June 22. It's 9:00 pm and the meadow is still bright with solstice sun. High clouds are beginning to creep up over the mountains to dim the blue sky, but this was the third day in a row of gorgeous summer weather, still some of the first rain-free days all season. The four blue bird days I had last week in Cordova went a long ways toward alleviating the rain depression I'd fallen into, and these three days helped as well, though two were quite busy. I'd had this trip planned since February, the only week in June proper when the tides were favorable, so it was with great relief and anticipation that the marine forecast called for light and variable winds for every day they forecast several days in a row! I took two cart loads of gear to the boat yesterday morning (relieved to find that nothing had been stolen) and, in the evening, delivered two more 2x12x8s, having identified more trail crossings I wanted to bridge the last time I was here. This morning I had time for a full avalanche bird survey and tea on the porch before getting underway at 10:00 am sharp, right on schedule. The seas were perfect, only broken by the wakes of the many fishing boats heading out for the noon opener (I assume). With the warm weather, the cfs had risen precipitously, landing at 47,500 this morning, so I had no worries about running aground in most places, though I was clearly too far south crossing to the USFS cabin when I was under three feet for a little while. Wildly, I was never much under eight feet all the way from the cliffs to the shoreline, basically following the route from the end of the avalanche to the vertical cut in the cliff I used to use. Even with the high water this was a surprise.

I found the landing flooded toward the back in just a bit of water, perfect. A few boats went by as I was getting ready to anchor--made awkward by the fact that I'd pulled out without remembering to tie on the stern line, but soon enough we were anchored and I was happy that the extra water pulled her out into the current without extra effort on my part. I had to leave a lot of gear at the landing (I guess I brought more this time what with the propane tank and painting supplies), and labored under a full cart up to the cabin. The meadow was white with strawberry blossoms and the cabin was a welcome site, inside and out. It's always a joy to open the door and find a clean and welcoming, cozy cabin. I set about unpacking and getting settled. Surprised that I was unable to light the stove pilot at first, I let it rest for a little longer to let the propane through, and it soon lit just fine. Overall, I was anxious--the boat loading, the stress of the sandbars, unloading, anchoring, pushing the cart up, opening, etc., had taken its toll, and on top of that I was suffering from serious sunshine anxiety. I really wanted a day of sunny June birdwatching--the whole point of my June trip (skipping Snettisham), but the forecast went from a sunny Monday followed by rain to a cloudy Monday morning following by rain (forever) in the afternoon. This was it, and I was stressed and hungry, and I couldn't for the life of me get the refrigerator pilot lit without it billowing and dying! I went back to it repeatedly, using the pilot lighter, and failed every time, frustration mounting. This time, optimistic from the success last time, I brought lots of perishables. Although I'd eaten a nice quesadilla with a warm beer on the porch with Cailey while I wanted fruitless for my inreach message to go through (I had to wait five minutes on the porch before it went), my anxiety (and work) led to my sitting on the couch with a bag of corn chips and eating until I settled. Then I returned to the fridge and decided to try the built-in igniter again. I hadn't been using it because I couldn't see the spark as I usually did when it worked, but it occurred to me that maybe I just couldn't see it after Roger moved the plate up. And it did work at times, I'm not sure how often, but it blew up the propane twice and then lit it. Hallelujia, what a relief. I had blown on the tray a couple of times to try to remove anything built up.

Finally I headed out on my birding trip, leaving Cailey behind to rest since I planned to travel a bit of ground and she'd had a big day. I headed up to Devastation Alley, seeing Townsend's and yellow-rumped warblers collecting bugs on the way. There weren't as many songs as I was expecting given how active it still is in Juneau and figuring it would be a couple of weeks behind here, but perhaps they move swifter here as well! At the Alley I circled around the fringes and could see that the level of the water behind the dam had dropped. I saw a figure swim behind the dying willows--beaver or duck--and later heard it slap its tail as it dove. There wasn't much activity there, but I did a thorough survey, and then headed along Strawberry Trail, making a detour to see if I could find the dam now that the water had dropped. There are enticing bare patches of mud now around it which I'm sure the snipes are loving. The dam extends all the way to the grass on this side and winds in an s-shape all the way across. It's now easy to access and covered in mud so very few sticks are showing. The beavers have covered it in big clumps of grass and turf as well, which I've never seen before. It's narrow but easy to walk on and I walked out to the main slough channel and stood for some time listening to all the birds around including fox sparrows, yellow warblers, my first yellowthroad of the year, and others. As I was just heading back, I heard a loud, insistent call I was unfamiliar with and turned on Merlin. A Hutton's vireo, you say?? I took a good recording and then hastened across the rest of the dam to hunt him down. I found him singing in a small, lone spruce, but was surprised to find a fairly large bird with what appeared to be spots on the chest (not what I was seeing in pictures of a Hutton's vireo). Then he switched from calls to song, and I immediately recognized a gray-cheek thrush, having just heard one singing on the Copper River last week! He sang a number of times before flying off toward the river and disappearing.

I was definitely feeling better! I've heard what I thought were gray-cheeked thrushes here in the past, but was never able to verify. Since I was already across the dam and the meadow was so beautiful, I wound up walking over to the hill at Big Bend and enjoying the view and the other birds before heading back to the cabin. I got good recordings of the lone Tennessee warbler I'd heard behind the cabin, and followed the regular loop route, pleased to find the trail dryish (not deep mud trenches). When I got back, I let Cailey out and picked up the rest of the gear from the landing, returning to grab the two pieces of lumber, delivering them to the back porch. I made a feeble attempt at internet, which didn't go well, but I got started by making a trial run on the balcony, tying the cable to the railing so it wouldn't pull the unit off, and dropping the rest to the ground floor. Instead of persisting, I went back outside, measured the angle of the landing stairs for railing cuts, grabbed some tools from Alder, and marked the cuts I wanted to make on the 2x4s for the railing and the two new 2x12s for bridges on the back porch. I brought the dead 12 volt battery out and found that it didn't need any more water, then fetched the generator which started up beautifully, easier than mine.

Long story short, I made my cuts and headed down to the landing with my drill kit, boards, and the hardware to secure the uprights to the steps. I decided which steps to put the uprights on and began futzing around with the hardware, getting faster and faster with each one. It was a bit tedious screwing the lag bolts in with the socket wrench I found in Alder (I'm not sure where my little socket set WHICH IS SUPPOSED TO BE WITH ME AT ALL TIMES went, but this was functional). By 6:00 I had the hardware into three steps in roughly the same positions and headed back to the cabin to check on Cailey and add gas to the generator, which hadn't had much when I started it. When I found her sound asleep on the couch I gave her a few pats and then returned to work. All was going well. I had all three uprights fully screwed in and had decided on where I wanted to place the railing piece. I screwed it down with one screw to the bottom two uprights, but the third one was a couple of inches too short. I admit I had a hard time wrapping my head around the angle cuts (thankfully they turned out to be about 45 degrees, which was the maximum my skilsaw could handle) and hadn't realized that the uprights needed to be equidistant apart. I had put the third brace two steps instead of three from the next lower one. Well, no matter, I had half a board back at the cabin! I brought it down, set it on the step next to the railing, and drew a line where the cut needed to be made. I'd left the generator running to charge the battery, so it was easy to make the cut, except my mark angled in the opposite direction of the skilsaw. So I carried the line across and made the cut from the opposite side.

I honestly don't know how this happened, but this board wound up the exact length of the original short piece, and now I was out of lumber. Oh well. I added a second screw to secure the railing to the other uprights and carried my many tools back to the cabin. By then it was nearly 7:00 and I was hungry. I fed Cailey, washed up, ate some Indian food and toast and wine for dinner, and then managed to somehow get internet going. I was never able to align the dish right, but when I found that I could access internet on my phone, I went downstairs to check how it was on my computer and soon I was able to text. I even streamed for a while with no interruptions, so it does seem to be working better up there for now, which is great news. It is a peaceful and beautiful evening out there with a faint pink glow behind the mountains, and I look forward to whatever tomorrow holds, glad that some of the work is done and that I've already logged a new and rare bird. That reminds me: I heard a rapid trill song from the cabin at lunch which Merlin identified as a chipping sparrow. That's not surprising, but the crazy thing is that, a little later, a junco flew in and sang the fastest trill I've ever heard one make, and seemed to be countersinging with the other. Was it also a junco, or was it a coincidence, or....? I tried to find the "chipping sparrow" later but it stopped singing as soon as I headed out.

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I prophylactically took an ibuprofen before bed, read until almost 11:00, and had a decent night of sleep that went fast. Awake at 7:00, I was up shortly thereafter and, after checking on the boat (good), headed out just after 8:00 for a stationary bird survey in Warbler Meadow. Still a bit quieter than I imagined, now under a calm, overcast sky, but I enjoyed carefully listening and watching those birds that did appear. As usual, the Lincoln's sparrows were touchy and I finally saw that the one scolding me was also carrying bugs, perhaps disappearing in this one patch of willows. Over time, I made my way to that area and began examining the bushes for nests; I'd been doing this for only a few seconds when a nest popped out in front of me in the fork of a little willow, but this one had a yellowish bird on top. A yellow warbler nest! We stared at each other for some seconds before she flushed and I peered inside to see five beautiful eggs. I retreated a polite distance and waited; she disappeared for a couple of minutes, then came into view, foraging calmly in the patch of willows behind the nest, then to the right of me before settling back to incubate. I was ready with my camera. What a delight!

From there I walked through the Glen, checked on the camera, and decided on a route through the end of the wet meadow to the nice trail back to Alder. When I got back to the cabin, I checked under the back porch in case there were any 2x4 PT lumber--and there was! I went and carefully marked the cut at the landing stairs and, voila, I had my final upright. Before 10:00 am it was complete. It's not the best carpentry I've ever done, but it looks okay if you don't look closely enough to see that the railing doesn't make contact with the whole top of the upright, and it will definitely keep someone from falling over! I'm actually quite chuffed with how quickly and well it went.

Although I'd promised Cailey coffee on the porch and a walk, I fixed the flagging magnetic screen door by nailing in a frayed end at the top, then picked up the mower instead and wound up mowing the whole area--down the landing, to the cabin, to the point, etc. A machete would go a long ways to making it perfect, but it's much better. I also picked all the dandelion blossoms and seed pods (closed) I could find. Finally, I made some decaf coffee and brought Cailey's spare bed outside, tossed her some cookies, and sat outside on the swing for a while. I started a survey in the hopes of hearing the western flycatcher that was singing in the woods downriver, but he didn't sing while I had it going. I'd also heard a warbling vireo over by the Glen. I started a book, then took Cailey for a mini loop walk, bringing along the swede saw to cut a dead alder along the start of the trail and the live one that was overhanging the other side of the long bridge. I snapped off other branches along the way and made a few additional cuts, to Cailey's chagrin (who wanted to turn back most of the time), but we made the whole loop and I put her back inside to rest. Meanwhile, I grabbed the rake and raked the upriver and back trails and the start of the mini loop trail, getting eaten up by mosquitos when I took my sweater off (I think I counted 15 bites on my arms). It looks so much nicer, though, and each of these little projects gets me one step closer to doing something other than chores and birdwatching!

It's a good thing I wrote that bit at lunch, because the afternoon was a big one! With nothing else on the agenda, I decided to take a canoe down the slough. I stopped by the floats--just on the other side of the mountain alder patch from the canoe--in case they looked like they might float on a high tide and found that they were already floating, in so much water I had to shimmy across a willow to reach them without going over my boots. I quickly developed a plan: get them off the flood plain for the night and...install them tomorrow. I untied one of the lines from the float, then danced (okay, crept) across the willows again to untie the other lines from a willow I could walk to. Then I launched the canoe, tied it to the floats, found that I could not pull them off by paddling, so hopped back on the floats and pushed them off. Once off the sedge, I was able very slowly to pull, jerking against the floats every third paddle or so. I was only attached by my short canoe line, so I switched to one of the long lines from the floats, wondering if a longer line would ease the transition. I'm not sure it did and it was slow going, so I abandoned the idea of taking them to the edge of the river for the night and tied them off to alders against the mountain shore a short distance past the boundary where the bank is steep and there is no danger of going much aground, if at all.

I headed out over the very flooded slough, glad the water was brown and clear and I could peer down at the submerged vegetation. It was dead calm, as far as I could tell, and incredibly peaceful with the low clouds beginning to darken. As I neared the newish beaver lodge where I'd set a camera three and a half weeks ago, I could see that it was likely to be submerged. I found it under about a foot of water and fetched it and its little post, amazed when I opened it up to find the inside apparently dry! I took the card, swabbed the insides of the camera, and tucked it next to me for further drying at the cabin. I made the turn at Big Bend and glided down to the mountain as the Lincoln's sparrows continued to alarm at me from both sides. I made the next turn, admiring the submerged boulders, the large one with spots of guano still on its surface. I soon turned around, hearing a yellowthroat vocalizing and then a chorus of chattering back around Big Bend.

I started up starlink when I returned and answered some emails, pleased to be able to keep up on that here. I stirfried some veggies with a commercial pouch of Mexican rice, which turned out to be a really delicious combo (better than yellow rice) and cooked sockeye in the oven for dinner. When my battery was about to die, I set it and my phone charging, running down the other 12 volt battery. These two haven't lasted very long, so hopefully they weren't fully charged. After charging the other four or five hours on my charger, I switched to my mom's stronger charger this morning for a while when I cut the 2x4, leaving it running, so hopefully it has a good charge. I swapped them out, took Cailey to check the boat, and am now tucked in for the night. The four-log fire I lit when I got back has warmed the cabin both physically and in coziness. Light rain began to fall a bit ago, but only briefly. I'm excited (?) to (try to) put the floats in tomorrow, worried a little that it won't be nearly as easy as I think it will be! Oh, how I look forward to a fully civilized landing though. :)

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Almost 5:00 of another full and wonderful day! The clouds are bright and the evening is fine and Cailey is snoozing next to me on the couch. I checked the boat with Cailey and noted that the water was just as high as yesterday and the morning absolutely serene. I unwound and untied the main line for the floats from the dead tree next to the landing and maneuvered it along the bank to the tree we tie it to, myself ducking down and among the bank trees and weaving the line through an alder. After I tied the end of the line around the tree, I looked back and realized that in order to rest above the new downed spruce that is parallel to shore just upriver from the landing, I should put the line above two more branches of the alder, which should allow the line to slide off the top of them and over the spruce branches to the corner of the floats. So I untied the line, rewove it, and tied it again, coiling up the rest back at the landing. With so much flow, there would clearly be enough water to bring the floats around; should I just do it rather than waiting for the mid-day high tide as I'd intended? Why not! I wasn't very hungry and had much too much energy to sit and enjoy a hot drink, so I just ate a piece of bread with butter and arrived back at the floats at 8:35 am. It took me half an hour to bring the boat in, fuel up, and pull anchor, then I took my time gliding down the calm river and up the slough. I had to use the word "serene" too often, but I don't know a better term for the glassy water reflecting the mountains as I cruised into the slough. It was deep all the way across the mouth and I took the downriver channel inside of the grounded spruce.

When I first pulled ashore at the floats, the water was so deep and the beach steep that I backed out and came up with more speed so I could hop off in (dry) boots. I untied the lines, then pushed off and scooted into position, tying alongside with the engine just a bit behind the floats. When I got underway, I found that they wanted to veer badly to the right, in the direction the walkway stuck out. Certainly not the most hydrodynamic position, but it would enable me drive them right into position at the landing. I retied the line so the engine was farther behind the floats, not able to remember whether that was the right way to do it or the opposite, but it didn't have much effect. I wound up with the engine hard to starboard to keep the floats going straight and had to go slowly or the floats would pull us to the right. So we took our time, passing through the central channel to avoid navigating around the snag, and straight across the sandbar at the entrance which barely registered on the fathometer. It was slow going back in the river current, but the scenery was good and I got to watch both a tern and a short-billed gull pestering an eagle perched over the shore. It took about 20 minutes to get to the landing where I puttered us just upstream of where we wanted to be (I couldn't overshoot it much, as the floats ran into the newly downed spruce) and dropped the anchor. Only a little bit of paddling took me to the landing where I tied the end of the walkway to the tree with a convenient local line. Next I grabbed the main line I'd tied on that morning and secured it to the floats, then tied the inner downriver corner (with line already on the floats) to a tree and replaced the local line on the walkway with a short one from the floats. With the floats secure, I tried to pull the anchor in place, but it was too far upriver, so I untied the Ronquil, pulled the anchor, and ALMOST managed to grab the floats in time, but wound up starting the engine to pull back in. Such a civilized landing! I moved the stern fender up farther and tied the free fender to two full jerry jugs of gas to mitigate bumping from passing boats (we really need bigger fenders here) and called it good, an hour and 45 minutes after I started, most of which was spent puttering, and with no issues. Amazing.

Not ready to break yet, I nailed asphalt(ish) tread on two of the short and two of the long 2x12 pieces and loaded one of each onto the cart along with the butt ends of the 2x4s I cut for the railing. First stop: mini loop. I was impressed by how far I made it down the trail with the cart, stopping just shy of the meadow. I delivered the long piece to connect to the forest across the marshy area toward Crossroads, then delivered the short piece down the meadow to cross the deep and weirdly treacherous, but narrow, side slough, adding a 2x4 piece to one end of the 8' piece on the way back to help level it. I may have to move that one when the water rises again, but for now it makes a decent walkway. On the way back, I saw a hawk fly out of the trees and call--red-tailed hawk! Since the gray-cheeked thrush was also singing, I did a quick bird survey.

Although I was wearing out by then, I loaded up the other two pieces with treads and headed down the downriver trail, stopping at a huge root not far from the 90 degree turn toward the mountain. I grabbed the small piece, not feeling like I had enough energy to carry the big one, and figured out, awkwardly, where to put it across the narrow slough on the way to Glen, counting slowly to 120 on the way (the trail is longer than I realized). Never one to leave a project unfinished if at all possible, I then humped the long one on my back to the same area, this time on the river side of the meadow where I spanned a wide, marshy area. I didn't do much other than lay them down, but they will function just fine that way.

Finally, at 12:15, I broke for lunch, eaten out on the swing with a cold Pacifico in the bright afternoon almost-sun while Cailey buried a pork rawhide. She was keen to go back inside afterwards rather than lay on her bed on the porch with me, which seemed to be mostly about the mosquitoes and maybe also the mosquito coils I was burning to help mitigate them. I took her on a short walk to fetch my binoculars from the mini loop trail where I'd forgotten to pick them up, then let her inside while I read a little bit. At about 1:45, I returned to work, clipping the new downriver trail to Glen. There wasn't much except clean-up work to be done on the part of the trail I made last fall, and the rest of the trail was through larger trees, so it was fairly satisfying work. In about half an hour I'd made a pretty nice trail all the way to the meadow across from Glen and that's where I dropped my gloves and clippers and headed down toward the Burnet Meadow complex for a bird survey, glad that the warbling vireo was still singing in the afternoon lull. The meadows were just gorgeous with irises and bog candles and the muted background of meadow rue, and I loved walking through them. In the chipping sparrow corner, I noticed a game trail leading through a narrow break in the spruces to a tiny meadow and into the canopy. I decided to follow it, finding myself in a little hidden meadow; from there, the very clear trail led back into the alders and open forest and before I knew it, I was at the property line looking at Fox Hole. And I had barely had to avoid any vegetation! It was the best game trail I'd ever been on and wouldn't need any improving at all to be perfect. It'll be an exquisite loop back to the cabin via Fox Hole and the landing. With the boardwalks, it shouldn't even require boots, though one does have to walk through tall grass for a bit which can be wet. I'm very excited.

I continued to weave through the meadows to Wallow Copse and back, tickled to find a fuzzy, gray head in the eagle's nest which looked empty and somewhat collapsing from the other side. I'm not surprised, as one the parents was on watch nearby. And, magically, the gray-cheeked thrush was calling from the tippy top of a lone spruce on the river side of the Glen inlet meadow. I was able to get fairly close to him, looking up against the sky, and recorded his song which he sang sparingly. I had been tempted to go upriver for my afternoon tromp/survey to be in the territory I'd been hearing him, but decided on Burnet instead since I hadn't been there yet, and had secretly hoped he might make his way there. And the warbling vireo picked up his singing again in the alders just next to me as I made my way out. I love this place.

When I got back to my clippers, I took them into Glen and cleared out the egress to my new trail and arranged a bunch of dead alder branches to point the way from the trail on the opposite side to the egress and the trail through the Glen. Then I did follow up clipping back to the cabin and, though I really wanted to stop, decided to clip down mini loop and the back trail to the meadow, pleased at how little work it took on both of them. Now all I have to clip is the upriver trail. It was 4:15 or so by then, so I returned to the cabin, fed a hungry Cailey, and turned on starlink to check work emails. The sun is almost breaking through the clouds now and I might just deet up one more time today and clip the upriver trail to put that thoroughly behind me!

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Which is what I did, which took about an hour, leading to a satisfying but, again, late dinner. I slept a little later than I have been (8:15) and didn't feel particularly motivated when I got up, perhaps because at last the painting prep lay before me. No more excuses! I ate breakfast and had a cup of decaf coffee and read for an hour, then finally go to work at what I really wanted to do: clear the new trail downriver of woody debris. I intend to rake it, but before that I needed to go through and pick up all the long-dead alder logs laying across the trail and other larger pieces, include little spruce stumps and leftover devil's club stalks. This I did, which was somewhat satisfying, followed by (reluctantly, just to get it done), going down the path one more time to saw off the several stumps and branches that were blocking the way. It's really an amazing trail, perhaps the best of the bunch. Although we have several other forest trails, this one feels the most familiar, the most homie, the most, perhaps, like the lodge trails. And it could be nicely expanded to the landing or down to Fox Hole.

When I got back, I was hungry though it was not yet noon, and had an early wrap and cervesa lunch, then started prepping the river-side balcony for painting. I love painting, but I hate the prep work, and this one I was dreading. I swept the floor, though I didn't plan on staining that, spread both my shower curtain drop cloths down, which covered about a third of the floor, and scraped and sanded the railing. It was awkward and uncomfortable leaning over the side to reach the outer edge--just a few inches from dangerous--as well as crouching on either side as the railings diminished in height under the eaves. There were spots over much of the ceiling and on the walls as well, and it looked like the trim around the window had never been painted at all. I mixed up a 1:1 bleach:water solution in the tub my mom used last year for the same thing and rubbed it on the outside of the railings which are quite black in places, the window trim, and the tops of the beam logs and the tops of the railings in the corner where silt had accumulated. Then I recovered on the couch and read for a few minutes while Cailey curled up at the other end and closed my eyes for a nap. I descended into sweet sleep several times, but kept waking up, once because my phone fell out of my pocket and, finally, because Cailey started kicking me in her sleep.

Feeling like she could use some exercise, I took Cailey on the first downriver loop expedition, stopping on the new trail to watch a group of birds chittering enticingly, one of which may have been a redstart (white in tail, flash of orange). We went through the Glen to avoid some of the grass, but one will need rain paints for the meadows even if the sedge is avoided. I saw what may have been a second fuzzy body in the nest and an adult, as usual, was watching nearby. I took a relieved Cailey back to the cabin via the game trail to Fox Hole. I admit it's a bit discouraging that every time I stop, she excitedly turns and heads back to the cabin. I gave her some treats in her lego toy, then headed back upstairs to work. Now that the scraping and sanding was done, it was time for the full bleaching. Unfortunately, we had less bleach than I anticipated, but hoped it would be enough. I mixed up another 1:1 mixture in my garden sprayer and started on the ceiling at one end, having added my tarp to the drops so the whole deck was covered. It didn't last long, so I mixed another bucket of 1:2 bleach:water in the next batch, discovering that Cailey had not only emptied all her lego toys but had devoured the rest of my loaf of bread that I'd had in a ziplock on the counter. She'd also pulled down the bag of dried mangos, but didn't indulge. I think I had to refill the sprayer (only about a quarter full) about four times (never wanting to make too much) before I had the ceiling, inside of the fascia, and walls done. Looking at it now, most of the spots are still there, but I think that's because they are under stain that's still intact. I think the wall in particuar is going to be much improved by staining.

Finally, I decided I'd better head outside again, although my enthusiasm was still waning. I just wanted to walk, so I wasn't planning to make a bird survey this time, but all that changed when I saw what looked like an owl on the horizontal spruce tree spanning the trail just shy of Debbie's Meadow. I thought something like "Ha, that really looks like an owl", then looked again, and it WAS an owl. Perched in the middle, looking at me, tall and slender with long ears and a white and black face with vertical black bars down the middle. It was all in shades of gray and, when it flew, had no obvious markings or patches of differing coloration. I was stunned and wanted to document it, but was holding a 2x2 stake and afraid to move lest it bust before I got a good look. I managed to pull out my phone and, after fumbling badly, take a couple of photos before he left. I never had a look with binoculars, but I had a pretty good look with my eyes, and the photo, though from a distance, may be invaluable in what I strongly suspected would be a rare bird. My best guess was long-eared owl (which I verified later). He flew into the dense young spruces, so I followed, having to crawl on my hands and knees to a little opening. Some of the birds seemed mildly distressed, but none led me to the owl, and I didn't see him, but I started a bird survey there and crawled back, only to return on my hands and knees to retrieve the phone which had fallen out of my pocket. [I later learned that the first record of a long-eared owl in Alaska was in 1909, perched on a log by the slough and taken by ornithologist Harry Swarth, who was camped at what is now the lodge; through 2019, mine was the fourteenth Alaska record ever (though there may have been others since 2019).]

In awe and still in shock, I headed on my way, lingered through Spruce Alley for the many tittering birds (including a yellow-throated yellow-rumped warbler, but most I didn't see), still hoping the owl would show up again, then down to Devastation Alley where I lingered again. Just shy of the willow-wallow meadow, I was turning away from a fox sparrow who was chipping at me when a large gray bird flushed from about 20 feet away at head height and disappeared (silently?) into the (again) dense forest. I think it was the owl again, but was not paying attention! I had just said to myself, "I should pay attention, as there could an owl anywhere". Which is what I'd just learned. Long-eared owls are nocturnal with a capital N, so seeing one perched in the open in daylight is incredible.

When I came back, I turned on starlink, researched long-eared owls until I was satisfied that's what I'd seen, and submitted my surveys (also checking work and other email). Then I took Cailey for a short walk around the meadow, along the water, and down to the landing, freshened up, and had yet another late dinner. It sprinkled on and off today, but mostly it's been another fairly serene low-overcast and wonderful day up here at the Taku. Last night lying in bed I felt connected to this place and its creatures as I haven't in a very long time. It's good to be here for time and to be so intimately involved in the place.

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Woke up at 6:20, but dozed for an hour, then got up and was out the door about 8:15 or 8:30, having spent some time checking email. I got what I was looking for--an email from Gus congratulating me on the long-eared owl! Because it is a sensitive species, it did not show up on the rare bird list with the others I saw, but my Juneau bird count did go up to 170. Quite a bird for 170!

It was another serene and low overcast morning and I headed out for the canoe. At Big Bend I landed and went up the hill, continuing into the wet cottongrass meadow beyond. In this habitat, all of a sudden all the sparrows everywhere were savanna rather than Lincoln's, and several were quite upset with me. I went farther north and circled around some of the vegetated mounds, then came back around the mountain side of some larger stands, finding a series of small hills covered in spectacular wildflowers--three blues (lupine, iris, and burgeoning monkshood) against the yellow paintbrush.

Back at the canoe I was a bit worn out, but was moved to continue paddling a bit toward the mountain. At that point a dense mist was falling and I headed back to the landing, the hull swinging in a breeze I could not otherwise feel. I got back to the cabin around 11:30 and had a quesadilla for lunch, somewhat delayed as I had to thaw out the beans in a pot of boiling water. This was chased with jasmine tea and I indulged in a little fire (for the rain) and some reading. Around 1:45, I headed upstairs and got staining, a much more satisfying and enjoyable job than prepping, but quite tiring and awkward while working under the eaves so much, especially trying to reach the outsides of the railing. It did look a lot nicer, though the view from the ground is not as improved as I would have liked. I finished the railings and ceiling, then at 4:00 taped the window and door for staining the wall around them. Feeling bad for Cailey, I then headed out to go for a walk around Mini Loop. I suppose it was my mistake for bringing the fillet knife meant to be a machete, for shortly after Cailey caught up with me, I paused at the meadow to cut back more ferns and false hellebore, and she disappeared. I finished the loop myself, trimming the ferns here and there, and found her back at the cabin. I fed her, then painted the wall, finishing up in about 45 minutes.

The afternoon was bright and beautiful as it has been all week, and I celebrated on the porch with a grapefruit gin and tonic. Cailey buried her new rawhide, then laid on the deck bed--content if not exactly comfortable--while I checked email and texts on my phone, finding a spreadsheet that Gus Van Vliet sent about previous long-eared owl sightings in Alaska through 2019. All 13 of them! The first was on the Taku in 1909, and he pointed out that mine is the first summer sighting (several were seen in May, but that must be considered migration time). I was floored, and thoroughly delighted. [I later learned that ornithologist Harry Swarth collected the owl when it was perched on an old log at the side of [probably] the slough while he was camping where the lodge is now.]

I washed the dishes and had some Indian food and toast for dinner, watched half an X-Files, then went for a short walk upriver in the hopes of either finding the ptarmigan I'm pretty sure I heard from the porch or the owl roosting (a bit of a long shot, but why not on a beautiful evening?). Just past the old eagle tree I heard some chittering and looked to the river in time to see about five little birds explode in different directions; one came to me, orange crown up and ablaze, hopping from branch to branch and scolding until he was just a foot or so away! It was a spectacular look at a very anxious golden-crowned kinglet, apparently protecting his fledglings.

At Debbie's Meadow I turned around and then raked the rest of Mini Loop and then the new downriver trail. The mosquitoes were incredibly thick on the latter trail, for inexplicable reasons, and I inhaled some and caught one in my eye before I was done. Very happy to have that behind me! All the trails are complete now, except perhaps brushing for ferns and such on the Loop, but I may not worry about that.

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I had a long, sound night of sleep and woke up to rain. That and the exhaustion catching up with me left me rather uninspired. I checked the weather early just in case I decided to go back Friday instead of Saturday and saw an increase in winds and seas, though nothing dramatic. The CFS was also dropping quickly. I searched for the answer and finally got a clear message to go back that day, despite the fact that I could have happily stayed another week! So I spent most of the morning packing and cleaning the cabin, stashing the extra bridge boards under the porch, filling the water jugs, putting away all the painting supplies, etc. After lunch I finally suited up and headed to the canoe, finding myself much happier on the trail in the light rain than I expected--as I've learned many times before, getting started is the hardest part.

I quickly launched the canoe and went around the downriver side of the island into the slough toward the avalanche, then around Yellowthroat Island on the glassy slough, still quite high.

I stuck to I returned on the mini loop trail and got back in time to grab the clippers and clip down all the alder clumps growing up in the meadow, which was satisfying accomplishment. Such small chores weigh on my shoulders which could be done in such short order! From there I finished cleaning, wrote in the log, and closed up. We got underway around 3:45 and had no trouble crossing toward the cliffs, though if the water drops a couple of feet it will make the slough crossing dicey. I noted that another boat crossed just off the slough as well, a little farther out (perhaps to avoid me) though of course in a jet boat. Again I passed over a bar on the way to Scow Cove; there may just be no avoiding that. Two boats that passed me as soon as I hit the mainland again and stayed along the Grizzly Flats side longer than I do before turning toward Taku Point, but they were so far away by that time I didn't get a sense for when they changed direction. The seas were calm and pleasant right up until the approach to Bishop where 1-2 foot, smooth seas gave way to 1-3 foot tighter seas and pouring rain. It was a strange transition, but it wasn't long until we were in the channel again with diminishing seas behind us. By 6:00 I was in a hot shower washing the deet and stain out of my hair and looking forward to ice cream and no obligations for a day.