Back a little sore, I'm sitting inside the lodge while at least three hummingbirds vie for feeder space and the evening sun shines against the opposite mountainside and a streak of water against the shore. I knew that I wouldn't make it to Snettisham in June given my trip to Cordova/Copper River one week and my June week on the Taku the next. The next opportunity was over 4th of July weekend; although I'd spent the previous weekend in town (returning from the Taku on a Friday), I wasn't quite ready to turn around for another cabin trip the following weekend, plus Ezra and I talked about camping, Cailey seemed probably deaf enough not to be too traumatized by the fireworks, and my 30th reunion was on the 5th. The rain that had dominated Juneau's weather since the bright sun of June 20-22 turned to pleasant low clouds for the 3rd-5th, to everyone's enjoyment and relief. Winds were light, so I stressed a little about not making use of it, but we had a thoroughly pleasant weekend, my first 4th of July in town in a long time.

And then I waited for a weather window all week. There were hints, but nothing manifested, though I luckily took advantage of decent weather to take Tom Thornton and his son to a Tlingit summer camp on south Douglas (and, briefly, the Salisbury village) on Wednesday before another storm came. But starting the middle of the week, winds were scheduled to die Saturday night and I decided to escape on Sunday, celebrating our anniversary the day before. The ladies at Lemon Creek conveniently decided to skip chapel today [I learned later that they were told I hadn't come], so I headed right back home to take care of last minute work chores and perishables packing, managing to leave the harbor at 11:35 am. There was a bit of chop down the channel, slowing us down just a little, plus wakes, but to my relief it diminished once we entered the Open and stayed that way all the way to the Port. One whale in the Open, two around Seal Rocks, several loons in the port. The gillnetters were working the shoreline south of Taku Harbor, so I stayed wide and clear of them on the calm seas, loving the pleasant ride and being on the water again, heading south. When we entered the port, the seas unexpectedly kicked up behind us and we rode in one to two foot seas, sometimes white-capped, to right before Sentinel Point when it inexplicably stopped. I passed a nice yacht there and waved to the two people sitting on the back deck just before I lost sight of them, having focused on trying to figure out where they came from. I hoped they'd come to the river, but of course they turned into Gilbert Bay instead.

It was a relief and delight to land gently at the beach, the wind lapping us ashore as I organized gear against the starboard side. It had been over six weeks since I'd last been here and I was glad that the grass over the path wasn't any higher than it was. A western flycatcher called from the woods. I carried Cailey off, then started unloading, unhurriedly carrying each load all the way up to the porch before fetching another, right up to the last one. Everything looked in order, though there was a surprising amount of duff on the steps under the edge of the roof, so something must have caused a cascade. The breeze turned the Ronquil toward Gilbert Bay when I anchored, and my kayak floated upriver when I boarded, helped by the tide, I suppose, as well as the wind (normally both vessels would be moved in the other direction by the river). Cailey had waded into the river to wait for me, but returned to digging up her treasures when I came ashore.

I brought the last load up and started opening, so many little things to do. When I opened the back door to toss out the bison steak I'd forgotten in the freezer the last time, a hummingbird came right over and startled me, and she appeared to be asking for some nectar. So after getting the porch set up, I grabbed the feeders and started some nectar brewing, heating up water both to wash the feeders first and, after they were back outside for the birds, to bleach the inside of the freezer and fridge. Not only had I forgotten the bison and some fresh vegetables inside, but I'd left them closed, trapping in the moisture and leading to mildew. I bleached the insides of both, unnerved to find half a dozen full-grown flies (they looked like house flies) dead inside, and maybe one live one that escaped. Eggs on the veggies...? I rinsed the walls and wiped them down with a rag and then paper towels, and stacked the drawers in the sink to wash separately. After a few failed attempts, I did some more unpacking and then the fridge lit like a champ and I closed it up with all my fresh perishables. My solar panels were already charging the battery in the glowing sunshine, so I set up starlink (pushing the AC end through the hole in the floor), sent my okay messages, and settled onto the porch couch to relax, enjoy the afternoon, and read. It was a lovely hour. A hummingbird had found the feeders, a hermit thrush stood on the corner of the deck and spread her tail and one wing a few times, apparently sunbathing, while a wren popped up and foraged a little. Two juncos preened in the spruce and a (probably) Wilson's warbler appeared on a current branch. An eaglet called from downriver. And I read. And moved the couch closer to the edge of the porch to catch more sun as the breeze cooled me down.

Around 4:00 I got up and began the huge job of clipping back the berries, devil's club, cow parsnip, ferns, and other floral creatures in preparation for weed-whacking and to reclaim the trail. I carried several big armfuls of vegetation from around the porch, then started the far bigger task of restoring space along the boardwalk. Not only had we passed what are probably the six biggest growth weeks of the summer, but the incessant rain had helped to bow the branches down. The bugs--something in the white socks range--harassed me in the dark boardwalk tunnel as I clipped branch after branch after branch after branch, making an ugly job of it, ripping out the lady ferns from around the tangle of salmonberries and currents. I was glad to finish that area and did not move on to the path to the outhouse which is certainly also overgrown. Sweaty and buggy, I cleaned up and returned to the porch for another luxurious bout of reading, thinking my work day was over, and then quickly realizing that I hadn't yet actually weed-whacked. And I realized I could. So I read a chapter, then let Cailey inside to escape the bugs which had joined us on the porch now that the sun was behind the mountain and the breeze dying, and brought over the generator which started on my first series of tries. Long story short, I weed-whacked for about 40 minutes, tackling the densest, tallest vegetation I'm sure I've ever worked with, but strangely enjoying it. I hated to change the environment that the quiet birds seemed to be loving, but trusted that they would return when the noise was over and might even enjoy the exposed rocky path, as the thrushes seem to. Maybe the juncos will to? Is this the first time I've seen juncos in the summer? Both were in adult plumage and seemed to have black heads. I hope they come back.

Although I tried to miss the rose by the fire pit, I accidentally cut most of it off, nicked the one by the salmonberries, couldn't find the one near the porch corner (though I did find a strawberry with a big white berry on it!), and saw a large (8"?) rose on the river side of the bench just a moment before I swept most of it away. I love how they're spreading so well and plan to mark them so I don't cut them again. Quite relieved to have that done, I heated up some bean soup for dinner, drying the drinks from the fridge that I'd washed earlier while it heated up, and ate on the porch, and here I am, pushing 8:00, Cailey fast asleep on the couch. I am SO GLAD TO BE HERE and that everything, so far, is alright.

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On the way to Hermit Thrush, I took a route past the front porch of Cottonwood Cabin, past the great tree behind, and around on the loop trail to the outhouse because I had my clothes bag to make crouching under the fallen tree awkward. The trail up to the water junction (which I skirted) was devastation: one of the great trees from up the hill had broken at the base and fallen downhill, stopping just a little shy of the outhouse. The ground was covered with broken branches, moss, and spruce boughs, the trunk of the great tree emerging from the debris here and there.

Everything looked good at Hermit Thrush when we arrived at 8:30, but it was damp. I didn't smell mildew on anything, it just felt damp. Not surprisingly! I checked the base of the wall which had partially rotted over the years from rain and felt it dry, which was good, though a few tiny mushrooms had grown (they might be from previous years as well). I lit a fire in part to help dry the place out, letting some of the warm (moist) air out before I went to sleep. I slept reasonably well, as did Cailey, and was up at 8:00, the windows predictably fogged over and hiding the sunny morning and low tide. I wasn't hungry or lazy, so started the morning by raking the lawn, forming the grass into piles on the rocky path and carrying armfuls to the compost pile by the porch. It looked a lot better and I hoped the birds would return. It was a quiet morning, though, and the only songbird that stopped by while I ate my enormous banana pancake was a young-of-the-year (I think) Lincoln's sparrow who perused his territory from the spruce tree. Around the time of the -2' tide, Cailey looked ready for adventure, so we made a COASST survey. The water was higher, so I only logged 350' to the first channel, and the beach above the grassy point was the narrowest I've ever seen it. Cailey lagged behind, but I caught up with her just on the downstream side of the point where I re-found the eagle's nest right before an adult brought in a clutch of moss.

I took a break and had a snack, then at noon headed over to Schist House to scrub, something I've been dreading since I first decided I needed to restain the outside last fall. Scrubbing is not my favorite thing to do, and this bout was aggravated by medium-sized biting flies and the forest floor being saturated with water. Everything was wet. I hooked up the hose behind Cottonwood, surprised and happy that it more than reached the outhouse. I brushed down all the sides of the outhouse to remove cobwebs and their spruce needle prizes, then wetted them down with the hose, then scrubbed with an oxigenated bleach solution--shorthandled brush on most of the wall, long handled at the bottoms where the moss was growing. The tops were in pretty good shape, but just below the halfway mark most of the walls had varying degrees of algae or mildew or something growing on them. I was pleased to find that it was growing over the stain and washed off relatively easily. Schist House took an hour and a half to wash and, while I wanted to finish the whole task and be done with it, realized that I really needed a break and probably some food. First I moved the hose and all my scrubbing gear to Gneiss House, already seeing that I was going to enjoy it more than the other, then went back and clipped the vegetation on the path to Schist House. I'd already clipped the small amount needed from there to Hermit Thrush. So, the main clipping at least was done.

I broke for a quesadilla and a cervesa on the porch in the sunshine overlooking my increasingly civilized "garden". The rhubarb in particular looks fine, broad, bright green leaves spreading out over the soil. I'd left Cailey inside to snooze while I worked, but she came and enjoyed lunch with me, as did a hermit thrush who preened and sunbathed on the cut grass next to the rocky path just below the steps. One of the adult eagles brought a clump of moss to this nest too! And then I got to work again, more tired than when I'd started on the previous outhouse and really not enjoying the scrubbing part, but definitely enjoying the location better. The breeze (wind?) had been steady all day and helped keep the flies at bay at this location, though I still needed a mosquito coil tied to my hip as I had at Schist House (two there). When all the walls were scrubbed, I mixed up some strong bleach solution and used a rag to wipe down the bottoms of all the walls at both locations. Then I restacked the firewood under the deck and on the back porch, as both had partially collapsed while I was gone. I also planted the mint that I'd brought from the garden to supplement the overwintered pot which I suspected might have faired poorly as the one in town did. I was pleased to find half a dozen nice-sized stalks, purplish and smaller than the ones I brought because they have more sun here, but there was just room enough for the new ones, bright green from the relative shade. They will suffer in the sun tomorrow, but I intentionally planted them late in the day so they wouldn't have to deal with it much today, and then have a night's shade to rest. And, finally, I took a spit bath and changed my clothes, hoping the sweaty part of the work was done for a while.

I invited Cailey back out for cocktail hour, enjoyed the view and the company, and read another chapter of my Icebound Summer book (belugas this time). I had some Indian food, toast, and anniversary cake for dinner, finished a Heartland inside that I'd started some days ago in Juneau, and started writing this. When the blows of a whale penetrated the interior of the lodge several times, I finally moved outside and have mosquito coils burning again to keep the very aggressive bugs at bay. The wind has finally died down a bit, the whale is very active in the inlet and fluking, and the hummingbirds are BUSY. I counted up to nine today, but I'm sure there are more. It was a good day. The yard looks good, the unpleasant and weather-dependent chore is done (weather-dependent because the outhouses need to dry before and during actual staining), the porch and steps are swept (oh yeah, I did that too), and between burying a rawhide, walking the flats, snoozing on the couch while I worked, resting on the porch with me, and playing with a leather stuffy with a treat inside after dinner, Cailey seems to have had a good day too. Tomorrow morning I plan on a leisurely tea (possibly with local mint) and a proper bird survey all morning on the porch. The solar battery came to 100% this afternoon, so I don't need to put the panels out tomorrow either. A morning of fun and rest, maybe a quick walk with the dog, then we'll see about this staining thing I mean to do.

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The cabin warmed up fast last night, the stove lit for tea and to continue trying to dry the inside. The water boiled before I was even ready to climb into bed, and I opened the window again to let out the moist air. It was working--when we got up, having slept a little later, the windows were only partially fogged up, a vast improvement from the dense layer yesterday, and I left the windows and door open again today though it was intended to be more cloudy.

I wasn't hungry or in the mood for tea right away, so set myself up on the porch and started my bird survey in the quiet morning. The tide was low and dropping, the first seals resting on a bar across the river, three loons behind them. By the time I got the spotting scope going, they were flying off but returned later: red-throated. The survey was over two hours long, broken only to make a quick banana pancake with the last overripe banana and to make one of the best cups of Moroccan mint tea I've ever had, made mostly with one of the local Snettisham mint plants that overwintered. It was quiet and overcast, but I did get to log all the species I've seen so far with the exception of the Lincoln's sparrow: local and singing hermit thrushes (this local was a YOY unlike yesterday), Wilson's warbler, both juncos (one was foraging along the steps and nibbling at the forget-me-not seeds I'd weeded around), varied thrush, wrens, and Townsend's warbler singing. It was a perfectly relaxing morning, no stress, warm enough, beautiful view. I ended the survey in the garden where Cailey joined me, so after weeding the potatoes and admiring how beautiful the cabin and surrounding area looked (Nigel Cottonwood is so tall I had to back down the path a ways to get it all in a photo), I stopped the survey and headed downriver for a little walk with the pup. A whale was working the inlet just past the sandbars and I stopped on a rock at the big landslide to watch. An eagle flew in from the river and harassed a raven perched in a tree that I hadn't even seen until he flew out. It seemed too close to be a second nest. On the way back, I saw an adult in the nest with an eaglet! He was so big I think I would have seen a second if there was one.

By the time we were back, it was about 11:30 and I was peckish, so had a sandwich of corned bison and havarti. At noon I put Cailey inside for a nap, gathered my gear, and headed to Schist House for staining. It went reasonably well, though somewhat tedious, and I was surprised to see that the Navajo red paint was very opaque and quite a bit brighter than what I thought might have been the same stain beneath. It looks amazing. I may need to touch up the bottoms of some of the walls, as they were still damp (mostly where they were in contact with a mossy rock or board) but I painted them anyway, in the chance that the whole thing will dry together. When it was finished, I moved straight to Gneiss House, eager to be done with the exterior staining, and relieved that the breeze which had picked up again was keeping the bugs down. I'd had only one match and the mosquito coil I was burning had run out on the last wall, so the flies found me again at Schist. At 3:00 I was finished, the gray walls of Gneiss transformed into red. I still can't figure it out, as I remember the stain from the lodge being much more transparent, but why would I have had two cans of Navajo red if not for the lodge? Certainly not for a single outhouse. Anyway, I think they look great, though the Gneiss rafters very much need a new coat now that everything else is looking bright and fresh.

I had a snack and a canned Amalga G&T to celebrate, now looking over the inlet at high tide, and read for a little bit, feeling wonderful. At 4:00 I buckled down and went to work on the next painting job: the second coat on the inside of Schist House. I'd put the first coat on last September in the rain, and it did not go well. That is, I was in no mood to work outside, the leaking roof made a few streaks down the sides, it was cramped with the door closed, and the drop cloth was too bulky and got in the way. I remember it being an irritating and unsatisfying task, though the first coat of beige was a definite improvement over the aging gray. Today was a totally different experience as I worked in what had turned into a sunny day, the large drop cloth trailing outside the open outhouse door. I stuck to a fairly rigid pattern of painting, painting the top half of everything while standing on the bench (joists first, then walls), then finishing from the floor. It was downright fun. I love painting...in general.

At 5:40 or so I finished, washed up, fed Cailey, chopped some vegetables and added them to a wild rice mix to cook, washed the dishes, added some sockeye on top of the rice, had a few sips of wine while it cooked, then ate outside at 6:30 over an exceedingly beautiful and now calm inlet. The whale who has been feeding in the inlet all day was still working, the hummingbirds buzzing (they visited me regularly at the outhouses, along with my friend the flycatcher), and the evening was fine. I had a glass of wine after dinner and read a bit, and it was utter bliss. Still is, actually, as I'm still sitting outside, protected from bugs by my quilt and mosquito coils, and everything is perfect. What utter pleasure to be warm and dry outside looking over perfection, chores behind me, property in good condition, no pressing obligations to return home for, fine weather in the future, little rodents or shrews darting across the dry rocky path. What a blessing.

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No fog on the windows this morning! And, unexpectedly, another day forecast for no rain, showers moved to tomorrow. I had breakfast in the garden, gazing up at the lodge and the magnificent trees and mountainside behind it, then lingered on the porch with a cup of hot chocolate. I read a chapter about a rogue walrus (do orphan walruses really learn to hunt seals?), then got to work on another rather unpleasant task: cleaning the rafters on Schist House. Now that the rest of it is repainted, the unmatching beige rafters green with algae really stand out. I brought over a bucket of water to first rinse down the door, thinking I'd throw a coat of stain on that while I was at it, surprised at how dirty it was and how much nicer it looked afterwards. Then I took off the roofing and wiped/scrubbed the rafters and the tops of the walls with a bleach-water solution followed by a water rinse, and left them to dry.

By then it was after 11:00, so I had a snack and took a walk up to the grassy point, greeted by a loud squawk from the flats nearby: a single semi-palmated plover foraging. So I started a bird survey from there, checking on the eagle's nest (guarded but so obscured by branches I can't see if there are any nestlings) and returning along the outside of the bars at low tide to catch the gulls. It wasn't a very interesting one past the plover and the three hermit thrushes singing in the woods, but a nice walk with Cailey. On the way back I also stopped by to check on the second cottonwood tree, flourishing and now taller than I am and in sight of Nigel Cottonwood. I was hungry by then, but decided to fertilize the garden, mixing up about three gallons of fish fertilizer that seemed to barely touch all the potatoes. I found more of the piebalds growing, much shorter and with smaller leaves than the Tlingits, and blooming earlier.

Then I had a quesadilla, read a little on the porch, and became drowsy enough to move myself inside and eventually take a short nap. When I got up, I moved back to the porch with my laptop and worked on some church business before rushing back to Schist House thinking I had just enough time to paint the rafters. I did! In less than an hour I was back, and the rafters now stunningly match the red of the siding. I cleaned up quickly and set myself on the porch overlooking another calm and gorgeous evening on the inlet, logging into the vestry zoom meeting at 5:28. I texted a few participants when nothing happened, but they logged me on and the meeting started ten minutes later. The connection was excellent, the audio was great, and I was able to take minutes, from Snettisham, looking around at the birds and the whale (who had been there all day again) and the view whenever things got a little slow! I had to go inside around 7:00 to plug my laptop in and, but moved back to the porch for a late dinner of another corned bison-cheese sandwich and cookie dough, watching a whale breaching, fin slapping, and tail lobbing on the far side of Gilbert Bay. Feeling residual tension and alertness from the meeting, I treated myself to a rhubarb gin and tonic (spectacular) and an episode of Heartland to wind down. At 9:00, Cailey and I set off to Hermit Thrush. It had been very warm all afternoon, and there was no question of lighting a fire even when I considered it to continue drying out the cabin, and even so I was sometimes too warm during the night.

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This morning I had a weird dozing period of time that seemed to last forever and I was up late again at 8:30. The sky was overcast and showers were soon over Gilbert Bay and my energy was very low. It's now almost 10:00 and the calm weather has switched to a cool breeze, making the inside of the lodge more noticeably warm from the refrigerator than it has been. I was thinking today might be the day to make a hike to the lake, but now that the sprinkles and the breeze are upon us, I'm less enthusiastic. I think I'll have a cup of tea and linger on the porch, fix the Schist House roof and take it from there. It would be an afternoon excursion anyway to catch the rising tide.

I finished my lackluster bird survey and jasmine tea by 11:00 and headed out to work on weatherproofing the outhouse. I had determined 42" to be the length of the tuftex roofing pieces and cut one easily with tinsnips. Just to make absolute sure before cutting more, I took it to the outhouse to try it on--perfect--at the same time nailing in the rafter that was loose on one side. Back on the deck, not really feeling the sprinkles, I cut the other five pieces and hauled them with all the drill paraphernalia I thought I would need back to the outhouse. Unfortunately, as I'd pondered in bed last night, I had not brought enough of the special supports that fit the corrugation--a rookie mistake, I'd just grabbed a bundle and never thought to count. I needed twelve and had bought a bundle of five. Thankfully, I found a sixth left over from some other project in the shed, so at least I'd have enough for one side, and grabbed a bit of floor trim I had stored in there from the lodge and took it in case it might work.

After carefully installing the top row of supports using the corrugated ones, making sure they were all equidistant from the peak of the roof, I measured where I wanted the lower row to go and realized that they would barely be visible from inside the outhouse, blocked by the tops of the walls. I decided to try the triangular trim piece there and found that it worked perfectly, the outside against the rafters and the inside corner--which was flattened out about half an inch wide--against the roofing panels. I measured the overall length and cut the end off with a wood saw, then secured it like the other pieces (drilling all the holes first, necessitating a lot of back and forth between bits and drivers). This turned out to be much easier than using the corrugated pieces because there was just a single even piece (instead of three overlapping) and I could screw it down anywhere whereas with the corrugated pieces I only wanted to screw them down in the lower (thinner) sections. I was similarly careful with installing the roofing, making sure they were running parallel to the rafters and pre-drilling all the holes (how much time I used to waste hastily screwing things in without holes and then dealing with the consequences of split wood).

The second side was a slightly more awkward as the ground was lower and I didn't have as much room to move at the top, but it went faster after my experience on the other side. Two screws before I was finished screwing in the supports, the drill died and, at 1:00, I had to take a break, laying the unsecured roofing pieces in place to keep the inside as dry as possible. I made a quesadilla for lunch and gave Cailey her lego toys with grated cheese inside, letting her work on that while I ate on the porch with a beer. It had rained on and off all day, and I didn't mind. It wasn't heavy rain, and pleasant enough to work in, and the lodge was always cozy to come in to. As the tide started to come back in, a group of common mergansers, mostly females or young with a couple of males, started foraging actively at the edge of the nearby flats. They were enjoying great success! Once I saw at least four birds with sculpins or flounders in their beaks. I tracked one for over five minutes as it repeatedly turned its little flounder around and around, making brief attempts to swallow it, before it really went to work and got it down. The flounder, though small, was about twice the width of the merganser's neck and, as it went down, it looked like a cobra head. After that, the shoulders were bulging out! When they flushed, skittering across the water, I looked up from the spotting scope to see an eagle land in a few inches of water and peer down, taking a few steps at a time, evidently wanting to get in on the action. Their mate called from the nest and they responded. I was enjoying the birds and the view such that I didn't get much reading done on my break, and when I returned to the outhouse with a charged battery, the roof and the cap went on in about half an hour. I had the pleasure then of cleaning up the work area--putting away the tarp and ladder and plywood, arranging the rocks, and cleaning the accumulated duff from around the edges of the foundation. I'd pulled some of the rocks away from the edges, as they were dangerously close to the siding, but this exposed gaps beneath the 4x4s it sits on through which I could smell...outhouse smell. In some areas I replaced smaller rocks, and in other areas I used old branches or sticks that laid nicely against the wood and closed the gap.

Then I plunged into a bunch of little chores I'd been meaning to do: I nailed in some asphalt shingle treads at the lodge deck that had worn lose, put away the hose and the metal flashing I'd left out last time, and started scraping away the dirt in front of Gneiss House as the door couldn't swing open all the way. This turned out to be a much bigger task than I'd imagined, as I kept running into rocks, both what were probably the original paving stones, now under 2" of soil and duff, and rocks I should have removed long ago, including one huge one that looked like a tripping hazard once I excavated nearby. The roots didn't help either. I hauled away a bucket of dirt to add to the compost pile and tossed the rest in the bushes, creating a large inset area in front of the door that connects to the path. When I used the outhouse later I saw that it needs to be extended so you don't have to step out of it and back in to access the inside, but it's a good start and looks a lot better. I also cleaned up around it from painting and closed the new gaps with sticks. There's now a large stack of rocks next to it from the excavation.

Having finished those little chores, I finally indulged in a project I've been looking forward to: creating a perch! I'd found a nice little root wad on the beach last time and brought down a 2x2 stake from the Taku to secure it to. I drilled a hole in the bottom of the root wad, pounded the stake in near where my precious wandering log's root wad used to be, and screwed a long screw part way into the top of it to set the root wad onto, like we used to do with raptor perches. The hole wasn't quite big enough on the first try, so I had to use a larger bit, but it was soon in place and secured with a second screw from the top. The stake wasn't long enough to pound it as deep as I would have liked, so it was a bit floppy. I found a short 2x2 under the lodge and pounded that in diagonally next to the perch and screwed them together, which improved the situation. It probably wouldn't hold up to any abuse or an eagle landing, but hopefully those won't be issues! I'm looking at it now and I'm quite chuffed about it. Then Cailey I and played ball for a minute and checked on the downriver camera, finding that I hadn't pushed the slider up enough so it hadn't been on. I then clipped the path from Hermit Thrush to the creek and checked on the camera there which might have been in a similar situation, but it doesn't matter for it didn't take any videos when I tested it in situ. While I was there, I headed upriver a ways to see what the prospects were for creating a trail there (inspired by my work on the Taku) and remembered why I hadn't done it already: it is ladder-steep and requires climbing quite a lot to get above the cliffs over the beach, feeling more like a hike than a walk.

On the way back, I excavated around the shed, especially the front where muck had accumulated up to the door, probably because of all the rain bringing sediment down. I've never scraped out that channel when it wasn't running, and this was much more pleasant, hoeing out an impressive amount of shale gravel and drying mud over several runs. Finally, it was cocktail hour. I cut up a bison steak and vegetables in preparation for dinner, then sat with Cailey on the porch for a glass of wine. As I had earlier in the day, I saw a pair of Lincoln's sparrows a few times, one adult and one fledgling. I also heard a crash downriver which I thought might be a bear clawing his way up the cliff face, but an eagle emerged immediately after, carrying a stick to the nest. He just brought in another! I also kept hearing scrawing sounds from the bushes which I didn't recognize, and eventually wandered down to the garden to see if I could spot the source from another direction, but didn't have any luck. I'd also heard someone moving through the bushes in this direction and put Cailey inside, but never heard it again, perhaps because of the squeaking of the door hinges.

I headed inside and checked work emails on a poor connection while dinner simmered on the stove. It turned out amazing! For dessert I made a cup of decaf coffee, washing dishes while the water heated up. Now I'm back on the porch as the sky is beginning to clear and am about to spend a bit more time in my book. It's just amazing how pleasant every single evening has been and how absorbed I am just by sitting here. I keep thinking of all the computer-based projects I could work on here this week, but have not had any time when they seemed appropriate!

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After I finished writing that, I lingered on the deck until 9:00 and witnessed an eagle laboriously flying his catch to the nest, first passing low beyond the point, then back to a tree on this side, then again behind the point. On the second pass I could see it was a good sized starry flounder. Thanks, starry flounder, for supporting so much wildlife here!

To my dismay, I slept in again (9:00!?), and arrived at the lodge to a calm inlet under a low overcast sky. The sun hasn't appeared all day, but it was warm and only breezy in the afternoon. I managed to charge about 6% of the solar battery. The hummingbirds have finished off one feeder (6 cups), about 5/6 of another, and 3/5 of another. Not bad for less than five days! I'll have to leave them with four full ones when I go. Tomorrow. I was initially hoping to stay until Sunday, but the forecast has been calling for WNW winds in Stephen's Passage on Sunday and, though forecast to be light, could mean I'd be bumping against seas all the way up. Tomorrow afternoon the light winds are supposed to be from the SE, and I'll take it. It wouldn't hurt me to be home on a weekend day, especially with a potential Taku trip a week from today. Jia Jia and Kyle were supposed to come here then, but Jia Jia's master's project is behind due to a death in her advisor's family, so she needs the time. I was going to invite my mom to come with me to the Taku, but she was planning to be there anyway (with Roger) which will probably work out better anyway.

I ate another big pancake for breakfast (adding a little flour to the diminishing mix) with the last of the amazingly ripe peaches and got going at 10:30 to stain the doors on the outhouses. Again, this was fun staining--all the prep work was done, and putting shiny new spar urethane on the pretty doors is a joy. When those were finished (pun intended), I packed up and cleaned Hermit Thrush, then reset the malfunctioning camera after reformatting the SD card seemed to get it working again. Anticipating that I'd be off on an adventure and leaving Cailey behind, I took her on a walk up to the grassy point, pausing on the way on a rocky outcropping to watch gulls in the warm afternoon. At the point I saw a spotted sandpiper in non-breeding plumage and quickly realized it was too early for adults to be in their standard feathers. A young one? I snuck out into a river channel to try to find the first one I'd seen, who had disappeared around the corner, and found an adult watching carefully from a rock. A parent and full-grown chick! I'm not sure I've seen a chick here before, though I always see the adults. A crabber was perusing the inlet along the sandbars, dropping a few pots, and the second of two sport boats came into Gilbert Bay, so activity is picking up relative to the quiet earlier in the week.

I got back to the lodge around low tide and finished packing for my expedition to the lake I intended to hike to. I was all set to do it, just needed to wait for the tide. I figured 2:30 would probably do it. I ate mac and cheese for lunch with green beans to fuel up, then settled onto the porch with a beer to wait. And then a little breeze sprang up and I started to calculate when I might get back if I set out at 2:30 or 3:00 when the boat floated. I would miss Cailey's dinner. The breeze might bounce the boat against the rocks. The afternoon was oh so pleasant on the porch, and I was getting tired. I called it, ashamed but at peace with the decision. I was rewarded, at least, with three YOY hermit thrushes here at once, one who lingered and crouched down resting on the bench for some time. I also saw the first bird (that I've seen) land on the new perch, as well as the no hunting sign, also a hermit thrush. She has used it several times since. I did a bird survey, ending it this time with 15 minutes in the garden, a walk downriver (during which I also clipped the path), and a walk upriver, over the bridge, and back via the loop. I found Wilson's warblers again downriver, two this time, both carrying food, as well as a golden-crowned kinglet who yelled at me while in the dry waterfall bed, which was interesting. I also saw an old bear pile with little mushrooms growing from it!

When I got back, I worked more on the "patio" in front of Gneiss House, increasing the excavated area and digging out several more large rocks. It looks a little odd with the outhouse facing the bushes instead of the path, but overall quite nice. There are now three flat stones on the patio and I think I should fill the whole area in as is convenient so people aren't stepping in any fresh dirt on the way inside. And then I did a serious bout of reading after lighting a little fire for the night, having gotten a bit chilled on the porch, only to find later that the lodge had puzzlingly filled with smoke, though the stove door was closed. It's currently airing out with windows and door open, and the fire is actually going now. It's almost 7:00 and I'm again looking out over a relatively calm inlet, quiet in those rare moments when the hummingbirds aren't buzzing crazily!

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Once again alarmed at how late I woke up (at the lodge), I immediately got going so as not to let the tide drop too much, it being already fifteen minutes past high. I did get to clip one of Cailey's toenails before she even woke up, which perhaps suggested that she too needed extra sleep. I finished packing the tote, got dressed and packed up my clothes bag, then carried three loads of gear to the beach while Cailey (who said she'd prefer breakfast first) walked around the garden. I put her inside, fed her, and then carried the last load of gear down and fetched the boat. It was done in minutes. With the morning dead calm and the inlet fetching, I grabbed my binocs and camera, anchored the boat closer to shore so it would be sure to go dry, then headed out in the kayak toward the opposite shore. I thought it would be a good jumping off point to doing something off the property.

On the glassy water, I was surprised not to find the seabirds I was expecting as I approached mid-river and the main current against the opposite shore. A few seals came and gazed curiously at me, and then a loud warble caught my attention: a red-throated loon, not far away. It turns out being low to the water inhibits visibility! I had lovely looks at this beautiful bird, then another shortly after, then seven flew around warbling and calling. A beautiful moment.

I went ashore on the longest grassy beach somewhat across the inlet from the homestead and started a bird survey when I heard hermit thrushes and a western flycatcher. The shale beach was a little noisy to walk on, but easy, and it was fun to be just below the vast brushy avalanche I look at all the time. My first time on this beach, I think. It was fairly narrow, mostly supporting medium sized grasses, and I popped up toward the vegetated cliffs a few times to explore big picnic rocks hidden in the grass and rock faces with black currents. More warbling caught my attention and I had an even nicer, longer, closer look at a pair of red-throated loons not far offshore. I could see the current in the calm river flowing past.

I wound up walking all the way to The Gorge and walked up its rocky path a ways. Strangely, no water flowed at the beach or for a ways up it, but I could hear running water, and continued until I saw it flow into a pool and disappear, well above the beach. Above was the start of the canyon, the sheer wall on the downriver side grown up with ferns, columbine, and geraniums. Gorgeous.

When I was about back at the kayak, I heard a song that slowly caught my attention and realized I was hearing a distant Swainson's thrush! My first summer Swainson's thrush in Snettisham, not surprisingly up around the avalanche area, though I don't think any large deciduous trees grow there. It was a perfectly lovely excursion, reminding me that adventures don't have to be far away or difficult (not that there's anything wrong with those). Every beach is a new adventure. I don't remember how long it took me to kayak back across the river (15 minutes I think) because before I even reached the boat I was hearing a new song at the homestead, boldly carrying across the water. At first I thought it was a warbling vireo but I soon realized it was most consistent--a common yellowthroat. I started a new bird survey as soon as I got to shore and had a couple of really lovely looks at the singer who seemed to be using the small meadow spruce as a home base, occasionally shifting to one side or the other. I had some breakfast, then made some Moroccan mint tea using only Snettisham mint and drank it in the garden. I missed the golden minute or two when it's hot enough because the charming young Lincoln's sparrow was perched upon my new perch and let me get, incrementally, quite close until Cailey practically walked up to it. It was for him that I built it, and I am so glad he's taken to it along with the hermit thrushes. While drinking tea I also had a few other delights including the yellowthroat perched in Nigel Cottonwood (which the hummingbirds have been making good use of as well).

I did some closing up chores, then walked over to the newly fallen tree behind Schist House and got to work clearing the trail. The volume of moss piles on the ground was impressive. I tossed clumps aside along with the myriad sticks and branches to recreate the route. Most of the trail is now clear, though there is one log that needs to be cut with a swede saw that may still be attached to the main trunk and a few smaller branches probably to be clipped. It was good, satisfying work, and Cailey for once stayed with me the whole time, sniffing through the area and then waiting for, dancing so charmingly as I came down the trail that I decided not to stop by the devastated bridge on the way back as I'd intended. But when she happily settled on the couch, I did return and began picking up the loose pieces and stacking them on the trail or the remaining treads. This too was satisfying and I look forward to continuing the work when I return. I also started to sand the shutters on the picture window, but ran out of steam; I'll have more energy for that another time. Since then I've had lunch, packed more, and am pretty much ready to go when the boat floats. Right now the water is almost touching the keel and a little breeze is blowing, but nothing so far alarming. I look forward to being on the water again with my faithful dog.

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The ride back was perfect. I closed up with ease, waded out with the last, single load of gear, got everything ship shape just as the boat was beginning to float, then brought Cailey aboard and settled into a pleasant wait until we could escape the sandbar. Cailey begged for her boat cookie, which I relented and gave her before she turned to the lego toy I'd brought for her, picking it apart neatly on the widely-spread boat blanket. The bugs weren't troublesome, the day was pleasant, an adult eagle was on the nest (but the rest was obscured), and I enjoyed the last few minutes of my wonderful week gazing around and reading a little while finishing my diet root beer. When ready, I pulled us off the flats with the anchor and we puttered away at 4:05. Other than a little chop from Speel Arm followed by a smooth, gentle swell from Stephen's Passage, the ride was calm...well, except for the many gillnetter wakes from those apparently getting ready for the next day's opener, plus wakes from a cruise ship and a number of other boats, but overall an exceedingly pleasant ride. Just as it was a wonder to sit outside in a t-shirt this week without even a hint of chill, it was a wonder to be on my boat with no anxiety, no rain, just a pleasant ride back. We were under the bridge in an hour and 35 minutes, and home at 6:30 [that math seems wrong!]. Ezra was at church, so I tied up, put Cailey in the car, and loaded a single cartful up on my own. A family was checking the status of a gillnet on the dock right in front of the boathouse, so they helped me load everything across to the cart after its wheel got stuck on the first try to cross it. I think this was one of the most pleasant cabin trips I've ever had.

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