enough, in the right direction? Would some other crazy thing happen to mess it up? The answer was a resounding "no". I threaded one end of the power cable up the little hole in the floor with the other cables, connected it to the AC plug and plugged it in, then pushed the other end of the cable into the tiny satellite "dish" and placed it on the end of the porch, pleased to see a lot of extra cable was available. I connected my phone to its wifi and the dish picked up a satellite almost immediately. It started downloading updates, I named the wifi network, and used the app to orient the dish correctly, shifting it just a few degrees until it was pointing across the river, similar to where the Hughesnet satellite is, and did a speed check (30 mbps?). I checked my email from the deck. I sent texts from the porch. I went inside, streamed for a few minutes, sent an email, and bought something online I'd forgotten to (a dry bag to replace the one that was stolen). I couldn't believe it! With about .1% of the work it took to get Hughesnet going, I had very functional internet. Spectacular.

Before I broke for dinner, I took my clothes bag, fleece onesie, and new comforter cover to Hermit Thrush, surprised to find half a lower pane of the mountain-side window broken inward in an arc and laying on the bed! There was nothing outside to indicate what had happened, so perhaps the incident scared whatever had made it away. I used the corner ties on the new cover to quickly put it on the comforter and, though the mint green doesn't match the sheets, I think it looks pretty nice on the bed. I got the rest of the cabin set up as much as I could, then headed back to the lodge for a small dinner of Indian food. I streamed a few more minutes of DS9, then took a single glass of wine to the porch and read for some time, then put my book down and just enjoyed the quiet inlet. A hermit thrush was singing downriver and hummingbirds were coming and going. The male has been displaying all day and at least one female is visiting the feeders. One is almost empty, another has a couple of inches, and the last is almost full. I haven't heard or seen any warblers, but the Lincoln's sparrow has been singing along with both thrushes, wrens, Townsend's warblers, and golden-crowned kinglets. Crows have been around, a yellowlegs (maybe lesser) was on the flats, and three great blue herons came in together to feed at the edge of the rising tide. I was really delighted to see that the forget-me-knots are thick along the steps, mixed with pretty white Siberian miner's lettuce, and there are half a dozen other clumps along the path and around the benches. The miner's lettuce is actually super abundant on either side of the path, making me wonder if my weed-whacking is actually helping it instead of hindering it by chopping off flowers before they seed as I had feared. Maybe the more open ground helps them establish even if there are fewer seeds. Or maybe they are really perennials here too. The downriver potato bed looks like someone was digging in it and there are a couple of holes in the others, and my mint pot had been overturned long enough for the longer (still small) sprouts to grow upward (now sideways). Now it's time to read for a while. I'm hoping that a good night's sleep with no loading or boat rides ahead of (or recently behind) me, and no concerns about imminent departure, will bode well for a better mood tomorrow.

----------------------------------

More often than not, I get some work done in the morning before I settle in for breakfast and tea. But not today! I knew from the moment I decided not to have tea yesterday that it would be first thing this morning. I read last night until just after 10:00, then fell into a sound sleep and didn't get up until after 8:00. That is virtually unprecedented. Cailey shifted twice in the night, but I think we both slept well and I was only slightly aware of the dawn chorus of varied thrushes, along with, possibly, a singing western flycatcher. The day was overcast with a breeze coming down the river which petered out over the morning. I ate some oatmeal with yogurt for breakfast chased by a decent cup of jasmine tea. I wound up making a bird survey, which seems inevitable, surprised by just how quiet it is and by the complete lack of warblers other than Townsend's. Eerily quiet, and, unfortunately, lacking transient migrants other than the few pipits that have been around. I was settled on considering the yellowlegs a lesser--which would be a first here--but later I heard a greater and so logged only that. Through the spotting scope I saw him chase down and catch two silvery salmonids in the shallows downriver.

Being the last non-rainy day in the forecast, I had two objectives today: weed whack and bird watch in Gilbert Bay. I figured leaving around noon on the falling tide would work for the latter (so I could see the mudflats exposed just in case any shorebirds were still around), so around 10:00 I got going on the weed whacking, first scouring the "yard" for wild celery to cut it back (so it doesn't burn me), clipping back the new salmonberries coming up, relocating the several patches of forget-me-not in awkward places (they are in a surprising number of places!), and hand-weeding around the roses and other forget-me-nots. The actual weed whacking was one of the least unpleasant I've experienced, perhaps for a combination of good preparation and relatively low growth compared to later in the summer--and perhaps also the overcast rather than sunny weather (maybe the only time I appreciate overcast skies!). I even moved the generator to the very front of the porch so I could weed whack the side path to the seep which Myron made for me so long ago.

When the "yard" was complete (and looked amazing), I continued weed whacking up to the outhouse, then to and along the boardwalk. By then it was well after 11:00, so I broke for a quesadilla/cervesa lunch, after which I packed up, left Cailey inside with toys, and headed out to the boat. It was past 12:30 when I was fueled and underway, bumping against a little southeasterly until I reached the edge of the inlet. I had a little trouble getting the anchor to catch at the end of Gilbert bay, but eventually had it secure in about 16' of water, still some distance from shore. On the way in I thought I saw a brown harrier, but couldn't verify. The moraine gravel bar that separates the estuary from the bay was already several feet out of the water, and I succeeded in seeing significant mud flats appear as the tide dropped, but as expected, the migrant shorebirds were all gone. Still, there were ducks throughout as well as a large flock of Canada geese with one greater white-fronted goose with lovely black markings on her belly. Just as I got there, a shot rang out and I turned to look back into the bay and saw ripples and a whale; a few minutes later, the same. It was evidently a whale breaching, but when I patiently waited on a third event, all I saw was him moving away. The rain started just as I got set up, so I sacrificed my flannel to wrap around my scope. The sky rapidly turned to sun while I birded, then back to rain as I was wrapping up, which continued for much of the afternoon.

Back at home, I anchored well out in the river, realizing that I'd need to leave the homestead three or four hours before the high tide to make it up the river. Though it was three hours after high tide then, only the shale beach was exposed, so it wasn't as long a haul for the kayak as I expected. Still, the boat was aground somewhat before the 4:30, though not high and dry. We'll see how it goes as the tide cycle transition from low to dramatic spreads. Cailey was happy to come outside and bopped around the garden with me as I raked up the grass, throwing it on the "compost pile", and swept the rocks. I didn't do a great job of raking, so there is too much cut grass remaining. Still, it's so much better. From there, I finished the unpleasant task of weed whacking, starting with the boardwalk, then the path to the bridge, the outhouse, and along Cottonwood, and finally carrying the generator up to the stairs to weed whack the path to Hermit Thrush. I was finished by 4:00 and settled into the porch for a banana and, accidentally, another bird survey, this time prompted by a flock of 300+ Bonaparte's gulls crying and circling and diving in one patch of shallow water over the flats just upriver. I also counted 150 murrelets, two murres, the three common species of loons (not many individuals), and several red-necked grebes, so I guess not ALL the migrants are gone. Oh, and a small pointy-finned humpback lunge-fed a few times. I heard a warbler several times in the distance which sounded like a yellow warbler, but as I don't see yellow warblers here, I waited. Amazingly, he showed up briefly in the berry bushes, flashing his streaked breast before he disappeared. It was a nice diversion, and I'm grateful, but I still want my Wilson's and orange-crowned to show up!

Eventually I sorted through the pile of Siberian miner's lettuce that I'd harvested before decimating their many clumps to separate them from the sedge and grass I'd grabbed at the same time. Hunger was lurking, so I went inside and made yellow rice with chopped cabbage, carrots, and brussel sprouts, adding a piece of Whiting River coho when it firmed up a bit, all of which I ate next to a salad of miner's lettuce with a bit of olive oil and soy sauce (it's the wilderness, you have to make do with what you have!). The little fire I lit got going, more or less, on the second try, and warmed the lodge enough to be comfortable. While the rice cooked, I sipped wine with an appetizer of a slice of bread with cold butter, and started an X-Files (haunted Christmas) which I finished over dinner. Now it's evening, the rain has stopped again, and I can look forward to staying in place and not weed whacking for the rest of my trip!

Oh, and the Starlink internet is as smooth as its name, and I couldn't be more pleased. All I have to do is place the square "dish" on the edge of the porch in the morning and, any time I want it, just plug it in and in probably less than a minute my text messages are dinging. Here's to the future!

-----------------------------------------------

We had another very cozy, and long, night of sleep under the pinging rain. I was up at 7:15 but fell right back asleep until almost 9:00. I obviously needed to rest and, now that the weed-whacking and off-site birdwatching is done, I'm looking forward to a day or relaxing around the lodge. After all, it's Saturday! I freshened up and put all clean clothes on and decided to have a rainy day breakfast treat: pancakes with canned pears! While I worked on that, I did a bunch of other little tasks like making nectar for the hummingbirds after cleaning and bleaching the feeders and getting a little fire going (I failed on the first attempt without a fire starter, but revived it with one).

With the lodge warming up and relatively tidy, I plopped down on the couch outside and was just nearing my first bite of a ginormous pancake when I heard a chup from a large sparrow in the little spruce tree in the meadow. I trained my bincos on him and, to my great surprise, he popped up on a bare branch to face me with a brilliant white bib and head strips and a bright yellow spot. A rare white-throated sparrow!! I have heard one sing, but this is my first visual, and what an encounter it was! I stayed there for an hour recording the other sparse bird activity, enjoying the calm weather even with the rain. Yesterday it was so windy when I came back from birdwatching that I spilled a lot of gas filling the tank just from the gusts pushing the cascade of fuel outside the confines of the wide funnel (caught mostly by an absorbent pad), so the calm inlet is very welcome. The small whale that was here yesterday (or one like him) was again lunge-feeding among a group of gulls at the river mouth, sometimes right after sounding. I do wonder what they're eating.

After I finished a book, I hopped on internet and responded to some emails and texts, still so pleased with the system, and soon I plan to warm these still slightly chilly hands with some decaf coffee. This place feels like the best posh lodge in the world.

----

Well, internet fell off while I was still drinking my coffee, so I went outside with Cailey to bop around the garden, gathering most of the remaining wrack that I could find to fill in the holes in the potato beds and add more onto the settling piles. It wasn't as much as I wanted, but it'll do. It was still raining, as it had been all day, so I headed back inside, worked on a new puzzle, and ate the rest of last night's dinner for a late lunch. I was just about ready to go for a walk when Cailey fell sound asleep on the couch--finally--after leaping up every time I stood up to follow me around the lodge. I let her rest for a while, still a little surprised at her not begging for a walk today, then got her up around 4:00. I quickly changed from my light rain jacket to my rubber rain jacket and soon regretted that I hadn't added rain pants too. The rain wasn't heavy, but strong enough to start getting me wet. I went ahead and did a COASST survey, noting the presence of all those Bonaparte's gulls I saw yesterday sitting on the flats as well as several active terns. I found the eagle's nest at the grassy point from several angles, complete with adult sitting inside and another sentry nearby. There was also an adult on the nest downriver. I'm beginning to wonder if the flats upriver haven't been expansive this summer so much because of low water but also because of a change in the channel, pushing it well away from this side of the river. The survey was a little more hurried than usual because of the rain and I began to perhaps understand a bit why people leave Juneau. If it were like this all summer....well, I love the rain, but were there no break for sunshine, I could see the appeal of moving elsewhere. Perhaps others just have less tolerance.

Back at the lodge, I wrapped myself in my quilt and hung out on the porch for a while, reading and enjoying the view. The rain stopped for the duration and the mountains across Gilbert Bay showed their snowy tops and it was serene and beautiful. Eventually I came inside and had a picnic dinner of hummus, havarti, snow peas, corned bison, and toast, chased by a seriously delicious rhubarb gin and tonic, partly drunk standing over the stove while watching an X-Files to finish drying the front of my pants and take the chill off. The stove has worked beautifully. It was nearly dead, cool enough to touch, but a bit of tinder and some small kindling brought it back to life enough to warm me back up. I love it. Meanwhile, my enthusiasm for Starlink has cooled just a little. I just got a barrage of texts but now internet has dropped again. I don't think it'll affect general ability to use it for emergencies, and I was able to stream a whole show earlier, but this is the second time today that it has dropped.

----------------------------------

Actually I'm less convinced that it did drop, as I later had trouble accessing internet on my computer because it wasn't recognizing that I'd switched the manual wifi switch back on (it did after I shifted it off and on again). A usual, I headed over to Hermit Thrush a little after 8:00, stretched before the Nordic stove, meditated, and read until 10:00. I had been feeling a little off all day, even approaching loneliness, which is very rare for me down here. I was hoping I could attribute it to the usual depression and let down that always happens when major projects come to an end (in this case, all of April and most of May, culminating in preparing for this long and complicated trip) when the resting that follows is...unsatisfying. I hoped that it would come to its natural conclusion when I finally recovered a little, and I think it did. I slept another astonishing ten hours--oh, except for a little wakeful period brought on by one of the best reasons to wake up in the middle of the night: OWL. The first hoots woke me up enough to free my ears from the pillow and come to full attention. I was rewarded with just one more set of hoots: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you aaaaaall....? A barred owl was hooting in my forest!! I'd seen what I thought were owls flying at dusk across the meadow on those occasions when I stay up late enough in the summer to see it begin to darken, but this is the first confirmed owl here.

Up around 8:00, I efficiently got dressed and ready and headed to the lodge with Cailey. Figuring that a little work would do my spirit well, I fertilized the potato beds with fish fertilizer, mixed in a bucket so I could take it all at once, and watered after. Before I fertilized the mint and rhubarb, I finally freed the latter from its surrounding deep layer of vegetation, the result of a layer of moss I added years ago to help keep the soil moist during my absence in hot weather (which promptly grew up a wealth of enchanter's nightshade), creeping buttercup from the surrounded area, and the Taku strawberries brought in with roses that I stuck in there and that subsequently filled much of the area around the rhubarb. I knew that the rhubarb should be taking off with all the fertilizing I'd done as Ezra's had in town, but it hadn't, and guessed it was because of the neighbors. The turf was so thick that the gardening trowel was worthless, so I had to use a shovel to loosen it. I replanted the strawberries, most without much effort, sad to see that some are ready to bloom bonanzas, but probably won't now. I'd removed so much soil with the plants that I brought over several shovelfuls from the upriver edge of the porch to replace it, then fertilized it and the mint.

Feeling good about that task, I raked all the paths again from the devastation wreaked by weedwhacking, then sat down for a breakfast of cold, leftover pancakes. I perused the inlet with the spotting scope to see if anything had changed enough to document and saw mostly murrelets and gulls, so opted not to do a survey. It was raining, as it had all night, and even quieter than usual, only some thrushes, wrens, and a greater yellowlegs to keep me company. Later, a spotted sandpiper came in, who I'd seen yesterday too, the first of the year. And then I had a delicious cup of tea and enjoyed a short time on the couch reading before I needed to get up and go to the bathroom. Having made the effort to get up, I decided to keep moving and do some more chores on the way back from the outhouse. After all, if I wait around for dry weather, I'm clearly not going to get much done and I'm weary of noticing and thinking about all the little things I need to do. So I suited up in rain jacket and hat, grabbed wrenches, and set up the step ladder next to the Hughesnet satellite dish. After removing the three screws that held it in place, I lifted it gently off and placed it on the ground, filling and covering the top of the 2' pipe with tinfoil to keep critters out. It felt like taking down a statue of Stalin! Such triumph beckoning in a new era!! Then I used tin snips to cut all the zip ties holding the coax cable to the pipe and tucked them under the porch. Now the pipe only functions as support for the chickadee nest box.

From there I grabbed a box of replacement dehumidifier bags and visited the three other cabins to replace them and dump the (all full) tubs of water into a bucket to dump down the lodge drain. All cabins smelled and looked great, and I think it has something to do with these dehumidifiers. What a great idea it was when my mom gave me some bags years ago, and I really like these tubs and replaceable bags. Then I closed Cottonwood and Mink cabin's water valves, installed the water filters on Cottonwood, opened the junction valve, and checked the system. It was a go--potable water at Cottonwood. Then back to Mink cabin to add some flashing to its upriver wall where the floor extends farther than the wall (a project I meant to do last fall but forgot the flashing in the boathouse). Having covered it over winter with a large piece of flashing from the front of Mink that never got installed (because a tree was in the way) and some plywood, it was nice and dry. I had to go back for a brush to clean the debris off, on the way collecting some roofing nails and a hammer to start securing the three asphalt shingles for traction on the boardwalk that were loose which I did over a couple of trips back and forth. Instead of roofing nails, I screwed the flashing in with roofing screws. The flashing was a few inches shy of the end of the cabin, but I'd accidentally taken the tin snips back to the lodge on one of my trips so I couldn't cut off a piece from the second piece of flashing I had. By that time I was getting a bit wet, even protected by the forest, especially working under the eaves, so I decided to put off that last task and head back to warmth and dryness. I'd started a fire earlier and the lodge was cozy and warm, but to my surprise, the rain stopped just as I stopped work around noon. In fact, a brisk little breeze was coming down the river, a surprise northerly in the endless southeasterly system. I enjoyed the view for a little bit, then came inside, checked the weather (unchanged), and has a picnic lunch around 1:00.

I read a little more, made some progress on my puzzle, then stepped outside at Cailey's urging (as well as my own needs) and found sunshine. Yes, sunshine! It was 3:00 and there was blue sky and the warmest sun I've felt since last summer. It was downright balmy! Also, sprinkling. Cailey was already in the garden, so I wandered down with her, reveling in the warmth and light, then trotted down the boardwalk to quickly finish the flashing job. The forest was quite damp and hadn't really picked up on the sunshine, so I quickly headed back to the garden where I wandered around on the paths and down to the narrow shingle beach just to enjoy the brightness and warmth. The rain had stopped by then, and I found the breeze from upriver quite brisk when I got out of the lee of the rocky point. A river otter cruised by. Cailey seemed to enjoy the outing as well, chewing on a stick and happily bopping around. I walked downriver a little, checked on the second cottonwood tree, which has graduated into early adolescence, now tall enough not to be bothered by any ground plants blocking its sun. It was a magnificent afternoon, and my spirits soared to see the sun! I am, indeed, just a big leaf, delighted by solar energy. I even saw a bumblebee enjoying my brilliant blue forget-me-nots (I'd been missing the myriad flies that usually enjoy their nectar at this time of year). Around 3:30 I thought it might be fun to start splitting the rounds I'd cut last fall that are stashed around the back of the lodge, so grabbed my maul and went at it. Compared to the smaller rounds from the same tree, this went extremely well and was downright fun, due to the fact that the rounds were punky (slightly rotting) and had fewer serious branches, having died off lower on the tree. A few rounds in and the rain started again--40 minutes after the sun broke out. I split a few more rounds, then covered the whole pile with a tarp and retreated inside where I cut up some salmon and vegetables for dinner later. Now I'm sitting at the window in my t-shirt, having kept the fire alive all day at a pleasant simmer and occasional flare (thanks amazing stove!), and it is pouring outside. I've been going back and forth about the trip to the Taku and have officially decided to give it a go. It's complicated because I need to leave about three hours before the tide to make sure I'm on the river on the tide (hopefully), which means I leave in the middle of the tide when the flats will be low (the tide being in the negative), essentially a low tide departure with plenty to load. Plus it's a long haul up to the river and I do not having camping gear in case something goes wrong (did I mention it was stolen from the boathouse?), so no cozy camping on the flats downriver of the cabin or in a cove somewhere; I'd either be stuck on the boat or heading to Juneau. But, I'm determined to give it a try now! Although it's very wet, it isn't as cold as it has been and the CFS is not as low as it has been (about 15,000 today), and we are tough Alaskans who are willing to try a little adventure. Anyway, that's my plan, probably on Wednesday as the weather on Tuesday is a little harder than the weather around it, and I'm not up for heading out tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

For now, there's nothing to worry about. I'm warm, dinner is in my future, cabins are keeping me dry, and Cailey is fast asleep on the back side of the couch.

-------------------------

I wound up making an epic dinner which was too large to finish: a huge Siberian miner's lettuce salad, stir-fried sockeye and brussel sprouts, toast, and some Indian food (which is the part which didn't get finished). I lingered until 8:00 as usual, then headed to Hermit Thrush in the rain. Curious as to how much the Nordic stove warmed the cabin, I brought my thermometer and noted the temperature at about 55 degrees. When I turned the light out after 10:00, it was a little over 60. I think it would have warmed the room more if I'd had it on high, but had kept it low to prevent the walls of the stove becoming red hot and  making woofing sounds as it often does. I was perfectly comfortable while I read, but did get chilly in the night, chillier than I have been lately. The temp upon waking (after another embarrassingly long slumber), was about 46 degrees.

I heard again what sounded like a western flycatcher call on the way over, but it did not call again, so I remain uncertain. What wasn't uncertain, however, was the song of a Wilson's warbler and the flight of a yellow bird across the big fallen log. A Wilson's warbler had arrived! And not just one. When I came onto the porch, there were two Wilson's warblers, a yellow warbler, and an orange-crowned warbler all in the alder downriver. Naturally I had to start a survey! It had rained all the night long, but soon stopped and I was looking out over a calm, overcast inlet. I wound up surveying for 101 minutes, looking at the loons (including a bunch of red-throated), 200 murrelets, and what seemed like a parade of warblers flying across the deck. Most disappeared before I could identify them, but my guess is that there were close to half a dozen Wilson's if not more. I also verified at least two orange-crowned (one singing in close proximity to the other), and a couple of Townsend's warblers were also foraging and chasing each other nearby. All four warblers were singing at the same time for a while! The small whale (or A small whale--this one had a white tail) and lots of seals were out as well.

Because of the late breakfast and hot chocolate during the survey, I did some work when I got up, splitting the rest of the rounds behind the lodge and tossing them close to the back porch. I then took the maul to Mink with the idea of splitting some of the small rounds there, but they were mostly very dense branches with a few knots and I didn't have a round to split them on, and just carried some back instead. By that time I was a little worn out, and broke for a quesadilla lunch and some puzzling. Around 3:30 I went back out into the pleasant afternoon with my machete (sharpened last fall) and walked the whole waterline trail, scuffing my feet and macheteing the ferns and other low vegetation reaching into it. It was a pleasant walk, and I so like trails that don't get your legs damp! I also reset the downriver trail cam and set up my new camera across the creek and facing upriver in the same area I tried several years ago but using a root instead of a stake. Back at the lodge, I organized the remaining wood under the front of the lodge, carrying a bunch of random pieces to the back porch to take inside and moving all the cut lumber from the stack closest to the mountain to the front, leaving a big area for the newly split pieces. When I got to work on those, though, I didn't relish the idea of moving the whole stack down to the front of the lodge, so I wound up stacking most if it on the back porch between the wall and the mountain side post. It looks pretty good, and hopefully I won't regret it. I made sure not to let them stick out over the side of the porch so I could still put up plywood for the winter. The rest I tossed down the hill, filled in the front row of firewood against the deck, and tossed in the rest behind. Then I picked up a bucket full of small pieces for fire starters and raked the whole area where the splitting and pile had been and it looks and smells great. Finally, I fetched the WD-40, opened up the bear proof box, oiled the bolt on the top of the grease trap, and stuffed in the tarps that had covered the wood.

Overheated, I hung out on the porch for another hour reading and watching the warblers and at least four hummingbirds buzzing cheerily around. At 5:30, the tide had dropped enough to make the flats enticing, so I invited Cailey for an evening walk. It was nice to go without bird or COASST surveying to do, and I wound up walking all the way up the flats nearly to the next point. Cailey seemed to have a good time. I'm getting good at finding the eagle's nest at the grassy point, locating it from several angles consistently while papa eagle looks on from his favorite perch. On the way back we stopped by Hermit Thrush for my tooth brush, then I got to work organizing my gear and sweeping the floor of the lodge before eating a late picnic dinner of corned bison, toast, banana, and peanut butter. I'm mostly packed, or ready to pack, everything, and I'm hoping to be underway not later than 11:00. However, although it appears to be perfectly calm right now, a gale force blow is supposed to hit Southeast tonight, so plans could change if it appears unmanageable. It's supposed to be 2-3' to Grave, then 2' from there. Chances are tomorrow is my only Taku option for the week. Fingers crossed! I can already feel my will diminishing as the light does, but know I'll have courage again in the morning.

-------------------------------

What a day! It's 7:00 pm, my body is finally starting to relax, and exhaustion is creeping up my limbs. I noted the rain through the night, which diminished as dawn approached. The refrigerator kept the temperature perfect and I needed only my little quilt, though Cailey tucked her nose under her paws on her porch bed on the floor. I got up at 4:30, restless, and it took me over an hour to go back to sleep. I finally set an alarm for 7:15 to help my brain relax, fearing I'd sleep in again as I had the past few nights and find myself frantic to catch the tide when I got up. I was determined to be serene about the whole expedition, not letting stress take over or rushing, but just taking everything as it came. There was so much to worry about: Would the seas be manageable? would Cailey get too wet and cold over the long ride? Would we be able to take the sandbars with the heavy load? Would the fuel system work or would we lose power at an inopportune time? Through the morning, as I peeked out of my sleep mask, I noted that the branches weren't moving at all, and when I finally got up at 7:30, everything was pretty calm. The tide was just nearing a -4.something, so I couldn't see if there were seas nearby, but I didn't see anything kicking up in Gilbert Bay and the branches were motionless. It was barely sprinkling.

I checked the forecast and it remained the same (2-3'), a light gale calling for a small craft advisory. It clearly wasn't galing at that moment--was it possible I could beat it?? It was supposed to come in the night before, but it didn't seem to have. I dressed, washed the dishes, and packed a little, then left Cailey inside (she seemed content to sleep in) and ran one load down to the boat, aground far out on the sandbars (weed whacker, drill, and a few other things), taking the time then to rearrange what I knew would need to be moved around, putting both tool bags in a tarp under my dash and prepping the other tarp to take my clothes bag under the other, and also shifting the propane tank to the starboard side and strapping it and the 2x4s to the railing. It took about three minutes to walk out there each way.

Back at the lodge, it was still early, and I curled up on the couch for a while and just rested for half an hour before having some breakfast, finishing packing, and sitting down to a cup of tea by the window to watch the tide rise. Normally I'd be out on the porch, but I was tired and didn't think getting chilled was a good idea since the stove wasn't going. So I contentedly watched the many Wilson's warblers ply the berry bushes for breakfast, then finished packing, moved everything to the porch, brought the couch inside, and carried the totes down to the beach. I was hoping to be loading the boat at 10:00, but the tide wasn't high enough yet and it wasn't until about 10:30 that I was able to fetch it with the kayak. The tide was rising fast and I had to move the anchor several times as I pulled the Ronquil up the seep channel. Cailey had been outside while I closed up the shed, shut the water valve on Hermit Thrush, and scraped the area in the front of the lodge outhouse a little so the door fully opened, and shut down the propane and lodge water, so I didn't feel too badly leaving her inside again while I loaded the boat. I was smart this time and dressed lightly so I didn't get too overheated from all the labor. When all was ready, I fetched Cailey, locked up, carried the boat blankets down to the boat, and pulled the anchor, which gathered with it a huge volume of algae, the closest I came to losing my cool all day! I noticed that a lot more shooting stars were blooming along the path and was sad knowing I was unlikely to see the buds on the roses bloom. I did again (I think!) hear a western flycatcher in the woods, but only once. Perhaps he, too, is waiting for better weather.

We took off around 11:30, about half an hour after I'd hoped, and found the entrance to the port surprisingly calm. I thought perhaps the direction of the wind was such that the river was just strangely protected, but it really appeared that the front hadn't hit. On the way, as we passed myriad murrelets and flying loons, a whale surfaced quite close, and the glimpse of his face and back was spectacular. I had to stop several times on the way to Sentinel Point to tuck Cailey in and deal with a couple of other things, but when she did finally settle, the dramamine did the trick and she only got up twice during the trip--once when I got up to use the head and then when we were passing Taku Glacier. It was raining more steadily as we left, so once she was settled on her wood blanket, I covered her with another blanket and an enormous camo rain jacket someone had given me which kept everything but her face pretty dry the whole trip! I'd also dried her paws a little from wading out to the boat, as much as I could with what I had on hand, and when she looked so sad laying her chin on the floor of the boat, folded up my light rain jacket and gave her that to use as a pillow. After I stopped the boat when nature called, I refolded the wool blanket so it was dry on her side and extended it out where her head went.

And the weather was amazing. We only had to slow down a little bit as we approached Stephen's Passage where we found mostly 1' seas which built to 2' by Grave Point. Despite my effort to leave nonessentials at Snettisham (and eat them), we were still heavily loaded and took some effort to get on step, but 4100 rpms seemed to be a good speed. The seas diminished a little past Grave Point as hoped, and then a lot after Circle Point, laying down entirely before the next point. When I stopped, I also refilled the fuel tank, so shut off the engine and could hear a sea lion growling close to shore. The trip to the river was perfect except for the heavy rain, which probably contributed to the deep chill I was experiencing by the time we hit Flat Point. I had some rather wan foot warmers in my gloves and, during sections where I was comfortable with water depth, did some air punching which really helped get the blood flowing!

I followed the usual route, obviously going in and out of the channel on the way to the USFS cabin, but not getting much below 5' for long. It was hard to see where water was flowing, so I was trying to follow the fathometer and wound up turning upriver well before the cabin, then swerving as usual in 10' of water to Norris River and then up. I don't think I made the right turn to the cliffs, getting in 4' of water again, but made it into the channel. And then of course the tricky part started, especially not having been there all winter. I think I turned in the usual place and tried to follow the channel but soon found myself on a sandbar. It seemed like I was far from shore, so I backtracked and found the channel a little to the west. I could see the sandbar I needed to stay downstream from, but it wasn't obvious where the channel through was. I was in a lot of 2' water (according to my depthsounder), but made it without touching bottom. To my surprise, the depth close to shore for some distance above also read 2' before deepening to 5'. It could be that my rub on the sandbar changed the angle of the depthsounder, but maybe something else is going on. At the slough mouth, there were a few small logs aground in front of it and I tried to follow a channel outside of them, but soon touched bottom. Instead, I noticed what looked like a lot of water flowing against the downstream bank below the slough, so backtracked and managed to cross without touching straight across. A large, limbed tree and a few hangers on is aground not far off the fireweed beach, but it was deep inbetween and, three hours from leaving Snettisham, we pulled in with great relief at the landing. Halleluiah!

I unloaded what I needed to get Cailey out, watched her as she jumped the foot or so from the bow of the boat to the landing, and managed to haul everything up to the top amongst the hungry mosquitos. Cailey was actually pretty patient with me, or perhaps it was the dramamine. She's such a trooper. Leaving the lumber on the landing, I tied on the stern line and anchored the boat. Pulling myself in, I kept getting snarled on a submerged log that's just upriver of the landing, awkwardly, and let out more anchor line to help. The tide was still rising and pushing the (~16,000 cfs) river upstream and the Ronquil didn't reach the current but sat close to shore when I pushed it out. I didn't have the wherewithal or tools to take care of it, so hauled all the lumber to the top of the landing, tied all my gear onto the cart with a rope my mom and Roger had used to tie to the cart to the tree (unsuccessfully, as it fell over and the tarp fell off), which prevented all the wet boat blankets and rain gear from falling off on the way as it certainly would have.

With great relief (again), we found the cabin in perfect condition. I opened, started a fire, lit the stove pilots, sent an inreach message (hanging out on the porch swing while I waited for it to chime), and began to unpack and settle in. I was still in a daze and, though I knew I would need to rest, just wanted to keep getting things done. After I heated some water, washed, and changed clothes, I realized I was quite hungry, having eaten nothing since breakfast and tea. I'd packed a whole picnic lunch to eat on the way, but it never occurred to me to eat en route. But before I did that, though, I fetched my staff where it had wintered upstairs and headed down to the landing where I was able to maneuver the boat back to the landing, point the bow out, and give it a good push with the staff until it met the current and settled out there. On the way back, I picked up the camera card and grabbed the jerry jug with a little gas in it in case I needed it for the water pump.

Feeling a little better, I finally sat down at 4:00 and ate my hummus-havarti sandwich, some chips, and a peanut granola bar, and Cailey ate her dinner (the first time the whole trip she ate it all at once when offered). I rested just a little more, then headed out to work on water. Having water means so much to me! I carried the pump over, gooped up the pipe connection and connected it, primed the tank with the stash of water I'd left behind Alder (it took two pitchers full), and got the pump started on the fourth or fifth try. What a good little pump! It sounded really slow, but I was patient and eventually well water began to spit out. More relief! I turned it off, attached the hose, and started it again, still concerned by how it was chugging so slowly. I could feel the water run through the polypipe (mostly by temperature), and at the junction with the garden hose, I could kink the hose to make it leak a little, but nothing was going into the tank. Long story short (too late, I know), I'd gotten the choke wrong again and once I turned it off, or on, or whatever it is, it came to life. I wish I could say that was the first time that's happened, but it was the most dramatic example of it. Anyway, I did a few chores while that was filling and used the outhouse which had a prodigious layer of silt in it, at least a millimeter or two. Must have been a dry, windy winter! Eventually I heard pings as a leak from the water tank dropped droplets into the bucket I'd just happened to put in the right place on the back porch and the overflow line overflowed. I tucked the pump and its house under its tarp, put everything away, checked on the boat (letting out some of the stern line so it was parallel with the current), changed the propane tank because the house and tank area smelled terrible, letting me know it was about to run out, and then set up Starlink. It was hard to get it aligned correctly because of the uneven terrain, but I did eventually get it working by propping it up with a little chunk of wood and was able to send texts and, as a reward, watch the rest of a Heartland episode I'd started a day or two ago. The first battery I used died in the middle, but the second had enough charge to use. I had a little wine and a chocolate while I watched. And now I am warm, Cailey's been napping beside me on the couch, and the sun even came out for a little bit. I made it!

-----------------------------------

Cailey gave up waiting on her bed cookie before I finished putting pajamas on and laid down on her bed on her own (next to my pad), for which she was immediately rewarded. When I tucked in myself, I gave her a pat and she hesitated for only a moment before relaxing completely and laying on her side with her head on my bed. She was asleep in seconds. I was similarly worn out, but read for a little while as the rain picked up, then slept very fitfully for a couple of hours before relenting and getting up to take some ibuprofen. My legs were aching too much to sleep. After that, I slept well until....embarrassingly, 9:15. I'm a bit troubled by this theme of sleeping in unaware, but in this case, probably needed it. Again.

The steady rain outside was not enticing, but the calm trees and the misty river were a pleasure to behold. Breaking my usual routine, I lit a fire to take the chill off, thinking in part that I'd make a long loop walk and leave Cailey behind in a warm cabin, but she seemed antsy when I'd had breakfast and was ready to go, so I decided to take her out for a mini loop walk instead. First, though, check on the boat. I used my little push mower along the way to help carve the path for the summer, which is looking more and more permanent between the trees on the way to the river. The boat itself...well, it was at anchor, but the stern line was coming in from the bow instead of the stern. Somehow it had becoming wrapped around the anchor line through physics that are beyond me. It  must have been possible to untangle them without untying anything, but it escaped me. At least, it would have taken considerably less time to just start over. Which is what I did. I pulled the boat in to the little log in the water, then let out some anchor line so I had some room to work (the snarl having shortened its scope). I untied the stern line from the shore and untied the knot, awkwardly, with much more work than was really necessary. It took me then two tries to push the boat out far enough to catch the current, utilizing a local stick of driftwood, but eventually it made it.

Poor Cailey had found me by then and had been waiting some time, and figured on just going back to the cabin, but I enticed her to follow me down the back trail. We took the mini loop and picked up the camera card while I scoured the quiet forest for wildlife. There were birds singing--most of the warblers, fox sparrows, etc.--but I wonder what it would be like in the sun! We picked up the Crossroads camera, then for the fun of it followed the crossroads back toward the mini loop trail, discovering one of many reasonable paths to connect with it. Once again, Cailey thought we'd head home, but I turned instead for the meadow, wanting to at least stick my head out into it this morning. It was beautiful and quiet. I picked up the Copse cam card, then headed downriver, finding the no hunting sign pulled out of the ground and half the braces pulled off, but repairable. The walk was so pleasant and Cailey was doing SO well and seemed so happy (possibly her limp was not showing up for the vegetation) that we went on to Burnet Meadow. Some of the patches of fresh growth were shining with a vibrant green, and the young meadow rue looked particularly intricate, its beautiful, soft mauve leaves tucked in among the burnet. I didn't see any activity at the eagle's nest, so headed for the back of the meadows to take a different route, but the wet brush was not enticing, so we returned to the Glen where I found the no hunting sign permanently crippled, the posts snapped. Like the other, I leaned it up, but it will soon be lost in the grass.

We crossed the little spur meadow and onto the undeveloped portion of the trail I started last fall to see what shape it was in. It was grown up with young ferns (looks like it's a good time for machete work), but otherwise clear and relatively easy to follow, and Cailey took it with ease.

I stripped off all my wet gear and came inside with Cailey to dry her off and stoke the fire, then put it all back on for some chores. First I wetted the water catchment and rubbed it down with bleach, leaving it on the porch to sit, then rinsed the barrel with water from the drain pipe on the tank and left it by the water tower. Then I "plowed" the garden box with the pitch fork that my mom and Roger had used to harvest last fall, sprinkled bone meal from town and ashes from the fire (which I'd collected this morning), working that in before mixing up a batch of fish fertilizer to sprinkle on top. The rain should help dissolve and mix it into the soil before I plant in the next few days, hopefully in drier weather! When that was done, I rinsed off the water catchment, screwed it onto the olive barrel, lifted it onto the tower, and tied it in place. Then I quickly put the four pieces of the platform around it, turning them upsidedown so the screws are pointing upwards, and left them there to screw in later. By this time, my thighs and sleeves were wet despite the rubber rain gear and I was ready to head into a warm cabin. Cailey was laying on my spot on the couch with her head on a pillow! I changed clothes, rearranged all the drying things hanging from every hook and from the stair steps, and just had a quesadilla for lunch. The rain isn't the biggest I've seen, but it's very intense and steady; the "rain heavy at times" warning was one of the reasons I came up yesterday and not today, and I think I'm glad I did! I'd like to have done a good days work here before a rainy day to relax inside, but I'm happy nonetheless, and at least this rain is now being collected for drinking water, and the garden is ready for planting. In fact, other than screwing the platform in (also a task for drier weather, if at all possible), I believe spring chores are done. Now if only I can get out birdwatching in weather that doesn't soak my poor binoculars! Oh, speaking of which, twice last evening, chittering barn swallows swooped onto the porch and spent a few seconds at the top of the wall (I watched one perched on a beam near the door). I looked this morning and there is no sign of a nest, but once again they are considering the possibility! How nice it would be if they nested here, and I certainly hope my presence has not deterred them. The upstairs would be perfect, hardly ever visited!

I read for a while after working on this, then, with the persistence of the rain, closed my eyes and actually napped for a bit. When I got up, it looked like the rain had diminished and a ruby-crowned kinglet was singing, so I decided to go outside and at least check on the boat, without rainpants. Cailey seemed to want to go, so she came as well. I was wrong about the rain, and soon found that the stern line was now stuck somewhere on the partly-submerged log just downriver of the landing. This, of course, was the result of lengthening the anchor line this morning and not shortening it again. No amount of yanking or inveigling would release the line, so I could see no alternative but to leave it there (delaying the issue), or launching the Taku Teal to fix the problem--soon destined for the slough, so unavailable later in the trip. Obviously the thing to do was to take care of it, despite the rain and the mosquitoes (which are worst at the landing). I went back to the cabin to put Cailey inside and don rainpants, then launched the Teal and paddled alongside the log, pulling and trying to use the paddle to find the snag and maneuver the rope off, but this is an awkward proposition when free floating in the current and unable to see more than an inch underwater. I sat and contemplated my options for several minutes, after which I was able to pull a couple of feet of line up, then no more. I went to the boat and untied the line there to see if I could pull the other end through and, low and behold, the line was already free. I hopped aboard and shortened the anchor line so the bow was just about even with the downriver corner of the landing, then brought the stern line back to shore and tied it back on. Maybe next time I check on the boat it will be floating perfectly! Then again, there is another huge tide tonight to back up the river. Because of that, I could so no reasonable alternatives for the Teal but to take it to the slough ot haul it back up into the woods; I was tempted by the former, but really wanted to be able to bird watch on the way and it is JUST TOO WET, and also it was 5:00. So I did haul it up, then returned to the cabin to let Cailey out, who had seemed antsy earlier, and invite her on a short walk upriver. I was actually feeling pretty good and began thinking that I'd like to do the full loop except that Cailey probably wasn't up for it, and also hadn't followed at all and I didn't want to leave her outside the cabin alone for so long. So I turned around to put her inside and by the time I got back, all enthusiasm for a walk had left me. Instead I did a bit of mowing, sent an inreach, and called it a day. I'll have to do all these things in the rain tomorrow if it keeps up, but perhaps there will be some rain-free windows for a bit of adventuring and birding.

I ate picnic food for dinner, then had a go at starting the refrigerator after opening the valve a few hours earlier. There was no visible sign of the igniter sparking, though that could be because it's been shifted out of sight from Roger's adjustment last summer, but the very first spark from the handheld igniter started the pilot. A surprise success! I moved all the perishables into it before bed once I determined that it was cooling down.

---------------------------

We headed upstairs fairly early to read and snuggle in under the pleasant sound of heavy rain on the roof. At some point, I noticed eagerly how the rain had stopped...but then it started again, stopped, and, as far as I know, persisted through the night and was going strong when we got up in the morning. It was another fitful night of sleep, rather warmer than the night before, but I was up a bit earlier and in a better mood despite the preposterous weather. I ate some old instant oatmeal and peanut butter as the rain diminished and then stopped altogether, sun shining wanly on the glacier. It had happened! I had the weather for a bird walk, and I was foolishly optimistic that it would only get better; the "rain, heavy at times" had passed. I checked on the boat (it was good!) and, since Cailey seemed keen to come, the two of us headed upriver. Round about Debbie's Meadow, I realized that the drops falling on me were more than the wet forest dripping and that it had begun to sprinkle. Well, sprinkles are fine...but by the time I got to Devastation Alley, it was full on pouring again, maybe harder than it had been yet. Thankfully, the birds were singing all along the way and so I was able to take a decent survey including a winnowing snipe (I watched him fly overhead), a Tennessee warbler who obligingly kept singing as I crept nearer, and a northern waterthrush who was singing behind the cabin when I got back. It looks like the beavers repaired the wide dam on the slough upriver of the Alley; it's flooded more than I've seen in the past and the lodge is clearly in good repair. I saw five mallards and two green-winged teal on it as well as yellow-rumped warblers chasing each other in the willow islands.

Cailey was very anxious to get home once we got out there and I really didn't blame her. Everything was so wet at the downriver end of the Loop that I didn't object when she veered off at Crossroads and led the way down the mini loop and home. I put her inside and dried her off, then headed back out to secure the platform around the water barrel. Having flipped the boards, I had to screw in some of the looser screws whose heads were sticking out in order for the boards to lie flat, and I had to make new holes in a couple of places so they aligned with the supports, but overall the process went well and we were back to sprinkles for a short time which made it much more pleasant and better for my little drill. I came inside then, made a fire, hung everything up to dry again, and had the tea I'd been waiting for (actually special coffee), unfortunately not on the porch swing as I'd hoped, but inside where it was dry and warm. I read for a little bit, then set up the Starlink again which had a poorer signal but did give me some time to write texts and check the weather (another wall of rain for tomorrow, despite the NE winds predicted which could carry me home). I charged my phone (for some reason needing to use the AC adapter as the USB DC ports weren't working) and had a quesadilla and delightfully cold beer for lunch, then around 1:45 stoked the fire for Cailey, suited up, and headed out to launch the Taku Teal. There would be no dry weather to do it in, but though the rain was steady in the beginning, it wasn't drenching, and I was able to take a decent bird survey without drowning phone or binoculars. In fact, it was a perfectly lovely canoe. Sixty plus terns circled over their sandbar (I'd seen a falcon chasing them from the cabin), common and hooded merganser (females) were on the slough with green-winged teal and mallards, all more accommodating than usual. I also saw a male and female harrier and heard most of the expected birds except savanna sparrows (which I may have heard once) and yellowthroats.

As I ducked into the dammed tributary slough past Yellowthroad Island, a sandpiper flew across the mouth which I assumed would be a spotted sandpiper but was much more drab and small. He quickly calmed and began foraging against a mud bank and allowed me to get quite close without flushing. Yellow legs, plain white belly, very small...it must be a least sandpiper, but one perhaps lost?

Finally, almost two hours into it, I beached the canoe in its usual spot, amused to find that it's been used as a trail, and headed toward Burnet Meadow, stopping to see that the no hunting sign near the slough was collapsed but I think salvageable. This time, I could see a white head on the eagle's nest, so it appears occupied after all. I visited Wallow Copse and, on the way back, an eagle returned to the nest and hemmed and hawed about settling over eggs or nestlings, but was uneasy about me and I finally stopped staring. Their mate watched from the top of a spruce nearby. What a cool spot for a nest. I followed the "new" trail back to the cabin and let Cailey out, giving her a pork rawhide to bury. Meanwhile, the rain started in earnest again after the sprinkles that had accompanied me toward the end of the canoe and the walk, but I planted the flowers and seeds in the garden anyway, watered them, clipped some of the dead roses, the live/dying ones in front of the porch, some alders, etc., then macheted the trail to the boat to check on it one more time (I let out a little more stern line as it was pulling the stern in a little despite the risk at lower water of having it snag again). Cailey danced around when I came back up the landing stairs, eager as I was to escape the again-drenching rain, and probably for dinner. I dried her off again and, again, hung up everything to dry. Even with all the boat blankets dry and folded up, there is not enough room for all my wet clothes, rain gear, backpack, binoculars, hats, dog towels, etc.! I powered on Starlink again and barely got a signal long enough for the marine forecast to update, then shut it off as I really didn't need anything else. The forecast is the same--a gale coming in tonight, but NE 1' seas tomorrow and variable on Saturday. I really wish I could stay until Saturday, and I can of course, but believe it would be...a lot...to go in Saturday, prep the house for a guest, and be attentive when they arrive at 9:00 pm! I wouldn't leave until around 4:00, so there is most of the day to enjoy here, but it will probably be very rainy. I'll check the forecast again in the morning.

--------------------------------

We headed to bed relatively early, noting the small patches of blue sky and the lack of rain dancing on the roof. In fact, it was noticeably quiet upstairs...until the rain started again, stopped, and started again, ultimately keeping up most of the night. With an ibuprofen and a cooler room (I hadn't stoked the fire since before I went on my canoe ride), I slept better. Or maybe it was because of snuggling with Cailey! After I was in bed, she got up and settled herself in a corner of my bed by my legs where a couple of blankets were available if things got chilly. She moved up closer to me for a while, then down to my legs again. Surprisingly, the twin sized (or less?) foam pad and blankets had plenty of room for us, except when Cailey was kicking her way through dreams.

I was awake around 7:30, something of a relief, and up soon after. It was raining of course and the day was as white and damp as it had been most of the trip. I took the cart down to the boat with my jerry jug and the empty propane tank, checked the boat (good!), and returned with the three 2x12x8 PT boards for boardwalks. I'm not surprised that I didn't have/make time to use them, but at least they're here. I leaned them up against the back porch and tied them in place so they wouldn't fall over. I then made a futile attempt to get a Starlink signal again, wasting a lot of time and getting bitten by mosquitos while it looked for satellites; I got it aligned a few times in the same and a new spot, but it never connected. Instead, I sent Ezra an inreach message asking for the forecast, put Cailey back inside, suited up, and headed down the mini loop to set up the rest of the trail cameras and maybe do some birdwatching. On the way I heard a very rapid, unfamiliar trill. This morning Merlin had said another fast trill was a junco, which I never confirmed, but I turned it on again to see what it thought this time. It was more in line with the orange-crowned warblers singing, but keeping to a more consistent pitch and not quite as sweet. Boy was I surprised to find a blackpole warbler consistently identified! Thankfully, he was singing frequently and it didn't take me too long to find him, bopping around the spruces. Unfortunately, he was far up the trees and, when he wasn't obscured by the branches, was straight above me so I could only see his belly, or his body skylined against the white. The trees were too dense to get much distance most of the time, so my arms and neck ached as I sought to see something other than a white belly and streaky sides. He led me all the way to the upriver trail where I caught some glimpses of his black and white face. When he stopped singing, I found a bird in the same area which flashed white outer tail feathers, which appears to be in line with blackpole warblers as well. What a find!!

From there I wound my way back to the mini loop trail where I'd left my staff and continued on straight down the meadow toward Strawberry Trail. As I approached the little slough in the middle of the meadow, something bounced across it and into the vegetation on the other side, freezing where I could see most of his face and back. I thought at first it was a toad or frog for the way it skipped across the water, but this was a rodent; large and brown, I initially took him for a vole, but when he squirmed I could see a long tail. Brown deer mouse? Still tickled with that, I climbed the slope toward Pretty Meadow and heard movement from within the spruce copse separating Pretty Meadow from the main meadow. Whoever it was moved around in there quite a bit, but all I could see was a shadow; judging by the fact that it didn't bolt, my guess is moose. I wasn't sure what to do, as taking the cut into the meadow would take me very close to where he had been, so I rounded it on the mountain side instead and continued on. First I checked on the no hunting sign closer to the mountain and found it collapsed but repairable. The slough is very flooded there as well, but I couldn't quite see the dam itself.

I set up the camera, then walked to Devastation Alley. The rain had stopped, the air smelled sweet, and the meadow with its young lupines (a few blooming) was beautiful. I did a bird survey there for about 40 minutes; there were yellow-rumped warblers and fox sparrows carrying food, but I didn't see them carry anything to a nest. I saw the Tennessee warbler singing from birch trees, and a chipping sparrow came through as well. I also flushed a pair of snipe from the meadow near the slough. Quite pleased, I headed back down the loop to set up the Crossroads, Copse, and back trail cams, hearing two or three more Tennessee warblers as usual along the way (though briefly). I even heard the blackpole warbler sing a few times just behind the cabin and the northern waterthrush was bubbling beautifully (I'd also heard one in the third meadow).

I let Cailey outside and packed my room up while boiling water to thaw my frozen can of refried beans for lunch. It took about half an hour therefore to make my quesadilla during which I packed and cleaned. The cabin was very warm and I hadn't gotten wet on my walk, so I sat on the swing for the first time this trip with lunch, a Pacifico, a book, binoculars, and a mosquito coil and enjoyed myself while Cailey buried the bully stick I gave her (and unburied and chewed on another). When she asked to go inside, I puttered around the "yard", mowing the areas I'd macheted on the path to the boat yesterday, mowing a larger clear area in front of the porch after macheteing the fireweed (sorry, fireweed), and clipping some of the roses in the same area. When I put the mower away, I grabbed the rake and raked the path to the boat, around Alder, around the cabin, and to and around the outhouse. It looks great, but I don't have the time or energy to do all the trails on this trip. Still, to walk off the boat on a civilized path is pretty nice. I then perused the meadow around the cabin specifically for little spruce trees, pulling about 30 in addition to the dozen or so I'd already pulled. That's not bad, but there are many alders which will have to wait for another day. There are so many down by the original landing that there's no way I'll be able to keep pulling them. Now the cabin is pretty much clean and I'm all packed a couple hours before boat departure. Time to update the log and read or wander as I like!

---------------------------------

In the end it was just half an hour of cozy reading on the couch before the close up chores began. I made it to the landing in one go, using the rope both to tie down all the loose boat blankets on top and to tie my clothes bag to the handle. I'm liking this new strategy! Fetching, fueling, and loading the boat went reasonably well, but the mosquitoes were intense and poor Cailey had to hang out on the bank getting eaten up while I worked. We eventually stumbled (literally) aboard and were underway at five to four. I don't feel like I was in a channel most of the way down, but made it straight across the slough in about three feet of water and similarly across to the channel, or whatever I was in. I didn't see more than four or five feet for quite a ways down so I don't think I was in a channel, but there was plenty of water nonetheless. I made it to the channel in front of the glacier in more like six or eight feet of water and made it almost all the way down and back over in ten. There was a boat kind of milling around in that area which started across a little lower than I was. When I lost deep water, I thought I'd follow him, but he was going a bit slow and also straight across to Grizzly Bar instead of down to Scow, so I wound up just crossing his wake and taking my usual not-very-deep route. The CFS had come up to at least 20,000, noticeable at the landing, so that comforted me a little bit. I think maybe the boat was prospecting for a deep channel, but he went pretty much straight across before turning to follow the shoreline behind me.

It was raining when we left and soon became a downpour that became pelting rain, the kind that is painful if you don't keep your head down. Thankfully, the route was mostly flat water with just a few areas of chop, and we made good time. Cailey had, as usual, sat on the back bench as we left Bullard's Landing, so when I finally made her come down around the cliffs, I flipped her wool blanket so the dry side was up and covered her up with a blanket and the camo rain jacket and she stayed put until I stopped the boat at Sheep Creek briefly. Then she got up, in the pelting rain, and was soon crouched on the floor against the bench shivering and giving me extremely pathetic looks. I had her spare bed blanket over my knees, so covered her up with that for the trip through Juneau Harbor, and I think that stopped the shivering, but she was soon up on the bench again as we slowed under the bridge. I think we arrived about an hour and 45 minutes after we left and I was very relieved to secure the boat and head up to the car to put Cailey away, carrying a couple of jerry jugs and the weed whacker. This was the point in the trip that I lost my cool just a little, as Cailey stopped a couple of times and refused to move on gracefully, slipping out of her collar once. Not only was I anxious myself to get home, but I was taking her to warmth and dryness and did not appreciate the willful doddling! When we got there, she climbed eagerly into the car and I repositioned it to the ramp, grabbed a couple of carts from the bottom of the ramp, loaded them up, fueled the boat, and covered the remaining jerry jug, full propane tank, and emergency bag with a tarp in front of the seats. The boat blankets are spread to dry over the chairs and windshield (hands off, please, otter people!). When I was walking down the ramp, I noticed with astonishment that the day was brightening, and by the time I was pushing carts up the ramp, the rain had stopped entirely. How did we time our ride to end just as the driving rain stopped?? Still, we were soon home and, after caring for the fish and plants and feeding Cailey, I indulged in some ice cream after my shower.

 
Forget-me-nots and Siberian minder's lettuce at Snettisham