The sun is bright in an almost-fallish way behind a haze of clouds, but still over the mountains at 7:00 pm. I had a different sort of day waiting through the working hours until my house departure at 2:00. I did a few chores and odds and ends, shopped over my 10:00 break, took a load to the boat and ran an errand at church over lunch (plus an avalanche walk with Cailey), and puttered around with some anxiety. Everything was favorable: light and variable winds, sunny or partly sunny skies until next Friday (it's now Wednesday), the boat loaded, the fathometer working (no damage due to the partial sinking), Jia Jia and Kyle all set to feed the fish since Ezra is out of town, and so on. Part of the anxiety was about the engine and the boat working in general after its partial sinking on our last trip, but I'd run the engine again while taking a couple of cart loads down a few days ago and everything seemed fine.

And so it was. I pulled out of the harbor around 2:20 and picked up speed right at 2:30, my usual two hours before the tide. The westerly that had provided a welcome breeze earlier sped me down the channel, 30 minutes to Salisbury where the Open was dead calm. Five minutes to Bishop, ten to Cooper, eight to Jaw (I think that was the order), a pause, then up the river. I passed Mike Ward and another boat on the way, then another about half way across the river toward the Forest Service cabin. I could see that the boat turned away from the shore downriver of the cabin, so after we passed, I followed his course as well as I could, turning off shore just below a series of dead trees on the sandy beach somewhat below the cabin, in deep water, and never hit the shallows I've been experiencing just upriver. A good encounter.

All was good crossing to the glacier, and back to the cliffs, and up along the meadows. When I got to the slough, I could see a change in the water making an arc out from mouth and remembered seeing a boat curving outside the slough on my way down last time. I figured it couldn't hurt to do some exploration along that arc and puttered out. It soon went from eight feet to two and a half, but I persisted, just to see if might deepen. It didn't. I raised the engine and went a little farther, and when it didn't improve, turned around, the prop pushing through sand even when barely in the water. I made it a short distance back toward shore and then stopped moving. I was aground.

A little shocked, a little embarrassed, I pulled out the long metal pole I'd just put on board a couple days ago (having found it when organizing all the junk pulled from the back of my house for painting) and pushed off the stern. It moved a few inches at a time, then stopped. I pushed from the side, from the back, from the side, from the back, gaining a few more inches, but soon wasn't making any headway again. The current was pushing me downriver against the bar below the slough and I couldn't push us off. I saw a boat coming upriver from the cliffs, so hastily moved the tote and stain to the bow so I had all the heavy items up there and perched on the stern, pole in hand, waiting as they came by. With nothing but a glance, they passed by, going straight across the channel as far as I watched (no wave, no offer of help). But they did help, for their wake raised us enough to move us another six or so feet toward shore. We were really getting close to deep water, I could see the current clearly, but again went hard aground. My next step was to take my boots off and plunge into the water to (hopefully) push us the last 15 feet or so to safety. First I turned off the fathometer to save the battery, then used the bucket, and then gave one more attempt to push with the pole. And the boat moved. A few inches, a foot, another foot, and we were moving, all the way to deep water. I lowered the engine and we were underway again! Such a huge relief. The whole thing took about 20 minutes, and we were still at the dock at 4:30, on the tide, two hours from the bridge. To cross the slough, I went straight up, very very slowly and with the engine low in the water so if we did go aground I could raise it and drift off. At least on shore I had a place to go, and could always anchor in the slough and walk in if needed. But we made it across without touching bottom--it was shallow (I dipped the paddle in), but not too shallow. That's the last time I try something fancy across the slough without knowing better!

I was pleased to find the big fenders where I left them on the float. Cailey's back legs slipped twice on the way up the stairs and I had to lift her up, poor thing. I'd brought a cooler this time, since I had so few things to chill, so the cart was more crowded than usual. Still, I was able to fit everything but the stain and the propane tank. When we rolled up to the cabin, I was pretty whupped, feeling a tiny bit better every time a task was completed and the clutter put away, or back in place. The cabin was open and the stove pilots lit at 5:00, at which point I set up the Starlink and continued to settle. It took a long time to connect, but by 5:30 my texts had finally gone through to Ezra (in Texas) and I was on the porch with a glass of wine and some bread with butter while Cailey lay on her bed beside me. I'm not sure the sandbar experience warranted my exhaustion, but I sure didn't have much in me, especially when I contemplated the hard physical labor I had planned at the landing, where more sandbags have opened or degraded and spilled their contents. Hopefully I'll feel better in the morning!

With a little rest and a little sustenance, I took Cailey on a little walk. Or, I meant to. She lingered behind and it wasn't until I was half way back from picking up the camera card on the owl perch upriver that we connected. From there, we walked the mini loop and picked up the Crossroads card. The evening was still, the birds mostly quiet except for a cheery flock of golden-crowned kinglets and chickadees, and the young spruces with evening sun on them, the great blue mountain behind, were beautiful. Like the pines in the Rockies, but...in a wet place. I heated up some Indian food for dinner, checked the camera cards, neither of which had picked anything up, and updated the log. Now it's 7:30, Cailey is passed out next to me after coming downstairs for water, and I look forward to doing the same in the next few hours!

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Cailey crept onto my bed as she's started doing when I crawled in and slept soundly while I read until 9:40. She repositioned once I'd settled in to sleep and wound up with the front half of her over my legs which was cozy for a while, but I eventually had to kick her back onto her bed. I think we both slept reasonably well, though I had a wakeful session after getting up around 3:30 to go to the bathroom. It probably didn't help that I stepped outside and stargazed for a few minutes on the way back.

I was awake before 8:00 and up at 8:20, hungry for my breakfast of yogurt and stale oats. With the sun still behind the mountain, it was shadowy outside and cool, so drinking my jasmine tea drunk while I finished "Beaver Business" felt perfectly appropriate. It was delicious and definitely fueled me for the work to come. I packed up everything I needed in a plastic bag and arrived at the floats around 9:30. First I did a little reconnaissance, rearranged a sandbag or two, and took some "before" pictures, then spread a tarp over the bow (making sure to cover all three sides) and puttered downriver to the very start of the fireweed meadow. There was a long stretch of sandy beach there, so I pulled in and tied the Ronquil to a tree. Twenty minutes later, 15 bags of sand were propped up in the bow, mostly wet, but a couple dry from sand on the cut bank. I later saw that there was a whole area of dry sand I could have harvested from that wouldn't have risked destabilizing the bank more than it already was. When I landed, a huge swarm of smallish flies buzzed around me and, when about six landed on my arm at one time, I quickly donned deet and lit a mosquito coil and never noticed them again. Before I pulled away, I grabbed all the veg mats I could from the edge of the water, most showing little irises or short grass, but mostly dead.

From there I repositioned near the slough where the willows taper off, tied the Ronquil to a bush, and began digging up plugs of sedge, this time deliberately targeting a few sweet gale plants as well as small willows, which I hadn't done before. The sweet gale from last year seemed to have done well at the landing. This part took a little longer, but by 10:50, the bow of the boat was full. As I pushed off, I thought the engine looked wrong, like it was higher above the stern than normal. It was unnerving, but I could see it was still secured by bolts and couldn't come up with any way it would have moved. When I got underway, I quickly saw what the issue was. The bow was so loaded with wet sand and sod that it dipped low in the water with only maybe 6-8" of freeboard, kicking the stern up! I lowered the engine and puttered rather slowly back to the dock, as the bow got alarmingly close to the water when I picked up speed.

Back at the dock, I tied up the sandbags with string, then delivered them to the landing for placement. Two are on the beach just to either side of the front of the landing to help hold sand in place and the rest are on the retaining wall. Several sandbags had burst and a few others may have slipped down from the top, but most of what I put in last summer were more or less in place. I concentrated on the upriver corner where the wall tapered off and where erosion was less dramatic, but still affecting the bank, tucking most of the rest of the sandbags there and extending the wall. I also added a few more to the top of the existing wall. I could see at once where I would have placed the last three sandbags had I filled them!

I then moved to planting the plugs, being more careful this time to dig holes for them deep enough for the full root and mud mass so they wouldn't stick up. Again I concentrated efforts on the upriver side, filling that area nicely. I also planted a number of large plugs against the bottom of the retaining wall behind the landing, and placed a satisfying row of veg mat under the landing behind the barrier of spruce branches from the tree cutting.

I rinsed off the tarp, tidied up the boat, rinsed off the landing and the floats, and watered all the plants at the landing, and was done at 12:30. Although I wish all the still-empty sand was full of sedge, it is much better even than it was this time last year, and a good morning's work.

Back at the lodge, Cailey was happy to see me. I made a quesadilla and ate it on the porch with a moscow mule while she buried a rawhide in the sunshine. I rested for just a little bit, enjoying the company of a jay (one had also visited me while at the landing), then changed into painting clothes and painted the door and window frames on the back balcony and then the same on the front balcony, first sanding and sweeping off the window frames and taping the windows. They look beautiful, it's such nice paint. Since that was the end of the beige paint work, I took the time to set up the second shower curtain under the picture window, closed the shutters, and put a second coat on the outside of them, the only shutters that seemed to need it.

By then it was 3:15 and Cailey seemed anxious, so I offered to take her for a walk, really asking her to follow me as I headed to Alder. She declined. So I walked down the new trail, through Glen, and back via the back trail. It was a short walk, but nice to get out into the beautiful sunny, very quiet meadows. And then I was back at it, staining this time. I got everything ready, then donned painting gloves and the staining tub and headed to the landing where I'd left the stain. I really didn't see a reason to haul it all the way here since most of it is going back this year. I successfully removed the lid and was pleased to find that the stain wasn't separated--in fact, I wonder if my mom had them shake it recently. I stirred it up and dipped the bucket in, leaving it outside when I got back to the cabin to grab some paper towels to catch the drips (I didn't use a second bucket to dip the stain out this time, having none handy). Finally I was back on the balcony, using the lovely little step ladder to paint the inside of the fascia, the middle beam, the middle upright, and the tops of the higher section of ceiling. And, when that was done, the top of the wall where I'd run out of stain. Somehow I managed not to drip stain onto the newly-painted window and door frames. I pulled off the tape from around the frames, but will wait until tomorrow to tape the frames themselves and finish the staining around them so they have more time to dry.

I carefully carried the rest of the stain downstairs, staining the little bit of the porch swing I'd sanded earlier where I'd dripped a bit of beige paint on it. Then I delivered the stain back to its bucket at the landing and carried the full propane tank most of the way back. I heated up some water for washing, then scrubbed and scraped the front step leading to the porch. It's funny, but that step really stands out against the newly restained cabin, so I thought it would be a nice thing to stain tomorrow. I then swathed it in a bleach solution since it had a bit of what looked like lichen growing on it. Although I'd rinsed it off very well, the solution was silty after dipping the rag in it repeatedly, so after dinner I scrubbed it again and rinsed it, surprised at how it had lightened (and I could see for the first time that it was pressure-treated). At that time, I used some of the leftover water to rinse off the nearby railing in case I want to throw another coat on that while I'm at it.

But that all came later. The next step was a spit bath after all the hard labor (though using my experience from last year, I made it so much easier on myself and it wasn't as traumatic as I expected) and sunshine, then a slice of buttered bread and wine and reading on the porch. The cottonwood leaves were clicking amiably from the light breeze, but, for a few moments, the breeze stopped and everything went silent, a charged moment as when you suddenly know that a fish is about to bite.

When hunger sprang up more urgently, I came inside, heated up some lentil soup, half of which I ate on the porch with a little more reading. When the sun went behind the trees as it eased over the Brassiere Hills, I came inside, ate the rest of the soup, and started a little fire. I turned on an X-Files and spent a fair bit of time rolling my legs and stretching on the floor after all the strain and awkwardness I put on my body today. Now the logs are done and it's almost 9:00. Cailey took herself to bed earlier, but came back down a bit ago and is now sleeping beside me. It's amazing how I miss her company even when she's just sleeping upstairs. Tonight, with the aid of an ibuprofen, I hope to sleep soundly and wake to a wonderful day of fun. Oh, one thing. On the way to the landing this morning, a chickadee called from an alder right next to me along the river, apparently catching the interest of its flock mates. A couple of golden-crowned kinglets careened in, peering at me curiously from just a few feet up in the branches. There were at least four of them as well as an orange-crowned warbler who stopped by, a very cheery and welcome group. I've also heard and seen flocks of geese and a robin, maybe varied thrushes too.

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I was up at 12:30 am and stepped outside to discover the most magnificent display of stars I've seen in years, the Milky Way streaking clear across the sky. Unfortunately, Cailey started panting when I came back to bed, so I got a cookie to reward her for returning to her own bed when I kicked her out of mine, but she smelled the cookie and went searching for it instead and I had to fetch her from downstairs. But the rest of the night was good and I was awake at 7:00 am, staying snuggled in bed for some time after. As usual, the glacier across the river was bright with morning sun, but we were in chill shade, and after the exhausting day yesterday, I didn't feel compelled to charge right out. I had breakfast and a cup of decaf coffee with a little vanilla in it, and finally got underway for my bird walk at 9:30.

I entered sunlight as I turned off the main trail and soon saw a lovely little Lincoln's sparrow and the first of many chups and peeps and other calls that never emerged from the brush. I followed the well-worn path to Devastation Alley and noted a fair number of nagoons, but not a bumper crop, and made the rounds, spending a long time waiting for what I think was a ruby-crowned kinglet tittering from the trees. I did find the alarming fox sparrow, though, who had flown across Boundary Slough, which was a treat.

On the way out, I went by the no hunting sign just across the slough and broke down some of the grass to improve its visibility, then stopped by the dam camera to check on it, disappointed to find it bent and pointing at the sky. I grabbed the camera and stashed the post in the bushes, then was heading toward the dam when a tiny creature leaped in front of me. Could it be?!? It was so little, maybe an inch long, but for once he hopped onto open mud and stopped moving in shallow water, only partially obscured by a few blades of grass. I could see that he was smooth-skinned and had a cluster of black spots behind the eyes. My first native frog!!! I took a bunch of pictures, thanked him, then puttered across the slough and over to the berry meadows around the spruce copse. Although I was birding, I took half an hour to mostly fill a medium sized container with nagoonberries during which I heared a ruby-crowned kinglet sing once and some chickadees in the distance that didn't sound like chestnut-backed, as well as a mysterious buzzing bird who flew overhead.

From there, I trudged to the erratic camera where I found the stake bent over and the camera on the ground. On the way, a merlin circled me--maybe seeing if I startled up any birds?--then went to perch in a spruce tree. I followed and watched him for a while until he flew out toward the mountain, swooping up to catch a large, moth-like bug which it ate in the air like an eagle with a smelt. He then soared higher and higher over the meadows. On the way back, I stopped briefly in random patch of thick nagoonberries in high grass, twice or more as tall as their cohorts, and picked for a few minutes. Then I stopped by the hill at Big Bend to see if the blueberry bush I'd seen a month ago was still chock-a-block with berries, but only a few were left. There were ducks in the slough, but too far away to identify. Half way across the meadow back toward the dam, I heard the chickadees again and found them in a line of small spruces near the rock pile. I knew they weren't chestnut-backed and they were calling regularly, but Merlin refused to give a suggestion. I crept in and the good chickadees allowed me wonderful looks as they bopped around the trees. When I finally looked them up, they were, unmistakably, mountain chickadees, with their white eyebrows. Wow! I later learned that this was only the tenth record in Juneau, and the only other Alaska sighting was in the Haines area. Amazing! With them were a couple of Townsend's warblers, an orange-crowned warbler, and two cedar waxwings who charmingly called and flew around the area and, when all the others had left, alighted in a couple of saskatoons to eat the berries. Wonderful.

And the excitement didn't end. Just as I was about to step off the beaver dam, a very large frog hopped in front of me and sat exposed on the mud, letting me take pictures and watch him blink (so cool!). He also had black spots on his back and his features were much easier to see with his larger size, maybe four inches long. I later learned that they were Columbia spotted frogs, only found in Southeast Alaska in transboundary rivers like the Stikine and Taku.

On Strawberry Trail I met up with another mixed flock including local chickadees and more Townsend's warblers, juncos, and an orange-crowned warbler who sang many times. At 12:30 I made it back to the cabin and had a beer with Cailey outside, going suddenly from hot sun to chill shade which made the beer less enjoyable than I was expecting! I turned on internet to write some messages and research mountain chickadees (last seen in Juneau on a remote ridge in 2018), sorted and cropped photos, then turned internet back on to submit the survey and photos, including the frog. Eventually quite hungry, I also ate a delicious and pleasingly warm quesadilla.

Cailey had a better day. I left her with a toy with treats when I went walking, then gave her a rawhide to bury when I came back, and then gave her a lego treat with lunch. She came in and out of the magnetic screen door at her leisure and followed me around eating grass and sniffing things when I circled the spruces outside the door and filled a small tub with blueberries. Then I left her inside again and headed back to the stunted spruce meadow to look for nagoonberries, filling another tub and some. They were widely-scattered, but enough to make it worth while.

Back at the cabin I changed clothes and plunged into the last of the staining, which was actually quite pleasant in the sunshine with little to do, and none of it complicated. First I taped the door and window on the back balcony, fetched some stain, then stained the step onto the porch, the front of the porch, and the porch railings (except the back side of the uprights), for some extra protection and another experiment to see if additional layers are useful. When I'd finished upstairs, I dropped the stain off and then mowed a little, wishing I'd done it as soon as I got here, as the little yard out the door looks great when freshly mowed. Then I cleaned up and changed clothes in anticipation of guests, tidied up a little, and walked the trail to the landing with my machete to cut back the leaning grass and other vegetation, which also makes it look much better. So here I am, all ready for guests, Cailey snoozing at my side, and thinking of washing the upstairs windows so I can look up from bed in the morning without seeing all the streaks!

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I did clean the windows, discovering that the inside of the door window in my room also needed it, the whole door actually needing a good wash. I sat on the couch keeping an eye on the boat traffic, much of which is now turning from the shore just downriver of the point, and had just started heating up some Indian stew for dinner when I heard an engine slowing down. It was around 6:45 and I headed to the landing to find Evan, Sam, and Rachel on the bank in the woods, having pulled their riverboat onto a nice beach next to a log upriver of the landing. Cailey announced herself with a little bark, but otherwise was very chill about the encounter. We headed up to the cabin and Evan complimented us on how nice the cabin looks. I showed them around the inside to more enthusiasm and then we sat and chatted in the living room as the late summer light waned. They are thoroughly lovely people and I'm so grateful to have connected with them. At 8:30, I walked them back to their boat with the promise to visit them the next chance I get.

Delighted by the visit, I had a late dinner, took an antihistamine to help me sleep after the socializing, and slept soundly all night, up around 7:30 but happy to linger in bed a while after two days of intense activity. I got up around 8:00, cleaned and packed up the upstairs, had breakfast and a cup of jasmine tea, did some more tidying, packed my backpack, and headed upriver around 9:15. My first stop was the beaver dam to replace the camera which had taken really excellent photos and had only been knocked down a couple of days before I got there. This time I brought reinforcements. After pounding the stake back in, I pounded in a 2x2 brace on either side and screwed them in, facing opposite directions, hoping to thwart naughty young moose. And I made sure it was taking videos again (still not sure how that happened).

The morning was overcast, calm, and buggy, and I had to stop to apply deet. From there I headed over to Devastation Alley where I picked two little tubs of nagoonberries and a few of the creeping blueberries (still not sure which species they are). I saw that the crowberries were abundant, and sweeter than usual, and would have picked a bundle if I'd had more time. Around 10:30, I headed back, stopping by Crossroads to replace the camera there which seems to have failed completely. It's sure taken some fantastic videos over the years.

Back at the lodge at 11:00, I had a snack of bread and butter before turning around and heading for the canoe with the new paddle. As hoped, I saw ducks; the two very shy little teal (pretty sure they must have been teal for their size, but they had no distinguishing markings) at Yellowthroat Island kept their distance, but the group at Big Bend were extremely accommodating. Well, other than the pair of mallards--female and eclipse male--that flew away. The remaining mallard and nine common goldeneyes let me approach quite close, enough to see their solid black bills and even take some nice pictures, and when they did bust, they did so in my direction, which was exciting. Around the corner were nearly as many, but these took off when I was still at a distance.

When I reached the cliffs, I tied the canoe to the rope leading up the rock face and headed up, hoping to accomplish the long-awaited goal of exploring the magical birch forest above the bare, smooth cliffs. I tried two routes beyond the main overlook with the big birch tree and aborted both of them out of caution. I could make my way up the little crevasses of vegetation, but coming back down was another issue, dangerous and uncomfortable even after going up only 15 feet or so. I was about ready to put it off again when I tried crossing a deep, vegetation filled crevasse behind the overlook and soon found myself face-to-face with a subalpine fir tree with cones on it that I'd seen the last time I'd been up there with Rich, so I knew I was onto a good route. I'd been high on the cliffs before, but stopped shy of the forest because it just wasn't safe for a dog. This day seemed ideal: it had been dry for long enough that there was no danger of slick rock, and my senior Cailey was safely tucked inside the cabin.

And so I went for it, stopping a couple of times to catch my breath as I climbed the almost-vertical mountain face. When I reached the tree line, I was in for a surprise. The trees I encountered were mountain hemlocks and spruces and the understory was a forest understory: thick moss, blueberry bushes, false azalea, mushrooms. It was dense and evergreen, though birches were scattered throughout, and not at all the open, sunny, magical birch land forest I had anticipated! I poked around a little, then skirted the bottom of the forest toward the north until I found some birches and rested beneath one to enjoy the truly spectacular view of the valley. I could see more of the 4-wheeler track through the meadow that Evan and I had talked about (he had chastised and educated the kid who'd made it). I'd seen several juncos on the way up and heard a couple of cedar waxwings and a Pacific wren while sitting at the top. Oh, and when I was still down near the overlook, I watched a lone duck paddling down the slough below and quacking and slowly came to the conclusion that it was probably a female northern pintail for its elegant neck and blue bill, which I later verified, a first for me at Bullard's landing (and one of my favorite ducks).

Eventually I headed back down, discovering that the cliffs look quite different from above! The route I took up, which I had made sure was a route I could also take down every step of the way, was unclear, and I nixed a couple of possibilities that ended in what appeared to be a vertical drop out of sight. Finally, I tried a gentler slope that seemed to disappear to the right which turned out to be the very easy and gentle route back. It was good to fulfil my long-time goal!

Back at the canoe, I headed to the landing, fighting a stiff little breeze that had kicked up which made birdwatching very difficult as it took full time paddling to maintain my heading and not get blown away. Most of the ducks fled quickly, but one remained calm and let me approach quite close as I padded by Yellowthroat Island, my friend the elegant pintail; she was so beautiful, and I could make out her features clearly. I encountered the two teal again and a third, all of whom scrambled wildly across the water but were either unwilling or unable to fly. Are they still molting? Amazingly, they were able to sneak into the sedge at the edge of the slough and had utterly disappeared as I passed by.

Back at the cabin it was a little after 2:00, so I had lunch, finished most of the packing, and cleaned the cabin. After picking one tub of blueberries and filling an empty water jug, I took a cart load of gear to the boat and then took a walk around the downriver loop. I got back at 4:20, sat on the porch for ten minutes and, though I'd said I was just going to relax, couldn't resist the incredible plethora of blueberries, and wound up picking one more tub. That made our departure just a bit later than my 5:00 intention. Having the gear at the landing already was genius, and made the actual departure from the cabin very smooth and easy. We loaded up and were underway at 5:10, about one hour before the tide. Although it was shallow across the slough, I didn't touch bottom, just idling along. When I was just leaving the shore to take the cut in the usual place, a boat came from behind and continued along the bank, not turning out until he was along the next big cut in the bank. I cautiously followed his example and didn't have any issue going across. Has that changed too? Or is the cut wider than I realized?

Against the cliffs I got my first hint of the wind ahead (well, second if you count the breeze on the slough). I'd left in a t-shirt, but a thick haze had built up where the sun was lingering low over the glacier, so I stopped in front of Norris River to put on my two extra shirts and jacket, which kept me comfortable the rest of the long and weary way home. I bumped my way to Scow Cove and bumped my way to Flat Point, hoping it would lay down once I was out of the river, but it only got worse. Eventually I was running into nasty 1-2' white-capped seas, first from the southwest and then straight up from the south and I was forced to slow down to a crawl as we pounded into them. Poor Cailey. At least, I thought, it was going to be behind me once we got to the channel. Right!?

We crawled our way to Jaw and then to Cooper. It did get mildly better half way to Bishop, then picked up again and....then the wind was coming from the west, from the back side of Douglas and we were still in the teeth of it all the way to the channel. And, you guessed it, there was that brisk northwesterly that had swept me down the channel three days before, now banging against us all the way to Sandy Beach. I think I spent about 15% of the trip on step, my sciatica screaming periodically, my thighs aching. But, it wasn't raining and my engine ran beautifully, so no complaints!(?) I tied up around 7:30, unloaded everything onto the deck of the boat house, took Cailey to the car (trying to be patient as she limped and stopped to sniff all along the way), drove the car to the ramp, and fetched the gear in one cart load. I was home around 8:15, took care of all the critters/plants, then made a little dinner before hitting the shower, watching television until almost 10:00 to relax and calm my mind before bed, looking forward to an obligation-free Sunday afternoon and a holiday on Monday.

North from the cliff forest